Disclaimer: Original characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan; BBC Sherlock version belongs to Steven Moffat & Mark Gatiss

Freak

Mycroft tapped away at his keyboard in his dimly lit room, snugly clad in his pajamas and dressing gown; it was getting nearer to midnight. He was working hard on a short essay paper that was due the next day as earlier that night, he was getting ready to retire to bed when he had realized that he had forgotten to write the actual essay, but that instead, he was merely thinking about it. He was extremely exhausted, but he had a copious amount of research to do on the different types of governments around the world and security issues that existed in England's own government.

He typed another sentence and frowned. In his fifteen years of life, he was never good with words; he knew what he wanted to say, but to put it in such a short essay was impossible. The issues he needed to address were too many in his opinion. He could easily arrive to a conclusion, but it was the work involved needed to prove the theory was what he was notably reluctant to do. His younger brother, however, has been showing signs of developing into a great thinker (and perhaps a good deducer as well). Hopefully Sherlock wasn't as adverse to doing legwork as Mycroft was. He pursed his lips and stared at the screen when a light knock woke him out of his reverie.

"Do come in," he called over his shoulder.

The door slowly opened behind him and light immediately flooded into the room from the corridor. He glanced at the floor next to his feet and recognized his younger brother's shadow.

"I thought mum put you to bed hours ago, Sherlock. You should be sleeping," Mycroft stated, clearly unconcerned as he furiously typed another paragraph when an idea entered his head.

"I have a question," his sibling said, ignoring his words.

Mycroft sighed, "Sherlock, how many times must I remind you that growing little boys need their sleep? I do hope this doesn't become a habit. What do you want?" he asked.

Sherlock stood in silence at the doorway for a few seconds, his right hand still hanging onto the doorknob before he asked, "Mycroft, what is a 'freak'?"

Mycroft immediately paused in what he was doing and swiveled around in his desk chair to face his younger sibling who had not moved an inch from the spot he stood in. "Sherlock, where did you hear that word?" he asked, hoping the conclusion he had arrived to in his mind was going to be proven false with Sherlock's next words.

"A couple of school boys in the yard said that I was a 'freak'. I looked it up in the dictionary but I did not understand. It did not make sense in the context they had used. I do not have a disease nor am I physically disfigured," he explained, his eyes set in a bored manner.

Mycroft knitted his eyebrows and closed his eyes; his guess was right. He rubbed his face and motioned to the little boy. "Come, Sherlock."

Sherlock obeyed as he let go of the knob and walked towards the older Holmes who smiled at the skulls and cross bones on his sibling's blue night clothes underneath his dressing gown. Sherlock stopped beside the cluttered desk as Mycroft got up from the chair and kneeled on the carpet to make his eyes level with the child's piercing gaze.

"Sherlock, 'freak' is not a nice word. You mustn't ever call anyone that," he gently explained as he brushed away the stubborn stray hair that always hung in the middle of Sherlock's forehead.

The younger Holmes tilted his head.

"Why? What does it mean?"

Mycroft sadly smiled. His brother was quite…'different' than the average child. He was brilliant, yes, but others did not see it that way. Mycroft was getting older, closer to going away to university, so it hurt to see such cruel people take advantage of a naive child. When Sherlock was born, his father said it was his duty to protect his younger brother, words that he had taken to heart and followed every day, perhaps moreso now that Sherlock was beginning to grow up.

"To put it simply," he began, "the word means someone who is different from normal people, but in a mean way."

"Oh. But I am different," Sherlock pointed out.

Mycroft put his hands on Sherlock's fragile shoulders. "No, you are special. Extraordinary. I say, those boys called you a 'freak' because they are jealous of you and don't understand a genius when they set eyes upon one," he said. It was hard to protect him from reality, but he had to grow up sooner or later and face the world alone when Mycroft left.

"So, those boys were making fun of me," Sherlock concluded as he lowered his eyes and bit his lower lip.

"Yes, but they had no right to. Sherlock, remember this: it must be sad for them to live in those funny little brains of theirs because you are superior in every way. Do not take their words to heart because they do not understand; their small minds do not function like yours. All that matters is that you believe in yourself. I know that when you get older, you will be one of the greatest men in all of England," Mycroft quickly assured the younger boy.

Sherlock stared at the teenager, his eyes were confused and bordering on sadness, but he attempted to hide it; the poor child. He didn't even understand what he was feeling.

"Think of it this way," Mycroft continued, "You have the capability of becoming the best pirate on Earth! But those boys aren't as clever as you; that's why they attempted to put you down. One day, you will find a great friend who will understand you and treat you like an equal," Mycroft continued. A corner of Sherlock's lip quirked into a smile but left just as quickly as it came. "Now, be a good boy and go to sleep," Mycroft ordered, patting him on the head.

"I can't sleep," Sherlock stated.

Mycroft looked up at the essay open on his computer over his shoulder.

"How about you sleep in my bed with me tonight, yes?" Sherlock's eyes lit up ever so slightly, but he quickly set a façade and lazily nodded his head. The older Holmes stood up to close the door and returned to his desk chair as he watched Sherlock bounce over to the bed and snuggle under the covers in the peripheral vision of his left eye. He suppressed a grin and typed another paragraph, the essay almost complete when he heard rustling coming from the vicinity of bed. "Go to sleep, Sherlock. I will be done shortly," Mycroft called over.

"Sherlock?"

He received no answer. Mycroft turned his head around to the corner towards the bed and smiled as he watched his younger brother sprawled out across the center, fast asleep with a small, but genuine smile gracing his pale face and his forehead covered with tousled dark curls.

Author's Note:
Did anyone catch the subtle canon details? haha
In Sir ACD's books, Mycroft is approximately 7 years older than Sherlock.

I was going for a kinder Mycroft; you gotta admit, he's kind of mean to Sherlock. Lol In a brotherly way, of course.
In my head canon, Mycroft is much nicer when Sherlock is younger. Then, y'know. They both get older and Sherlock becomes more difficult to understand and control. Thus, Mycroft becomes Sherlock's "archnemesis", but we'll get to that later. Lol

Anyone also notice Benedict's half smile quirk? I love when he does that. It's utterly adorable.

Anyway, this is a preview oneshot of a series of oneshots I'm going to be writing in the near future about Sherlock & John's childhoods and how they came to become the people they are in BBC Sherlock. Probably gonna write their lives up until they meet.

Because my brain's functions are that of a writer's, I think about events and backgrounds of characters and how they came to be the way they are, like Sherlock's drug addiction, his love for the violin, John's inability to be close with his sister, etc. So writing about their past is a way for me to reveal more about themselves; delve into the rationality and emotions of why they do certain things or think a certain way.

My head canon is so terribly sad :(
People see Sherlock as a sociopath, but I think his childhood must have been really rough and I have an extreme soft spot for him because I can relate to him in so many ways. These characters are so alive and they have been since I read my first Sherlock Holmes book when I was 8.

I do believe this is my first piece of fanfiction ever as I only read them, but the entire oneshot series is stuck in my head and I need to get it out to make space in my brain for other things, but that's my excuse for having such a long author's note. LOL
Anyway, thank you for reading! :)