Twelve year old Sherlock Holmes took one look at the toilets and decided that he really, really did not want his head placed in one. Unfortunately, he feared that he wouldn't have a choice as the three older boys dragged him into a cubicle.
"Drown him! Drown him Charlie!" one of the boys (whom Sherlock never really bothered to learn the name of) urged.
"You know what? I just might!" Charlie, the big brute of a boy sneered. He shoved Sherlock foreword. The two older boys blocked his escape while Charlie forced Sherlock to his knees.
"You need a lesson on keeping your mouth shut, Freak!"
"It wasn't my fault you were selling illegal stashes of chocolate from your dorm room!" Sherlock protested. Perhaps he could reason with the older boy…
"It was your fault for blabbering it to the teachers! Now I might be suspended!" Charlie said angrily. "How'd you even find out about it?"
"Well, by observing your interactions between the other boys, I could deduce that-"
Charlie shoved his head in the toilet. Sherlock strained to raise his head but Charlie was strong. With barely an effort on Charlie's part, Sherlock's head was in the water. The other boys laughed and hooted.
"What's going on here?" a voice inquired calmly. Charlie let go of Sherlock's head and he came out of the toilet coughing.
"We are teaching this freak a lesson, Mycroft. Go away," Charlie snapped.
"Yes, well, unfortunately, that freak just so happens to be my brother. Leave him alone or else I will be forced to get the teachers involved. Sherlock's cheeks burned with embarrassment at Mycroft's intervention.
Charlie narrowed his eyes and took a step towards Mycroft.
But Mycroft was taller and older then Charlie- he was nearly seventeen. In addition to that factor, Mycroft was one of the smartest, most popular kids at school and the teachers loved him. It wouldn't be very wise to attack Mycroft and Charlie knew it. Instead, he turned to Sherlock.
"This isn't over, Freak!" And with that, he and his goonies walked off.
Mycroft observed his brother has water dripped from his soaking face.
"You didn't have to do that, Mike!" Sherlock said, getting to his feet. "I had it all under my control!"
"It certainly looked like that from my position," Mycroft replied sarcastically.
"I'm nearly 13- I can fight my own battle!"
"Sure you can, little brother," there was still an edge of sarcasm in his voice that made Sherlock mad. He pushed past his older brother.
"Typical Sherlock- always letting his emotions cloud his judgement," he heard Mycroft say as he stormed out of the bathroom.

It was safe to say Sherlock hated boarding school. Why shouldn't he?
The teachers were distasteful and the students were rotten. Sherlock had no friends, no one to talk to and there wasn't a day that went by when Sherlock wasn't bullied or harassed. Everyone knew Sherlock was different, and unfortunately, different meant getting your head shoved down toilets on every other day of the week.
It was all well and good for Mycroft- he was cool, calm, and manipulative and had taken to boarding school like a duck to water. Teachers loved him and bullies never touched him. Worst of all, everyone said he was smarter then Sherlock and everyone payed attention to Mycroft. No one ever paid attention.
Except of course, his violin teacher, Professor Xander.
Professor Xander was the most interesting, most smartest teacher at school who seemed to know exactly what Sherlock was thinking and feeling. In fact, it was Professor Xander who suggested to the other teachers that he could give Sherlock two hour private lessons after dinner since Sherlock never stayed in his dorm when he should be sleeping. That was fine with the teachers- they figured Sherlock had special needs but his parents never allowed the teachers to look into it. Those two hour lessons had kept Sherlock out of mischief most of the time.

That night, Professor Xander was teaching Sherlock a variety of Christmas carols on his violin since the holidays weren't that far away.
"Wonderful, Sherlock!" the Professor clapped after Sherlock had mastered 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas".
"Can you teach me 'Silent Night' now?" Sherlock asked eagerly. The Professor waved his hand dismissively.
"We will work on that tomorrow night. Your exams start soon, have you been studying?"
Sherlock's smile dropped. The Professor raised an eyebrow.
"You haven't been studying?" he asked.
"It's not that!" Sherlock said quickly. "I do study but I'm having trouble remembering things."
"Is that so? I thought memory was one of your strong points?"
"It was! I mean, it still is! But…" Sherlock took a deep breath.
"Professor, I see and observe everything. Information, observations, deductions- they all get stored up here-"Sherlock pointed to his head-"Normally, I can find them all easily, but these days, I close my eyes and try to find something and it's all mixed up with everything else. Everything is just so, so…"
"Cluttered?" The Professor suggested.
"Yeah! Cluttered! And disorganised!"
The Professor pondered this for a second.
"Well, obviously you have to start organising things. Have you ever heard of the memory map technique?"
"No," Sherlock said, puzzled.
"Never mind- I will show you how to use it tomorrow. For now, I will leave you with this; your memory is like an attic, Sherl. Granted, your 'attic' will be several times larger than regular people's, but your memory attic will still become full as you continue to collect and store memories. Eventually, you will have to get rid of things." The Professor looked right in Sherlock's eyes.
"Train your brain, Sherl. You have the potential to be the greatest mind that ever lived. But reward does not come without practise. I think that will be all for tonight."
Sherlock flushed with pride at the Professor's faith in him. He gathered his things and walked out of Professor Xander's office, his heart lighter than it had been before.

From then on, Professor Xander's lessons became more about stimulating and training Sherlock's mind rather than violin practise and behaviour management. He gave Sherlock riddles and quizzes, encouraging Sherlock to think outside the box and take a different approach to things. He got Sherlock to do difficult math problems and tested him on different scenarios. He even encouraged Sherlock to practise his deductions on everyone. The Professor helped Sherlock with organising his mind and teaching him the mind map technique, where you mentally plot a map with a location and then you deposit memories in there.
"Theoretically, you can never forget anything. All you have to do was find your way back to it in your head," the Professor told Sherlock.
Sherlock enjoyed these lessons immensely- there was nothing more pleasing then to be in one's own mind (In fact, Sherlock had started to call it his 'Mind Palace') or solve a puzzle using only the power of his brain. It sent his dopamine crazy.
It wasn't long before Sherlock's mind became sharper than even Professor Xander's (though not as sharp as Mycroft's). He passed his exams with flying colours. The Christmas break came quickly and after saying farewell to the Professor, Sherlock and Mycroft walked out of the school to meet their parents and most importantly for Sherlock, his beloved dog, Redbeard.