Special
It was easy. So easy, by the age of five he ready knew what five times the squared route of pie was and thanks to his Idetic memory was grammatically perfect, when a child wrote a story Sherlock wrote a novel... ok that isn't true, well... not all of it. You see, the great Sherlock Holmes wasn't always an arrogant sociopath ( he never was strictly but he had to keep up appearances) once ,he was a child, a beautiful inquisitive baby boy, Mycroft loved him, he used to wake him up and dress him in whatever he wanted, his favourite was a little blue shiny raincoat ,teal ankle willies with buckles on and dark green socks, all topped off with a huge woolly bobble hat that messed up his curls and made his head look huge, it had ear flaps and two long plaited tassels that reached all the way down to his calves, witch where left bare beneath thin grey shorts and a soft linen cream coloured shirt crisscrossed with fine brown strands.
The hat was simply adorable, but what he really loved was when it rained, when the streets where filled with huge flat puddles and on the way to their cab Sherlock's little face would light up and he would bounce manically on the end of his hand ruining Mycroft's uniform and disproving the whole point of having an umbrella, Sherlock had one of course but he'd sooner use it for charging the school gates at break time or sword fighting with josh grey than its actual use , he had friends of course, or rather one, and Indian boy called Ghepetto. They never spoke to anyone but each other and when they did only in sign language, their own secret one made up to confuse the school teachers, for the most part it worked .
It's not that Sherlock was a nasty boy, on the contrary he was quite lovely, it's just he was always incredibly shy, he'd let Mycroft dress him, bathe him, feed him, but he didn't like large crowds and when the other boys tried to include him in their games he would always look to Ghepetto for reassurance before playing and laughing with the other children, as you can imagine everybody adored him, the older girls brushed his hair in the summer while he mutely pulled up daisy's and made necklaces of them, he was five, and eventually the other boys took it upon themselves to teach him how to play... but that's another story, the primary school they went to was a small isolated place about a half hour from their town house in London and was made up to look rural, everything was child sized and a fully grown Sherlock would have to bend to get through the door.
It was nearing Christmas, and all the other children where writing stories for the English writing competition, Sherlock so far hadn't said so much as a couple of sentences for the whole year, he talked allright oh he talked! When Mycroft was around, it wasn't what he did say that was disturbing but what he didn't -although Mycroft had long since noticed that his brother had an eye for detail,
However so far the teachers where a little concerned about his wellbeing, he would sit quietly and make notes as they spoke in a long curly cursive and watched them mutely the whole time with big blue piercing eyes that with every inch he grew seemed even more unsettlingly clear.
He seemed even... bored for the most part, it was science that really fascinated him and by his third lesson had Mycroft march him into the nearest WH smith and use a small amount from his credit card to purchase almost every book in the store, inspecting each with an air of somebody curious and slightly bewildered but determined to get his money's worth. Sherlock had already read Beatrix potter and winnie the pooh but it was impossible to tell if he enjoyed it, however what he did enjoy was treasure island, whenever he was sick only a few times so far in his short life and their parents where away on government business Mycroft would stoke the fire, wrap him up in blankets, lie him on the couch and read to him until he fell asleep...
Like I said, everyone had written a story and when classes where over a very nervous Sherlock swamped in a brand new jumper and duffel coat trudged over and handed Mrs. Sopher his story, written out neatly in blue curly fine liner, all she could see of his face was a tiny upturned nose hidden by a mass of curls and a luminous yellow bobble hat, she placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled reassuringly at the tiny infant as bright deer like eyes captured her own in a surprisingly steady gaze.
"It's ok Sherlock, you're a very special boy and you work very hard, I'm sure you've got nothing to worry about" he gave her a ghost of a smile and averted his eyes. "Please read it miss. I promise it was I who wrote it... please believe me" it took ten seconds for her to realize that that was Sherlock's actual voice and for a few moments she simply stared – before checking herself, Sherlock had actually spoken, this was the turning point, when she looked into his eyes she could do nothing but believe him, but what could be so special about this story? For a while now Sherlock had been an enigma, quiet yet polite, every day he arrived at the gates with a smiling older brother laughing and chatting, at lunch he would sit quietly and eat and sometimes disappear to the library and during class was a model pupil, for a long time Mrs. Sopher had sensed something different about him, the way he watched you with those piercing eyes as if deducing your entire life history, was Sherlock special, too clever for casual conversation with his classmates but too scared of rejection... it was make or break, was this why Sherlock had trouble making friends? He didn't want any spec heal attention. Her eyes danced with excitement as she lifted the paper- and found herself disappointed.
When jimm was four he bought a doggie, it was brown wiff blue spotts an it haited rain ,one day...
She sighed , a huge explosion of breath any chances of discovering Sherlock's true nature flying out the window along with any hope of understanding him-but didn't miss the way Sherlock exhaled and seemed to relax from her disappointment, she ruffled his curls and wished him a happy weekend , she was on her way to fetch her laptop from the office, and as the entryway was nearby walking Sherlock to the door when a tall harried looking boy with an open umbrella in his left hand and a pile of paper in his right stumbled through it, his hair was windswept and he was soaked but rather excitable. Sherlock's face paled and he stood still as if in shock , her arm was jolted as their fingers pulled apart, the boy's phone rang and he expertly fished it out of his pocket and tapped away the noise " Sherlock! This isn't like you, you left your story on the kitchen ta-"
Mrs Sopher was astounded, and when Mycroft looked up and saw Sherlock frantically slicing his hand across his neck in a silencing motion he felt like a traitor, well, Sherlock wasn't going to hide his brains forever. " Ble"...Sherlock watched in utter misery as his brother shuffled the papers into his left hand and extended his other in greeting " Mycroft Holmes, I don't believe we've met"
... "oh-no!,no!, erm you're Sherlock's brother...Mrs. Sopher, pleased to meet you" she knew Sherlock's parents worked for the government as paper shufflers but what she didn't expect was for Sherlock to have such a caring older brother, however it did make sense that he needed to be cared for and this boy ,naturally would be left at home most of the time to do it.
obviously by the school uniform( "ST Barts" in black and gold lettering)alone money wasn't a problem, as soon as the attention was directed elsewhere Sherlock hid behind Mycroft's coat grabbing desperately at the fabric and sucking his thumb, she could see his eyes boring into the paper in Mycroft's hands , one small eye poking out behind a dripping yellow umbrella that matched his hat perfectly. Mycroft turned and crouched down in front of Sherlock surprising her with the sheer care he took as he placed his umbrella and Sherlock's story on the Linenum floor, he rearranged his hat making Sherlock smile and gathered both of Sherlock's tiny hands in his.
"Now then Sherlock, why don't we let the nice lady see what you wrote?"
He gave a small happy smile and started to cry a little ( it was heart wrenching)burying himself in his shirt at which point Mycroft gathered him up and lifted him into his arms, he could feel Sherlock's soft curly hair tickling his neck and tears seeping into his sopping coat, " sshhhh ssssshh-hhh-hh-hh, shhhhhhhhhhhhhh, it's ok Sherlock," he removed the fluffy yellow hat and begun to stroke soothingly at his hair until muffled words choked out of the small boys throat " Mycroft, dn't want... don't want" a muffled wail escaping passed his thumb, it's ok Sherlock, you don't have to be like everybody else, you're special, Sherlock's wailing ended abruptly and Mycroft lowered him back onto the tiles.
Little Sherlock continued to snuffle producing a spotted handkerchief from seemingly nowhere and rubbing at his eyes. " What if I don't want to be special?..., why can't I just be like everybody else?" Mycroft leaned down shoving the ridiculous yellow hat down over his eyes and laughing as he squirmed to remove it, he wrestled for a few seconds before Mycroft took pity on him and pulled it somewhat upright little hands latching on and blue blue eyes appearing from the darkness " Because, then you'd be a boring little brother and I wouldn't like you!" Sherlock grinned like his brother didn't just give away his secret and allowed himself to be lifted into his arms once more sucking his thumb for comfort after such an ordeal, Mycroft handed Sherlock the umbrella who then started hugging it like a teddy bear and promptly fell asleep. " I think you'll find my brother. Is a very special boy" she smiled down at the sleeping toddler and watched with utter fascination as four sheets of lined A4 paper where lowered into her hands.
Three years later Mrs Sopher sat collapsed in her chair after reading one of the most gripping tales shed ever imagined, yes Sherlock Holmes was a very Special child... it was just a little unfortunate that most of his tales involved pirates, detectives and horrific murders, one of witch the protagonist deduced the whereabouts of the killer by the state of his shoelaces...
it was all really quite disturbing. You see, the great Sherlock Holmes wasn't always an arrogant sociopath ( he never was strictly but he had to keep up appearances) once ,he was a child, a beautiful inquisitive baby boy... who just happened to like a good thriller.