He knew he couldn't keep it a secret for forever. One day sooner or later the truth was bound to slip out. Nothing could stop that from happening, but in that time, that moment, he didn't give a care in the world what people thought. He had Sherlock and that was all that mattered.
They couple was staring out of the window in 221B bakers street simply watching the snow fall onto the silent city. Sherlock stood behind John with his arms wrapped lovingly around his waist. They had been standing in this position for nearly 2 hours, just completely and utterly lost in thought, but both knew that no matter what happened they would both be there for each other.
That was something in particular that Sherlock had never experienced before.
He was envious of John for never having to go through what he himself had. He knew John had his worries about what people would think but at least they had each other.
That had been all Sherlock had wanted all his life. Just simply to be accepted. He wasn't asking for much, people didn't have to like him (he in fact didn't like most people) but he still hoped that maybe they could have been a little less cruel.
Sherlock knew from a very young age that he was gay, and soon his entire family knew as well. He thought it nothing that he needed to hide, that it was just the way he was. He thought that he didn't care, nor ever would care about what people thought about him. That's why he never bothered to tell anyone.
He was a very free spirited child, he was joyful and spent his days running around the family garden playing with his brother. Of course, he was always very intelligent often pointing out the life stories of passers by. His brother Mycroft simply thought that this was just a little game he played, that it was all just stories made up in the sun to pass the time. During these golden days it never occurred to anyone that Sherlock was any different to other children.
This however was all before his seventh birthday. Sherlock could still remember how awful that day had been. He was so excited that he was finally turning seven. He was going to have a great party and was inviting all of his friends and thought they were simply going to have a great day of playing, eating cake, and having fun like at all of the other birthday parties he had attended.
Sherlock woke early on that day, he could hardly fall asleep the night before due to excitement. He ran up to his parents bedroom yelling for them to get up so they could all start preparing for the great party he was going to have. After half an hour of impatient waiting his mom did come down to settle him down and occupy him with something so they could get a bit more sleep. She sent Sherlock outside to go for a walk to "clear his mind" so that he would not forget anything important for the party. Sherlock readily agreed, happy to do anything to make sure that his birthday was the best one ever.
Though he was ecstatic Sherlock always had the tendency to get lost in his own thoughts. That's why by the time he got back to his house children were already beginning to arrive. Though rather than having their cheeks flushed with excitement has Sherlock had hoped, they all seemed abnormally quiet. He knew that he had never been all too great with human emotions, but he could tell that something just wasn't quiet right.
Once inside the house he noticed Mycroft sitting at the kitchen table snickering with a couple of his friends. They kept slyly staring at him over their shoulders but quickly looking away when Sherlock returned the gaze.
"Well that was odd" Sherlock thought. He continued contemplating what could possibly be happening and had 6 theories, going on 7, by the time he reached the door of his room.
However, he realized that none of them were half as bad as what he saw on the other side of that heavy door...slowly creaking open to reveal the torment that would be the rest of his life.