A/N: woah, first Sherlock fanfic. This is not what I thought it would be like but hey, that's life. I wanted to do something really different and this is what fell from my brain. This was actually a lot heavier than I wanted it to be, but ya! Watch for more and reviews are always welcome! Hope you like it! This is only chapter 1, more to come soon! Stay tuned!
-mynameiszephyr
"Why don't you talk?"
"Are you stupid or something?"
"Come on you dummy, Speak!" A large rock flew across the field and hit Sherlock in the forehead. He put his hand to the wound and his fingers came back bloody. Tears welled in his eyes but he would not let the other boys have the privilege of seeing him cry. More stones began flying toward Sherlock, so he put his arms over his head and ran toward them. On his way he grabbed a rock the size of a softball and lobbed it towards the oncoming rocks. A dull thud sounded across the field and silence fell. The other boys dropped their rocks and ran toward the one lying on the ground. He wasn't moving and there was a pool of blood around his head, but somehow Sherlock couldn't look away. Mycroft had turned and shook his brothers shoulders to wake him up.
"Go home Shirley." Sherlock could not look away from the boy on the ground so Mycroft raised his fist and punched Sherlock in the face making him fall.
"I mean it Sherlock! Go!" this time Sherlock did not stop the tears from falling down his face. He stumbled to his feet and ran back towards the house. Once he reached the grounds of the Holmes mansion, he turned left and headed for the woods. He ran deep into the woods and found a tree with a hole scraped into it. Sherlock clambered into his small hideout, hugged his knees close to his chest and sobbed.
A few hours later he woke to find it was dark. Sherlock panicked for a moment until the memories of the day came flooding back to him. He debated staying hidden in the tree for the rest of his life, but his head was pounding and his stomach was growling. So he unfolded himself from the tree and started the long walk back to the house.
In no time he was back on the grounds. He thought about going in the front door, but decided instead to climb the tree outside his window and just crawl into bed. He was halfway across the yard when he heard his voice shouted from one of the windows.
"Sherlock Holmes, you get in this house at once do you hear me?" Sherlock nodded and went in through the kitchen door. He walked up the stairs into the dining room to find his mother standing there with her hands on her hips. This was not a good sign. Sherlock smiled sweetly up at her and put his hand to his head wound, but she would not be swayed.
"Sherlock Holmes, your father is in his study. Go wash your face and then speak to him." With that she turned and walked away leaving Sherlock pale and shaking. Usually Mother gave out punishments, Father was always too busy to talk to anyone but his clients. For Father to give up time to talk to him, Sherlock had done something very wrong.
After he washed the blood and dirt from his face he shakily walked to the door of his father's office. He knocked lightly and heard his father get up from the other side of the door. The handle turned and Sherlock looked up at the looming figure that was his father. Without saying a word his father turned and walked back to his desk. Sherlock followed and sat in the hard wooden desk chair facing his father. His father had his hands pressed together as if he were praying and rested the sides of his index fingers on his chin. He looked down at the small, pale boy shaking in front of him.
"You know why you're here, don't you son." Sherlock nodded, not able to make eye contact with the looming figure behind the desk.
"Little Mathew is fine, they took him to the hospital he needed stitches." Sherlock straightened up in his chair, at least happy he hadn't killed anyone.
"But," his father said, "we need to discuss your punishment." The smile slid from Sherlock's face. But why did he need to be punished if Matt was ok?
"The family is suing us, son. And this is also not the first time you've acted out." Sherlock wasn't moving so his father continued as if he needed reminding.
"You broke Mycroft's arm, burned all his Action Men, locked your nanny in the freezer and dissected the dog, just to name a few. You are out of control boy." Sherlock's father looked him straight in the eye.
"we are going to send you to a school for gifted children, you leave in the morning. You are allowed to pack one bag, who knows? Maybe they'll even teach you to talk." and with that his father turned his focus away from his son and toward the computer screen and began typing away. Sherlock was frozen in his seat, he was to go away? For how long? Finally he found his feet and walked out of the office. Once the door was shut he ran up to his room and threw himself onto his bed, and for the second time that day wept until his tear ducts were dry.
Not too long after Mycroft came in and sat on the edge of his bed. Sherlock averted his face, but Mycroft spoke anyway.
"I heard you're leaving." Sherlock flipped his whole body over to avoid looking at his brother. Mycroft was silent for a moment, then crawled across the bed to lie next to Sherlock. He threw his arms around his brother and Sherlock nuzzled into his chest, thankful that someone cared for him. They both fell asleep like that, Mycroft holding his little brother, silently crying and Sherlock, content to be at a momentary peace in his life.