In order from eldest to youngest, the Holmes siblings were Sherrinford Jr., Mycroft, Sherlock, and Violet.
The Holmes parents, Enola and Sherrinford Sr., had married young. They were caught up in a whirlwind romance of storybook proportions. Both families looked down on the pair, and neither of them cared. Nine months after their marriage, Sherrinford was born. Four years later came Mycroft. Three years later came Sherlock. Violet, an accident from the start, followed her youngest brother by six years.
Mycroft had always had a massive problem, shared by every elder sibling throughout history - he had younger siblings. Of course, being a younger sibling himself, Mycroft understood the mind-set of being inferior. Sherrinford Jr. had never actually played a big role in his life. Their age difference meant that at school he was more caught up in his own friends and then more caught up in his girlfriends to pay much notice to his younger brothers and sister. Mycroft did not have that luxury.
"Keep up, Sherlock. We're going to be late for school and I will not be marked again because of your slowness!" Mycroft said. His eighth year of school was winding down and he wanted to make sure he remained head of his class in everything. Everything included attendance record, and attendance record included days that he was late because his younger brother was slowing him down.
"Myc! Look! Look at that fence! I didn't know Mr. and Mrs. Piper had gotten a new doberman!" Sherlock was pointing at a plank in the front fence of a cosy little cottage. This particular plank had been pushed aside and a hole dug under it.
"Yes, Sherlock. I can see that they got a dog. Last weekend by the looks of that hole. Come on! Remember what I told you? If you're on time for the rest of the year, I'll buy you a bag of sweets on the first day of summer holiday."
Spurred on by the promise of sweets in a month, Sherlock raced ahead of his brother. Mycroft only shook his head. Sherlock was ten and Mycroft thirteen. Both had skipped the third grade.
For Mycroft, this put him in a better educational position. He still advanced beyond his classmates. Sherlock was less lucky. Sure, he still was top of his class in everything (attendance only because Mycroft made sure of it), but he was at a disadvantage. Sherlock had no friends. He didn't see the importance in networking like his brother did. Mycroft made a point to know every person in his class, well aware that one day he may rely on their future occupation. Sherlock spent his class time focusing on class, his break time working on plans for future experiments, and his home time pestering Mycroft.
They reached the heavy double doors of their ancient school building and went inside.
On their walk home that evening, Sherlock was quieter than normal. Mycroft noticed the difference, but didn't comment. They reached their house and hung up their coats.
Enola was waiting for them with the four year old Violet in the kitchen. She was balancing handing a cup to Vi, setting the timer for dinner, and hanging up the phone.
"Hello, boys. Did you have a good day at school?" Enola asked. She sorted everything and gestured for them to take a seat at the table. She reached up and grabbed a plate of biscuits and gave each of them two before setting it back in its place.
Mycroft began telling her about his day, including every minute detail. Sherlock sat quietly the entire time. Soon, they were dismissed to do their work and the brothers went off to their respective rooms.
Sherlock sat at his desk staring at the same page he opened to. He kept replaying a conversation between himself and another student in his class that afternoon. Sebastian had made fun of him. He had made fun of how much money the Holmes family had, saying that his parents were rich because they were crooks. He made fun of how smart they all were; it was widely known that the Holmes children were all brilliant like their parents. Seb had called Sherlock a freak and classified his observations as a trick.
Sherlock stood and went into Mycroft's room down the hall. His brother had already spread his books out about him and was writing away in his Mathematics notebook. At the sound of his opening door, Mycroft looked up.
"What do you want Sherlock?" he asked, not unkindly, but with haste.
"Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?" Sherlock quietly asked.
"I can't hear you. Speak up."
Sherlock repeated his inquiry.
Mycroft shook his head and moved his literature book aside to make room for Sherlock to sit beside him.
"Why are you asking that?"
"Because Sebastian was pointing out differences between our family and the rest of the students'. Some of his statements made sense."
"Statements like what?" Mycroft pressed. He was already formulating how he was going to confront this Sebastian kid.
Sherlock relayed back his conversation. He stared into his lap the entire time. When he finished, Sherlock said, "Myc, do you think it's because I asked him why his brother left without notice last week?"
Mycroft looked down at his younger brother, "Sherlock, did he offer that information, or did you deduce it?"
Sherlock's silence was answer enough.
"You can't just go asking people about information that they don't offer up willingly. You were the only one who could see that this brother left. You have to try and wait for people to tell you things, rather than telling them about their personal lives. That being said, it was still unnecessary for him to say such things about our family."
"But are they true, Myc? I know Mother and Father aren't crooks, but is the other thing true? Are we freaks?"
Mycroft had his fair share of teasing when he was younger and knew well the uncertainty that he saw in Sherlock's face.
"Sherlock, we are not freaks. Just because we are able to notice things and recognize things better than other people does not make us freaks. It makes us smarter, cleverer." This seemed to pacify his brother. "Go do your homework. If you're on time to school tomorrow, I'll buy you the bag of sweets a month early."
Sherlock smiled, troubles forgotten at the mention of sweets. "Thanks, Myc!" he went back to his own room to actually start his homework.
Years later, Sherlock would still be asking himself the same question. He had grown thicker skin and developed the qualities that became a sociopath. Sherlock ended up going to university with Sebastian Wilkes. Everywhere he went, Sherlock tried to remember Mycroft's advice in subtlety. It only rarely worked out as planned. It was only when he was thirty that Sherlock was able to realize the truth to Mycroft's words.
Over his life, Sherlock thought he had found what it meant to fit in with others and for them to see him as "clever" and not "freak." He though he had found it with Seb at uni; he though he found it with Adam during his gap year. Those relationships had all fallen through. They ended in yelling and fighting. Sherlock's venomous tongue drove them away and neither had shown the slightest inclination of remaining in contact.
Then there was John. Doctor John Watson. Sherlock never thought he'd find someone quite like the odd man. He was as much as an enigma as Sherlock liked to fancy himself being. In fact, John was much more complex and complicated than Sherlock was.
Sherlock was just harsh, privately insecure, socially unaware, and brilliant. John was so much more.
Externally, John was a short man who wore unflattering jumpers, held a medical degree, and just happened to serve in Afghanistan. To those who had the opportunity to get to know him though, there was more.
John was passionate about his service and fiercely proud of it. He could take a joke, but did not tolerate insults to those in the service. John was a damn good doctor. Just because other people in the world held medical degrees, did not mean that they were good. John was a good surgeon and worked well under pressure; he was also a good general practitioner and was able to set people at ease when they came to see him. John was fair and made sure he kept his patients well informed of their medical status. Lastly, John was a soldier. He worked hard to earn his rank as a captain and was rewarded the Victoria Cross. Under the layers of knit wool and cotton, John was muscular and quite fit. He was sturdy and loyal to a fault.
Sherlock could see all of this like a map. The first time he saw John, he knew about the war and the service and Harry's drinking. It further shocked him that John hadn't sent him off and begun searching for a normal flatmate.
It was after months of working and living together that Sherlock learned more of John. He learned of John's nightmares and of his little quirks. It was a mutual experience. For everything Sherlock learned about John, John so learned something new about Sherlock. The range was simple things, like how Sherlock preferred his tea, to more important things, like how John slept easier when he could hear Sherlock playing the violin downstairs.
They worked out a pleasantly symbiotic relationship that soon evolved into a romance. Sherlock saw it as a natural progression. Though John was rather keen on the idea, he took longer to fully settle into what being Sherlock's boyfriend entailed. The pair fit together nicely. Their cases kept them going as much as the excitement of being in love did.
Though Sherlock would never admit it, he appreciated what Mycroft had said to him that day. Though Mycroft would never let on, he knew that Sherlock had found someone who gave him more purpose than even his work could.