One little boy.
By luvmyangelofmusic
I decided to write about his childhood, I believe that he was abused as a kid so here is my story enjoy.
This is rated T for violence Mr Holmes is a cruel man that truly hates Sherlock so if you have a weak stomach please don't read this
Chapter One
Sherlock had always been the outcast of the family, the black sheep, and the freak. A fact that his father never failed to make obvious out at any point that Sherlock was acting oddly or got a bad report from school.
Mycroft looked the other way; after all he had more important duties to attend to.
Only Mummy cared. Only Mummy loved Sherlock.
School was not much better; all the children were bloody stupid it wasn't his fault! Just because they couldn't see what was right in front of them!
"OI FREAK" Sherlock stopped walking as he turned to face the idiots behind him, they were all smirking as they lined up their target.
"What happened Sherlock?" Mycroft asked as he assessed his brother lying on the bathroom floor softly moaning as he treated his wounds. Mycroft never cared about him, he never treated him when the children at school beat him up, when Father hit him, no Mycroft only stood there he never cared.
Dinner time.
Father was at the dinner table he looked Sherlock up and down he saw the injuries, he knew what had happened. "Sherlock come with me NOW" his father never beat him in front of Mummy, he knew that she would hate it; he hated upsetting Mummy they all did.
"Why did the children attack you Sherlock?"
Sherlock was silent if he said what his father knew he would get beaten.
"Did you insult them again Sherlock!"
Again Sherlock was silent.
His father rained down blows on Sherlock.
"YOU LITTLE FREAK CAN'T YOU JUST BE NORMAL! CAN'T YOU JUST BE LIKE MYCROFT!"
All the while Mycroft never said a word at the dinner table. He knew what was happening to his little brother; it wasn't that he didn't love Sherlock he did. But he didn't know how to help his brother. Every attempt was met with hostility so Mycroft simply stopped trying what was the point?
"Mycroft how was school today?" Mummy asked, oblivious to what was happening to her youngest son.
"ARGH PLEASE, PLEASE STOP FATHER PLEASE!" Sherlock's screams rang through the home as their father hit him. Both Mycroft and Mummy were silent as they listened, Mycroft stood up to investigate normally Father and Sherlock were silent for Mummy's sake tonight was very different. What Mycroft saw would haunt him for the rest of his days, would result in Sherlock never trusting him again Mycroft couldn't blame him.
Sherlock lay crumpled on the floor shaking and sobbing whilst their Father stood over him laughing he had his belt in his hand that's not good their Father had been drinking he was always twice as vicious when he was drunk, there were angry wounds all over Sherlock his back was bleeding through his shirt long deep cuts oozed through, his Father laughing was holding his lighter laughing always laughing. "Mycroft" his voice was weak and cracked with pain and sorrow Mycroft saw his baby brother trying to desperately get away from their father. "Please father no more PLEASE I'LL BE NORMAL PLEASE FATHER NO MORE!" his brother begged their father he simply laughed and hit him with his belt again. Mycroft could no longer take it he turned and left.
Later Sherlock's room
Sherlock had eventually crawled back to the dinner table. Mummy was still there but she never saw the wounds, the cuts, the bruises, and the welts. No Mummy ever saw it. After a brief dinner spent in painful silence as every movement caused him to wince and shudder Sherlock escaped to his room. His cuts and welts needed to be cleaned before they became infected, he cleaned them mechanically thinking of Mycroft. He did not care about Sherlock. He had stood there watching as his father beat him, he'd left Sherlock all alone when he needed him.
Nobody cares why do I kid myself?
I don't need anyone.
The end.