Ola, this chapter was inspired by a song by Bastile 'Sleepsong' It starts when Sherlock is a young child…but it's not kidlock, sorry:/ Anyhoo I hope you guys like it!

No copyright infringement intended all rights to 'Sherlock' belong to the BBC and Arthur Conan Doyle, and 'Sleepsong' to Bastile :D

Sleepsong

Sherlock Aged 6 and ¾

"Daddy! Daddy!"

"Hello scamp! Mycroft." Edwin Holmes said, nodding to Mycroft,

"Father." Mycroft said mirroring his father's gesture,

"Good day?"

"Superb."

"Excellent. Well, why don't you go help your mother in the kitchen?"

"Indeed." He replied turning and walking down the corridor and on into the kitchen.

Mr Holmes turned to his other son, his eyes glittering with excitement,

"So little guy, how was school?"

"I'm not little! I'm average height for my age!" Sherlock said crossing his arms over his chest,

"Of course you are, sorry." The older man said with a laugh,

"The other kids were mean to me." Sherlock said with a small voice,

Sherlock's father crouched down to the 6 year olds height,

"And why is that my boy?" he spoke softly,

The boy hid his hands in his sleeves and started to pull at the bottom of his shirt while mumbling quietly,

"Sorry Sher, got to speak up a bit."

Sherlock continued to look down, but pulled up his shirt revealing his stomach. His father gasped as the pale skin was revealed and he saw black, blue and yellow bruises littering the small child's torso.

"They were bigger than me." He said in a small voice,

"Where was Mycroft?"

"He was eating my cake."

"Your cake?"

"My cake."

Edwin stood up, squared his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. He then took the small child's hand in his and looked down at him,

"They said I was a freak. They said I was a freak and they laughed. Mycroft laughed. He didn't help me when I called. He's a meanie too."

Mr Holmes clenched the fist not holding his son's hand then marched them into the kitchen where they found Mycroft licking the cake batter off of a bowl and Mrs Holmes doing the washing up.

"Muriel, could you look after Sherlock for me please, he got into a little scrape at lunchtime."

She nodded and lifted Sherlock onto the counter and pulled out the first aid kit and started to patch him up.

"Hello Mycroft, enjoying the cake?"

Mycroft nodded hesitantly and continued to lick the spoon clean of batter.

"I'm glad. And did you enjoy the one you had at lunch?"

Nod.

"And Sherlock's cake? Did you enjoy eating that?"

Mycroft froze, his chin nearly hitting the floor.

"And did you enjoy watching your little brother get beat up? Did you think it was funny when they called him a freak? Did you laugh when they hurt him? Did you enjoy 'sitting around' eating his cake?"

"He gave it to me."

"No I didn't!" Sherlock shouted, "You took! You always take my lunch! And laugh when your friends push me around! I hate you Mycroft! I trusted you!"

Sherlock then started to sob into his mother's shoulder,

"Boys, I don't expect this from you, especially you Mycroft. Your 10 now, you need to take responsibilities and I don't expect you to bully your brother." Muriel said, hugging Sherlock close before letting him go, "And now I have a headache, please be good for your dad, I'm going to have a lie down."

She kissed her husband on the cheek then went up the stairs and to her room.

"Mycroft, you're grounded for the next week and your food privileges are being revoked, which means no treats or puddings – especially not Sherlock's!"

"What?" he exclaimed, "I hate you Sherlock! You always ruin everything!" and with that, he stormed out leaving his father and brother watching after him.

"I ruined everything." Sherlock whispered,

"No you didn't."

"Why do feelings have to hurt dad?"

"Because if they didn't, how would we know we felt them? It's just a matter of finding ways to get over them." Edwin said, rubbing Sherlock's arm, "You're perfect Sherlock, but you can't let people treat you like this, especially your own brother. And if I were you, I would take being called a freak as a compliment, because that is what makes you the most special and important little boy in the world. Ok?"

"Ok daddy."

"Now, would you like to do some experiments before dinner?"

"Yes please!"

Sherlock aged 15 And One Day

"Mr Holmes, this behaviour is unacceptable. And your father's recent death is no excuse for 'accidentally' blowing up the science lab." The head teacher droned,

"It was an experiment." Sherlock stated, leaning back in his chair, "I just miscalculated the amount of potassium picrate."

"Mr Holmes, you wouldn't behave this way at home, so why do you persist to do so here?"

"How would you know?" the lanky boy asked, leaning forward and staring at the teacher with his piercing, ice blue eyes, "My father had a science lab made for me when I was 7. He encouraged my mind and welcomed my mistakes, laughing at them. And I didn't just lose my father, I lost my only, my only, friend. And I don't need a teacher to lecture me on how I do, or do not behave. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go now."

And with that he got up from his chair across from the head, and left the room, leaving a rather startled Mr Hope still sitting in the office.

He walked out of the building and on to the P.E. block and casually strolled behind it. It was mostly deserted, apart from the year 13 boy sitting on the hard ground smoking what smelled like weed and it looked like he had been smoking it for quite a while. Sherlock ignored the rough looking boy and pulled out his Zippo lighter and cigarettes, lit one up and inhaled the chemicals deeply.

"Ruin your lungs that will." The boy said,

Sherlock looked him up and down. Around 17, 6ft 3, sleep deprived and obviously high as a cloud.

"Indeed." He replied, "But so will that."

"Yeah, but I'm already fucked. But you, if you trained a bit you would have some decent muscle on you."

"And how would that benefit me?"

"You could stop them when they hit you." He said solemnly, "Sherlock Holmes. Am I right? I knew you when you first started to get beat up. You, my friend, are a freak of the highest order, but hey, who am I to judge?"

Sherlock shrunk into himself. Not much had changed from when he was 6. People still called him a freak and beat him up daily, but whenever they did, Mycroft was nowhere to be seen so couldn't be held responsible.

"I knew a guy once." The boy started again, "About your age. Podgy little thing, but insult one of his friends and he would outsmart you with insults. And if anyone tried to start a fight with him, he would take you down with one punch to the face, then if you got up again, if you got up, he'd get you into a headlock faster than you could say 'Purple unicorns'."

"Really." Sherlock said, feigning interest,

"He wanted to be a doctor. He told me that if I continued to smoke 40 a day I would be dead within the next 10 years. So I stopped."

"And switched to weed. Clever." He said, taking in another breath of foul tasting smoke,

"Exactly!" the guy said excitedly, getting up from his sitting position and staggering around a bit. He steadied himself then walked over to Sherlock and patted him on the shoulder.

Sherlock recoiled from the young man's foul breath, but tried to hide his distaste.

"John. Good name that. Jooooooohhhhn." He slurred, seeming to go off onto another subject entirely, "Also Margery. That is one kick-ass name."

Then he staggered off to his next lesson as the warning bell rang.

Sherlock stood still for a moment, then finished his cigarette, discarded the butt and wandered to his English lesson.

He arrived at the classroom just in time for the final bell to ring. He strolled in and sat down at the empty seat at the back.

"Nice of you to join us Mr Holmes." The teacher joked,

Mrs Carter was about the only teacher Sherlock could stand. She didn't annoy him with her stupidity, laughed when he corrected her, and always smiled at him.

But whenever he came in with a black eye, she would ask questions. Of course, Sherlock would never answer them, but she would keep asking, and telling him that he could always come to her.

"Pleasure gracing you with my presence, miss." He joked back,

She laughed then turned back to the board and started to write the learning objective.

The girl sitting in front of Sherlock turned around and sneered at him, "Freak."

The class giggled,

"Always, Annabelle, always." Sherlock replied, never taking his eyes off the board.

Annabelle turned back around and started to gossip with the girl sat next to her, while Sherlock pulled out his copy of Frankenstein and began to flick through its worn pages.

"Right, now that everyone's here, we'll start where we left off last lesson. Have you all got your books?"

"Why do we have to read this miss," a boy called out, "When we have the real life Frankenstein here in our class. Don't we Sherlock?"

"Yeah, he's so beastly his own father died to get away from him!"

The class laughed and jeered at the boy's joke.

Sherlock felt tears threatening to fall.

He never cried. Well, once when his father died, but only when no-one could see him.

And now they threatened to smear this perfect record.

Shhh, calm down, don't get worked up. Don't give them the satisfaction of letting them know they got to you.

Suddenly everyone was silenced by a booming voice calling for order.

"Silence! Silence!" Mrs Carter shouted,

The whole class shut up and turned to face their teacher, who had until that point, never got angry about anything.

"I think you all should be ashamed of yourselves." She said, a little calmer now, "It's not funny, nor clever to bully and belittle another member of the class – or anyone for that matter. So as well as getting homework tonight, I would like a 1000 word essay on why bullying should be stamped out, on my desk by Monday morning. For everyone except Sherlock."

The whole class was shocked into silence.

"Thanks a lot Sherlock." Annabelle said grumpily,

"No." Miss said, "It's not Sherlock's fault that you are receiving punishment, it's your own fault for being cruel and insensitive. And if I see one tiny, insignificant scratch on Sherlock's body, there will be punishments. For everyone. Understood?"

The class did a collective nod.

"Good. Now…."

"Mum. I'm home." Sherlock called out in a monotone voice, dropping his school bag by the almost empty umbrella rack.

"Sherlock Holmes!" he heard his mother shout, "Get in the kitchen right now young man!"

Sherlock sighed and trudged his way down the corridor to the large kitchen.

When he walked through the door, he was met by the sight of his brother, Mycroft, his face a mess of blood and bruises, being cleaned up by their mother.

When they noticed the other Holmes child had walked through the door, Muriel turned around and glared at her son.

"How could you? Look what you've done!" she screeched,

"Me?" he asked, pointing to himself, his face a mask of confusion and disbelief,

"Yes you!" she said, still glaring, "You got one of your teachers to stop the other kids bullying you. So now, to get to you, they have started to hurt Mycroft!"

"Well, they obviously don't know me well, if they think it'll get to me."

"Sherlock Holmes!"

"What?"

"They beat your brother up, he's lucky they didn't break any of his bones!"

"But it's alright if they break my bones? Hurt me? You never care when I come home bruised and injured!"

"That's not the point!" she said, frustrated, "Why, Sherlock, Why couldn't you be a man, and face them?"

He stayed silent.

"I am so, so disappointed in you Sherlock. And if you father were alive, so would he be. You're a disgrace."

Mycroft looked up at Sherlock, flashing a sly smile, but stopped.

Despite there differences, Mycroft had always admired Sherlock's resilience and bravery.

But bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity.

Because there stood his brother, who Mycroft hadn't seen cry since they were infants, crying.

He was sobbing at first, but soon they were full blown floods of salty tears.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, not knowing the etiquette for these sorts of situations,

The taller sibling just stood where he was, his brother and mother watching, not knowing what to do.

Then all of a sudden, his body dropped to the floor and Sherlock curled up into a ball on his side, still crying. His family rushed forward, trying to help, calling his name, checking his pulse and temperature.

But Sherlock couldn't respond. He was too concerned with whether his mother was right, if his father really disappointed with him.

This just brought fresh tears to his red eyes.

Shhhh, please! You've got to be rational about this, let's just stick to what we know, yes? When he was alive, he supported you and loved you, he helped you when you were bullied. Now, as much as we love your mother, she doesn't know what your father would do. So just take a deep breath….

WHO ARE YOU?

Shhhhh, breath….

Sherlock took a shaky breath, obeying the voice inside his head.

Get up, try not to show your emotions, they don't benefit you in any way. Now, walk up to your room…Slowly, that's it, just breath.

Again, Sherlock did what the voice commanded and ignored his family's shocked expressions, and questions, but merely walked up the stairs and safely into his attic room.

WHO. ARE. YOU?

I have no name, and I have no true form. I just want to help others.

WHY?

I lost my mate, and no-one came to help me. She showed me how to feel, and then when she left, it hurt. I care not for feelings….but I heard you crying one night, I came to help. I just want a friend.

WH-WHAT SHOULD I CALL YOU?

I have no name, you may call me what you want. Something nice though, like Hamish.

Sherlock thought back to the events before English, and spoke again.

I SHALL CALLL YOU JOHN.

Mmmm, John, that's a good name.

I THOUGHT SO TOO….

Sherlock heard the voice chuckle, and a warm glow spread through him, like a happiness he had never truly experienced.

YOU SAID YOU CAME TO HELP ME…HELP ME WITH WHAT?

That I cannot tell you, because I don't know myself. But maybe we shall when tomorrow comes. You should get some sleep, I shall sing to you until you find me.

FIND YOU?

The voice didn't reply, but instead started to sing. The voice was slightly raspy, but sang beautifully anyway. Sherlock found himself transfixed on the voice, and got into bed without getting changed. His head hit the pillow and he fell into a deep dream.

Sherlock didn't normally dream, but this time he did. He was in a poppy field, surrounded by red and green, blue and white. He was alone, until a ball of light floated along next to him, urging him to walk.

Sherlock wondered where the singing was coming from, he wanted to meet the voice. He kept looking around, trying to find the person. But he soon realised that the ball of pale green light by his side was the source of the music, and ultimately, the source of the voice.

He turned to face the light, reached out a finger and touched the curious ball. Warmth spread across his body, and Sherlock couldn't help but giggle. The warmth made him feel happy, made him feel safe, it made him feel loved.

The song finished, and the voice began to speak again.

The light flickered as they talked about the chemical reactions, and how to get the best results for certain tests. The green got brighter and flecks of gold appeared.

Sherlock decided that the colour represented the light's mood. He studied the light more as they continued to talk. When they disagreed, the flecks of gold were replaced with red, and at one point, when they argued about whether the use of gold cyanidation should be allowed due to ethical reasons, the whole ball of light went a vibrant red. But it soon mellowed down again to green when they agreed that both sides had good points and that it was pointless arguing.

After they had exhausted Sherlock's knowledge of chemistry they continued through the fields, content in their silence. Until Sherlock noticed the light grow orange in colour before speaking.

"Don't talk to strangers, your mother warned of the dangers they may bring, and those dangers are now very real."

Sherlock was slightly confused, but let the voice continue.

"I know that when you're out, the loneliness it craws inside your soul, and you don't know how to tell your mum when she asks you how your day went; and that when you go to sleep on your own, you wake up with your thoughts." It paused, "And it scares you being alone. This life, it's a last resort for you."

Sherlock looked down not responding to the light.

"All you want is someone to be your friend; it's the hole in your life that you can't fill."

"I don't want to be alone anymore." He said, his voice cracking softly, "My dreams and memories…they're blurring into one. I don't know how to continue. I'm empty, empty because he left me."

The light came and rested on Sherlock's shoulder, warming him.

"Just don't walk into danger."

"I'll try not to."

"It's time to wake up Sherlock." The voice said, separating from the boy,

"But I don't want to go, can't I stay here with you?"

"No," the voice said sadly, "No you must get up and show the world you are better than them. You are smarter, stronger, worth more. Forget your emotions and unlock your potential Sherlock. Be brave…."

The voice faded off and the light along with it. Sherlock's heart saddened, and then hit rock bottom when the field melted away and his eyes opened.

His room seemed so dull and boring. There were no bright lights, no soft scents or calming voices.

He shut his eyes again, trying to regain the vision he had lost.

Nothing came to him.

He tried again.

Nothing.

He called out to the voice in his head, but there was no answer.

But even without the light and its calming words, Sherlock felt braver than before, and got dressed and left for school before his mother and Mycroft had even got up.

He walked to school, treading a path across the fields, wishing it were full of red poppies instead of dull leaves and weeds. He closed his eyes and imagined the fields, he imagined running his hands through the poppies, and seeing the light beside him. And for the first time, in a very long while, he felt content.

All until he rounded the bend, his eyes still closed, and he heard a voice that sent shivers down his spine.

"Sherlock Holmes. Freak extraordinaire. And how are we today, Mr teacher's pet?"

Sherlock's eyes opened lazily, and the bright colours of his dream merged into the dull grey sky and boring school backdrop .

"What do you want…er…thingy?" he said, casually, pretending to forget Alex Atkinson's name and trying to show as little emotion as possible. Just like John said.

"Thingy?" Alex roared, "You forgot my name?" he screeched in disbelief,

"Well, I tend to, er, delete things? Yeah, delete things that aren't really, um, important." He said, trying to stay cool,

You're doing well; it takes time to truly conceal your feelings from others. Just breath, stand tall, and don't back down.

OK

Sherlock drew confidence from the voice's praise, he stopped slouching and stood to his full height of 5 ft 11 ½ inches and staring Alex straight in the eyes.

"You delete things? What are you? A machine?" he laughed, the rest of his gang joining in,

He's been working in a factory.

HOW DO YOU KNOW?

Look at his hands. They have calluses where he has been working on something. And the dirt under his nails says to me, it was a machine, in some dirty warehouse and that he must be pretending to be rich. Otherwise, why would he need to work?

WHAT IF HE JUST LIKES FIXING CARS OR SOMETHING?

If that were the case, the back of his hands and his fingertips would not be red raw from his attempts to clean away the oil and grease. So he can keep up the appearance of money in the family.

"Family running out of money Atkinson?" Sherlock blurted,

"What?" the older boy asked, his face filling with a mixture of shock and anger, "WHAT?"

"Is that why you have been working in that dirty old factory?"

"How do you know that?"

HOW DO WE KNOW THAT AGAIN?

Sherlock asked the voice, panicking slightly.

We don't know. We notice.

"I don't know. I notice." Sherlock said, repeating the words calmly,

"Well shit, looks like we have a genius in our midst. How about I punch that out for you!" he said getting closer.

One of Alex's friends overheard his words and stepped up beside him

"Alex no; remember what Mrs Carter said? We can't touch him."

Alex sighed, then looked Sherlock straight in the face.

"I will get you Holmes. And you better be ready."

Sherlock gulped and watched as the bullies walked off.

Well, we are going to have to work on your memory and deduction skills. And going to the gym might be a good idea too.