Basically, an exploration into my questionable head canon about Sherlock's childhood. I'm really not sure about it. But, there we go, thought I might as well try.

Warnings: bad language, abuse (verbal and physical), and an angry kid Sherlock who's liable to self destructive behaviour and angry thoughts (mostly from next chapter onwards).

The conversation is obsolete, John's line of argument is irritating and the whole thing is just so dull and ordinary that he would rather block the whole thing out.

"It's only fair, Sherlock," John says, holding his cup of tea ransom with one of his stubborn expressions which – whilst is satisfyingly so John that they are normally interesting – yet is frustrating due to the fact that it's currently focused on him. "You might be able to deduce my life story in ten minutes -"

"Five. Really, John, it was hardly that interesting or remotely hidden. Ten would have at least required –"

"-well," John interjected, "five minutes. Either way, it's not fair that you know where my parents are from and what they studied and what my childhood was like when all I know about you is that you're a bit posh and have a questionable relationship with your brother."

"A bit posh?" Sherlock repeats, smiling ever so slightly, "months of living together and your conclusion is a bit posh."

"Well," John said, flushing slightly, "exactly, Sherlock."

"Surely, you have a little more than that, John."

He's used this tactic before with things he doesn't want to talk about. Like 'normal people don't have arch enemies' and 'what do normal people have?' thinking that John might put the pieces together without specifically having to admit that he shared a blood link with Mycroft, although of course John missed the point and went off on one about relationships. Very telling, really, that he completely neglected to mention the fact that normal people have families.

"Okay," John says slowly (that I understand what you're doing here Sherlock and I'm going to trust you on this one, okay), finally passing Sherlock the cup of tea and sinking back into his chair, "a lot posh?"

Sherlock definitely smiles that time.

–

He sits in his room and writes.

Long fingers disproportionate to the rest of the limbs (therefore fingers long due to something), well-kept fingernails, precision, sensitive to sound: piano player.

There are pages and pages of it, six notebooks, all of it full of identifying features and observation and ways to filter all the excess of information and make sense of this madness.

Long glances, unnecessary touches, private jokes, conscious of where the other person is in the room, seem nervous when too close together: an affair.

"You see all this in one look?" Mycroft asks. Sherlock hadn't noticed he come in. Had been too absorbed in the paper notebook in front of him. Too absorbed in writing it all down, getting it out of his head, trying to categorise the impossible.

Sherlock closes his eyes and nods.

The world hurts.

–

"So, my son… what's wrong with him?"

"Sherlock is unquestionably bright."

"I think we're all aware of how intelligent Sherlock is. I know that. I don't want to hear about how Sherlock is a genius. I just want the facts – what is wrong with my son? Autism? ADHD? Some sort of mental illness?"

"He simply needs to work out ways of socialising with others…"

"I'm not paying you to tell me what I already know, Doctor. I want cold hard facts and I want a solution: some sort of pill, therapy, extra tuition."

"- Mr Holmes, I really don't think those sorts of measures are right for a child of Sherlock's age – "

" – so you can't fix him?"

"He is not broken, My Holmes, and I'm sure your attitude hardly helps him. He needs support."

"Are you questioning my parenting skills?"

"Frankly, yes. I understand it's distressing and Sherlock is difficult, but the fact remains that Sherlock is extremely talented and you should cultivate that and encourage his intelligence rather than focusing on the areas which he finds more difficult – – –"

–

"Sherlock," Mycroft says, hovering at the doorway, "Mrs Parker is sleeping with her daughter's boyfriend – do not mention it over dinner."

Moments like those, when Mycroft forewarns him, he thinks Mycroft understands. It's not that he wants to tell others, but by the time he's worked it out (only a few seconds) it comes out his mouth before he realises he's not supposed to say.

It's not Mycroft's fault, precisely, that he missed the fact that the boyfriend was sleeping with Mr Parker too – the tell tell signs not becoming obvious until after the formal dinner had started, when Sherlock was already looking at them and then speaking before Mycroft had a chance to capture his attention and tell him to shut up.

Sherlock remembers Mycroft's fingers pressing into his forehead, Mummy's shoulders tensing as if waiting for something terrible to happen, and then stark line of displeasure on his father's face. He remembers the hand closing over his shoulder, Father's breath much too close to his face, and the words that were thrown at him; you fucked up, Sherlock, you freak. You failed again. Just keep your mouth shut – – –

–

Mummy has more tact. I'm not saying you're wrong, Sherlock. She runs a hand through his hair (he doesn't like the physical contact, but it's not so bad from her) and looks at him with big wide eyes. There's nothing wrong with you, Sherlock, you just need to... need to... learn how to communicate better.

It's easier then because she tells him what he's done wrong, and then it's easier to break it down at work it out.

Communication; the imparting or exchange of thoughts, opinions, or information by speech, writing, or signs.

So then he studies the tone of people's voices, but that's hard too because intonation is difficult to decode and sometimes people say sad things with a smile, and then people lie and Mycroft and Father have a tendency to communicate something different as to what is happening. There's not enough data, either, with just Mummy and Father, Mycroft and the nanny. He needs a wider database and there are no books on the library which explain emotional responses and how to communicate without upsetting people and why it's not okay to tell the Nanny that her husband might not have left if she didn't eat so many biscuits (Mycroft said that it wasn't clear cut; that she ate more biscuits because the marriage lacked stability, and then that worsened the problem, and the whole issue escalated).

Mummy does try to explain (sometimes, often she's quite busy), but there's no real reason why people would prefer not to be dissected and prefer him not to notice things – at least not one that Sherlock can understand – and she gets tried and frustrated and says not now Sherlock, takes her pills and goes to bed – – –

As always, with Mycroft, it's a competition. Not because Mycroft wishes to compete, but because Sherlock is continually and always trying to prove himself to his big brother: Mycroft is clever and well liked, shapes himself around situation and smoothly shifts from persona to persona, perfect towards everyone. Father gleams with pride and Mummy smiles her drug-incurred-pretty smiles.

"She's having an affair with the gardener," Sherlock says, "she left her earring in his quarters and he returned it under the pretence of asking her about what flowers she'd like in the hanging baskets."

"A little transparent, don't you think?" Mycroft asks, "Even the house keeper picked up on their affair, Sherlock, it's hardly a secret."

"The husband knows."

"Everybody knows."

"Well," Sherlock says, turning to glance back over at their guests before flicking his gaze back to his brother, his curls bouncing in his wake, "The gardener doesn't know the husband knows."

"Obviously, Sherlock," Mycroft says. Sherlock narrows his eyes, squaring his shoulders. Subtext; what did I miss then, if you're so clever? "A little strange that the gardener should have his own quarters, don't you think? Unusual protocol... and you can tell by the state of his shoes that he's being well looked after. So, the husband knows. Why would a husband cater so much to the whims of his wife's lover?"

"To prevent her from leaving."

"No," Mycroft says, cutting across him, "he is a man of honour, which is why the gardener has been kept in the dark about his knowledge. The wife... she is materialistic, selfish, rich. She has no intention of leaving. She loves neither man. So, Sherlock, why has the gardener been given quarters?"

"How can you tell she loves neither?"

"She's flirting with Father," Mycroft says, bending his head closer.

"She's making him jealous."

"He can't see," Mycroft says, "there's no relation to the amount she's flirting to whether or not either man are paying her the slightest bit of attention. This is what you miss Sherlock by writing of social interactions as unimportant. I'm not suggesting you engage in conversation, but maybe if you understood it –"

"Georgia is the gardener's baby," Sherlock says, "the husband wishes the gardener to have access to his daughter, due to his own alienation from his father."

"Well done," Mycroft says, his very expression mocking him, "you are now aware of just as much as everyone else in the vicinity. Now, Sherlock, all you have to do is practice how to shut up – – –"

–

"Mycroft seems to think that if Sherlock... if Sherlock were to have some creative outlet he might be able to channel his emotions into something."

"The child doesn't have emotions, Violet, stop being so damn sentimental."

"Sherlock's different... but he's not, he's not a bad child, Siger."

"You think you'll hand him an instrument and he'll become a different kid?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying. It's just Mycroft seems to think that Sherlock has a lot of potential and that he just – "

"- just what? Repeatedly embarrasses us. Can't be trusted to talk to anyone. You think music can fix that? That he'll stop dissecting rats and creeping people out with his all seeing, all knowing observation nonsense. Stop blurting out people's secrets."

"Siger – "

"Buy him a violin if you want to buy him a violin. You know my views on the matter."

"He's your son."

"Doesn't mean he doesn't deserve to be locked up. Be safer for everyone."

"He's harmless – "

"Just get him the bloody violin. I don't care about this anymore. I'd rather not think about that kid ever again, and especially not now – – –"

–

The Manor is his childhood. All sense of nostalgia and connection to the way he once was (young, vulnerable, unrefined) is seated within the Manor: all of it tied up neatly and locked away in some distant part of his Mind Palace and not to be thought about too much. The residue is there, of course, but he knows enough about people to know that the residue is always there.

It's more difficult to unearth than the basics – occupation, sexuality, motivation – but it's never too long before the traces of a childhood emerges; John, with his feisty sister and closed minded parents, not quite middle class and not quite working class, suburban estate, kicking a football around and wanting to do something more with his life. It is, of course, all very ordinary and quite predictable and written across the way John lives and thinks and his relationship with his sister.

Sherlock is the same. Despite the years of almost homelessness and drug abuse, the manor is written across him. A stamp. So blindingly obvious. It's there in John's blog, with his absurd description ('a bit public school'), and it's there in the fact that he can't stand to be wearing the wrong coat or using the wrong tea, an acute awareness of how things should be done and that every present desire to rebel against it. It's evident in the way that he has been trained to behave in a certain way. Diluted aristocracy seems to leak out of it.

It cannot be helped. And it cannot be helped that he is not beyond the continued pull to adhere to his background, or rebel against it, and seek continued pride or disappointment from Mummy and Siger. It seems, that is part of coming from someone.

And when John asks him, which perhaps he should have suspected, and he has to drag up some dregs of what was from the Manor and explain how he came to be, he is sure that John is surprised by Sherlock's awareness of how it shaped him.

Of course, that's why he tends not to think on it too much.

Next chapter: Sherlock meets school (and cigarettes).