Sherlock stiffened. Memories flooded his mind, drowning out John's words. The memory seemed meaningless now, a shard of insignificant thought. He shouldn't still be bothered by it. But he was. And he knew why.
"Hey, I think we should give this freak a lesson on who's top dog 'round the schoolyard," the older boy said, approaching Sherlock with another boy.
"Yeah. Make sure he understands it this time."
Sherlock trembled, glancing around for his brother. Mycroft would come. Mycroft would come and tell the boys off, thus saving Sherlock. Mycroft HAD to come. He always did. He always checked up on Sherlock during recess; Sherlock was a target for most bullies. But he wasn't here this time, and Sherlock would have to face the bullies alone. He straightened his chest out, trying to look tougher than he really was. He glared at the two older boys.
"Leave me alone," he growled, fighting to keep his voice steady. The kids just laughed, advancing on him with each step. He had nowhere to go; they had cornered him. He felt like a holed-up rabbit, being sniffed out by two hounds. One picked up a rock and pelted Sherlock with it. Sherlock tried to block it, but it landed on his cheek, stinging with pain that would soon form a bruise. He gritted his teeth, starting to search for a rock to throw at them as well. The boy who hadn't thrown the rock grabbed Sherlock's collar and dragged him up to the other kid's height. He took a swing, flying across Sherlock's other cheek. Sherlock felt the inside of his cheek connect with his teeth, and blood dribbled into his mouth. He weakly attempted to punch the kid back, but to no avail. Then the kid dropped him, kicking him as he fell. Then they walked away, snickering. Sherlock now knew that he couldn't fight. He wasn't as strong as Mycroft. Mycroft had been his hero.
But Mycroft had let him down.
He hadn't been there for Sherlock. And it was at that moment that Sherlock realized something, a fact he had previously thought the opposite of.
Heroes weren't real.
The painful memories swirled to an end, and Sherlock regained consciousness of the world around him. Then he snapped his head around to John.
"Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes aren't real. And if they were, I wouldn't be one of them."