Sherlock wanted to die.
There wasn't any good reason for it. He had wonderful parents that cared for him and wanted him to succeed. A brother, while sometimes annoying, that honestly cared and went out of his way to protect Sherlock. Although Sherlock knew his family loved him, they never touched him.
He didn't really have friends, but that had never really bothered Sherlock. Content with his own company. Of course there were the bullies, Sherlock has always had a hard time connecting with other people.
He had his hobbies: ballet, music, and chemistry. Even though he enjoyed these activities immensely, he found lately that he could not get enough motivation to do any of them. A strong melancholy had taken over his life.
He would make it to school each day but he found he couldn't really concentrate during class, between overwhelming tiredness and agonizing migraines he found it easier to just slip of into his 'mind palace.'
When Sherlock was younger, primary school age, he hadn't had any sense of self awareness at all. He had been happy. He remembers playing pirates with his older brother. Mycroft would always be the government guys trying to stop Sherlock. Running through the house and angering mummy (but not really). They would laugh and tease each other endlessly. This small golden period lasted until Mycroft had to go off to university leaving Sherlock all alone at home.
He still remembers the hole that was torn from his heart when he watched his brother get into his care for the last time. He never saw him look back.
As Sherlock got older he never got better at dealing with people, but that was okay with him. He excelled at learning and enjoyed pushing himself to the limits of it. Mastering many instruments, none as well as his violin, Sherlock would often spend his time composing great masterpieces.
He found ballet when he had to walk home from school one day due to mummy and Fathers work. Passing by a small studio he heard a lovely song.
Intrigued beyond reason he had snuck in and seen the most beautiful people doing the most beautiful dance he'd ever seen. He stayed and watched for hours, the instructor of course noticed and had smiled kindly while asking, "we have a class for kids your age, would you like to join?"
The love for chemistry didn't really come as a surprise for anyone, Sherlock had always loved knowing how things worked. Chemistry experiments were a perfect outlet for his thirst for knowledge.
Sherlock continued to excel in all he did until his last year of secondary school. He couldn't quite pin down when it had started, but he knew it hadn't been a sudden thing.
He became more aware of his body, he started to notice that a lot of the comments the idiots at school would make were about his body.
There goes the tall freak.
He might look better if he slimmed up more.
Look it's the fairy freak.
He's just a psychopath.
I bet his own mother can't stand his face.
His legs are so gross.
Such a freak.
FREAK
FREAK
FREAK
Sherlock wasn't bothered by it all at first, but the other kids were relentless. In the beginning they kept to whispers behind his back, but grew bolder and bolder until they now would sneer openly and cast rude remarks his way.
He would try to just ignore their cutting words, but like a river through the land they gradually cut deeper and deeper.
The drugs weren't something he went looking for on his own. They didn't start as a problem, but then again not all addictions do.
It started as something to help take the edge off, as something to help him ignore the overwhelming noise of the world. It didn't last very long though before he spun out of control and had to be reigned in by Mycroft.
He spent six months in rehab. For Sherlock it had been hell. He swore to never need that place again.
Sherlock only lasted a week though before the noise started to drown him again. Unwilling to go back on his promise so soon he found something else.
Pain.
Again it started small, a small pinch here and there, but quickly escalated to scratches along the soft skin of his wrists. Further still to dragging the blade from his favorite razor along his arms and thighs.
The relief it brought was something he had never found except from cocaine.
No one notices, Sherlock didn't expect anyone to anyway.
It was halfway through his final year of school when it finally happened. Sherlock was done. He'd tried to stay above the melancholy, but there was just so much he could take.
He decided to do it on the weekend.
He cleaned out his locker, so his parents wouldn't have to do it, and began to walk home.
Sherlock was about halfway home when ran into some bullies from school. Quite literally.
He hadn't been really paying attention to where he was going, in fact he was so lost in his head he didn't notice them until he was sprawled on the ground surrounded by his books.
"Hey freak, if you claim to be SO observant, how come you can't even watch where your going?"
It was Anderson, his most hated classmate. Sherlock raised his head slowly to look at the pack of boys.
"Sorry." He really didn't have any energy to deal with them today.
Sherlock slowly starts to pick up his stuff intending to just walk away, but Anderson and his idiots have a different idea. Looking to his friends Anderson smirks, ugly like the Wiesel he is, and then proceeds to kick Sherlocks stuff out of his hands.
Dropping his head Sherlocks shoulders slump and he curls in on himself. He really REALLY can't deal with this today. His fists clench and feels himself shake. There's a burning behind his eyes, and Sherlock feels himself begin to lose the battle with his emotions.
"WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!"
Anderson's group jump and with grumbled curses run off before the owner of the voice can make it over to them.
Sherlock hears slightly uneven steps approach his location. Unable to bring himself to look up, he knows there's tears in his eyes Sherlock tries to ignore the man.
"Damn fools..." The man muttered under his breath before sighing softly. "Hey kid are you okay?"
Bristling a bit Sherlock scowls at the ground.
"I'm not a kid..."
He says softly. He hears a huff of laughter. The man then crouches down beside Sherlock and begins to pick up his stuff.
"Alright Mr not a kid, I saw what happened, does this sort of thing happen often?"
Sherlock shrugs a bit before he also picks up his books.
"It happens often enough..."
The man only replies with a soft hum. The two work in silence for a bit while they finish picking everything up. After that Sherlock struggles a bit to stand up, his books aren't exactly light.
"Here let me help you." The man grips Sherlocks elbow tightly and helps him to stand with ease.
Sherlock keeps his head down, having not made eye contact the entire time.
"Thank you." Sherlocks voice is soft with slight embarrassment. "You didn't have to help me..."
The man laughed again. "Silly boy, of course I had to help you." Sherlock didn't quite know how to respond to that so he just nodded his head.
"Um... thanks again... I uh can carry my stuff now." He held out his hands already full of books expecting the man to just plop the rest of his stuff on top and send him on his way.
"This is a lot of stuff for one person to carry, lemme give you a hand."
Sherlock snaps his head up in shock and sees the man for the first time.
Oh my god.
Sherlock drops his jaw in awe and just stares for a moment, for before him stands a vet VERY handsome man. With sandy sun kissed hair, blue eyes like precious gems, oh and the defined muscles. He was a bit on the shorter side, but that did not diminish the air of authority surrounding him.
Closing his mouth, Sherlock swallowed roughly down his suddenly dry throat. Slightly misjudging Sherlocks reaction the stranger says, "Are you really that used to people not helping you?"
"I uh- yes?" Smiling softly the man shakes his head.
"Let's see if we can't fix that." And with that he turns and starts to walk away before suddenly stopping again. "Uh actually which way were you heading?"
Sherlock shakes his head clear. "That's um the right way." The man starts walking again and Sherlock jogs a bit to catch up.
"I never caught your name."
"Oh uh it's Sherlock Holmes."
"Hmm that's an interesting name."
"S-sorry..."
"I never said bad, just interesting."
"Oh.. okay. What about you?"
"I'm John, John Watson."