Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Cabin Pressure. Sherlock's characters originally belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and their new versions to the trolls Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. Cabin Pressure's characters belong to the BRILLIANT John Finnemore.

Note: This chapter is purely Sherlock. The next chapter will be purely Martin. It won't be untill the third chapter untill they are actualy in scenes together. Just thought I'd mention this beofre you eat me alive!

It was little Sherlock's first day of school. He had heard about school from the media and from his older brother, Mycroft, but now he was ready to experience it for himself. It was a new thing for Sherlock, but that was okay, he liked new things. It meant another mystery and another adventure.

He was walking with his mum who had his tiny hand enclosed in hers. They came up to a door that had the words "Room 4" painted on it in big, white lettering. Sherlock looked upon the door with excitement and a little bit of nerves, but soon they were walking through the door into his new classroom. Inside, was a room full of colour. All the walls were covered with posters of children books and television characters. There were pictures of various animals, each labelled with their name. There was a corner in the back of the classroom with dollhouses, race cars, and other toys to play with, as well as a bin of dress-up clothes. Scattered around the room were tables with chairs all circling around a giant rainbow coloured rug in the middle of the classroom. Here sat about ten other children between the ages of four and six, some looking nervous, others staring around the room in bewilderment, and others whispering to each other.

Sherlock stood there taking in the site of the room, taking mental note of every detail. His mum then got down on her knees to be at Sherlock's height.

"Have fun today, okay?" she said handing Sherlock his lunch box for later "I'll pick you up at two." And she hugged him goodbye. Sherlock wrapped his arms around his mum, who then kissed him on the cheek. He was released a moment later and Sherlock stepped into his classroom

Only a few feet inside, Sherlock found himself facing a middle-aged woman dressed in as much colour as the room. She had curly brown hair that framed her red face that adorned a huge grin. The young, observant child that was Sherlock figured this was his teacher.

"Hello, I'm Mrs. Robertson, your teacher," said the women, in a tone of voice you'd expect adults to use with small children, "what's your name?"

"Sherlock" he answered matter-of-factly.

"Hello Sherlock. You can go put your things over there," said Mrs. Robertson gesturing to some cubbies that held lunch boxes. "Then you can go take a seat on the rug with the others," she finished. Sherlock nodded with a grin and did as he was told

Sherlock took a seat next to two young girls, one with blonde pigtails in a pink dress, and the other with black, straight hair wearing a Minnie Mouse t-shirt. The blonde girl leaned over to Sherlock and said, "Hi! I'm Cindy! What's your name?" she obviously wasn't the very shy type.

Sherlock turned to her and answered "Sherlock."

Cindy started to giggle at Sherlock's reply, "That's a funny name," she said

"N-no it's not." Replied the insulted Sherlock, who felt a blush creeping in on his cheeks

"It kinda is…" answered Cindy, but she got cut off by Mrs. Robertson.

"Hello class, I am your teacher, Mrs. Robertson," she said as she took a seat on the carpet with the rest of the class. "Why don't we start by introducing ourselves? You know who I am, and you are…" she said to the girl left of her, a girl apparently named Martha.

Sherlock didn't really want to share his name with the entire class, not since it was laughed at earlier. What would the rest of class say? Would they laugh just like Cindy did? The kids went around the circle one by one stating their names, each time getting closer to Sherlock's turn. Before he knew it, Cindy was stating her name and it was his turn.

Sherlock could feel the butterflies in his stomach as he whispered, "Sherlock" out loud to the class.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" asked Mrs. Robertson not having heard the barely audible statement

"Sherlock," he said a little louder so that people could hear. He heard a few giggles from around the room at the unusual name and Sherlock felt his cheeks get red hot. He looked down in embarrassment to hide his face as the students continued to introduce themselves.

The rest of the day wasn't much better for the little Sherlock. His teacher read them a story, one about going to school for the first time. Then she explained a little about what they would learn in the class that year before going on to see how much the students already knew. It was basic counting and reciting the alphabet, immensely elementary for the genius-to-be. That whole time no one laughed at Sherlock again, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing, for no one said a word to him. Sherlock was ignored for the first part of the day.

When lunch came, Sherlock had no friend to sit with. Most of his classmates had met someone by the time lunch came and they sat talking, but not the little boy with the funny name. He went to a bench near the playground and ate his lunch his mum had packed for him alone.

The rest of the day didn't improve much for little Sherlock. The second half of the day was dedicated to arts and crafts and play time. He sat and painted for the whole time while he watched some girls dress up as princesses and some other boys play with toy trucks and things. Sherlock was tempted to join the group of the latter, but decided against it out of fear of being mocked again.

Before he knew it though, it was two-o-clock and time for Sherlock to go home. His mum greeted him outside his classroom door with arms wide open for a hug, a hug which he gladly accepted. The arms of his mummy were almost enough for him to forget his awful first day of school.

"How was your first day of school?" asked his mum. Sherlock shrugged in response. "Did you have fun today?" she asked again. Sherlock didn't exactly have fun today, but for some reason he didn't want to tell his mum that.

"I painted some pictures," replied Sherlock with fake enthusiasm, making it seem like he did indeed have fun.

"That sounds like fun!" and they continued on their way home.

Sherlock was glad to be home. As soon as they walked through the door Sherlock ran straight to his bedroom. He grabbed his prop pirate sword and hat and ran out to his mum.

"ARRRGH!" he said, pointing his sword menacingly at his mum.

"Oh! Pirate now are we?" said his mum. Sherlock loved to play pirate, though in his mind, it wasn't exactly play, it was more like practice. Practice for what he hoped to grow up to be. "Well you better watch out little pirate because, here comes the tickle monster!" she shouted. Sherlock then swung his foam sword at his mum's fingers to ward off the dreaded tickles.

They continued this for a while until a giggling Sherlock was trapped in his mum's arms being attacked by tickles and kisses.

It was then that Mycroft came home from the "big kid school" as Sherlock called it.

"Hi mum, hi Sherlock" he said as he walked in.

"How was school?" asked Mummy, releasing her hold on Sherlock. The released pirate want-to-be then picked up his fallen sword, ran over to his older brother, pointed it straight at his chest and shouted "ARGHHH!"

"Arrgh," said Mycroft with less enthusiasm then Sherlock. "It was okay," he said replying to his mum. "My teachers seem nice". Then he went to his room.

The close of the door was heard and then pirate Sherlock turned towards his mum.

"Okay kiddo, mummy's got to go make dinner now okay? We'll play pirate later," said his mum

"Okay," said Sherlock, slightly disappointed, but he went back into his room and played there. He swung his sword around, pretending to fight off the dreaded Doctor Snuggles, Sherlock's teddy bear. Then he snuck into the cave to steal the treasure, but he had to be really careful not to be caught, the cave being his closet and the treasure being some plastic coins he had from some toy. He let his imagination roam like this until he heard his father come home.

"DADDY!" shouted Sherlock running towards his dad.

"Hey Sherlock, how was school?"

"Uh…okay" he replied.

"Just okay?" Sherlock shrugged in reply. His mum came in then, saving him from explaining his day in detail.

"Hello honey," said Sherlock's mum to his dad, "dinner's almost ready."

"Okay, be there in a bit" he replied as she left to finish up. "Hey, go get your brother, Sherlock."

"Okay!" and Sherlock ran to Mycroft's room. He knocked on the door when he got there.

"Yeah!" shouted Mycroft from inside. "Come in!" and Sherlock opened the door. "Oh, hey," said Mycroft when he saw that it was Sherlock at the door. He was playing with his beloved action man. He loved that toy as much as Sherlock loved his pirate sword.

"Dinner's ready," said Sherlock to Mycroft.

"Oh okay," he replied as he got up to put his action man in its special place on his bookshelf. Mycroft took very good care of that toy. "So how was school?" asked Mycroft acting brotherly.

"Okay," replied Sherlock, making the single word answer a sort of catch-phrase

"Make any friends?"

"Not…exactly."

Mycroft chuckled. "Why, what'd you do?"

"Nothing! They just…well…laughed at my name."

"What? Did they give you nick names or something? Hmmm let's see, Shirley? Shirley Temple maybe! Did they call you Shirley temple?" accused Mycroft, now beginning to laugh.

"No! They just…" but Mycroft wouldn't listen; he was too busy going hysterical with laughter.

Tears began to fill little Sherlock's eyes in anger at his brother's mockery. Every second longer Mycroft continued to laugh caused Sherlock's vision to become one shade darker of red.

In his moment of rage, Sherlock sought revenge. His vision darted to Mycroft's precious action man, carefully poised for display. The angry five-year-old then went over to it, snatched it from the shelf, and smashed it to the ground, causing the left arm to pop off.

Mycroft's laughter instantly ceased at the sight of his broken toy. He went over to it and picked it up. He then picked up the severed arm and put it to the spot where it had once attached to the toy, to see if it would magically repair itself. When he realized that this was impossible, tears spilled down his cheeks, and the boy let out a cry that was heard throughout the whole house.

"Why? WHY!" Mycroft spit out between sobs. Sherlock felt slight satisfaction at causing his brother pain, but the satisfaction of revenge could only last so long.

Their parents ran over to Mycroft's room at the sound of his cry. "What happened?" asked their mum at the scene of the crime.

Mycroft instantly ran to his mum. "Sherlock…Sherlock broke…broke," he choked out, holding up the pieces to his action man.

"Oh it's okay," said their mum cradling Mycroft, gently patting him on the back. "I think I can fix it."

"Why did you break his toy, Sherlock?" asked their dad in a confrontational manner. "That wasn't very nice."

"But Mycroft-"

"No buts, go to your room."

"But he was-"

"Now Sherlock. Go to bed, now, no dinner, go now!"

Sherlock began to cry again, but this time from the frustration of injustice.

"Go!"

Sherlock obeyed and went to his room, slamming his door behind him. He flopped down on his bed and curled up with Doctor Snuggles, who was more comforting than evil at the moment, and began to sob. Today had been an awful, a day he wish he could just delete from his memories. But unfortunately, little Sherlock would have to go back to school tomorrow and re-live the nightmare again.

The little boy began to sob more at the thought.

So? What did you think? Please leave me a review. The next chapter will be little Martin Crieff's first day of school. I have allready started writing it, but reviews will encourage me and make me write faster ;)