I fell in love with this show 10 seconds into the first episode. It is now my favorite (besides Doctor Who, of course).
And so, in boredom, this hit me like a mack truck and I just had to write it down and share it with you.
Hopefully you like it! (crosses fingers)
A look into the harsh teenage life of Sherlock Holmes, the worlds only consulting detective.
Sherlock overcomes a band of bullies with (much to his discontent) his brothers aid.
Disclaimer; Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Moffat and Gatiss. Or, to be more precise, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Whichever sounds better. Either way, not mine to claim.
.
"Don't pay attention to them, Sherlock." an annoyed Mycroft Holmes instructed his 15 year old brother, who was sneering angrily at some bullies in the corner of the street.
"They won't leave me alone." Sherlock growled, his hands clenched into tight fists.
Mycroft rolled his eyes.
"You cannot afford a fight. You have a paper due tomorrow. You need to study."
Mycroft was in his second year of college. Sherlock was still in high school. Mycroft would tutor the senior class of his junior brother's school and would often check in on him.
He knew what happened between classes. All eight periods. Lunch break. Recess. Gym. Any time he was alone. He knew because his brother would come home with bruised knuckles, black eyes and nosebleeds.
"I can't study in our library. They follow me everywhere." Sherlock spat through clenched teeth, still eying the bunch of snotty looking boys who were now taunting him;
"Get over here, Sherly Temple!"
Sherlock turned his back and bit his lip in frustration.
"I cannot think. They are so loud. It's distracting!"
Mycroft sighed and put one arm around his brother.
"They won't bother you much longer...Either because you ignore them or because you will get them expelled."
Sherlock spat on the ground.
"Most likely the latter!"
He couldn't stand it anymore. He threw down his books and stormed off to the annoying teenagers on the street corner.
"Sherlock, wait!"
Mycroft tried stopping him, but it was too late. He bit his lip as the first teenager cut Sherlock's cheek open with his fist, flinching each time Sherlock took a blow, the six snotty teenagers pounding his brother into the ground.
He waited and waited for Sherlock to get off the floor and defend himself, to stand his ground...
So naturally, he was surprised when he didn't.
He ran over and pulled the leader of the pack down to the ground by his collar.
"Break it up! Get off of him!"
All six boys coward away before running as fast as they could down the street.
Mycroft bent down to his brother's side.
"Are you alright?"
Sherlock moaned and tried sitting up, only to plop face down on the concrete once more.
Mycroft pushed him on his back and pulled him up.
"You're going to be fine. Get up."
Sherlock stumbled to his feet and looked around, disoriented.
"They're gone..." he realized. He must have blacked out.
"C'mon. We are going home." Mycroft led his brother down the street, taking the fastest route to their house.
"You had to do that, didn't you?" Mycroft scolded, tugging his brother along the sidewalk.
"They...wouldn't...shut up..." Sherlock panted, licking the blood off of his bottom lip.
"Is it really worth getting your head beat in?"
Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks, Mycroft turning to look at him.
"I can't take another day of this..." he held his stomach, which had apparently been kicked.
Mycroft shook his head, shaking with misplaced anger.
"You can't let this get to you, brother! It's affecting your attitude, your work, your schoolwork! If there is one thing I could get through your thick skull it is that caring about what people think...feelings...get you nowhere!"
Sherlock looked up at him, black bruises forming underneath his hurt eyes.
"You're as bad as they are sometimes."
Sherlock growled at the test results in his hands.
F 19%
Horribly worded, poor handwriting, seemed to get off subject in most paragraphs.
Sherlock ripped the paper into tiny shreds and threw them across his messy room. He had gotten his results in yesterday afternoon, right before yet another beat down from those annoying teenagers. Mycroft wasn't there to help him that time. He was now trying to see with two bruised, swollen eyes. He had successfully hid them from mother and ran out of the house and down the street, taking the quickest path to the school.
It didn't matter; they were waiting for him.
"Thought I heard you coming. What's wrong Sherly? Having to take an extra day of school to make up for a bad grade? Are you as dumb as the rest of us now?"
Sherlock put his books in his bag and stood with his feet apart, prepared for the first blow.
"I know it's you who has been planting the drugs into my locker."
The leader of the group laughed.
"Oh, yeah? What are you going to do about it?" he taunted. Cocky.
Cocky; conceded or arrogant, especially in a bold or impudent way.
Arrogance; having or revealing an exaggerated sense of one's own importance or abilities.
Cocky/arrogant = Over confidence. Sign of guilt.
Over confidence = Coping technique. Feels inferior.
Dirty clothes = Bad home life.
Wary eyes, darting back and forth as if on lookout for higher authorities/officials; a sign of guilt.
The rolls of paper in his pockets; same as the ones planted in his locker.
Use of drugs = confirmed bad home life.
Sentence; guilty on all charges and accusations.
"I will report you. Tell them all about your father. He has been rather troubled lately, yes? Lost his job?"
The leader scowled.
"You heard that from Patrick."
The bully named Patrick shook his head.
"I never told that freak anything."
Sherlock kept going.
"Living with mother now? Is father bothering you? Is it his gambling addiction?"
"SHUT UP!" the leader shouted, obviously embarrassed.
"Either way, I can't take credit for your actions any longer. I am telling the principle and the police. Perhaps that will show you the error of your ways."
The leader turned and walked away before turning back and punching Sherlock straight in the nose, knocking him to the ground. Others joined in and he blacked out as one kicked him in the head.
"Sherlock?"
Sherlock opened his eyes. He was in the nurse's office, lying on the hospital bed, Mycroft at his side. Paper crackled underneath him as he tried to sit up. His brother stopped him, lightly pushing against his chest.
"Don't get up. You will start bleeding again."
Sherlock put a hand to his face, which was covered in bloody cuts and somehow even more bruises. His nose was stuffed with tissues, clogging the blood dripping from his sinuses.
"How did you find me?" he asked hoarsely. His chest had been stepped on, it seems.
Mycroft sighed.
"When I saw you run from the house I knew where you were going. I knew you had an extra day of school. Not very pleased, were you?"
Sherlock scoffed to the best of his ability.
"Understatement of the century."
He was still angry with his brother. Those bullies may have hurt his ego, but his brother had hurt his feelings and then told him to get over it.
"They were expelled, by the way. All six of them. One of them fessed up and told the truth after some...minor...persuasion. Patrick Gorge, I believe his name was. You should have seen their faces when their parents picked them up. Priceless." Mycroft laughed.
Sherlock bit his bleeding lip and turned his head away from his elder brother.
"Thank you. I suppose."
Mycroft sighed.
"Sherlock...What I said yesterday was wrong-."
Sherlock shook his head.
"No! You're right! I need to learn to harden myself! Make myself less likable! That will totally make everyone stop making fun of me! It's not my fault I'm right!"
Mycroft sighed.
"No. Really. I was wrong. I worded my sentence incorrectly. What I meant to say the other day was 'caring gets you nowhere because they would never be happy with who you are. They were THAT ignorant. You shouldn't change to make them happy. Believe me. Only an idiot mocks a genius for his intelligence.'"
Sherlock swallowed and looked into the blue green eyes of his brother. This was as close as Mycroft ever came to saying 'I'm sorry'.
"I accept your apology."
Mycroft smiled.
"Good. Now...about your grade...?"
Sherlock sighed.
"My eyes were swollen. I couldn't see. Or write for that matter. My teacher says I can retake the test."
Mycroft smiled.
"At least you know what you did wrong. Try not to get off subject. Oh, and next time use your best handwriting. Always got me extra points."
Sherlock's eyes hardened.
"You graded my paper, didn't you?"
Mycroft shrugged, smirk on the corner of his lips.
"I graded many papers that day. I forgot which one was yours."
Sherlock lunged forward, hitting his brother in the eye with his fist.
"I WILL KILL YOU FOR THAT!"
Reviews and comments are highly appreciated!
Also, if anyone has a request...I may be interested...?
If any are interested, check out my new series "Sherlock; Through The Eyes Of The Blind"
Preview: In a tragic accident, Sherlock is blinded and must overcome the hardships of normal life and crime solving without his sight.