14th March, 1989. Age: 8
"Do you understand why you're here?"
The small figure to which the question was directed tapped its fingers along the arm of the oversized leather armchair it was curled up in, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it had just been addressed.
"Are you listening to me?"
Again, the question was met with silence.
"Would you like me to explain the situation to you?"
The figure shifted slightly, but remained unresponsive. Sighing, the young woman occupying the only other armchair in the room gently placed her notepad by her feet and leant forwards, her green eyes now level with the icy blue orbs of her companion.
"You're here because your Mummy and Daddy are very worried about you."
The figure snorted in disbelief.
"They are. Your brother is too. They love you very much and they want to make sure that everything is alright."
The figure rolled its eyes, but said nothing.
The woman exhaled slowly, raking a hand through her carefully styled auburn hair.
"You know, our session is going to last a very long time if you don't talk."
"What do you care? You're paid by the hour. Besides, I'm only available until the agreed time of 2p.m, so it'll only feel as if time is passing slower than normal. Which is impossible, by the way. Now, if you don't mind Doctor Wilkinson, I'm quite content to sit here in silence until Mummy arrives."
Startled, the woman flinched slightly at the sound of the child's voice before regaining her composure and reaching for her notes.
"I care, Sherlock, because you seem like a lovely little boy, and I want to make sure that you have a happy life. And you can call me by my first name here, we're friends."
"You care because you're paid to. And I don't have friends, Lisa" the boy spat.
"No, Sherlock." The psychologist leant back into her chair. "I really do care. And it won't help anyone if we're silent for the next hour. Now, we'll discuss this friends issue later, but I'm sure you know what caused your parents to arrange these sessions. Would you like to tell me what happened?"
Sherlock laughed bitterly, looking out between the long black curls of hair that had fallen into his face. "Why? Just so you can laugh at me like the others? Tell me I'm being silly? Arrogant? No-one listens to me." The boy looked petulantly at the floor before muttering "Well, 'Croft does, but he can't do anything."
"I'm not here to judge, Sherlock." The boy seemed to curl up into himself slightly under the psychologist's sympathetic gaze. "And 'Croft? Is that what you call your brother?"
Sherlock glanced up at his therapist. "Yes, if you must know. You can't shorten Mycroft to much else, and it's a bit of a mouthful."
"Does he have a nickname for you?"
The boy eyed the doctor suspiciously for a few seconds before responding. "I guess so. 'Lock. Or Shirley, if he feels particularly irritating." he divulged.
Lisa smiled. "Would you like me to call you 'Lock?"
Sherlock's eyes shot up. "No." He deadpanned, his frozen glare full of warning. "And Shirley is definitely out of the question."
The woman squirmed in her seat, finding the normally stoic 8 year old surprisingly intimidating. "Alright then..." Coughing slightly, she attempted to regain control over the situation. "Let's talk about why you're here. About Carl Powers."
The boy shifted in his seat so he was sat bolt upright, staring straight at Doctor Wilkinson. "You know exactly what happened. A boy named Carl Powers drowned in a swimming pool. The police, ignorant as ever, thought nothing of it. I brought it to their attention that his shoes were missing, a clear sign that it was not just an open-and-shut case, but they ignored me. I began researching possible motives and methods of murder, Mummy found out, and here I am." he said, waving a hand dismissively.
Lisa nodded contemplatively, jotting something down. "Do you understand why your actions might be worrying to your parents?" she asked.
"No. What's worrying is the complete lack of intelligence in the police force, if you ask me. If people would just notice things, instead of merely seeing, then they would do a much more effective job."
"What do you mean, notice? Why do you think that there is more to this case?" The doctor was now writing furiously.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Notice, as in, actually take in details. The information is all there, you just need to put it together."
"And you can do this?"
"Of course. It's not exactly difficult. 'Croft taught me before I even started school, for goodness sake."
Nodding once again, Lisa underlined something in her notes. "So, your brother has this... ability... too?"
"Obviously, otherwise he wouldn't have been a very able teacher. We can both read people and situations like books." Sherlock's tone came close to bragging as he shuffled slightly, subconsciously attempting to make himself taller.
Dr. Wilkinson's brows furrowed. "Now Sherlock, we both know that's a bit of an exaggeration. Humans are complicated creatures- I would know, I studied them at University level- and it is impossible to know someone from just looking".
"That's why I don't look, I observe, deduce. I've already explained it to you. It's not impossible at all, I'll prove it." Sherlock jumped back into his chair, bringing up his legs and crossing them underneath him, before returning his attention to the rather flustered therapist. "You're recently qualified, only a few months out of a rather prestigious - and expensive - University. You come from a well-off family, and your father has quite a few connections; in fact, he's the only reason you have such a high paying job - no private clinic would hire someone so under-experienced to be their lead Child Psychologist unless it gave them a political advantage. Recently married, and planning a family, however your father obviously chose your husband for you, and you were too cowardly to confess how much you despise the man in fear of falling out of favour. Your father's wrath isn't enough to stop you from having an affair with your boss though- in fact, you find the idea that the relationship is 'forbidden' quite attractive. Am I wrong?"
The doctor sat frozen, eyes wide and jaw slightly ajar for a few moments before moving to clutch the arm rests of her chair. "How... how did you...?"
"How many times do I have to repeat myself? I observed. You're very young, and the shorthand and colloquialisms you have been using whilst are commonly used by University students in lectures. You tend to grow out of these and adopt a more professional note-taking method after the first year of graduation- recently qualified then, and as this establishment isn't exactly the NHS, it must have been from somewhere prestigious and someone must have pulled some strings. The clothes and jewellery you're wearing are all extremely high quality and match the latest 'trends', and as a recent graduate there's no possible way that you could afford them by yourself, so your family are rich. Now, your marriage." Sherlock's eyes glinted in delight and a small smirk danced on his lips as he watched the colour drain from the doctor's face. "Your ring is too small. There's no way someone as powerful and influential as your father, or as up-and-coming as your husband would allow you to walk up the aisle with an improperly fitting ring. As it was only a recent marriage - the ceremony could only occur after you completed your studies - this suggests significant and rapid weight gain, a symptom of depression. The photograph on your desk" he nodded towards the offending item in the corner of the room. "It's of you and your husband on your wedding day. However, it's angled away from where you are sitting now. This could be to prevent patients from seeing; however it's almost completely facing the wall, so you would not be able to view it even when sat at your desk. You feel guilty then, and with the depression caused by your marital life, it's clear you are having an affair. Of course, it may just be a coincidence that you and the nice man who greeted me are wearing the same cologne, however, due to your obvious attraction to the scent of roses – and by the way, I think 5 vases in a room as big as this is a bit over the top - I seriously doubt it." The child uncrossed his legs and sat back triumphantly.
The only noise that filled the room was Doctor Lisa Wilkinson's abnormally fast breathing as she sat clutching her armchair tightly, fear plastered all over her face, eyes focused at a point just above Sherlock's head. After about five minutes the woman suddenly stood up and stiffly marched to the door, leaving without a word.
Sherlock looked up at the clock. Mummy and Nanny White were due to arrive in 15 minutes, ample time to think of an excuse about why Doctor Wilkinson would no longer be his psychologist, and why these sessions were completely pointless in the first place.
A/N: Hello :) Well, this is my very first Fanfic, so I hope you enjoyed Chapter 1! I'm planning for there to be a lot more chapters (Chapter 2 is almost finished and 3 is in the works), but I'm not sure on the update schedule yet. Reviews would be very much appreciated, and constructive criticism greatly accepted, but please go easy on me!
Also, special thanks to my amazing Beta eeelneekey for helping me out when writer's block struck and for forcing me to write this in the first place! Go check her out!
If you want to follow either of us on tumblr, then you can find me at viva-la-chloe (.) tumblr (.) com, Ellen at eeelneekey (.) tumblr (.) com, and our new shared Sherlock blog sherlshocked (.) tumblr (.) com, where you can submit any fanworks, theories, confessions etc :D
Thanks for reading!