Chapter Two:

Autism


Nine year old Mycroft Holmes scowled at the wall of the doctor's office as he listened to the whisperings of nurses nearby. His two year old sister had baffled them, as only a Holmes child can.

Since the day of her birth, she had yet to speak. She didn't coo. She didn't play. She would just sit and observe people. She didn't seem interested in anything a normal baby would. She didn't laugh or smile. She didn't do anything, except stare.

Of course, Mycroft knew the truth. He could see it in her eyes, the intelligence there. He could see it in the way her hands moved when people weren't watching. She was learning, copying them, and yet they treated her like she was an idiot because she wouldn't say a word or mess with cheap, degrading toys.

He had tried to tell his parents as much, seeing as how he had been much the same at that age, but they did not listen. His parents argued she was much worse than Mycroft had ever been and that the doctors would soon discover the truth.

He shook his head, irritated. The fifth doctor in two months' time and still, no one could decide on why his sister is the way she is. The intelligence tests always came out high, obviously showing she was a genius like her older brother and yet… there she sat, unmoving, watching, and quiet. They were completely baffled by the enigma that was Sherlock Holmes, as she had come to be called. It was the only name she would react to.

In Mycroft's opinion, that name suited her perfectly. It was elegant, high class, and above all… unique, just like them. Mycroft and Sherlock, child prodigies.

"Mrs. Holmes," stated the doctor as he came in.

Mycroft studied the man. Of all the doctors they had been to, this neurologist seemed the most competent, if not the most likable of the bunch. He actually spoke with them, rather than at them. He always stayed calm and answered questions the best he could, even stating he did not know if there was a question he could not answer. Honesty, respect, and professionality were extremely important characteristics in a doctor, Mycroft thought to himself, and this doctor matched them all. He liked him.

"After looking over what you sent me and what I could find by watching and speaking to your daughter, Sherlock, I must confess I am learning towards Autism being the answer."

"Autism?" his mother repeated, "surely that isn't…"

"I know she does not match all of the symptoms of Autism, but I believe that is because she is high functioning. Most conditions have levels of extremeness. The more extreme cases live their lives nearly unaware of their surroundings and refusing to meet the gaze, react to the voice, or even move, except in their own time if ever. Your daughter, in my opinion, is a low level that may or may not get better as she grows older. Some age out of their condition, while others, remain deeply rooted forever. Only time will tell."

"What can we do, doctor?" His mother asked, worry obvious in her tone, "is there nothing we can do to try and help her along?"

"For now, I would let her do as she always does, but I would make subtle attempts to include her in things. If she does not react or refuses, walk away. I would also go into the room she is in and begin speaking. It doesn't matter what about, but perhaps your words might interest her or break through the walls she has no doubt encircled herself with mentally. Many times, I have been told by my former patients that they tried reading books and it seemed to entice their child to come sit with them. It may not work for you, but it is an idea at the very least. In the meantime, we should set scheduled appointments to keep an eye on her progress."

Mycroft muted out the rest of their conversation as he locked eyes with his baby sister who was staring at him. She understood everything being said, he could tell, and to him, she looked upset with the diagnoses.

"Doctor," he suddenly stated, stopping their conversation.

The doctor turned to him, curious. Mycroft met his gaze head on.

"My sister… is it possible she is merely choosing to observe the world around her, rather than a sort of autism? Clearly we are both geniuses. Would it not be odd for a child like that to think toys and people boring if they do not interest her in any way?"

The doctor frowned, but he didn't immediately argue against the idea.

"I won't say it is impossible, but not very likely. Still, if this is what you believe… I suggest the same course of action as I mentioned for autistic children. Find something you think will interest her and read it to her or do it in front of her. Maybe your right and she will respond."

Mycroft felt a new surge of respect for this doctor as he nodded his head.

"Thank you sir, I will try it and see what occurs."