Disclaimer: I own nothing. BBC and Conan Doyle share them.
Redbeard should really have specified more things. Bargained better. But he'd told that he wanted to stay with Sherly. Being stranded in an entirely different country even seemed like a cruel act for Someone who cared for a dog's happiness. But it was a supernatural being's sense of humour, he supposed.
Redbeard's breed had been called Irish Setter, even if he'd never seen Irish soil. Well, now he had. James – Jim, really, nobody called him James unless he was in trouble – was born in Dublin. Counterproductive as it was. But then he relaxed. He was – would be still by Sherlock's side for a while. Time manipulation was a wonderful thing. He only had to find a way to make his parents move some time from now. Or maybe simply run from home. But he was clever, he'd find a way back to Sherlock's side. Or make one.
Until then, he could enjoy his second childhood. Mom was sweet, and a great storyteller. With the right puppy look, she could often be persuaded to read him a story. And what marvellous tales they were! Knights and dragons, magic and adventures. Yes, Sherly played pirates more often than not, but surely he would be amenable to other games. Wouldn't want Sherlock to grow bored after all.
It could have been a blissful time, all things considered, if only he hadn't missed his friend so much that he ached. And if everyone else hadn't been so unspeakably dull in comparison. He'd told them, at the time. They hadn't liked it, being less than his imaginary friend. That's how people saw Sherlock at the time. His imaginary friend, and with the weird name to boot. He had never bothered to explain things in detail, after all. He didn't want people to think less of him because he'd been non-human before.
At the start, people hadn't minded much. But the longer he held onto Sherlock, the more his parents had grown upset, while his peers – not that they really were, or that they mattered at all – mocked and despised him. When his parents had brought him to a shrink, he knew that something had to be done. He couldn't let them drug him into forgetting his life's calling. He would hold onto Sherlock – of course he would – but Jim didn't mention him anymore.
He started by deceiving his therapist, saying what he wanted to hear, and that got him wondering. This one was supposed to notice things like that. Was really everyone so easy to trick? And what exactly could he gain by manipulating them? It was something that bore experimenting. He was sure that Sherlock would have agreed with him.
A lot of things, it turned out. If he pretended to be what others wanted him to be, told them what they wanted to hear – which was pathetically easy to determine – he was praised. Loved. And pretty much everything he asked for that still projected the image of him they wanted to see would be happily conceded. His fairytales books were definitely in that category.
And how convenient it was that adults and children wanted different things. The grown-ups were wrapped around his tiny little finger already, and wasn't it amusing. Children were more distrustful of him, because he'd spurned them first. And really, many of them weren't worth his time anyway. But some – some he almost smelled out as kindred souls, and they were so eager to go along with his suggestions for fun.
The instinct to hunt and tear down small creatures had never disappeared, but now he had a small pack of his own that would do these things with – nay, for – him. They had to be careful, not to be caught, but when he planned they never were. His associates looked up to him for that. He gave all kind of 'fun' suggestions – not just about hunting, about creating small havoc too – and then they snickered seeing people scurry around and get upset over their actions.
Small things, everyone of these, mind you. But the children with a more sadistic streak soon learned to go to Jim to organize their pastimes. And the great thing – the one that made Jim snicker endlessly all on his own – was that no one suspected anything. Not just the adults. Most children that weren't in his circle saw him still only as the loser who held too long on a fake friend. And he let them think so. Wasn't it humorous?