Age 13
Stare at the mail on the table unhappily. Report cards.
Damn.
I've already seen the notes; professors leave their computers unattended shockingly often.
Sherlock has been a very different student this term; he's kept his outbursts to a minimum and has been going easy on the snide comments. However, I would like to see more of his true potential without the usual side effects in the future.
Consider throwing mine out. Too late; Mummy is already here. Opens Mycroft's first, scans it, sets it aside. Mycroft is perfect, as always. Hesitates. Picks up mine. Reads it. Looks surprised; notices me hovering in the drawing room. Motions me over. I sit.
"Sherlock, what does this mean?"
I'm silent. Perhaps she will drop it.
"Have you been slipping?"
No such luck. I don't drop my gaze from her face.
"Sherlock, what's the matter?"
Composure cracks. She notices.
"Are they at it again?"
Discipline finally shatters. I break down. Can never last long against Mummy. Tell her everything; about the words, the hate, the glares and mutters and occasional violence. She hugs me when I am finished. Wonder why and then feel my cheeks.
They're wet.
"Never hide your mind, Sherlock. It's who you are, and anyone who hates you for it is irrelevant."
I nod, drying my face and holding my head high.
