There came a time when Sherlock had to go back to that dreadful boarding school with it's dreadful students and it's dreadful teachers. His leg, although out of the cast, hurt when he walked. His mind was still emotionally raw from the accident. And Redbeard? Who knows where he was! Sherlock missed him terribly.
And worst of all? Sherlock knew he was going to be targeted by bullies this year. Mycroft had graduated so now it was safe to pick on Sherlock.
He would be seeing Professor Xander again, for sure. But that was only one lonely positive stacked against a mountain of negatives.
Sherlock wished he could go to a public school instead of being stuck at an all-boys boarding school. But Mr and Mrs Holmes believed a good education came from a good boarding school- Sherlock had no choice in the matter.
He was allowed, however to come home on weekends instead of spending a full term at school.
Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad?
Sherlock told himself that over and over again. Eventually, he started to believe it, if only a little bit.
Unfortunately, Sherlock forgot to consider one thing. One thing that made Sherlock's life a living hell.
Carl Powers, the school bully.

Sherlock ran into Carl Powers first day back at lunchtime. All the other students were out playing or talking to their friends. Sherlock, on the other hand, was sitting by himself, thinking of Redbeard. He unconsciously sketched the Irish Setter in the dirt with a stick. When he realised what he was doing, Sherlock sighed and scribbled it out with the stick. Redbeard was gone forever, when was he going to accept that?
Some shouting over the other side of the school yard brought Sherlock out of his thoughts. He looked up and his heart did a double take when he saw Carl Powers. Carl and his group of friends had surrounded some poor kid and where taking it in turns to shove him- like he was a ball or something. And of course- the teachers didn't notice. It made Sherlock's blood boil.
Carl was the same age as Sherlock but he was built like a fifteen year old. He used his size to bully everyone in his grade and even the older kids. Carl always picked on everyone who was remotely different. Sherlock had a special hatred for people preyed on other people who were different. Looking closely at the boy Carl and his friends were pushing around, Sherlock realised he was indeed different. It didn't take a deducing genius to know that he was gay.
A year ago, Sherlock would have done anything to avoid Carl, but now…
Getting up hastily, Sherlock marched over to the group.
"Leave him alone, you immature delinquents!" Sherlock yelled. The group stopped what they were doing and turned to him.
"What do you want, freak?" Carl snapped.
"Leave him alone or else I'll tell the teachers!" Sherlock snapped back. Carl's friend's sniggered. Sherlock noticed that he seemed to be scratching a lot.
Carl has eczema, he realised. He mentally stored this information away for further use later. He looked Carl up and down to see if he could deduce anything more about him. He loved his shoes, which were clean and had new laces put in them.
"You wouldn't dare tell the teachers," Carl said confidently.
Oh? Really? Well, like everyone else here, Carl, your rich parents sent you here with high hopes. Most likely they drilled 'do not fail or get expelled or else you will be in big trouble' into you. Don't want to disappoint them, do you Carl?
"Maybe I will go and tell the teachers. All it would take is one word from me and they will have your parents down here in a heartbeat. Want to risk that, Carl?" Sherlock asked, matching Carl's confidence.
"Dob me in, freak, and I promise you that you will need surgery just to fix your face up," Carl said, confidence starting to fade.
"I hardly think you'll be inflicting any injury upon me if you get expelled. Most likely it'll be your parent's inflicting the injuries on you, presumably with that belt they always seem to use." Sherlock gave him a nasty smile. Carl gaped at him.
"How did you-"
"You are trying but failing to hide that distinctively shaped bruise on your left hand. You're a troublemaker, Carl. The belt is the only way your parent's can control you. And yet, you don't want your friends here to know that. Why's that? Perhaps you find it embarrassing and undignifying because you know that as soon as your parents get out the belt you will do anything that they say. Not as tough as you want to be, are you Carl?" Sherlock said smugly. Carl's face had gone red with anger.
"Why you little…" he might have decked Sherlock there and then if one of the teacher's hadn't of finally noticed what was going on.
"Oi! Mr Powers! I hope you haven't been bullying again?"
Carl gave Sherlock a look of hatred.
"We'll finish this another time," he growled, stalking off.
"I'll be waiting," Sherlock replied. As Carl's bewildered friend's dispersed, Sherlock approached the kid that had been bullied. He was the same height as Sherlock but he looked older, like he was fourteen or something. He had dark hair and eyes that seemed to be assessing everything.
"Hello. What's your name?" Sherlock asked, aware that the kid seemed to be analysing his face.
"Jim," he said quietly after a moment of silence. Sherlock met his eyes and knew immediately that Jim was smarter than he appeared to be. There was a sharp look about his eyes, like he was planning your death.
Sherlock began to wonder whether saving this kid from Carl was a good idea.
"Thank you for standing up to Carl. He laughs at me a lot." A dark look crossed Jim's face.
"One day I'm going to stop him from laughing at me."
"Well, see you around… Jim," Sherlock said awkwardly.
"Yeah, see you around soon, Sherlock," Jim said, rolling Sherlock's name around in his mouth like he was seeing how it felt. Sherlock shivered and quickly walked away.

If there was one thing that Sherlock was good at apart from using his brain, it would be sport. Unlike Mycroft, Sherlock was fit and a fast runner. Professor Xander often encouraged Sherlock to compete in sports. Sherlock often refused- sport wasn't his thing.
Until the day of the Swimming Carnival. Sherlock decided, out of impulse, to compete in the breast stroke race. He would be up against the best swimmers in his grade, including Carl Powers, but Sherlock decided he stood a fair chance.
Besides, the opportunity to beat Carl Powers was too good to pass up.
Sherlock stood near the pool in his swimmers, watching everyone else get ready. He felt like he was being watched. He looked up to the seats where his parents and Mycroft were sitting. But they weren't the pair of eyes that Sherlock was feeling. Looking around, Sherlock met the eyes of the kid named Jim. He was watching Sherlock closely. But he didn't have time to ponder this because the race was about to start.
Six boys, including Sherlock stood at the edge of the pool waiting for the starter's gun.
"You're going down, freak," Carl Powers hissed from beside Sherlock. Sherlock ignored him and got ready to jump. It seemed to take forever until-
bang!
The starter's gun fired and Sherlock leaped into the pool. He started swimming faster than he ever had before. He was going to win! He was going to beat Carl Powers!
In no time at all, Sherlock had reached the other side of the pool. He dived down and kicked off to complete his lap. For once, Sherlock felt like he was finally on top of something.
That was when the first screams started.
Surprised, Sherlock swallowed a mouthful of water and stopped swimming. Coughing, he started treading water, looking around to see what everyone was yelling and screaming about.
There- a few metres behind Sherlock in the pool. Something was floating. Sherlock blinked in surprise when he realised it was one of the students floating face down in the water.
It was Carl Powers and he was clearly dead.

Even there, treading water and watching Carl's lifeless body float, Sherlock's mind was racing. Carl was a strong swimmer so there was no way he would have just drowned like that. So how? How was he dead a couple of metres away from Sherlock?
Perhaps the boy had suffered a medical episode? Like a fit or a seizure? No, no, no, Sherlock was sure he would have seen the symptoms of epilepsy in Carl. Allergic reaction? Highly improbable- Carl had swam in this pool before.
This was frustrating! Sherlock needed more evidence!
He got out of the pool and ran to the boy's locker room. He broke into Carl's locker. Sherlock examined the contents to see if there was anything out of the ordinary.
Carl's clothes… notebooks… eczema skin cream…
"Nothing!" Sherlock growled. Except… there was something. Something that should be there but wasn't.
Where was Carl's beloved shoes?

When the police and ambulance arrived, Sherlock was waiting.
"This is pretty open and shut. Boy had some kind of fit in the pool and drowned," One of the police officers said, writing in a notebook. Sherlock watched as the ambulance wheeled Carl's body away.
"Hey kid, step back!" The police officer told him.
"I don't think he had a fit in the pool. I think he was murdered," Sherlock told him. The Police Officer laughed.
"You think so, son? Why don't you leave the investigating up to the experts?"
"Because half of you police officers and detectives are nimrods. Carl was a perfectly healthy boy and a strong swimmer. So why- and how- can he be dead? Also, where are his shoes? He loved his shoes so he wouldn't have lost them. They should be right there in his locker. Conclusion? Somebody stole his shoes," Sherlock told him.
"Why would someone steal a dead kid's shoes from his locker?" the police officer asked.
"Good- now you're thinking like a detective," Sherlock murmured. The Police Officer glared at Sherlock.
"Bit of a smart-alec aren't you, son? I will be talking to your headmaster. What's your name?"
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes. But you can call me Sherlock," Sherlock answered smartly.
"Rightio, follow me, William," the police officer said, clearly annoyed. Sherlock followed the police officer, deep in thought.
Was he sad that Carl was dead? No- Carl had been a bully and a brute who meant nothing to Sherlock. The mystery that surrounded Carl's death, however, fascinated him. It was a puzzle that was screaming to be solved.
Sherlock had never really given much thought about what he wanted to be when he grew up- he always wanted to be a pirate. But now, Sherlock realised a lived for solving puzzles and stimulating his brain. Sherlock grew bored very easily- but he wasn't bored when he solved puzzles. Far from it, in fact.
Now, Sherlock Holmes knew exactly what he wanted to be when he got older.
A Detective.

Hey guys:D! Bit of a longer Chapter here (Yaaay). Thank you so much for the reviews:D Please keep them up- they're a huge encouragement:)!