Twelve year old Sherlock knew he was going insane. He had already completed all his summer homework, and it wasn't even July. He'd collected every old newspaper he could find, and completed all the crosswords, word searches, and seduko's. He'd decided never to bother with them again. Why bother when they were so easy? He'd already read everything in the house. Technically, he'd only read about half of them completely. The others he'd tossed aside when he figured out the endings. He looked at riddle books, but the riddles were dull and uninteresting.

Doing an experiment would be a welcome distraction, but his mother had taken away anything science related. He'd only been doing a few harmless experiments on a sheep brain and cow brain he'd gotten from a nearby butcher. Although in hindsight he probably shouldn't have done those experiments in the kitchen sink. The combination of brain tissue and chemicals had resulted in a clogged up garbage disposal that sent back a smell so bad every window in the house had to be opened. The plumber had almost left without finishing the job.

"Will you stop drumming your fingers on the table already? It's getting annoying," Mycroft complained.

"If I have to suffer, why shouldn't you? I'm starting to think it's possible to actually die of boredom."

"If I offer you something to help, will you stop the drumming?"

Sherlock debated a moment. "Annoying you is fun, but I suppose so."

"Good." Mycroft said. "Come outside for a moment." Sherlock followed him behind the house, and Mycroft pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"Cigarettes? I knew about you smoking of course, but you're actually offering me one?"

"I understand about the brain needing relief. I've found these help sometimes. If it keeps you calm and out of my hair for a while, it's worth it."

He lit the cigarette, and handed it to Sherlock. One puff had the younger Holmes in a coughing fit. Mycroft couldn't resist a smirk, and Sherlock was certain he'd done this just to laugh at him. He took another puff and managed to cough a little less. He'd made up his mind to be better at this than Mycroft was. He didn't cough the next time he inhaled, but his first coughing attack had been enough for his mother to hear. He'd never heard her deduce the way he and Mycroft did, but she always seemed to see and hear anything he got up to within seconds.

"Mycroft Aldwyn Holmes did you really give your little brother cigarettes?" She grabbed the pack out of his pocket, threw it to the ground, and crushed it with her foot. Then she grabbed the cigarettes out of their mouths and stomped them out. For a woman her age she was very fast when she wanted to be! And whoever thought she was a sweet, motherly woman had obviously never seen her angry. It wouldn't have surprised the boys if fire had shot out of her eyes.

"He asked for it!"

"No I didn't. It was his idea!"

Strange how their mother could make them feel like they were each four again.

"I don't care whoseidea it was. I don't want to ever catch either of you smoking again! Are you trying to give your brother and yourself lung cancer?"

Mycroft had gathered some of his courage.

"Mum, I only smoke one every so often, not enough to get addicted. And given his reaction to this one, I doubt he'll ever want another cigarette anyway."

"If he does, and you provide it for him, I'll warn you I'll be very angry about it." She went inside slamming the door.

"So, just to be clear, that wasn't angry?" Sherlock had a smirk on his face now that she had left. Mycroft gave him an annoyed glare and walked away. Sherlock pickpocketed the pack of cigarettes in his other pocket so carefully Mycroft never felt it.

Sherlock didn't especially like Mycroft's cigarettes, but he still was going to prove he could be better at this than Mycroft was. He tried different brands, and noticed the ash that fell from each was different. That could be useful somehow, he was sure of it. He convincedhis mother to give him back his microscope, and by the time summer was over he had a whole dresser drawer filled with ash samples. So far he'd found over a hundred and fifty kinds, but he was sure there were more.

School started again. This year would be Sherlock's last at Brambeltye before going to Harrow. Classes here had always been challenging to normal students, although they weren't much more than a mildly interesting game for Sherlock. It was a bit more interesting to study the other students. It was better than reading a book. He knew all about most of them already, but one girl, Cleva Harris, gave him less material than most. She wasn't in any particular group, but she didn't keep mostly to herself the way he did either.

Most people would have said she was pretty, and Sherlock was sure he would agree if he noticed that kind of thing. She was a redhead, with a simple loose hairstyle, and blue eyes. She wasn't silly and obsessed with looks and celebrities like most of the girls he'd met, just an intelligent, nice enough girl.

The teacher came in, and he turned to face him. They were in science class, and he actually enjoyed these lessons, so he paid attention.

"Good morning, class. Today we will be learning about the different types of tissues in the body. Can anyone name them for me? Someone besides Mr. Holmes please? Yes, Miss Harris."

Cleva answered without having to stop and think. "Muscle, connective, nervous, and epithelial."

Not only had she known the answer, she'd even pronounced epithelial correctly.

"And what does epithelial tissue do, Miss Harris?"

"It lines structures and cavities in the body. It helps with trans cellulartransport, protection, detecting sensation, secretion, and selective absorption."

She'd read the material ahead of time. She honestly cared about how well she did in this class.

"Very good. Now there are two types of this tissue, simple and stratified. Today we will be doing lab work to see the difference. Everyone please chose a partner."

Sherlock hated partner projects. He normally ended up with whatever partner the teacher assigned him. They were never any happier about the partnership that he was. They would have been happy about gettingthe best grade in the class, if Sherlock had been someone they could stand. Sherlock liked having a sounding board for his thoughts, but why was everyone he was paired with so stupid? He was wondering which moron he would be paired with this time when Cleva walked over.

"Would you like to be my partner?"

Sherlock was rarely surprised. This was one of those times.

"Me? You're asking me to be your partner?"

"If you want to. I just thought since neither of us has a partner yet."

"No, I mean yes that's fine." He was a bit frustrated with himself for getting tonguetied like an idiot. The project went well, and it felt good to actually have a partner who understood the basic concepts of what they were doing. They were finished well ahead of the others, and used the extra time to talk a bit. He didn't have to try dumbing down what he said for her, although he still found himself speaking faster than was normal even for him. He wished he could stop doing that. If only he knew why maybe he could stop. For some reason it made Cleva smile.

The bell rang, and each team turned in their observations. It was lunchtime, and as they walked out the door Cleva asked. "Do you want to sit together?"

On the days when he actually ate lunch, he always sat alone. For some reason Cleva wanted his company.

"Sure. We could do that."

It was the first time anyone ever voluntarily had anything to do with him. He wouldn't have admitted it, but it felt good.