Sherlock woke up panting heavily and sweat dripping down the back of his neck and soaking into his shirt. He sat up quickly, looking around into the darkness of his room. Good, it was a dream. It was only a dream and he was fine. He hadn't fallen. None of it had happened.

But it had. All those words and torments said in his dream. He had heard them all before, or had heard similar remarks, even thought them himself. But then Sherlock remembered his mum again. She still seemed to believe in him. Most of the time, atleast when she wasnt with his father or brother and they weren't there to criticize him.

In his dream though, they had been right. Why couldn't he be like everyone else? Or atleast be good enough for his family. But no. He was stuck smack in the middle of the two. Not normal. And not Holmes worthy. No one seemed to care that he was only eight. That didnt matter to them.

The eight-year-old peered through the dark to gaze at his clock. It was only quarter past one. No one was awake. The room was dark. Outside of the curtain drawn windows it was dark. No sounds came from the house. Nothing came from outside. Sherlock was alone. The only one aware of the world around him at the current moment. The eigth-year-old grinned. He liked it.

Sherlock pulled the covers off of himself, letting it fall more heavily to one side where it now draped off the edge of the mattress and hung on the floor. He got up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He let his bare feet thump to the floor, before standing up and going over to the window right beside the end of his bed. He didnt bother trying to be quiet. No one could hear him. They were all asleep.

The boy undid the latch, letting the glass pane slowly slide out, just like he had earlier that day. A cold breeze washed over him, filling the room. He shivered, but didnt close it. Sherlock set his arms on the windowsill, leaning out the window slightly and letting the midnight air rush through his dark curls. It felt good. Cold, but good. Sherlock looked over at the tree that was beside the window. He could do it. he could easily reach over and climb down to go explore. But he decided against it. He could do that later. It was only his first night here. Unfortunately, he had many more to go.

Sherlock gave a grin as he peered out into the night. He enjoyed the darkness, with the shadows cast by the moon peeping out from behind the clouds. And in the clear spots, Sherlock could see some of the stars. There, that one was Orion. And over there Ursa Major, the Big Dipper.

About fifteen minutes later, when the eight-year-old was well aware of the goosebumps that had formed on his bare arms, and the shivers that continuously ran up his spine, Sherlock decided maybe he should close the window now. And atleast put a jumper on. He wouldnt want to explain to his mum why he would suddenly be catching a cold. Sherlock let his head leave the cool open air, bringing it back past the sill and into the slightly warmer air of his bedroom. He reached out quickly to pull the window back in, then latched it once more.

Sherlock looked back at his clock, seeing that he hadnt been awake for very long now. Maybe he should try going back to sleep. He would need to be well rested for his further adventures in the morning and hopefully afternoon. Sherlock looked over to his desk. Or he could stay up and draw something else now. He would play pirates on his bed. It was the perfect lighting to pretend a massive storm had hit his ship. But he didnt want to wake anyone from jumping around.

Sherlock leaned against the wall. Sometimes he wondered why he was even in the world. It sucked being a little kid. He wished he could just grow up already so he could go off and do whatever he wanted. But he didnt know what that would be either.

He sighed, then went back over to his bed. Might as well go back to sleep. He could add another piece to his drawing collection later in the morning. After his adventures. He could even draw something from his adventures. Yeah, that sounded about right.

The eight-year-old slipped back under the covers, letting his now nearly freezing feet warm almost instantly under the thick blanket. He slid deeper into the bed and set his head on the pillow. Bringing his arms back out from under the blanket, and letting them fall behind his head, Sherlock stared up at the ceiling, not really thinking about naything. He just let his mind fall blank. Within minutes, his eyelids were drooping and they closed slowly. Then he fell back asleep once more.

When Sherlock woke up again, it was morning. He had actually slept in, and it was nearing eight o'clock. He could already hear morning birds chirping from outside.

He pulled the covers off once more, sliding out of the bed and going quietly over to his bedroom door. He knew his father would already be up, and possibly gone if he had gone off to work today. His mother, he couldnt tell, but he thought was downstairs. Mycroft would be in his room, and Sherlock would check as he walked past.

The boy opened his bedroom door silently, letting it creak on its hinges before pulling it wide enough to slip through. He didnt bother latching it behind him, letting the light from his window light up the hallway through the still open crack. He paused in the middle of the floor, taking a deep breath in. He could smell food that had been cooked fairly recently in the kitchen.

He grinned. Excellent. It smelled delicious and it would already be waiting for him on the table. Sherlock started on his way down the hallway. When he got to his brothers room his paused slightly, watching the shadows from under the crack at the bottom of the door. No doubt Mycroft would be reading a book from yet another "subject important to his future". Sherlock had been distracted by these thoughts he found more entertaining and funny, and had forgotten about the shadows he was wawtching. Thats when they moved and he could hear shuffling from within the room. Then the door was opened and he looked up. Mycroft stood there, already dressed in a nicely pressed pair of black trousers and a button-up shirt complete with tie.

"Well good morning," He greeted, hardly groggy at all, and obviously having had been awake for quite a while now.

"'morning to you to," sherlock muttered, dissapointed by his brother's cheery attitude.

"Father went to work, and mum went in to town." Mycroft informed his little brother. "So Im in charge. Dont try anything,"

Sherlock only scowled up at his twice as old brother before turning to continue back downstairs.

"Actually though, mum'll be gone all day, so really, dont do anything stupid."

Sherlock only turned and stuck his tongue out at Mycroft to show both his understanding, and how little he actually cared.

"Yeah, whatever," he added, rushing forwards and down the stairs before the older boy could hold him up again. It was on the stairs that Sherlock's stomach grumbled, and he realized just how hungry he was. He wouldn't let Mycroft stop him from getting his breakfast. And who cared whether he was in charge. Despite his obvious control over Sherlock, Mycroft usually let the younger boy do whatever he wanted, as long as he didnt break anything, and left the older boy alone and didnt nag him persistantly. Sherlock was fine with both these rules. He wouldnt be doing either of those things today anyways.

Sherlock made his way to the dining room. Mary directed him to a plate of food, just barely still steaming. It contained eggs, bacon, and a slice of toast with jam. Sherlock sat down and began to eat, Mary soon leaving the room again. Sherlock was left alone, but he didnt mind and he sat there silently as he ate by himself.

When he was done, and he Mary had brought his plate back into the kitchen, Sherlock rushed back up the stairs. But then he paused, only halfway up. In his earlier excitement and hunger, and hurry to get out of his brothers annoying presence, Sherlock hadn't paused to listen.

From above he could hear a soft padding on the room, wind from outside, and very clearly, water running down the drainpipe in the side of the house. It was raining.

Great. Well there went Sherlocks plans for the days, down the drain. Quite literally. Now he wouldn't be able to go back in the forest. He would have to wait to look for that other boy again. And he would be stuck inside with Mycroft in charge. Well this day sucked, and wasnt turning out how he wanted.

The eight-year-old gave a sigh of annoyance and trudged up the rest of the staircase. Atleast the day wasnt fully lost. He could still play pirates, try out the new house for a new setting. He could also draw a pirate map, that way he could go on an indoor adventure if he must.

He walked past Mycrofts room once more, this time not pausing beside it. He didnt want to get caught having to talk to him again. And he assumed the older boy didnt want Sherlock to annoy him either. A win-win scenario in this case. They could avoid each other easily throughout the day. Hopefully.

Sherlock entered his room again, staring grudgingly at the window opposite where the raindrops slid down the glass pane slowly. A stream of water fell from the windowsill beneath. He could barely make out through the gray of the outdoors, puddles collected in the field below. The boy went over to his dresser first. If he was going to be a pirate, he needed something other than the plaid pyjamas he had on now.

He pulled out a white tshirt, slipping off his shirt he already had on, and replacing it. Next trousers. Or shorts. It might be cold in shorts, but pirates didnt wear trousers. Sherlock gave it a moment of thought then decided, pulling out his not as nice black pair of trousers. He replaced his pyjama bottoms with those, but he wasnt down yet. Sitting down in the floor, Sherlock began rolling the trouser legs up, halfway up his calf. There a compromise. He examined his costume for a moment, hesitating, but then deciding it was satisfactory.

Next what he needed, a belt. Sherlock tucked his white shirt into the trousers, then pulled out a black leather belt from on of the dresser drawers, slipping it through his belt loops and clasping it together. The eight-year-old stood there, hands on his hips, trying to remember what else he would need. Oh, right. He almost forgot his hat.

He looked around the room, laying eyes in the box that still contaminated the rest of his pirate costume, the hat and sword. He found it, placed beside the desk. Practically running over to it, Sherlock knelt on the floor pulling the flaps up and opening it. Out came the sword, placed on the floor beside him. Then the hat, which went immediately on to his head of curls. Picking up the sword, Sherlock slipped it between his belt and the waistband of his trousers. The cross-guard above the hilt would keep it there in place until he needed it.

Sherlock looked around again, deciding what to do next. Well, if he was a pirate, he needed a map. The boy reached down to open the box from earlier, that still held his art supplies. He pulled out a stack of paper, setting it on the desktop. The crayons were still there in their box. He would use crayons first, then maybe go back over in pen if he felt the map needed it.

Sherlock sat down at the desk, pulling the stack of paper closer to him so it was right in front. He sat there in thought, deciding how he would go about drawing this. After a few minutes of unmoving, Sherlock had a better idea. He pushed the chair back from the desk and got up, leaving his room once more and heading down the hall to his brothers. He didnt want to interrupt whatever it was the older boy was doing, but he had no choice, and he didnt plan on having to do so a second time.

His small hand knocked lightly on the door, receiving a call to come in. He turned the doorknob and pushed the door open slowly.

"Myc, have you got any tape?" He asked softly, his voice small.

"Tape?" His older brother asked from where he sat at his own desk, hunched over a book with multiple papers and notebooks beside, where obviously he had been writing important informations down.

"Yeah, you know to stick things together," Sherlock replied cockily, only slightly jokingly.

"Dont be smart, I meant what for?"

"So I can tape some paper together," the younger boy returned, still only in the doorway, one hand on the frame as he watched his brother carefully.

"Here, don't use all of it," Mycroft reached over to grab the tape dispenser he had on the desk in front of him. Sherlock stepped forwards out of the doorway to collect it.

"Thanks," He gave a sly smile in appreciation and headed out of the room before his brother could ask what he was up to.

Back in the confines of his room, Sherlock sat back down at the desk. He took the top four pages of paper off of the little stack in front of him, sliding the extras off to the side. He laid the four out so they weren't overlapping, and in total, creating a large rectangular shape, covering a good portion of the desk. He lined them up very carefully, leaning down and eyeing them to make sure there was little to no space between the pages. When he was satisfied with how they fit together, he tore a strip of tape off the roll, laying it down slowly over the intersection between the top two pieces. Then he did the same with the bottom two. Without moving the now two connected sheet of paper he had, he tore of an even larger piece of tape, and connected the two bigger papers together, top and bottom, to create one single sheet of paper, composed out of four.

Sherlock pushed the tape to the side and picked up the larger piece of paper, grinning at it satisfied. Yes, this would be the perfect treasure map. All he needed to do now, was draw out a detailed map for him to follow. He set the paper back down on the desk, but turning it over this time so the taped side was on the bottom. He wouldn't be able to drawer over the tape with his crayons.

The eight-year-old reached over the desk to grab the box of colours, dumping them all out ontop of the paper. But then he and second thoughts. This actually seemed like a job for coloured pencils. Giving a nod to his reconsideration, Sherlock bent down to his art supply box again, shuffling through it until he found the container holding his many coloured pencils, an assortment of just as many, if not more than he had crayons.

Sherlock set the pencils ontop of the desk, but then looked back down at the box on the floor. He should probably move those things to his desk drawers. Then he wouldn't have to lean down every time he wanted something. Also, he might as well get used to the fact that he wasnt leaving, so there was no use in not unpacking and pretending he might not have to stay.

The eight-year-old was momentarily distracted by this new task. But twenty minutes later, the cardboard box was on the floor, unmoved, but now empty. The left side drawer of his desk held his pencils, crayons and erasers. The bottom drawer on the right had a stack of paper, and right above that, a collection of notebooks, some used and others untouched. There was a fourth sqaure drawrem above the pencils and crayons, but he had left that empty, with nothing to put in it. That left the top drawer above all four combined. It still held the four drawings from the day before. But the boy had left them there. They were of no use to him now, but he also couldn't will himself to get rid of them.

When the desk was stocked, the box empty Sherlock picked it up and tossed it onto his bed. Maybe he would need it later. But right now he didnt want it annoying him by watching him from the floor as he drew his treasure map. He turned back to the desk. Speaking of his treasure map, he should get back to it.

The boy brought the paper closer to him once more, opening the pencil box and searching through it until he found the right colour. Yes, the dark red. Perfect. He pressed the perfectly sharpened tip lightly to the paper in the top right hand corner. Taking a deep breath, he drew a faint red 'x'. Then satisfied with how it had turned out, he refined the outline, and coloured it in, darker. With the destination set, now all he had to do was draw the landscape, then fill in a route to get to the supposed treasure. This wouldn't take long.

It was hours later when Mary was coming up to inform Sherlock lunch was ready, that the boy paused his map making. He only did so to turn and see what a art had wanted as she stood in the doorway.

"Come down and eat something, you've been up here for hours," She told him sweetly, admiring his work as he sat hunched over the desktop, sitting on his knees in order to get a better position to do so.

"I'm almost done," he promised, going back to his map so he could finish. All he needed was to colour in the water off on the left edge, and to finish going over the red dashes that marked the route to the treasure marked with an 'x' as drawn earlier.

"Alright, but don't be too long or your soup will be cold. We've made soup for the rainy day," Mary turned to go back down the hall to tell a Mycroft to come for lunch as well. Sherlock only nodded at her request, not bother ing to look up or see her go.

He was almost done. Other than the red 'x', the sea off on the left side with a boat on its coast, the map included: mountains shown with bottomless triangular shapes spread about the area, a few palm trees to show a bit of the land features, a skull and crossbones took up the bottom right corner, and arrow with a treasure chest beside it occupied the corner below the ship, and a few lakes and islands made up the rest of the region where it wasnt coloured yellow for the land, or sand, whichever it was supposed to be was undecided. A few minutes later Sherlock had finished the rest of the filling in, and he leaned back in the chair to admire his handiwork. it was perfect, but it would have to wait. He slid out of the chair and headed downstairs to eat the soup Mary had mentioned.

An hour later at the most, Sherlock was back in his room, treasure map in hand as he paced the floor. He had his sword in his belt, his barefeet padded across the carpet, back and forth. His first mate, in the form of a stuffed toy bear, sat in his bed across from him. A handkerchief was tied around the toys head to make him appear more pirate-like. Sherlock still had his own makeshift pirate costume on, which Mycroft had begrudgingly allowed at the table during lunch.

But that didnt matter now. Now it was Captain Sherlock, and his first mate from the Black Elm, versus the new map they had obtained, and begun tracking down.

"Alrigh', 'eres how we're goin' about this," The Cptain started, addressing his first mate, Jameson, as the two had met in the captain's quarters. "First, we gotta find this mountain, 'ere. We find the valley through it, then come up over this far side."
Jameson nodded slowly in understanding. "We gotta be careful, tho', 'eadin inta enemy terretry 'ere and 'ere," the first mate added.
"Aye, excellent observation," Captain Sherlock set the map on the large flat table in the center of the room. "Right, we watch their camp from 'ere," he pointed to the map for visual. "Then see what they're up to, make sure they aren't plannin' any attack,"
Jameson nodded once again. "Well thought out, Captain,"

Sherlock kneeled on the floor, map spread out in front if him. He had picked up and moved his bear so it was right beside him, also supposedly watching the boys directions on the map.

It was later in the afternoon, closer to supper time when Mrs. Holmes walked through the front door. She removed her coat and hung it up on a hook by the door. She was just about to turn and consult Mary upon a matter in the kitchen, when she heard a shuffling from the top of the stairs and looked up to see what it was.

Her eight-year-old son was lying flat on his stomach on the top step, his legs outstretched behind him into the hallway. Beside him in one hand was his sword, the map was rolled up and stuck in between the waistband of his trousers and his belt. His stuffed toy bear first mate was next to him on the other side, propped up against the pole that started off the the stair's banister. His mother called up to him.

"Sherlock, what are you up to?"

"Uh oh, Jameson, seems we've been spotted, mate," Sherlock told his bear in a hushed voice. He stared intently at the toy, as though processing through a reply. He gave a nod. "Seems like a logical explanation,"

The eight-year-old sat up on his hands, pushing himself back from the stair edge and farther into the hall, his hat and curls on his head now invisible from below. But by moving his head at the right angle, Sherlock could still see down to the first floor where his mum stood in front of the stairs. The boy turned back to his bear.

"What do you think, then? Now, or should we wait, go in for the surprise?"

He watched, as though waiting for a response again.

"Yes, perhaps we should go with that option." Sherlock laid back down flat on the ground, watching his mum carefully from where he was positioned.

"Sherlock, come down and wash up for supper, it'll be ready any moment now." His mother called him once more from below. "And call your brother too, tell him it's ready," she asked. Mrs. Holmes was turning away once, done with Sherlock's ignoring of her.

But that's when the pirate attacked, or Sherlock did. As soon as she had turned away, the boy had crept down the staircase, leaving his first mate teddy bear up at the top as watch guard. When his mum had left the bottom of the stairs, he crept up behind her, sword drawn.

"Stop right there, you land scum," he demanded in his best, but playful, pirate voice. His mother turned around, raising an eyebrow in interest.

"Land scum?" She repeated, only playing along for a few moments.

"Aye. These waters are no place for a person like yerself," he informed her. "Board the ship and walk the plank in surrender, or if yer no coward, fight me,"

His mother gave an apologetic smile and readjusted the hat on his head.

"Sorry, Sherlock. Not right now. I've got to talk to Mary about some things first," Sherlock scowled and let his shoulder hang, dejected. "Please go wash up," his mother sked again. "Perhaps later you can continue with your pirates, alright?" She gave a small nod, waiting for his response. Sherlock only sighed and turned away to trudge back up the stairs.

"And please, no swords or hats at the table," She requested. Sherlock removed the hat from his head and rushed up the stairs to go return it to his room. There he set it on his bed, laying his sword gently next to it on the blankets.

Sherlock's fork clinked again the surface of the plate in front of him as he stopped up his food. The dinner table was silent of all conversation. Mr. Holmes was not home yet. He wouldn't be so until late. This wasnt very unusual, but Sherlock had hoped that maybe their moving would perhaps decrease these long, almost daily absences. But apparently he was wrong.

Suddenly his mother spoke up, causing both boys to stop their eating, and look up from their food.

"Tomorrow," she began slowly, "The tutor we have hired will come around to meet you two. He will also do the same the rest of the week. As I understand it, he will start your lessons the start of next Monday. They will be five days a week, from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon. Except Fridays, when it will be nine to one, as he has somewhere to be," she explained to her two sons, now that she had their full and unenergized attention.

"Tomorrow, that's sounds alright," Mycroft replied. He looked to Sherlock who still hadn't spoken. His mother did as well. The younger boy looked between them.

"Whats his name?" He finally asked, more curious of that then the fact that he would be tutored at home from now on instead of going to school in the city.

"His name is Mr. Richards," His mother informed him.

"Is he nice?"

"Well I suppose so, Sherlock, he is a tutor after all. He's worked with children before." His mother nodded before returning to her plate.

"That doesn't mean anything," The eight-year-old muttered.

"Sherlock, stop being a nuisance," Mycroft told him from across the table. "Just wait and meet him," he told his brother. Sherlock sighed and went back to eating, not at all looking forwards to the next day. Not only would he have to meet and stay with this new tutor all day, it also meant he wouldn't be able to get a chance to go back into the forest, pushing his wanted adventure even further back.