It's a kidlock! I finally caved in. I was reminded of something Sebastian said in The Blind Banker episode and this sparked from that. I imagine Sherlock always had a rough childhood. So yeah.
He was running. Wind sweeping through his hair. He wasn't sure where he was going to go exactly but his feet pulled him forward. Edging him into the unknown. He was excited to say the least. Sherlock didn't know why exactly. He was just after the thrill. Mycroft was away at boarding school and Mummy had just flown out to Spain. He gathered it was Spain anyway due to the case and shoes she had taken. No one to make sure he ate his dinner or to stop him picking up dead animals for experiments. There was always his father but when did he ever pay attention to him?
Sherlock began to slow his pace as he found himself closing in towards the park. He decided to go find his usual corner by the tall brambles and trees so he could hide away. Away from the other children and the rest of the idiotic world. In a way he envied his brother for going to boarding school. He managed to escape what Sherlock could not yet avoid. His mother insisted on two years education at a state school with "normal" children before he even got the chance to go to boarding school. So Sherlock was forced to socialise with the people below him.
The boys in his school weren't particularly nice to him. He didn't fit in there. It was obvious he was too different. As they had often pointed out to Sherlock. Maybe it was the way he dressed or maybe even the way he talked. Either way Sherlock was set against state schools and the people that inhabited them day by day. They were ordinary, boring and down right horrid. Everybody often ignored him at school. All the boys opted for football and the girls for jump rope whilst he sat in the corner studying a book of some sort.
Sherlock darted through the trees, adventure filling his lungs. He imagined the ocean spraying gently across his face as he swung around the deck. He wasn't school boy Sherlock Holmes. He was bloody thirsty pirate Captain Ananke. He always liked that word. Ananke. Ever since he had first read The Hunchback Of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo. He could perfectly picture Frollo carving the word into the walls of the tower in Notre Drama. It was an ancient word and the choice was interesting. Since that day he had been Captain Ananke and he liked it. As he climbed the mast of his mighty pirate ship he heard the approaching sound of childish ramblings. One of the voices sounded familiar. It was definitely one of the boys from school. Assuming then that the rest were too. Looking around Sherlock found himself no longer a pirate on the high seas. He was just a six year old boy climbing some trees in a forgotten area of the park. For some reason he felt oddly vulnerable.
The noise grew closer and closer and Sherlock realised that he was trapped. He had chosen the one corner of the park where there was only one sure exit and that happened to be the way the noise was advancing from. He was trying to pin together some force of escape route when the rustling of leaves declared it was too late. Three boys came into view just as Sherlock returned back to the ground. He recognised them straight away. It was that obnoxious boy who went by the name of Seb Wilkes and his two goons. Albert Hinckley and Danny Fowler. "Ooo look who it is! Freakazoid."
Sherlock winced. He loathed that nickname. They often chanted it on the playground. Normally things like that wouldn't bother him. Except he had problems ignoring this one. Being called something was one thing but direct confrontation was another. "I think he's ignoring you, Seb."
"He is." Seb wore an arrogant smile. He was surprisingly tall for his age and smirked down at Sherlock. Sherlock had calculated however that he would actually never amount to six foot. It was thoughts like that which transported him to safety. "My Mum says that it's rude to ignore people, Freakazoid. You should hear what she says about you."
"What does she say about me?" Sherlock blurted out. His voice was slightly high pitched. He felt uncomfortable. He tried to remember what Mycroft had told him. Stop reacting to them. Ignore them. He had already failed.
"She says you're weird! You and your family. Says your Mummy is a imbe- imbe-" Seb paused. Like he was having trouble pronouncing the word.
"Imbecile?" Sherlock spat.
"Yeah! She says you ain't normal. There's something wrong with you. She's right. You're a freak." With that all three boys began laughing.
"I am most certainly not a freak! I am completely normal and you boys are too obtuse to see differently." Sherlock stood still. He had never spoken like that to any of them before.
"Seb, what's obtuse mean?" Albert whispered. Both he and Danny looked around confused. As did Seb.
"I don't know. Miss ain't taught us that yet." Seb replied. "I think he's calling us stupid!"
Sherlock gulped. The three boys looked angry. Angrier than Sherlock had ever seen them look before. He slowly reversed as if he would be able to escape into the trees. Like they were his ship and he would be in command. If only his crew were here to help him. Sherlock watched and he saw Seb slowly reach down and pick up a small rock. It didn't take a genius to know what was going to happen next.
A sharp pain strung on the top of his forehead. He grasped his hand there and squinted his eyes. Which was probably his first mistake.
It was dark when he woke up. He could feel a warm liquid running down his face. Opening his eyes he found that he was still within his secret area of the park. The moon shone through the trees giving him some light. Sitting up hurt. Then there was a pain coursing through his arm as he tried to support himself up.
Sherlock examined himself. Bruises covered his legs and he could already tell his head was bleeding from earlier with the rock. His arm felt like it was on fire. He also felt possible bruises elsewhere on his body but they were covered with clothing.
He couldn't remember exactly what had happened. He knew that after the rock had been thrown at his head everything went slightly darker and he felt sleepy. He remembered hurting all over. He remembered why.
After managing to stand himself up Sherlock made his way home. It couldn't have been too late as the local shop was still open and it closed after eight o'clock. When he walked through the front door of his home the first thing that greeted him was the shrill scream of the maid. On the landing he heard the sound of his father running. Sherlock sighed as the maid rushed towards him. This was going to be a long night.
After that night he didn't return to that school again. His father refused. When his mother returned home from Spain two weeks later she agreed and Sherlock was home schooled for the remainder of the year.
As he grew up he often kept that horrific memory with him. It was a reminder that caring wasn't going to help him. Being affected by people's words weren't going to help him. It was best to keep his mouth shut and move on. To stop himself being hurt. He soon learnt to divorce his emotions altogether to aid his intellectual development.
By the time he reached university he was perfected in the art of deduction. His extensive knowledge on chemistry, amongst other things, made him the top in all his classes. Of course he wasn't exactly well liked. He spoke out of place and was often pretty frank with the other students. He didn't care because he had taught himself not to. He didn't even care when he found out that a student going by the name of Seb Wilkes had joined the university and would be sharing a room next to his.
"We hated him." Sebastian chimed at John in an almost comical way. Sherlock shuffled in his seat as he tore his gaze away from the man before him. "You'd come down to breakfast in the formal hall and that 'freak' would know you've been shagging the previous night."
"I simply observed." Sherlock replied.
He barely paid attention to the rest of Sebastian's ramblings. He just took on the case and got to work. He tried to push the pass behind him. Remember his philosophy. It was better that way. It didn't take him long to solve it and after it was solved he left the bank and added the location to his mind under places to never return. He knew John would see to the rest of the matters.
To Sherlock Sebastian would forever be little Seb Wilkes. The boy who formed him into an emotionless sociopath, and now great consulting detective, and he still didn't know whether or not to be grateful. All he knew was he could never stand to look at the man again.