"What instrument is that? Why is it called that? Why does it sound like that?" "Why do they like spicy foods?" "How do they think that is fun?" "Why is she so fat?" "Why does she wear a lot of makeup?" "How do you play that instrument?"
You name it, Sherlock had a question about it. And he locked all his newfound information away in his brain. He had to know about everything! After having a question answered, he usually just stayed silent while processing the new-found information. He found himself to be more and more observant. When Mycroft made a new treasure map, Sherlock simply looked at Mycroft's clothes to figure out where he had been: whether there were a certain type of flower petals on his shoulder, a certain type of dirt on his shoes, any dust on his fingers. Anything was useful. And Mycroft found this increasingly irritating.
When school started again, Sherlock was overjoyed to find that Greg was in his classes. And when the other kids found out that the decent new kid was friends with the weirdo, all hell broke loose. They tried to seperate the two, but fortunately, it never worked. Many of the shouts on the schoolyard were something akin to "Why are you hanging around with that weirdo?" or "You're going to catch the weird!" Greg was exceptional at ignoring them though.
What Greg wasn't exceptional at, though, was school. He was sort of lazy and didn't participate much. While Sherlock succeeded in science-y things, Greg succeeded in rugby, and that was about it. "School and stuff really isn;t my thing," he would say. They stayed great friends though, as different as they were.
Sherlock's new voracious curiosity meant that he would get into absolutely everything, left a mess everywhere, asked too many questions, and got on anyone's and everyone's nerves...even more then before. He developed sort of this careless attitude towards everyone and became kind of an annoying brat. Bear eventually made his was up to a shelf, staying there and collecting dust. Sherlock felt as if he was getting too old for such childish things. That meant that he no longer had an interest in being a pirate. His hat was eventually lost somewhere in all the disarray in his bedroom.
By the time Greg and Sherlock had reached secondary, Sherlock had more than caught up with Greg in height, and now towered over almost everyone. He was lanky, but still had the same messy dark curls. It was almost impossible to get his hair cut and tamed. He was pompous, to say the least, which annoyed Greg endlessly. Sherlock did not understand the social repercussions of being a dick.
What was really surprising was the way Sherlock's female classmates found him attractive. Fifteen-year-old Sherlock had absolutely no interest in them whatsoever, which Greg found unbelieveable. One late morning they were rushing down the crowded hall to class, Greg struggling to keep up with Sherlock's long strides, when Greg had to go and bring it up again.
"Chrissakes, Sherlock, what the hell is wrong with you? If I had girls all over me like the way you do, I would defo take advantage of it. Sometimes I just don't understand you, mate," Greg complained, his voice dripping with jealousy.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What I don't understand is why it is so important to you that you have to mention it so often. Girls are of no concern to me. Not much of anyone is of much concern to me," he said with as much disdain as he could muster. Greg really did annoy him at times.
"The way you drag Molly around like that, though, it's so unfair!" Greg protested, speaking of their slightly mousy female classmate, whom Greg obviously fancied.
"If Molly has not already figured out that I am not interested, then she is really not worth my time, Greg. You can be so daft at times. I wonder why I even still tolerate you."
Sherlock could practically feel Greg roll his eyes (Greg was still lagging behind). Greg was used to this sort of abuse, so why should Sherlock change? He didn't need to change for anybody.
"I wonder why all those girls even like you," Greg shot back.
Sherlock groaned. "Really, Lestrade? Really? I wish you would stop that shit. It is getting very old. Now hurry up and let's get to class."
The rugby player grumbled something and followed the tall, arsehole budding scientist.
(A/N: Thanks for reading! I really wanted to hurry up and end Little!Lock so I could start Teen!Lock. I've been very excited for Teen!Lock, although I am truly going to miss the young'in. I am probably going to spend longer with Teen!Lock than I did with Little!Lock...and then we go to uni! This was probably poorly written, but I've been in sort of a sick haze for the past week or so. It's the weather, man. By the way, I was accepted into the University of Alabama school of music, so I get to major in music therapy this autumn! My state doesn't have a music therapy programme, and it's seriously what I want to do. I am so excited!
Thanks again for reading!)