Here's the next one guys. Forgot to clarify before that I don't own the characters or the shows, etc., you know the drill, disclaimer, no copy write intended, all that. Enjoy!
Chapter 2
Sherlock Holmes wasn't having the best of lives. He had no friends, and his family hated him, well, except for Mycroft, but he was a fat pig so he doesn't count. Sherlock was too clever for his own good, people would say, but the truth was, Sherlock was too clever for the rest of the world. No one understood. No one saw the world the way he did. And it made him feel lonely. Everyone at school called him a freak, even the ones that were younger than him, and the older ones liked to use him as their human punching bag. He was alone. But he didn't really mind all that much. The others weren't like him, so why hang around with them? No. Sherlock much preferred to be alone with a good book.
Even through all the hell that school put him through, it was better than home. His father hated him. Sherlock wasn't sure what it exactly was that he was doing wrong, but his father was angry at him never the less. He would beat Sherlock, starve him, lock him in a cellar for days on end. His mother just sat idly by whilst it happened, and Mycroft was too afraid to stop him. But he did clean up Sherlock's wounds and snuck him food when his father gave him none. Mycroft was good to him, but Sherlock couldn't help but be angry at him for not stopping their father, especially when Mycroft left. Sherlock knew that he could never forgive Mycroft for leaving him there, alone.
Sherlock stormed his way through school, and University. But when the 21st century arrived, he was a mess. Mycroft had cut off his fund until Sherlock kicked the drugs, but he wouldn't. His landlord kicked him out and Sherlock took to the streets, doing anything he could to secure his next hit. It stayed this way for years. Mycroft came to Sherlock's aid when he needed it, but generally left him alone. He knew Sherlock hated him, it was no secret, and what he was doing now wouldn't help. But Mycroft refused to fund Sherlock's addictions, so he left him to make his own way, till he either kicked the drugs or asked him to take him to rehab.
One the 20th November 2005, Sherlock stumbled across a triple homicide crime scene before it had been properly closed off, and solved the case in about 18 seconds.
"It was the brother," was all he said. The police officers present whirled around to look at who had spoken and all turned their noses up at the homeless drug addict in disgust. Except one.
"What makes you say that?" the exception asked, Sherlock deduced that he was in charge here, probably a Detective Inspector.
"Because it was the brother," Sherlock replied as if the man were a child.
"Look mister," a curtain mouse-faced forensic officer began, "why don't you pop off to whatever dumpster it is you call home and let the real police do their work?" all the other officers snickered at that. Sherlock was use to it, so he paid no mind to it. He was turning away when the man in charge addressed him again.
"No, wait," he called, "how did you know?" Sherlock then began his very clever speech about what he had observed and the deductions he made to get to the conclusion that it was, in fact, the brother.
The officers stared at him in shock, till the leader spoke again.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock replied.
"Well Mr Holmes..." the leader began.
"Please don't call me that," Sherlock cut in. He hated when people called him 'Mr Holmes', it reminded him too much of his father. No one ever called Mr Holmes 'Arthur', even his family referred to him as 'Sir', that was just how it was. So Sherlock avoided being called 'Mr Holmes' whenever he could.
"Okay...Sherlock...well what I was trying to say was that was bloody genius! How did you do that?" Sherlock stared on in shock; no one had called him a genius before.
"Erm..." Sherlock tried.
"It's okay," the leader interrupted, "you don't have to answer that. Probably a thought process I could never understand," the leader licked his lips, "I'm Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, by the way," Lestrade held out his hand, and Sherlock shook it lightly.
And that was the start of Sherlock's career as a Consulting Detective.
Lestrade was there a lot for Sherlock, something he never really thanked him for. Lestrade took Sherlock in, cleaned him up, and kept him entertained with cases so he wouldn't get bored. When Mycroft found out about this, he instantly kidnapped Lestrade and interrogated him. But instead of Mycroft scaring Lestrade, Lestrade scared him.
And that was the start of a beautiful friendship.
5 years after Sherlock first met Lestrade, on the 25th July 2010, Sherlock stumbled across a man named John Watson. Now John was very different to everyone else, he was plain, ordinary, but by no means boring. Sherlock didn't know what it was. It could be because John called him brilliant, no one had done that before, or it could be because John took all the shit that Sherlock threw his way, but he stayed. John always stayed. Even when Sherlock jumped off a roof and came storming back into John's life three years later, John just fell right back in his place, by Sherlock's side, without question. Well, he got married so obviously there were some changes, but everything was still basically the same.
Sherlock discovered a long time ago that he loved John; it was obvious, to everyone, except John. Everyone also knew that John loved Sherlock on some level, but he hadn't realised it. 6 years they'd known each other, but John didn't know, so Sherlock gave up hope on that dream. He didn't mind though really, they were still basically a married couple, especially when John divorced Mary and moved back in with Sherlock, 2 years later, but still did not know his love for Sherlock.
It was the 8th year of their friendship that it happened, on the 26th April 2018. When life would never be the same. For anyone. But most of all, it was the day that Sherlock Holmes died.
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