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"Sorry about this Mrs Holmes but Sherlock won't come out." It was past home time at the nursery, all of the other children and already left for the day. Mrs Holmes looked at the small cupboard under the teachers desk and cringed. She knew Sherlock was a small child at three but even he must be uncomfortable in there.
"Darling, do you want to come out and tell me what's wrong?" She heard a sniff, and the door opened. She soon found herself with an armful of sniffing Sherlock. She carried him over to the play area and sat down with him on a bean bag. "Tell me what's wrong." She said looking down into his big blue eyes. Sherlock hic-cupped and wiped the tears away.
"I...I..." He started. Mrs Holmes rubbed his back.
"Take your time sweetheart." She said kissing the top of his head.
"I told Sally I liked her, and that I'd like to be her friend." Sherlock rubbed his eye, his mother took his hand in hers and pulled it away. "She told me I'm a poo poo head." Sherlock's lip quivered.
"What did you say to her?"
"I said she was too stupid to even do her own laces up." He said snuggling into his mothers chest. "I could tell she didn't do them up cause where it was tied was on the wrong side."
"Did Sally do anything else?" Mrs Holmes asked with a sneaking suspicion.
"She slapped me across the face, and pushed me off the climbing frame." Mrs Holmes looked at the teacher who nodded.
"We put punished Sally. She had to sit in the corner on her own until story time." The teacher replied. Mrs Holmes ran her fingers through Sherlock's curly hair.
"Come on darling." Mrs Holmes said picking Sherlock up. "Let's get you home and I'll make you anything you like for dinner."
"Can I have ice cream?" Sherlock asked as his mother pulled on his coat.
"Yes you can have ice cream." She said kissing on the forehead. Sherlock grinned and waved goodbye to his teacher as his mother swept him up out of the classroom door.
*****
"Why have you got a black eye Sherlock?" Mycroft asked sitting on the edge of Sherlock's bed. Sherlock was fourteen and Mycroft had just arrived back from London for a visit. Sherlock worried his lip, his eyes red rimmed.
"Leave me alone Mycroft." Sherlock said pulling his pillow over his head.
"Sherlock, mummy asked me to check if you are ok." Mycroft said resting his hand on the top of the pillow.
"I'm fine, tell her I'm fine now piss off and leave me alone." Sherlock mumbled from under the pillow. Mycroft patted the pillow.
"Fine, if you need to talk to me I'll be downstairs." Mycroft left knowing that a teenager wasn't going to tell him anything till he was good and ready.
Mycroft made his way over to the gun cabinet, they would be Clay Pigeon shooting the next day. He took his favourite rifle out of the case and started to clean it.
*****
Why did everyone he liked seem to hate him, Sherlock wondered pulling the pillow away from his face. Mummy said he was handsome, Mycroft said he was clever. The teachers in school didn't seem to hate him that much.
Sherlock looked up at the crack on his ceiling thinking. His chest ached and his brain couldn't seem to concentrate on anything apart from the fact she'd said no. He'd only asked her out to the cinema, he didn't want to dissect her brain. But the look she'd given him left him confused. Sherlock followed her after school just to check her answer, but when her brother had seen him he'd punched him in the face. Sherlock had lay in the gutter crying for half an hour before he could get up. Life just seemed to hurt all of the time.
In his head it seemed that no-one was ever going to like him, that he was going to spend the rest of his life alone. He was useless, and he hated himself because of it. Sherlock looked at his wardrobe, now was the time he would put his plan into action. After all no-one would miss him, he was just a burden on them with his stupid mood swings.
*****
Mycroft strolled into the garden rifle in his hand. It was an ideal time to get in a little practice for the shoot. He smiled as he turned the corner of the house and saw Sherlock standing with his back to him holding a branch on a tree on top of a ladder. Odd Mycroft thought, but Sherlock did like doing unusual experiments at least he was out of the house. As Mycroft quietly walked over Sherlock kicked the ladder away from under him and he saw the rope around Sherlock's neck.
"Sherlock!!!!" Mycroft screamed lifting the shotgun at his side. The shot went straight through the rope and Sherlock landed on the floor with a thud. Mycroft threw the gun down and ran straight for his brother. He pulled Sherlock into his arms and cradled him like a child. "Sherlock?" Sherlock looked up at him tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Mycroft." Sherlock said hugging his brother back.
*****
"You don't have a girlfriend then?" John asked.
"Girlfriend no, not really my area." Sherlock replied not paying attention. Small talk had never really been his forte, so he chose to pay as little attention as possible.
"Oh right... D'you have a boyfriend? Which is fine by the way." John asked awkwardly. Sherlock looked at John, this was staring to get interesting he thought to himself.
"I know it's fine." Sherlock replied cautiously , not sure where the conversation was leading, he never was 100% sure of anything in social situations involving himself. John smiled.
"So you've got a boyfriend?" John asked.
"No." Sherlock said confused. John licked his lips.
"Right ok, so you're unattached." John half asked turning his attention back to his dinner as if embarrassed. "Like me... Fine... Good..." Sherlock's brain seemed to be having trouble with the data it was receiving. On one hand John could be trying to find out if Sherlock was available, on the other he could just be interested in him as a future friend. Both outcomes were very good indeed Sherlock thought. Sherlock took a few seconds to decide on his response.
"John uhm, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest I'm really not looking for anything.."
"No, no I'm not asking, no. I'm just saying it's all fine." John responded.
"Good." Sherlock nodded feeling something warm and fuzzy growing in the pit of his stomach. Sherlock was never one for the social niceties of small talk but he knew a lie when he heard one. "Thank you."