Redbeard

My Sunshine

The rest of the day passed in a blur of dark uniforms, squad cars and endless questions. He was sick of all of it, he just wanted to be left alone. He'd long ago traded his bloody school uniform for a pair of well worn flannel pyjama bottoms and an old tee shirt. He stared at the wall opposite of him in his room, lying on his bed with his head dangling off the end. He felt like he had been stuck in the clothes dryer at the pool. It felt like his stomach had been filled with chlorine and then promptly stuck in the clothes dryer for an hour on high. His head wasn't much better, it felt like someone was trying to inflate a large party balloon in a small box, and that both were about to explode.

However the house was once again quiet, no more bobbies scuttling around like flies on a corpse. Sherlock shivered at the mental image. He slid around, trying to get comfortable on his bed, after all, he was supposed to be asleep by now. Then he heard a scrape in the hallway. He gasped, jerking upright as he scuttled into the corner of his bed and pulling his blanket up to his chin. Was it another robber? Was it one of the feral dogs that roamed the neighborhood? Had something snuck in the cat flap? Or was it just the old house settling? Tears sprang to his eyes. He wished Redbeard was here, he'd know exactly what it was and he made Sherlock feel safe just by being in the room.

He wished he could feel that way again, safe. But someone had broken into his house and killed his dog. The house was his one safe haven where he was free from the judging stares of other children and the pressure of having to pretend to be normal in a world that shunned those who were different. Sherlock remained curled up in a tense ball of nerves, every sense alert on high alert and eyes open wide. After a few more moments of silence, he glanced over at his clock. It was 12:37, it'd only been seven minuets since he'd looked at the glowing dial last. He slowly melted into a small puddle of sweat, tears and one small ragged fleece blanket.

It was going to be a long night.

Then he heard it again, the same quiet scrape. This time he leaped out of bed with his pale blue blanket fluttering behind him like a cape as he raced down the stairs. He jumped down the last two stairs and hit the wooden kitchen floor with the loud slap of bare feet and ran towards the dog kennel in the mudroom. He ran past the laundry room and his parent's room before ending in the mudroom. He flew into the spacious kennel, pushing himself back against the rear wire pannel, his eyes wide and breath coming in short gasps.

He could feel his heart banging against his ribcage and his eyes were skipping around the room, examining every box and dissecting every shadow. He unwrapped his fingers from the sides of the kennel and ran then across the blanket that lined the kennel. He buried his face in the worn cotton blanket and took a deep lungful of air. He felt his muscles relax and his heart rate drop. He could smell the oatmeal shampoo he used on Redbeard two days ago. He felt a few leftover long red hairs tickle his nose and felt the comforting scratch of the overly chewed hedgehog toy he'd originally given Redbeard when he was a puppy.

He sighed contentedly, cuddling the hedgehog and pulling the blanket over his legs. In less than 30 seconds he was sound asleep. He was still in that position when his parents walked in the room a short while later. He was gently extracted from the dog cage and deposited equally as gently into his bed.

Three hours later Sherlock woke up to the bright red light of his alarm clock. Sherlock rolled over, pushing a pillow against his eyes to block out the light. After a few minuets he sat up, looking around the room. Judging by the display on his alarm, he managed to catch a few hours of fitful sleep after all. He drug himself out of bed and plodded over to his bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked horrible. His hair was tangled and his eyes were red. He sighed and grabbed his brush. Ten minuets later he looked slightly more presentable, with an emphasis on slightly.

He quietly walked down the stairs, keeping his eyes on his socks. He walked into the kitchen, set his pack on the table and rummaged through the cupboards for a bowl. He dropped it on the counter and watched it spin around in circles, each revolution slightly shorter than the last until it finally clattered to a stop. He pulled himself up in the stool and started the bowl spinning again. When it wound down, he stuck his finger against the lip of the bowl and started spinning it again, staring vacantly at the spinning piece of glassware. He figured he was still in shock from yesterday. He needed to do something mindless for a while. Maybe he would go get the phone and bother Mycroft.

He rested his chin on his forearms with a sigh. The sunlight streaming through the kitchen window warmed his back, the heat was quite possibly the only good thing he felt. His head pounded terribly, his eyes felt like they were full of sand and his stomach felt like it was filled with bubbling lead. The only reason he'd picked up a bowl was out of sheer habit, he usually had cereal for breakfast. He closed his eyes and basked in the sunlight for a few moments longer. Then a thought occurred to him. He sat up with his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Where were Mum and Dad? Mycroft was still at the college setting up his dorm room and wouldn't be back home for the rest of the week, but both parents were home. Sherlock slid off the stool and pattered down the hallway to his parent's room. While he was walking down the hall a smell, no, not a smell, the smell grabbed a hold of his nostrils and clawed its way down his sinuses. It was the smell that caused his heart to plummet down to his feet before it began racing like a greyhound. It was the same coppery odor he smelled yesterday at the top of the stairs, it was something he would never forget.

He started to run for the bedroom. As he rounded the corner his socked feet flew out from underneath him and he hit the hardwood floor with a loud slap!! His palms and cheek felt like they had been stung, but he paid them no mind. A overwhelming sense of dread began digging its claws deep into his mind. And unbidden memory flashed to the forefront of his mind, a memory of blood and brains splattered on the wall in vivid streaks of red and blood soaking into the aged floorboards. His hands were shaking so badly it took him two tries to grasp the knob firmly enough for his hands to turn it.

The door swung open silently on well oiled hinges, the knob on the opposite side barely kissing the drywall when the door was fully open. He crept to the edge of the bed, holding his breath. When he saw his parents sleeping quietly the flood of relief was too much for him. He slowly sunk to the floor and began crying with relief. His gentle sobs woke up his mother, who sat up, rubbed her eyes and yawned.

"Sherlock, is that you?" she asked. He didn't answer, just sat there crying quietly. She slid her feet out from under the sheets and gently sat down by Sherlock. By now his breaths were coming in deep, lung busting hiccups and the tears were flowing in streams down his cheeks. She slid one arm around his shoulders and began to gently pull him towards her as she did her best to comfort him. He climbed in her lap and pressed himself tightly against her torso. She ran a hand through his curly locks then gently kissed the top of his head.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked quietly. He violently shook his head and burrowed himself deeper into her nightshirt. She didn't ask any more questions for the moment, she just sat there and held him. Then she did what her mother had done for her, and her mother's mother had done for her. She began to rock back and forth gently, humming to him as she did. Half a minuet later she began to sing.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...

By the last verse, he was quietly sleeping. Mr. Holmes had woken up and was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for Mrs. Holmes to finish. As soon as she did, he gently transferred Sherlock from his mother's arms, to his and finally up to the bed. Both parents laid down on either side of him and pulled the sheets up.

"This is going to be hard on all of us, isn't it." said Mr. Holmes. Mrs. Holmes looked up from Sherlock and smiled sadly at Mr. Holmes before returning her attention to Sherlock. She gently kissed the top of his head, laid one arm over Sherlock's torso then said, "We'll just have to take it one step at a time and give him all the love we can."

The two of them reached across Sherlock, locked arms and did their best to fall back asleep again.

Alright, this is the end for now! I know updates have been a looooooooooong time in coming, but I've been happily busy lately :) I may add more later when I get more time!!!!