Freak

Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes , the freak , the artsy , sciency ...odd , druggie weirdo , was moving schools ....once again .

The last school he'd been too no longer wanted him there.  Apparently his piers were traumatized , as well as the teachers , although they didn't admit it .

And Sherlock, he was bored with it all. School boring , home , boring , Mycroft , boring, mother , boring ,father , boring . Friends. Well he had none of those to speak of .

As a genius stuck in normality, the only time he felt better was when he was high , he could think clearly and quicker than ever before, or simply distract himself from any emotional thoughts buzzing around that he couldn't quite process. When he was high,he could usually deduce almost everything about people in a matter of seconds; half of his usual pace.

He stood up , and walked over to his violin, caressing the polished wood before packing it into his bag carefully . Mycroft said that it must be the only thing the boy took care of , even more than himself ...Not that that was saying much . He'd had it 10 years , saved up to buy it when he was 5 , and still had it now. Barely a mark on it .

Sherlock walked over to the door , made sure no-one was coming , and locked it   He rushed to a broken clock on the mantel peice and opened it . Now the clock was simply a hollow box , nobody ever thought to look inside. Poppig the back off, he took out a small, clear bag of Cocaine. He then grabbed his knife and bag and sat on his bed .

Slitting a hole in the lining of his bag, he placed the offending package , the knife , a few hundred quid he'd pinched over the past year or so and a few packets of ciggarettes inside.

He plucked a needle and thread from his drawer and quickly sewed up the hole, finishing just as he got a knock at the door. It was Mycroft.

"Sherlock, Father wants you to come downstairs and empty your trunk... And the bag this time."

Sherlock grunted his disapproval, understanding his argument Mycroft quipped up with , "It's your own fault, don't come home high as a kite with that boy James at 3 in the morning, and they might trust you. "

Sherlock smirked , happy to know he'd pissed them off , they hated Jim Moriarty ..and so did he. But it was fun getting on their nerves and it was access to a some kind of on and off drug supply, better than nothing. James was 2 years older than Sherlock , but looked almost younger, and his face was one of those that needed punching , in his Father's opinion . In fact his dad stated that opinion very clearly by his actions that night.

"Fine Mycroft, give us a hand and carry one."

He said, unlocking the door and purposefully leaving Mycroft the large and heavy wooden trunk to carry whilst he walked down the stairs with his small backpack .

Walking into the drawing room, he saw his mother and father ,sat there with their stoney , boring faces , hands in their laps , watching him carefully.Sherlock held his hands in the air ,

"Feel free to do a strip search as well, if you find it necessary . Although,  you could also take my word when I tell you there are no drugs up-" he was interupted by his red faced father.

"Enough! And don't use that tone with me you useless child , or you'll get whats coming to you."

Sherlock smirked , "Oh sorry sorry, I forgot I was supposed to respect you despite the fact that all you are is a boring , dull old man whose done nothing with his life other than cheat on his wife and babble on about how everyone should meet up to your standards ...apologies. "

He said with a dramatic bow, his mother blushing a little,  but still staring him down like a hawk.

"Be quiet, boy! Do not give me attitude like that! You shall respect me because I am your father, and the man of the house. I am in charge abd I make the rules."

"So desperate to assert fals dominance." Sherlock chuckled , "You being my father is irrelevant, we simply and regrettably share DNA and all that about being the man of the house is bullshit anyway , why should I respect you for that , it's a meaningless frase to make pompous prats like you feel like you have a purpose, a position of power and control and your attemot to control me hasn't really worked out well, has it?"

Sherlock said before quickly, then ducking to avoid a clumsy punch from his dad, who after a moment of silence decided violence was the answer to his anger. Mycroft rose an eyebrow and his mother shook her head.

"SHUT UP BOY ! AND ..and empty your bag, Mycroft?" he said , gesturing to the man who'd just walked into the room , "Empty the trunk."

Sherlock smirked and opened his bag, tipping the loose contents onto the floor.

"Clean " he said.10 minutes later, Mycroft had finished looking through his trunk .

"There appears to be nothing here of any interest." He muttered, looking at Sherlock with intrigue.

Sherlock smirked  and turned to his father, "You sure about the strip search?"