Secretly I Think You Knew

The Lonely Life Of Sherlock Holmes

           Sherlock walked downstairs the next morning, wearing freshly ironed clothes, his hair newly washed and dried, typical school day attire. Mycroft was at the kitchen table, wearing his usual suit and tie combination, his umbrella leaning against the table even though they were inside.
"Good morning." Mycroft muttered, reading the paper once more and having a cup of tea.
"Morning." Sherlock muttered. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, signaling Sherlock to elaborate. "Sorry, good morning." Sherlock corrected, walking over to the counter to pour himself some cereal.
"It is a rather good morning." Mycroft agreed. Sherlock sighed, pouring a bowl of whatever discount cereal Mycroft had selected, this time it was knock of Cheerios. The Holmes brothers weren't poor by any means, in fact they were very well off, having inherited all of the money and possessions in both their Grandparent's, parents' and uncle's will. Mycroft was having a hard time finding work, considering one of the requirements was that he work completely alone and have no helpers or people mucking around and disturbing him. Of course, he was looking, but it was slim pickings for a sociopath in the workforce. So they bought discount cereal, in a very pathetic attempt to save what money they had for future needs. The carton of milk was already on the table, and Sherlock sat down and poured it into his cereal, adding enough so that the little circles floated.
"Give me that when you are finished." Mycroft insisted. Sherlock sighed, screwing the cap back on and handing his brother the milk carton before he got a good look at it. On the side though, he was able to read the large block letters that read Missing. Those faces on the milk cartons, missing children, presumably dead, in a last chance effort to get the milk drinkers on alert, Sherlock was never allowed to read them. Of course, he didn't need to look to know what face waited for him this morning, the school photo of a beautiful brown haired boy, smiling tragically into the camera. He was just a boy, having done nothing wrong, not knowing the fate that had awaited him. Every time Sherlock saw him, there was a very odd sort of pain in his heart, something he surely shouldn't be feeling. Mycroft got up and put the milk back in the fridge, siting back down and finishing off his tea.
"Hurry up Sherlock; I need to drive you soon." He insisted. Sherlock ate his cereal as fast as he could, washing his dish haphazardly and rushing upstairs to get his backpack. Mycroft always drove Sherlock to school, and he always picked him up from school as well. Sherlock was able to drive himself of course, but during school hours is when Mycroft went into town to do the shopping or to look for job offerings. He had always driven Sherlock to school, because in Mycroft's mind the school bus was an evil machine, designed to squish Sherlock with all of the bullies and the trouble makers of the school. He didn't want Sherlock to be exposed to such horrible children, especially when he had no escape. So he drove Sherlock to school, it was his little alternative. And then he could make sure Sherlock got into the building alright, no socializing outside or smiling at familiar faces, keeping his head down and rushing inside. When Sherlock got to the garage Mycroft was already in the car, the engine running, looking rather annoyed.
"What is wrong with you this morning?" Mycroft asked as Sherlock scrambled into the passenger seat.
"Nothing's wrong, why do you say that?" Sherlock asked.
"You're taking a while to get ready; you're always ready by this time." Mycroft insisted.
"Well, it's Monday, I'm tired." Sherlock insisted.
"That's not a good excuse, it's Monday every seven days, and this is the first Monday that you've been so, distracted." Mycroft decided, pulling out of the driveway and heading down the road to town.
"Why do you say I'm distracted?" Sherlock wondered.
"I'm hoping you're not, but you don't seem as alert as you usually are." Mycroft decided.
"And what do you think might be distracting me from my morning routine?" Sherlock asked. Mycroft just gazed over at him judgmentally, a small smile flickering on his lips.
"I certainly hope it's not that Watson boy." he decided. Sherlock just laughed, a rather forced laugh, but a laugh all the same.
"John Watson? The boy I drove to his house? Mycroft just because I alienate myself from the rest of the world doesn't mean every boy I have a simple conversation with distracts me. My mind hasn't wandered to that boy and I'm sure it never will. He was a simpleton, a moronic member of society whose head is controlled by sports and video games. No, I am not distracted by John." Sherlock insisted.
"Good." Mycroft decided. "We know what happened last time." Sherlock sighed heavily, staring out the window and watching as the buildings came closer.
"I don't want to think about last time." he decided.
"Neither do I." Mycroft agreed. They pulled into the school parking lot a couple of minutes later, the busses already lined up with the kids waiting to be let off.
"Bye Mycroft." Sherlock muttered.
"Good bye Sherlock, be good." Mycroft muttered, unlocking the car and letting Sherlock scrambled out onto the pavement.
"I'm always good." Sherlock assured, grabbing his backpack and walking up to the doors of the school. He knew Mycroft was watching him as he walked into the front doors, but he didn't say hello to anyone, smile to anyone, or even look at anyone on his trip into the school. So he was sure as soon as he walked inside, Mycroft had driven away, off to do whatever Mycroft did in his free time. Something boring probably. The school still hadn't filled with kids yet, only the ones that had driven to school, since the busses weren't unloading. So he had plenty of time to get to his locker, change out his books and get his binder, all before the wave of kids came rushing into the school like a hoard of barbarians. Sherlock pushed through to get to his first class, English, and found to his disgust that the teacher wasn't there, the door was locked, and he was in the middle of the freshman hallway. Sherlock scowled, retreating into the doorway to avoid any collisions and unnecessary human contact. The kids were so annoying, not just because they were freshman but because they were people, talking about useless garbage, crushes, sports teams, copying homework in the middle of the hallway because they were too busy with their technology to care about their education, it was sickening. Sherlock knew that with his intellectual superiority that he would have a very promising future, go to college, get a house of his own, and succeed in life with a high paying job that didn't involve very many people. He would do better than Mycroft, and finally he would be able to break away from his brother and his care. Of course, Sherlock wouldn't completely leave his lifestyle behind, there was noway Sherlock would ever interact with other people, he saw no wife or husband in his future, certainly no children, he doubted he'd even make a friend on his journey through middle age. But that was his goal really; there was nothing wrong with never saying a word to anyone.