Oblivion
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: None
Summary: Sometimes Sherlock gets tired of people hating him.
Link: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/15638.html?thread=86222870#t86222870
Warning: Angst.
A/N: This hits a lot closer to home than I expected.
Sherlock used to live in his own world. He had the perfect world where he went to school, got the highest grades, made Mother and Father proud, then went on for his lessons with his governess and his brother. His world was amazing. He was amazing, and the things he learned to do with his powers of observation amused the guests.
He missed that world.
Mother wanted to send him to St. Andrew's School for Boys but Father had said no, didn't she realise that Sherlock only talked with his brother? Father had sent him to a public secondary day school. Father had built his empire on knowing the little people and since Mycroft wanted to be in the government, it fell to Sherlock to carry on the empire and know the little people.
Sherlock didn't like other people. They were boring. Mycroft was away a lot. Father had dismissed the governess for sleeping with the gardener and Mother had her la-di-da friends all the time. Sherlock had no one to play with, no one to talk to, no one to help him get rid of his 'boring-ness'.
There was one girl though, who told him 'Only boring people are ever bored!'. He was at first interested by the statement. She imagined all sorts of things all day but he didn't like imaginary things. He liked facts. He liked the fact that Teresa from the fifth form was cheating on John with Lucas and he could tell because Teresa wasn't using her cherry lipstick. He liked knowing that Lionel secretly liked to dress up like a girl and Sherlock knew because Lionel drew flowers on his notes. Sherlock also liked knowing that Ms. Lou was going to include questions from the fifth and sixth chapter on the test because of the way she subconsciously earmarked the pages.
Teresa slapped him for telling John.
Lucas tore his book in half for getting Lucas in trouble.
Sherlock promised not to tell on Lionel but his parents found out and Lionel was disowned.
Sherlock was also accused of cheating by Ms. Lou.
Somehow, other people didn't like him either. Sherlock didn't mind at first. It gave him an excuse not to talk to people. He retired into his own mind, cheerfully reviewing facts from books he borrowed from the library and deducing what people did as they walked by.
Then he started to mind. Mycroft had his job. Mummy had her friends. Father had his empire. Everyone had something, but Sherlock had nothing. He wanted to make friends but people didn't like him. Sherlock tried to pretend to be stupid but no one believed it and he couldn't keep it up for long.
Sherlock carefully built a wall around that part of his heart, telling himself he didn't care that he was the 'weirdo', the 'freak', the 'bloody bastard'. He carefully told himself that it didn't matter because he was brilliant, he was smart and everything was so bloody obvious but he knew he was deluding himself.
Some times, he wished he was normal. He wished he could see the world through dimmer eyes. He wished he could be like one of those insipid girls wearing too much make up and talking about boys in the cafes. He wished he could understand.
He wished he was seven again. He wished that all he had to do once more, was to get good grades to make Mother and Father proud, then go off to play with Mycroft.
Sometimes, Sherlock wished for oblivion.
Pairing: None
Summary: Sometimes Sherlock gets tired of people hating him.
Link: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/15638.html?thread=86222870#t86222870
Warning: Angst.
A/N: This hits a lot closer to home than I expected.
Sherlock used to live in his own world. He had the perfect world where he went to school, got the highest grades, made Mother and Father proud, then went on for his lessons with his governess and his brother. His world was amazing. He was amazing, and the things he learned to do with his powers of observation amused the guests.
He missed that world.
Mother wanted to send him to St. Andrew's School for Boys but Father had said no, didn't she realise that Sherlock only talked with his brother? Father had sent him to a public secondary day school. Father had built his empire on knowing the little people and since Mycroft wanted to be in the government, it fell to Sherlock to carry on the empire and know the little people.
Sherlock didn't like other people. They were boring. Mycroft was away a lot. Father had dismissed the governess for sleeping with the gardener and Mother had her la-di-da friends all the time. Sherlock had no one to play with, no one to talk to, no one to help him get rid of his 'boring-ness'.
There was one girl though, who told him 'Only boring people are ever bored!'. He was at first interested by the statement. She imagined all sorts of things all day but he didn't like imaginary things. He liked facts. He liked the fact that Teresa from the fifth form was cheating on John with Lucas and he could tell because Teresa wasn't using her cherry lipstick. He liked knowing that Lionel secretly liked to dress up like a girl and Sherlock knew because Lionel drew flowers on his notes. Sherlock also liked knowing that Ms. Lou was going to include questions from the fifth and sixth chapter on the test because of the way she subconsciously earmarked the pages.
Teresa slapped him for telling John.
Lucas tore his book in half for getting Lucas in trouble.
Sherlock promised not to tell on Lionel but his parents found out and Lionel was disowned.
Sherlock was also accused of cheating by Ms. Lou.
Somehow, other people didn't like him either. Sherlock didn't mind at first. It gave him an excuse not to talk to people. He retired into his own mind, cheerfully reviewing facts from books he borrowed from the library and deducing what people did as they walked by.
Then he started to mind. Mycroft had his job. Mummy had her friends. Father had his empire. Everyone had something, but Sherlock had nothing. He wanted to make friends but people didn't like him. Sherlock tried to pretend to be stupid but no one believed it and he couldn't keep it up for long.
Sherlock carefully built a wall around that part of his heart, telling himself he didn't care that he was the 'weirdo', the 'freak', the 'bloody bastard'. He carefully told himself that it didn't matter because he was brilliant, he was smart and everything was so bloody obvious but he knew he was deluding himself.
Some times, he wished he was normal. He wished he could see the world through dimmer eyes. He wished he could be like one of those insipid girls wearing too much make up and talking about boys in the cafes. He wished he could understand.
He wished he was seven again. He wished that all he had to do once more, was to get good grades to make Mother and Father proud, then go off to play with Mycroft.
Sometimes, Sherlock wished for oblivion.