The Sociopath Society

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

He knows if you’ve been bad or good... I’m stuffed

Sherlock stayed in bed for as long as possible. The last thing he wanted to do was see his family. His father. He had distracted himself from thoughts of the upcoming day by texting John and pondering the thieveries. But it was nearing midday so he would undoubtedly be forced to get ready soon. He really didn’t want to participate in his parents’ Christmas dinner with important contacts. People were so fickle and he disliked talking to them. It was only mildly entertaining when he aggravated them. Which was out of the question here. That would annoy his father. Sherlock had no wish to cross his father.

Somehow he doubted that that was unavoidable.

“Sherlock!” There it was. He could no longer hide out in his room, crowded with all his experiments. The shout was followed by continuous banging on his door. Sherlock smirked. He was glad that he had put a bolt on it.

“Sherlock open up this instance! The guests arrive in an hour and you need to get ready. Father is already annoyed enough as it is!” Sherlock rolled his eyes, slowly dragging himself out of his bed and slipping over to the door. He took painfully long to unbolt it before opening it to give his brother access.

Mycroft stepped in carrying what seemed to be a suit. Stupid. Sherlock took one look and it and curled his lips up in distaste.

“I don’t wear ties,” he snapped, sitting down on his bed grumpily. It was bad enough wearing one at school were it didn’t really matter how it was worn (more often than not Sherlock just didn’t bother with it). Now he had to wear one to some stupid fancy dinner? Ugh.

“You will wear it whether you like it or not,” Mycroft gritted his teeth. “Father won’t be to please if you don’t.” There was a warning in his tone. For once Sherlock decided to heed that warning.

“Fine,” Sherlock waved his hands at his brother in some sort of dismissal.

“Be down in half an hour,” Mycroft added before leaving. Sherlock scowled, looking down at the new sit in disgust. This was going to be a tedious day...

Sherlock was bored. Standing at the front door greeting guests with his parents and brother was so boring. Boring, boring, boring. Even deducing their live was boring. How he hated this. At least he didn’t really have to talk to people. Only shake their hands and smile as they greeted him. But soon this phase ended and the dreaded one began. Dinner.

“Be polite,” Mr Holmes held Sherlock back before they entered the dining room. “Or else.”

Sherlock nodded curtly, heading in and finding his seat. He was placed so that both Mycroft and their father could overhear his conversation. How wonderful.

“So you are the younger Holmes boy.” The man beside him tried to strike up a conversation. Brilliant, just what Sherlock wanted. He was obviously important. Government, reasonably old, probably from Mycroft’s line of work.

“I’ve not heard a lot about you. If you’re anything like Mycroft you’ve got a good future ahead of you.” Oh, he was still talking. Sherlock half paid attention as he picked at his food. “Which school do you go to?”

“St Bartholomew’s,” Sherlock replied purely out of politeness.

“Ah,” the man nodded. “How long have you been there?”

“Half a year.”

“Only half a year?”

“Third school.”

“Third?! Why have you moved so much, young man?” Sherlock could feel Mycroft’s warning look but ignored it this time. He was just being polite like he had been told to be. Just maybe having some fun with it.

“I blew up a science lab accidently and was caught experimenting with supposedly illegal substances.” Sherlock restrained a smirk as his father’s glare found him.

“Now that’s not good behaviour.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I didn’t like the school anyway, what with the bullying and terribly boring lessons.” Sherlock wouldn’t normally spill his thoughts to a stranger like this but he knew it would annoy his family. Which was fun.

“Bullying?” This man had a habit of repeating what Sherlock said. “Surely you should have talked to somebody about that.”

“Nobody cared or cares. Anyway, at home I got worse a-” Sherlock was cut off by his father suddenly standing. One look and he knew the he had gone too far. He could already feel Mycroft’s pitying look. He didn’t need any pity.

“Sherlock Holmes, if you would step outside this instance.” His father almost sounded like a teacher telling off a pupil. But more angry, trying to keep it under control. With a worse punishment coming up. Sherlock slowly stood and walked towards the nearest door, face emotionless. He didn’t even have to look at his mother or Mycroft to know the expression on their faces. His mother wouldn’t care, probably more concerned about her nails or keeping the attention of their guests. Mycroft looked sympathetic but would not make any move to stop what was about to happen. They shared no love.

As soon as the door was shut behind them Sherlock was grabbed by his father and dragged to the office he had grown to dread entering. Into this he was shoved, door shut and blocking any route of escape.

“You stupid boy! YOU do not speak about private matters to others!”

“I was just being polite like you said to be,” Sherlock retorted, backing away slowly. He saw the punch before it came but it still connected with his jaw and knocked him backwards into the desk. This was followed by more blows, constantly raining down on Sherlock until he was curled into a ball trying not to cry out in pain. He felt a few ribs crack and a stickiness that could only be blood forming at his head and back. He would be badly bruised for weeks to come.

Eventually his father stopped, leaving Sherlock where he was on the floor lying in his own blood. Undoubtedly going back to the oh so important party. Sherlock tried to stand only to be hit by a wave of nausea and dizziness. So instead he settled for crawling in a rather undignified manner. He reached his room after a while, managing to bolt the door.

Then he blacked out.

Sherlock swam back into consciousness after who knew how long. He didn’t bother checking the time. He hurt all over and knew he had lost a lot of blood. There wasn’t much he could do, however. Only one thing was on his mind. Escape. Getting away from here. Pushing back tears of pain Sherlock groggily found his phone and sent John a text.

Coming to stay at your. Be there in fifteen minutes. Things bad at home. –SH

Now to get out. He’d have to walk. It was all that far though. Sherlock had already looked up John’s address and knew a few shortcuts. His injuries wouldn’t help but he’d have to make do. Two minutes stuffing books, clothes and transportable experiment (not necessarily in the order) into a bag and he was ready to go.

He took the back door out, careful to avoid any people. His left leg had been kicked quite brutally, inducing a limp, and he stumbled due to being rather disorientated. He got out unnoticed, though, escaping into the darkness of the streets of London.

It took longer than fifteen minutes to get to John’s house. Much longer. Almost an hour, actually. But now here he was outside a rather nice looking place, leaning against the door heavily. He texted John to tell him of his arrival; he really didn’t want the other boy’s parents to get involved. That would be a worst case scenario.

John was thankfully quick at getting to the door. Sherlock let a light smile frame his face, glancing down at the beautiful blue eyes that had shock shimmering through them.

“Hello John.” That was all Sherlock got a chance to say before he fainted into the blonde’s arms.