Have Mercy On My Heart (Sherlock fanfiction)

Important/Unimportant

Sherlock never responded to my text, but I didn't expect him to, so no worries there. He was, unfortunately, still on my mind and it caused me to open a box that was usually better left shut. In the deep corners of my closet hid my childhood in cardboard. And like Sherlock, I had some secrets I'd wish to keep as well.

Flattened out on the bottom of the box were photos from baby to the end of upper school, the years of my life I wish I could undo.

I looked through pictures of my parents, younger pictures of me with a mushroom hair cut, and ah... the one photograph I have of Sherlock and me.

For my fifteenth birthday, my family and I went out of town for the weekend. One of the gifts was a disposable camera. I took some on the trip, but I still had a couple left over, and my mum told me to take it to school and have fun with my 'friends'. She hadn't quite figured out yet that my 'friends' was a self-claimed high functioning sociopathic teenage boy incapable of that responsibility.

I tried to let her live that fantasy for as long I could though, and so that money the camera went into my bag, and during lunch that day I awkwardly asked Sherlock to take a picture with me. It took a lot of wheedling, but he did say yes. And it was then this photo of us, a selfie we call it now, was formed.

At that time, Sherlock's curly hair fell to his shoulders and cut across his eyes. I think kids were also jealous of his skill of being able to see through a veil of hair, as well as his deduction skills. But for this picture, I forcefully pushed his bangs from his eyes and he threatened to call it all off, but in the end, continued on anyways.

However it didn't even matter much as my selfie skills weren't well practiced and I managed to get my entire pimply, metal-mouth face, but only half his face. Add to the fact his lips were pressed together and his bright eyes were often portraying something intense, it probably made one of the worst selfies in history.

But I kept it in the bottom of my cardboard box nonetheless.

I looked at the picture frames on my dresser, though still scarce, were things I'd rather bring up now. A picture with my friend Molly Hooper. We formed a bond over dead bodies when I first transferred over to Scotland Yard. My white cat, Draco Meowfoy. I know it was kind of lame, but... old habits die hard? And then a picture of my entire team at Scotland Yard. Again, a bit lame, but breaking the family cycle, starting new, was something I was awfully proud of.

I wondered why it mattered so much that Sherlock remembered who I was. I mean, if other people were interested to me, would I have stuck to him like I did? In the whole four years of upper school, I barely scratched the surface on who he was, while he'd come away with my entire life story.

I huffed out a sigh and decided to just stick it in my backpack. The guys at the station would surely get a kick out of it and I really did want to see Sherlock's face when he realizes I have photographic proof.

After that, I shower quickly and change into pyjamas. I took Draco and crawled in bed, though I propped myself up and sat out the controller next to me, popping on the telly.

I absentmindedly watched the telly reruns till I fell asleep.

The next morning, Sherlock was turning over evidence and Lestrade was furiously writing down the words he said. Oh, he must love his life now. That even though he was an arrogant cock he is still the most important man in the room.

I was watching him from my little office, my fingers pulling down my blinds. I sat back down in my chair, trying to finish the report from yesterday, but then my phone vibrated with a text. I took it out and suspicion automatically hit me at the name of 'blocked' on my ID part.