There Is Nothing Wrong With Me

You Can't Convince Them All

    "What?" Sherlock snapped when his brother was working too hard to keep his silent air of dominance clinging over the room. He was so unnecessarily dramatic when he knew he had a captive audience, and for a moment he stood silent, staring at his brother with a scowl.
"I don't believe you." Mycroft said sharply. Sherlock took a sharp breath, however he knew that now more than ever he had to stay calm. Mycroft was looking for tells, the little things Sherlock does when he's lying, when he's uncomfortable.
"Well I'm sorry, but it's the truth." Sherlock snapped, glaring at his brother without any enthusiasm whatsoever, trying to make it seem like he was bored and inconvenienced by his presence rather than terrified by it.
"No, no I don't think so." Mycroft murmured, stepping closer to which Sherlock simply retreated back, remembering what happened last time his brother got a hold of his secrets. There was a minimum safe distance when his brother was around, and Sherlock tried his best to maintain that.
"Then go ahead, amuse me. What on earth do you think happened?" Sherlock snapped, glaring at his brother challengingly and pretending to be brave, acting as if he had nothing to lose.
"Oh I believe most everything you said brother dear, most everything. Except your choice of companion, it wasn't Molly Hooper..." Mycroft muttered. He stepped closer once more, examining Sherlock for a moment before smiling a little bit knowingly, as if he suspected he already knew much more than Sherlock wanted him to. Sherlock felt his face pale, and obviously his brother did as well because his beady black eyes flicked in amusement towards Sherlock's cheeks.
"Well you're just being paranoid then, like I said to father I have no other person that would accompany me down to that stream." Sherlock pointed out defensively, although his voice quivered very inconvincibly. Mycroft hummed for a moment, as if warming up his vocal cord for an extensive speech.
"Your shirt, it's done up wrong. That suggests you took it off and yet it's wet, folded over as it dried underneath you, which means you wore it in the water but removed it and then put it back on to dry." Mycroft muttered carelessly, putting his hands into his pockets as if he had all day. Meanwhile the clock was ticking, Sherlock was already late for school was it was and this spectacle certainly wasn't helping anything. Sherlock looked at him rather nervously, knowing that whatever powers of observation his brother had were surely being used against him in this very moment.
"And that just means what? That I care about not getting my shirt wet?" Sherlock snapped, however his voice was laced with nerves, Mycroft could sense it, they both could sense it, he was lying.
"It means you were with someone, a companion of choice that you weren't afraid to get...close...with. Not a girl, never a girl Sherlock I know you too well for that. Father may be blinded by his hate of the homosexuals and yet I know that you would never be willing to be with a girl in whatever way you were last night." Mycroft muttered, his black eyes flashing dangerously, as if daring Sherlock to challenge him on that.
"I was with Molly Hooper. Dr. Thompson told me to..."
"Stop with the therapist Sherlock, you never listened to her in the past and there's no reason to listen to her in the future. I have no solid proof that you did anything wrong and yet I give you my warning...if I find any evidence that you were with another boy, last night or any time in the past or future, my first stop will be the police station. So I suggest that whatever game you're playing here ends right now, or so help me I will have to intervene." Mycroft warned dramatically. Sherlock's knees wobbled slightly, not knowing if he should laugh at his brother's pathetic daring or cower in fear at the severity of these correct accusations.
"Mycroft I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm trying." Sherlock repeated innocently.
"I'm not fooled that easily Sherlock. And I will not having you disgrace this family name anymore. It's not my fault that you were born a freak but if it is in my power to prevent you then by all means I will use that power. Now get showered, dressed, mother will drive you to school." Mycroft snapped, and with that he turned sharply on his heel and made his exit, slamming the door behind him and leaving Sherlock standing weakly in the middle of his bedroom, whimpering. So that was it then? That was what his family thought of him? A disgrace of the family name, a mere freak, born into the wrong household. Why couldn't they simply grasp the idea that Sherlock wasn't wrong, he wasn't messed up in any way, he wasn't sick! Why did they scoff at his heart when they knew there was nothing they could do to stop it, to prevent it from beating the same rhythm it has played since the day he was born? So what if he was so a homosexual, so much if he was different? He was in love...and they could never know. Sherlock trudged through his morning routine two hours two late. He showered, dressed, and combed his hair out to the perfection expected of the stereotype of his breed. When he thought he looked decent enough to go out in public Sherlock grabbed his backpack and made sure it was filled with all the necessary pencils and folders that he might need. One thing Sherlock loved about Lauriston was the lack of homework they gave out, as long as he convinced his English teacher that he had in fact read his chapter of Frankenstein then he would be good to go, that and the ten problems he had completed for math class. Sherlock detested English class purely because of his teacher's choice of book. Of course he respected Mary Shelly and her literary masterpiece however it was becoming increasingly difficult to read when the main character's name was Victor. It brought back horrible memories, and during discussions he always felt eyes on the back of his head, as if his fellow students had also picked up on that little coincidence.
"Mother are you ready?" Sherlock called as he made his way down the stairs, his backpack dragging along beside him and thunking down each and every step.
"One moment Sherlock, I'm packing your lunch!" Mrs. Holmes called, making her voice very loud even though Sherlock was now about five feet away. Sherlock dropped his backpack at the door and walked slowly into the kitchen, finding that the microwave doubled as a very handy mirror, and so while his mother was shoving pretzels into a bag he was able to make sure he looked picture perfect.
"You know checking your reflection is usually known as a feminine thing." Mrs. Holmes pointed out, glancing over at her son who was now tucking his curly bangs just right over his forehead.
"Well I think we all know I'm lacking my masculinity, what's another tick on the checklist?" Sherlock wondered carelessly, spinning away from the mirror and leaning against the counter with a bored sort of expression. However as angry as he tried to be at his mother it usually didn't work. He knew that whatever she said she was saying out of love, even if it did get on his nerves just a little bit.
"Don't you think it would be easier to blend in with the crowd if you weren't looking into microwaves to gaze upon your own beauty?" Mrs. Holmes wondered with a raised eyebrow, stuffing some more snacks into Sherlock's brown paper bagged lunch and handing it over to him proudly. Sherlock took the lunch with a sigh, shrugging and letting his head roll once around his neck as he thought of what he was going to say.
"There's no use blending in with the crowd if I look terrible mother, I do this for self-dignity not for ensuring everyone guesses my sexuality." Sherlock defended with a rather pouty voice.
"Well you look fine Sherlock, there's no reason to keep checking every five minutes." Mrs. Holmes decided with a smile, going over towards the garage and pulling her keys off the little hook on the wall.
"I only look fine because I just checked!" Sherlock exclaimed, not sure why his mother was trying to insist that he looked like he had crawled out of the nearest dumpster.
"Come on then, we got to get you to school." Mrs. Holmes decided, jingling her keys on her finger as Sherlock dashed to recover his backpack from where it lay on the floor. It was an awkward ride to say the least. He knew that his mother had questions that she wanted answered, and Sherlock certainly knew that the barrier of secrets between them was growing ever taller every day. Out of everyone in the Holmes family to understand what he was doing it would most certainly be his mother; her only flaw is that whatever happens in Sherlock's life goes directly to his therapist. Now maybe Mrs. Holmes could be trusted with his secret but certainly not Dr. Thompson, that blabbermouth woman would immediately tell her colleagues or publish Sherlock's rebellion in the newest issue of Psychology Today. That and she would order a lobotomy over the phone and lock Sherlock in jail until they could poke around through his brain with a long pointy spike. Conclusion? Don't tell mother.
"So how was your little date with Molly?" Mrs. Holmes wondered, keeping her eyes fixed determinedly on the road. Sherlock sighed heavily, there it was.
"Oh you know, it was kind of boring." Sherlock admitted with a shrug.
"Why were you out so late?" Mrs. Holmes asked directly, as if she had been waiting for a little bit of small talk before she zeroed in on the answer she sought most desperately. Sherlock thought for a moment on how to answer this, obviously sleeping was the only way to go but stargazing wouldn't cut it, that was John's thing that was, well it had to be preserved.
"I fell asleep. I was lying in my trench coat and she was telling me some sort of story, to be honest I don't even know what it was about. And I just fell asleep, and when I woke up she was gone. She probably got mad. Maybe she'll break up with me." Sherlock said with a careless shrug, looking out the window as the cars passed in different colored blurs along the streets.
"That was rude Sherlock; you should never fall asleep when someone is telling a story. Especially if it's a girl you want to impress." Mrs. Holmes insisted, as if she had left many boys in her time to the very same cause. Sherlock simply laughed, shrugging once more and looking over at his mother with a bit of a laugh.
"Oh shame, I lose my girlfriend...oh well." He muttered, leaning back in his seat and finally spying the top of the school over the buildings they had yet to drive past. They were close; their conversation must be coming to an end...
"If you pretend to care about this relationship you might accidently start to care for her." Mrs. Holmes reminded him in a very disappointed tone.
"Well of course I know that, and it's not like I don't care about her, she's a lovely girl to be around it's just I don't think my heart was really programed to care about this relationship. It's more of a burden than anything." Sherlock lied. He thought he was doing a very good job of twisting the truth here; he was even starting to believe it. Thankfully the school was just around the corner, if he wanted to he could just stop talking now; pretend to look around in his backpack for something that's vitally important to his education.
"Sherlock I know you're trying to get better, and I appreciate that, I really do, it's just maybe you should try harder. Maybe, if you're not satisfied with Molly, move on? Find another girl who would be willing to date you and see if anything changes." Mrs. Holmes suggested.
"Always so unappreciative mother. One girl is pushing it, if I had it my way I'd either be single for the rest of my life or breaking the law." Sherlock pointed out with a little smile. Mrs. Holmes sighed hopelessly, pulling up along the curb of the school and frowning at her son.
"You're going to have to explain to them why you were late." She pointed out. Sherlock just smiled, jumping out of the car and shrugging carelessly.
"I'll tell them I was feeling especially homosexual and decided to separate myself from their very attractive rugby players." Sherlock decided, and with that he slammed the door, hearing only his mother's faint yelling through the open window as he skipped up to the school in glee. The secretaries weren't happy, but then again that wasn't saying much as they always seem to have some sort of problem with every kid that walked through the doors. They all glared at him over their disgusting cat eyed glasses, and he simply smiled back, trying to be as friendly as possible.
"Name?" the one woman behind the window asked, not looking overly excited about letting him into the building.
"Now surely you know me, I'm sure everyone in this school knows m y name with a certain negative connotation." Sherlock pointed out with a rebellious sort of smile. The lady sighed, but obviously she couldn't argue with his sound logic.
"Sherlock Holmes." She muttered in a sort of disgusted tone, and Sherlock just beamed.
"Sherlock Holmes indeed." He agreed proudly, as if that name was supposed to mean something other than violent homosexual.
"Sign here please." She grumbled, passing Sherlock a pen and paper through the small gap in the window between them. He nodded, filling out the date and time and all of that rubbish, but he stuttered when he had to fill out the reason for lateness part. Oversleeping? That was rather true, he technically did oversleep but then again he wasn't in his bed, but on the other side of town, with his illegal boyfriend that the government refused to believe he had. So Sherlock filled out oversleeping with a little smiley face, just to be annoying, and as soon as he passed the clipboard back through the gap he heard the telltale click of the door opening. Sherlock thanked the ladies, both of which gave him an overweight scowl from their swivel chairs, and passed into the school, his backpack swinging along his shoulders like some sort of pendulum as he sauntered through the halls. There was a certain air of freedom to walking around school when everyone else was in class; it was almost like he was special although, of course, this tardiness would somehow be used against him to prove that he was dangerous if he ever had to go to court. However he was swept into his classroom greedily, the teacher plopping him down in his des and loading him with all the classwork he had missed. Even though he had only been gone for an hour or so there seemed to be stacks and stacks of classwork stacking up on his desk, and the teacher seemed only too happy to add more. Sherlock, of course, bided his time, knowing that as soon as that bell rang (which would be any minute now) he could race down to the cafeteria and tell Molly and Sarah about everything that happened since they last met. So he scribbled down answers, obviously much too intellectual for this pathetic busy work made for commoners, and tapped his pencil against the desk as the second hand zoomed around the big black numbers on the analog clock. When the bell finally rang Sherlock jumped to his feet, grabbing all his papers and books and rushing out the door to the mess of kids in the hallway, streaming out from their respective classes and making a mad dash to their lockers. He knew that it wouldn't be too difficult to find both Molly and Sarah, since they were always somewhere in the middle of the largest gaggle of girls that took up the entirety of the hallway. The problem was getting to them, because obviously their friends wouldn't want to go anywhere near crazy Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock navigated through the halls with ease, it was always like Moses parting the Red Sea when he moved from class to class. Suddenly even the biggest, most popular groups of boys ducked out of his way, the pack of nerds ducked for cover, the male teachers turned a blind eye. Usually Sherlock got a straight shot from his class to his locker without much difficult, simply because his classmates and teachers were too horrified to even lay eyes on what they considered to be an abomination. When Sherlock found Molly she was standing at her locker and fixing her lipstick, pursing her lips in the mirror and observing the even spread of the horrible pink color so that it covered every little gap of exposed lip. Sherlock kind of understood now why his mother thought that looking in the mirror was strictly a feminine thing to do, because obviously no guys had a pink sparkly mirror taped to the inside of their locker. There were a couple of girls scattered around her, one of them being Sarah of course, and they seemed to be discussing all sorts of things, very important things. In the ten seconds Sherlock remained in earshot he got to hear all about their latest celebrity crushes and the atrocity of newly grown facial hair on the smooth faced hunks. Sarah was arguing that facial hair looked better while most of the girls were nearly in tears, now that man they were in love with and never met looked rather fuzzy, and oh it was such a tragedy. Sherlock almost envied their problems. 

"Excuse me." Sherlock muttered with a smile, flattening Molly's locker door so that he could borrow her mirror for a moment. Most all the girls hissed, prepared to go fully catty on Sherlock before they realized Molly was laughing. Sherlock ignored them all, parting his bangs just right and patting down the hair that was being a bit unruly in the back.
"Oh quit it, I was here first." Molly snapped, smacking Sherlock away and readjusting the mirror to her own uses. Sherlock just laughed, walking alongside the locker and glaring at a girl who was standing there. She squealed unimpressively and ducked away, letting Sherlock lean on the locker exactly where she was standing so that he had perfect conversational proximity.
"Hey, guess what you did last night?" Sherlock wondered with a teasing smile. Molly hummed, as if this answer was kind of amusing.
"I watched the Sound of Music twice, and ate a good three bags of popcorn." Molly answered with a laugh, and all the girls giggled and swatted their hands excitedly. Sherlock sighed heavily, that was obviously not the answer he was going to let her go away with.
"Well um, change of plans actually. You know that um, that cover story I have?" Sherlock wondered hopefully, to which Molly just smiled, looking over at him still with her tube of lipstick pressed firmly to her lower lip.
"Oh Sherlock you did not." She insisted with a grin.
"I did!" Sherlock exclaimed happily, nearly bouncing up and down in excitement. Sarah gave a squeal from behind them; however everyone else looked thoroughly confused.
"What did Jo...Molly do?" Sarah wondered, pushing her way through the tiny crowd of females that had now gathered around this little conversation. Sherlock just grinned, leaning back on the lockers and shrugging, as if he had his dear old time to explain.
"Oh you know...Molly...called me last night, nine o'clock. Said that she was going to come get me, gave me no warning at all. I um met her at the drug store and she took me down to the stream and jumped around and stuff." Sherlock admitted.
"And stuff?" Molly clarified, finally capping her lipstick but leaving her locker open as she glanced back at their narrator for this afternoon.
"Lots of stuff." Sherlock agreed with a wink. Both girls gave squeals of excitement, slapping Sherlock to show their compassion.
"Wait, I thought you were watching Sound of Music?" one of the background girls muttered, looking at Molly with the most confused look she had probably ever worn. That, of course, was really saying something because these girls went through life wondering how they had gotten from one class to the other and then magically back home.