Soulmate Au but it's Johnlock! (UNDER HEAVY EDITING- 10/19/2020)

"Jazz Band Jazz."

"So, I've found a Jazz band at a secondary state school right around here!" Greg announced. "State school, Greg? Really? Those type of kids are ruthless!" Mycroft commented, hissing through his teeth from his spot on the sofa. "I don't even listen to music." Sherlock commented. "Okay, well. I looked at it a bit more and they have a kid who's going to perform at your school for the open showcase next Friday night. Apparently, he's your age." Greg sighed. "I must challenge him!" Sherlock shouted as he jumped up suddenly, surprising Mycroft and making him jerk some drink over himself. "If not in music, then in every other aspect of his life!!" Sherlock then raced up the stairs up to his room.

That following week of school was just like any other: torturous. Sherlock continued to earn bruises and bumps, although some of them didn't hurt when he pressed them like the others. Sherlock was considering buying cover-up to make sure Mycroft didn't see the 'fake-bruises,' and get angry. But, on Thursday, Sherlock got into a fight and actually fought back, so there were a lot more marks than usual when Mycroft picked him up. "You think social skills and an instrument will help him? He got into another row!" Mucroft shouted, slamming the front door as Sherlock quietly walked to the dining room table and pulled out a page of paper to write on. "Well, at least he had the bullocks to actually fight back!" Greg said proudly. He looked at Sherlock and noticed him writing. "What are you doing?" Greg asked, walking over to look at the paper. "He's writing his side of the story; that's how we do things." Mycroft informed. "No, kid. You can just tell us." Greg said, grabbing the paper from the table. "We already heard it, but here, he doesn't lie." Mycroft corrected, a matter-of-factly. Greg laughed. "You're trying to ground him for defending himself, Myc. He's going to twist he story into his favour, if he's as smart as you claim he is." He said softly as he gingerly pushed Sherlock to the steps.

By the end of that day, they'd finally devised a plan on how to raise and discipline young Sherlock Holmes. For defending himself, Mycroft and Greg drove him to a nearby music shoppe in the market place. The three of them walked in and looked around. "Hey, look, Myc! I could totally jam out like i did in Uni!" Greg said excitedly, pointing at a mounted guitar. "Ah, Uni. I've never been there, nor do I want to." Mycroft sighed in relief. "No wonder we've never met until now," Greg laughed. Mycroft half-heartedly glared at him.

Sherlock began wondering around, looking at all of the intimidatingly abstruse, all he could bring himself to do was gaze upon them. He didn't want a wind instrument because he didn't want to have to smell his own breath on the mouthpiece. But, by the time he decided on that, he realized that he had gotten lost. Sherlock desperately look around for where he or Mycroft and Greg were. His breath quickened and his throat felt like closing. Sherlock knew he shouldn't have fought back; Mycroft finally dropped him off and left. Greg, too. He was beginning to think Greg was good. Sherlock pretended to examine a clarinet as someone else walked by. "No way; do you play?" The kid asked, adding more attention to Sherlock. He only shook his head. "Do you like any other instrument?" The boy with sandy blonde hair asked. Sherlock put up many fronts before he turned to look at him. "None, but I wasn't to go into Jazz. I was thinking Cello?" He responded, putting the clarinet back. The boy reached over and grabbed some little packages wood sticks and sprinkled them in the shopping basket his motherly figure was carrying. But, she wasn't his mom. "Where's your mum?" Sherlock wondered, looking around. The blonde boy looked nervously at his motherly figure, then at Sherlock. "What do you mean?" He asked. "At first, I wondered if she was your mother, but considering you don't share any redeemable traits that could hereditarily relate back to her, I thought If she were your aunt or someone else close to you, but I heard as you came down, the fondness in your voice as you called her your, 'Ma,'gave me the impression that she's taken you in, more likely at the cause of your mother dying or no longer able to care for you, but seeing as you haven't started calling her,'mum,' or, 'mummy,' she hasn't died and you haven't forgotten since." Sherlock explained. Then, as he realized what he said, he shrunk himself down into a conditioned, scared child. "Amasing!" The boy smiled, his eyes lighting up at Sherlock's deductions. "You're really smart! I'm John." He introduced. Sherlock didn't know what to do. He'd never been in this situation before. Somebody actually liked it when he did his deductions? He fully expected to get biffed in the nose. "Hi... I'm Wi - Sherlock. I'm Sherlock." Sherlock smiled lightly as he gently shook the firm hands of the clarinet player. John's female guardian was confused about the exchange that'd occurred within that conversation.