[A/N: Upon receiving advice from Rain, I tried listening to binaural beats while writing and this is the result. I was rather pleased with the outcome, so if you don't like it, that's okay, I do and I didn't write it for you. Respectfully. :) And yes, Humble, that goes for you too.
So thank you Rain and without further ado, I present to you:
The Boy In The Glass.
Love,
-Blue xxx]
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Something out the window had caught the attention of the young boy, his head had turned to look at it and the curls that sprouted from his head moved with it. He looked out and spotted a rather large man moving towards the house, the man was not heavyset, whereas he was strong, like a fighter. The boy, Sherlock was his name, stepped away from the perspirated window and turned to confront his bedroom, it was rather a mess. Clothes were spread about and there was an entire 4 page essay written on his affrontation on the way frogs bulge and how to tell if it's a cry for help or a mating ritual, that was scattered around along with several other pages that were remnants of his poetry battle that he'd attempted to have with the boy in the glass. He won.
The thing about Sherlock was, he was special. At least that's what the grown ups told him. The other children called him a freak, loser, nutter and assorted other names that are typically tumbling from the mouths of mean children. But Sherlock knew that the older he got, the less people would see him as special and the more they would see him as different. He was only 8 years old, but he'd come to this conclusion not two years ago when he was at the tender age of 6. An age that he'd decided, was unsafe. See when he was 4, he'd felt afraid, since the word sounded awfully similar to the Chinese word for death, something his older brother had told him was a bad omen. But when he was 5, he'd realised how symmetrical this number was and felt comforted in it's singularity.
Now of course that he was 8 years old - and in his opinion, 8 years was, frankly, old - he was over that sort of silliness. At least, he claimed to be, but in actuality, it was still quite present in his mind during the night. Nighttime was his solitude, his meditading point in which all thoughts and ideas flowed genially. He accepted all opinions and point of views at night, but in the day he was struck by the harshness that the rest of the world felt and instantly became judgemental and very opinionated.
Anyways, back to his...uniqueness. Ever since he was very young and his symptoms began to show, his parents had told him that his talent was a gift. But his brother had told him otherwise, he'd explained carefully, and in detail how Sherlock's issues were simple and obvious. He was a boor, as Mycroft had so lovingly described it. He said that children who were born as boors were forever and always boors, he said that this upset the worlds balance and said that boors were the, quote, ugly ducklings of the world, unquote.
To this day, Sherlock is still uncertain as to whether his brother understand the meaning of 'boor' or not.
Obtain order. Stay focused on what's important. Everything else is just transport.
Being told, every day, that you were important and special was a drain for Sherlock. Because every day, he'd turn around and Mycroft would be telling him just the opposite. Hearing conflicting opinions day in and day out was overwhelming for the small child mind and brought him to a breaking point, where he'd explained to his parents very carefully. "I am not special, because the boy in the glass says I am not, so therefore anything else you try to convince me of will just slip out of my ears reach and it won't affect me one bit."
Of course this had surprised his parents, for they hadn't expected their 7 year old to be so aware and eloquent. Oh how they would be surprised as he grew, for indeed Sherlock was aware, so aware in fact that when his 18 year old brother had a problem with narcotics, as one might in college, eight year old Sherlock picked up on this and began to take notes. He started a journal report that he called "A Study of Mycroft and His 'Issues' from College".
