A/N #1: Hullo my dears, I thought I'd pop in and give a little bit of context here. This fic is what will become a series of one-shots and drabbles set both pre and post canon. I am co-writing with my dear friend Starry (her tumblr is sherlockian-spy), we're trading off writing chapters and occasionally popping in and changing things here and there. This first chapter is Starry's, the next is mine. -xo

A/N #2: Hey! Starry here. Hope you enjoy my childhood!Sherly fic; I didn't expect it to take the turn it did, but I'm quite pleased with it. -Starry

Brick by Brick

It is generally assumed that the youngest child is the "baby", the favorite, the pet. It's a fair assumption in most families.

He was the youngest, so everyone assumed he was pampered and spoilt. Quite the opposite was true; Sherlock Holmes was often left to his own devices as a small child. While his parents bragged on about how intelligent his older brother was, and how he would do so well taking over his father's place in the British government, their younger son fell by the wayside. The only one who seemed to notice him was his brother Mycroft.

When Sherlock was five and Mycroft was twelve, their mother died. After her death, their father pushed Mycroft, and ignored Sherlock, even more. One night, when both boys were at home, Sherlock had crept down the hall on silent feet, and snuck into his older brother's room. This became common practice after a few weeks, Sherlock would visit his brother's room, and the two brothers would talk, or sometimes Mycroft would tell his younger brother stories.

One night, after Mycroft and the Older Holmes had a row about Sherlock being in boarding school (Mr. Holmes wanting to send him away and Mycroft arguing that he should stay; Mycroft lost), Sherlock crawled into Mycroft's bed and didn't speak. Eventually, Mycroft thought maybe he wasn't going to at all and had fallen asleep. This thought was proved wrong by a very small voice whispering, "Why does Daddy want me to go away?"

Looking down at his younger brother, Mycroft didn't know what to say. To be honest, even he didn't know why their father was so adamant about Sherlock being sent away. He was also angry, but he was only twelve, he wasn't Father. He didn't know what to say to an upset five year old. Not speaking, he just wrapped his little brother in a hug and let him cry.

The boarding school was as bad as Sherlock had feared it would be. He was smaller than most of the other kids, and he was smarter. This made him an easy target for bullies. In the end the bullies only made him smarter; they taught him how to observe, and how to process the data he got from his observations.

He'd been at the school for six years now. He wasn't a scared little boy who cried for his big brother anymore. He was an anti-social preteen with an eidetic memory. He got top marks and did his best to avoid people. Even the other social outcasts didn't accept him; they thought he was too weird. He'd begun cataloguing information on people differently, and he could tell more about them.

His brain became far more organized. Before it had just been a simple bookcase, but it was slowly expanding, until he decided to make it into a palace. There were rooms and rooms of unused space, while things he thought were unimportant were evicted. This was mainly pointless trivia about people. He didn't care about what kind of biscuits his dorm mates liked, or who was shagging who; which, considering he attended an all-male boarding school, amused Sherlock.

Besides becoming reclusive and anti-social, Sherlock also began to cultivate an aversion to any physical contact. At school being touched equaled something painful- whether it be a bully's fist or the teacher's ruler. This carried over onto any kind of contact; Such as, when a boy a year younger than Sherlock, brushed up against him in the hallway, he couldn't suppress the shudder of revulsion he felt.

Five years after the initial construction of his mind palace, Sherlock made what he considered to be a friend. The young Carl Powers. Sherlock attended his swim meets and practices and in return, Carl provided semi-intelligent company. Carl Powers became such a fixture in Sherlock's life that he got his own room in Sherlock's mind palace. Sherlock knew his favourite colour was somewhere between royal and navy blue (TARDIS blue the boy called it), he knew his favourite foods, books, shows on telly, how much he loved his new trainers (that his mum insisted on writing his name in), how he hated his eczema, and his love of swimming. He knew his odd quirks, how to tell if he was lying, and whether he was shy or embarrassed. He knew that Carl had some admirer at another school. He was also the first person that Carl came out to as being homosexual, not that it mattered to Sherlock.

After a year people thought that the two were dating. After a year and a half, the rumors about them were made true. Sherlock and Carl had hesitantly kissed in the empty locker room after one of Carl's swim practices. Well, Carl had kissed Sherlock, who didn't push him away. Which seemed to be enough for the boy, and Sherlock felt that when his new boyfriend touched his hand or wrapped his arm around him, he didn't feel the same revulsion. He didn't particularly enjoy the contact but it didn't make his skin crawl.

When they'd been together for three months is when they first became intimate. Both of them were awkward and inexperienced, which made it slightly embarrassing, but not bad. In fact, Sherlock found there was one form of contact he didn't mind. That he even enjoyed, and oh did it make his mind clearer. Ignoring dorm rules, they began sharing a bed secretly. Slipping off in the early morning when the other boys were asleep, and returning to their own rooms. In the three months they were together, they never got caught.

The last day they saw each other Carl was heading off to a swim meet. It was an important one, nationals. Sherlock would normally have accompanied him but his father was insisting on seeing him that day. So with a fond smile and a quick kiss, the two said their goodbyes. Making plans to meet after hours.

Sherlock would always remember the next few days in vivid clarity that would always shock him. Carl had a seizure in the pool and drowned. His parents came to the school to collect his things, both the things he'd left there and what the hospital had returned. Everything was there, except his shoes. Sherlock immediately recognized this as odd and tried to get people to listen. All he got was a scolding and a box to his ears, people telling him at every turn that he was causing Carl's parents pain. That Carl had a fit in the water and what did it matter where his shoes were, some kid had probably knicked them.

It was the death of his first boyfriend that made Sherlock realize he wanted to solve crimes. Not on the police force, he wouldn't be able to handle it. That meant he needed to become more clever.

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