At home, though, Sherlock was a completely different little boy. His pale complexion came from never going outside. Instead, he spent much of his time playing pirates inside with his beloved bear. Bear was his only friend, and, oh, how Sherlock loved him! The poor thing was so worn out from years of love and time and time again of Mycroft stealing and hiding it. Sherlock went to sleep with his Bear every night, clutched tightly to his chest. Mrs. Holmes many a time had to sew up little Bear because his insides would be falling out after so much rough-and-tumble play around the mansion.
Mycroft and Sherlock often got into violent fights. Mycroft was seven years Sherlock's senior, so of course he had the upper hand. Mycroft knew it was immature of him to victimise his brother, but it was just too easy not to pass up! Whenever Mycroft's friends came round, though, Sherlock went on ignored.
Friends.
Sometimes Sherlock felt so lonely. No, all the time. He had Mummy and he had Bear. But Mummy was busy so often that Sherlock kept to his bedroom, clutching Bear tight to his chest, fighting back tears because pirates don't cry! All Sherlock wanted was friends, someone to care about him, to tolerate him, to come and play and be a pirate with him. Bear's head was soaked it Sherlock's tears because he often could not hold them back for very long.
Sherlock stared out his window to the garden. He wondered what it felt like to be well-liked, to be wanted, to be the subject of affection. Why was it so hard for others to like him? No...why was it so hard to be likeable? Sherlock often ended up blaming himself for his lack of friends, sending him into a fit of tears which further soaked Bear and ended in fitful sleep.