AN: Yes, I know, I shouldn't succumb to peer pressure. But I did. So: Four times Sherlock couldn't care less, and one time he couldn't have cared more. Rated for a mention of drugs and a kiss. J/S. Minor spoilers for "The Great Game".

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock (*MAJOR sulk*)

When Sherlock Holmes was eleven years old, his parents decided that the best thing to do with him would be to send him 'away' to a private boarding school. His older brother had just left Eton, so there was no reason Sherlock shouldn't follow in his footsteps. If they were put in his situation, most children would cry, sulk, scream, and plead in an effort to be allowed to stay home. Sherlock just fell silent, which in anyone else could be mistaken for sulking, but which Mycroft knew was Sherlock's way of showing that he really didn't care at all.

At the age of thirteen, Sherlock was still an outsider; quiet, studious, thin, pale: not exactly the sort of person had had lots of friends. Some of his fellow pupils decided to use this to their advantage. Sherlock might be able to run quickly, but they always caught up eventually. The final time this happened, they shoved him off a roof, on to concrete. Sherlock broke his left leg in two places. When his parents asked if he wanted to leave Eton, to find some people who might like him a bit more, Sherlock replied simply "I don't really care."

Five years later, Sherlock was supposed to start university. He had offers of places at Oxford, Cambridge, and Durham, which was impressive for someone who rarely spoke, paid little attention to lessons, and didn't seem to ever actually study. Most people would have being thrilled at their stroke of luck, but Sherlock didn't even look at the prospectuses his teachers showed him. It was Mycroft who finally snapped, and asked if Sherlock was being deliberately awkward. The younger Holmes sibling looked at his brother dismissively, and answered "No, I just don't care about any of this. It's all so... boring."

At twenty-three, Sherlock was living in a run-down part of London, spending a surprising amount of money on drugs, and not actually doing anything that could be deemed productive. Instead, he spent his time 'solving' crimes the police were stumped by, not that he gave his findings to anyone with authority – his only associates (he didn't have friends) been members of what he'd called "the homeless network". When Mycroft found him sitting on the doorstep, having being evicted again, he asked why Sherlock was in this downward spiral, and told him he'd kill himself. "I don't care," came the reply.

Sherlock stands in the newly open air swimming pool, and stares blankly at the scene. How he'd survived the explosion he didn't know, and can't hope John had also managed to avoid death. Turning on the spot, he starts to walk away, feeling tears sliding down his face. When someone calls his name, he doesn't turn back. It's only when John puts a hand on his shoulder and forces him to look that he realizes he's not imagining it, and pulls his only friend into a hug, then a kiss. This time, he cares.

I MIGHT write something about Mycroft. If you want me to, leave a REVIEW!