"No!" A young boy shouted as he watched his older brother walk to the gate at the end of the driveway to their mansion. His brother turned around and smiled sadly.

"Bye, Sherlock." He stated. Sherlock ran down the plateau, quickly catching up with Mycroft, and grabbed the boy's elbow.

"Please, don't go." He whimpered meekly. Mycroft crouched down slightly, so he could look his little brother in the eyes.

"I'm going to Cambridge University, Sherlock, It's a huge chance. Do you understand that?" He asked gently. He hated to leave his brother behind, but he needed to get out of their environment to be able to save him.

"But you can't leave me alone with father." Sherlock sniffed, and Mycroft's face fell. "Sherlock, listen to me." He said, his voice suddenly serious. "You are ten, but if you work hard, you'll be able to graduate by the time you're thirteen. Whatever happens in those three years, just remember that I'll always watch over you." Sherlock nodded. "When you're around father, keep your emotions in check. Remember, showing emotions is showing weakness in his eyes." The taxi which would take Mycroft to the campus honked, and the teenager looked up agitatedly. "I really have to go now, Sherlock. Keep safe." Mycroft sighed, wrapping his arms around his brother in a hug.

Sherlock watched the cab pull away, taking his big brother with it.

"Come inside boy." A mature voice called out, and Sherlock flinched instantly, before venturing inside. A tall man stood leaning against the handrail of the large staircase. "So he finally left, huh?" Sherlock's father sneered. "I guess nobody wants to stay around a freak like you."

Sherlock Holmes was a great actor. He could fake tears on command, pretend to be a drunk without any effort, and he played the part of a terrified priest easily.

His longest role yet, however, was that of the highly functioning sociopath. It was a mask, he could slip it on as easily as somebody else could change his clothes, and he used it to protect himself from the harsh world. He started to use it when he was just a ten year old, trying to prevent people from coming to close, hiding the secret of his abuse. After lots of research, he got every detail right.

But even the best actor can't keep up a role forever. The tight mask he had formed started to crack as soon as doctor John Hamish Watson limped into his life. The man had served in the army, that was obvious. Sherlock could recall the exact words he told D.I. Greg(?) Lestrade to describe the man who had killed the homicidal cabbie.

"Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatized to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service and nerves of steel."

And then he saw John, just standing there with a worried look on his face, it was special to Sherlock, because most people didn't get that worried for him when they knew him for years, let alone twenty-four hours. The sight of the man, who was trying just a little too much to look innocent had shut him up effectively. Dr. John Watson, the decent military man had shot a man for his flat mate, who he hadn't even known for more than a day.

That moment, the first crack had been formed.

In the months Sherlock spent with John, small cracks started to appear frequently. Every time John treated him like a normal human being, a friend, Sherlock felt his act break down a little bit further. He started to show his real emotions to the army man hesitantly, and he was surprised to find out John didn't treat him like he was weak when he did so.

On the evening Sherlock saw the hound, a large part of his mask finally broke off. He had panicked, feeling scared and confused. John had tried to get close to him, and that scared the detective even more, he didn't let people come close. It would end up with him getting hurt.

In his confusion, he had lashed out to John.

"I don't have friends." Four words, and Sherlock had regretted them before he had even finished the sentence. The look on John's face was one of surprise and hurt, and Sherlock wanted to take the words back badly.

Even though he hadn't planned on it, he had let John come close already, and the man had done nothing to hurt him. Sherlock had groaned to himself, and came up with a plan to make it up the next day. He didn't manage to get an actual apology out of his mouth, so instead he had twisted his words, "I've only got one." John had still been angry, but Sherlock had seen his face soften, and he knew things would be alright.

The consulting detective had tried to pull his mask up again, but no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't able to restore it completely. When he and John worked on cases for Scotland Yard, he wasn't the sociopath the police force knew anymore. Sherlock knew D.I. (Greg?) Lestrade had noticed, the man had more patience with him than before when he was rude once again. And he had once heard the detective inspector and John talk about him behind his back.

He had been upset about it first, how could John gossip about him? But then he had heard The doctor's fond tone, and the nice words, causing him to stay and listen. The two discussed how Sherlock was opening up to people more, and John commented on how happy that made him, to which Lestrade agreed. Sherlock had felt a small smile creep onto his face. John liked him opening up, and that made him want to try harder. Maybe letting people get close wasn't so bad after all.

That day, Sherlock went to the crime scene alone. John was on a date with some new woman who had recently gotten a job in the doctor's office he worked, and had made Sherlock promise he wouldn't interrupt them. While Sherlock was leaning above the body, he regretted making that promise. He missed John, and his soft voice complimenting him. A genius needed an audience, and John truly was the best public he could wish for.

"You are looking for a male, about 1.80m, who knew the victim well. The motive was revenge." Sherlock told Lestrade, who nodded and made a few notes. The D.I. didn't say anything about the bluntness the genius was speaking with. He understood Sherlock didn't like working without John.

Donovan and Anderson didn't have as much tact. The two of them stood next to door of the house the victim had been found in.

"Isn't John with you?" Donovan asked. She wasn't trying to be mean, Sherlock realized, so he cut her some slack and answered normally.

"No, he has a date." He stated, before continuing to walk down the steps. He heard Anderson snort, and fought the urge to turn around and spout embarrassing deductions about the man, but Anderson didn't let him. Instead, he unconsciously repeated the most painful words somebody had ever said to Sherlock Holmes.

"I guess nobody wants to stay around a freak like you, huh?"

A/N: Dun Dun Dun. :3 don't worry, I've got another chapter planned, maybe even a third if you are positive. The Idea came from tumblr, a friend was spouting painful head canons, and this Abused!lock thing really intrigued me. I haven't been abused myself, and I haven't got a clue if this is accurate or not, I just thought this was a nice idea. If you have any comments, please leave a review!