I Never Do

A Bad Day

When Sherlock was five, no one could understand why he had never spoken. He never babbled, mumbled, whispered; nothing. If he wanted to get someone's attention, he would either point and grunt at something, or he would pat them where he could reach.

His parents began to worry about him as he still wouldn't speak by the time he turned six, so they took him to a doctor, who diagnosed him as autistic.

Confused, his parents asked what that meant. The doctor asked if Sherlock ever did anything unusual that normal kids wouldn't. His mother talked about how he would always get upset if he wore a certain fabric of clothing she chose to dress him in, or how he'd rock back and forth to somehow calm himself, or how he won't eat certain things because he doesn't like the texture.

As she spoke more and more about what he does, she began to understand. The doctor told them that it's common among autistic children, and even adults.

The doctor also explained that a lot of autistic children are late in developing communication and motor skills. He suggested that they take their time with Sherlock and teach him how to do things, and that if he didn't want to do anything, then they just be patient with him as it could make him too overwhelmed very quickly.

After their appointment, they went home and immediately began to work with Sherlock. His older brother, Mycroft, was happy to help in any way that he could. He had gone down to the library to pick up a few books on BSL and passed them onto their parents, as he had already learned it in school.

By the time Sherlock turned seven, he knew almost everything about sign language. While he learned it from his family, he researched it in books and learned about the history and culture and talked on and on about it with his parents and Mycroft. They all just smiled and patiently listened to Sherlock ramble.

***

Their parents, and even Mycroft, agreed that homeschool would be the best option for Sherlock. That way he wouldn't have to worry about possible bullying, or him not getting enough attention from his teachers as he needed, and so they hired full time tutors to stay with him while they worked and Mycroft went off to school.

***

Normally, Sherlock is good and well-behaved for his teachers, but he seemed to be having a bad day today. Any time they came near him, he screamed. If they tried to touch him, he jerked away. They tried to calm him with his favorite plush bee that he was given when he was three, but he threw it across the room. They tried to get him to speak, but he would sit on his hands.

Not knowing what else to do, one of his teachers called his mother and told her what was going on. His mother thanked them and said that she would be home soon.

When his mother arrived, Sherlock calmed down immediately.

"Sherlock, Ms. Atmore says you've been having a bad day? Do you want to tell mummy what's wrong?"

Sherlock whined and began to move his hands rapidly.

'Clothes, mummy. Clothes hurt. Head hurts. Bad. Bad. Help. Bad.'

His mother rushed to his side to feel his clothing and frowned.

"Sherlock, love, you've worn this before and haven't had a problem. What's wrong?"

Sherlock bit at his fingertips on one hand and with the other he began to wring it in distress.

His teachers watched idly, worried about what upset him.

"Okay, love. Okay. We'll go get you changed. Come on, up you get."

She held out her hand for him to take but he got up on his own, not yet wanting to touch or be touched by anyone.

His mother led the way to his room. Once inside, Sherlock ran to his closet and began slapping his hand against the wooden door until his mother opened it. She pulled out a nice, soft jumper for him to feel, along with a pair of slacks. He hummed his approval and raised his arms, ready for her to take off his current clothing.

She couldn't help but chuckle at his antics.

"Eager boy," she murmured. She took off his shirt and trousers, then replaced them with the ones they picked out. Sherlock sighed happily and made his way back out into the dining room where his teachers were. He sat at the table and continued on with the workbook they handed him that morning.

His mother exited after him and pulled his teachers aside to talk.

"If he does that again and none of the usual things work to calm him, you could always make him a cup of hot chocolate with honey. I should have mentioned it earlier, but it never crossed my mind. I know, it sounds disgusting, but it's his favorite. If he won't tell you what's wrong, then that should help loosen up his mood a bit." She grinned. She said her goodbyes to his teachers, kissed Sherlock on the cheek, then went off back to work.

For the rest of the day, Sherlock was an angel.