An Awkward Situation....(a Sherlock story)

The Interrogation

Hey! So this is totally random, (I understand if you just scroll down to the story) but I was on Pintrest, you know, looking at memes and that lovely stuff when I saw a picture of a teenage Benedict Cumberbatch,and it was ADORABLE. Then I thought of my story and imagined a little baby Benedict and...*passes out by adorableness* hehe. Sorry, I'm just saying, if anyone has pictures of a cute little Benedict, I will be willing to pay (imaginary, obviously) money to see that...(^_^). K, I'm done...

-

Mycroft stared at the wall, lost in thought. He was vaguely aware of police ransacking the house, Lestrade telling him he could call if he needed anything, and Ms. Hudson throwing out more expensive dining utensils out of the window. He'd always thought of emotions as weakness, not caring meant he didn't have to worry about people, and sacrifice for other people. He thought he could do fine on his own. And he had, he found everyone and everything disgusting and dull. Almost everything.

Sherlock had always been a soft spot for him. He hated it. Sherlock had gotten all the attention for years after he was born, and he'd always been a sarcastic, sassy child who talked to much. But he reminded Mycroft of himself, in a way. They shared many of the same traits, but Sherlock had always had a harder time of controlling his feelings. He'd always felt responsible for the little twit. (I'm not sure if I'm using that correctly...this isn't a swear word, is it? If so, I apologize...(; )

"Are you sure you've told me everything?" Mycroft asked loudly, stopping Ms. Hudson from tossing a frightening looking spatula out the window. "any detail is valuable."

Ms. Hudson nodded quickly-to quickly, Mycroft noted. She was clearly lying, "Of course, you think I'd leave something out? As I said, Sherlock came home with a man, John tucked Sherlock in to bed-"

"I'm sorry, what?"

Ms. Hudson bit her lip-she was definitely withholding- "Tucking in, watching, cleaning the sheets, it doesn't matter. John talked with the man for a while, I didn't hear much, a few things about a mad mob boss-or something like that. The next morning after breakfast Sherlock pointed out that their were people trying to break in, and they were gone."

Mycroft studied Ms. Hudson's face, the slight quiver in her left lip was her tell for lying, her palms were sweaty, and she kept fidgeting with her dress. What was she hiding? "Tell me about the man. What did he look like? What did he do?"

"Some scientist," She said airily, "Short man, not very good looking. He was stout, late forties, I should think."

Nodding, Mycroft got up to study the window. There was a chair pushed against the window, and accounting for the small footprints upstairs, it was probably for the man. He must've been four eleven, at the least, and weighing a little under eighty seven pounds. Very slim. But that didn't make sense, unless the man was in fact a child...

He thought back to his conversation with Lestrade earlier that day, apparently on two of the cases they'd received an anonymous tip and Sherlock had apparently been obsessed with finding out who it was. But it couldn't be about that, could it? The murders weren't linked, and solved by Sherlock, case closed. Wasn't it?

"Where are you going?" Ms. Hudson asked as he snatched his umbrella and pulled out his phone.

"Molly." He said shortly, "And if you wouldn't mind, I would be very pleased if you restrained from throwing anything at me from the window."

_

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I am grown up, you fool. These philosophical questions about my sanity are useless."

The scientist sighed deeply, checking his watch. Sherlock wrapped his arms tighter around his waist, glaring at his stupid hospital gown. He'd woken up in a small hospital room, and a scientist whose face reminded him of death had come to interrogate him. He knew what the man was doing, he was trying to see if Sherlock's mind had glitched into thinking he was in fact a child again. But he was smart, he was going to get out of there himself and free John, maybe Ludovic as well.

The scientist rubbed his bare scalp, which was recently tanned, "Were not going to move on until you answer."

"Fine. A pirate."

"Why?"

"So I don't have to answer these stupid questions. Can I go now?"

Sherlock fidgeted nervously as the man began to write, then quickly stiffened. Showing weaknesses to the enemy was dangerous.

"Right," The man muttered, "How is your relationship with your brother?"

Sherlock did his best piss off I'm about to loose it grin as he said, "Oh, just dandy. He stalks me regularly, I make a fool of him regularly, then we sit down and talk about our feelings over a cup of sentimental tea. Honestly, your relationship with your younger sister is horrible, always has been, why are you writing this down?" he asked as the man began viciously writing.

"They told me you were good with deductions," The scientist said softly, obviously trying to form an emotional bond so he would confide in him. "Tell me about that. How long have you had this ability?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, staring at the corner of the room as he muttered, "Ever since I was smart enough to know people are stupid."

"Were you teased? Bullied? Surely you didn't always think people were stupid." He repeated the last word softly, like it was a silly word coming from a toddler complaining about their sister.

"When did this become a psychiatrist visit? John's the one who does those."

"Just answer the question, please."

"Whatever...of course I was bullied, Mycroft taught me how to outsmart people and it worked. Just not with making friends." Sherlock said awkwardly, pulling his knees to his chest.

The man nodded, "That must've been hard. I was teased when I was younger, too."

"Sure," Sherlock drawled, "Just like how you weren't a successful football player with straight A's and friends with the entire school. Must have been devastatingly tragic."

"How did you-"

"Alright!" The door suddenly swung open, and the freaky blond haired man that had ordered for him to be sedated waltzed in, "You broke. I told you specifically not to be impressed by his deductions. Go away, I'll talk to the brat."

"But-" The scientist started, but quickly scurried out of the room as the blond man glared.

"Dreadful man, really. Must've been horrible spending so much time with him." The blond man muttered, swinging the metal door shut behind him.

"Must've been," Sherlock said, "You picked him."

"My name is Jamen Cassius," Jamen continued, ignoring Sherlock's comment, "I apologize, I suspect it's invigorating having to be treated like a child."

"Where's John?"

Jamen laughed, "Suffering with that incorrigible excuse for a scientist, Ludovic. But we are not talking about any of your friends right now."

"No? I suppose you'll want to discuss your hair then. It's dreadful, really, you obviously want to look superior but you're going to have trouble with that if it looks like you've dumped a bottle of shampoo on your head. And do stop getting shoes twice your size, I don't know about you but big feet have never really scared me into doing anything. Except gagging at, maybe." Sherlock barked, standing up to face Jamen. Usually, Sherlock got an advantage when he stood, being tall, but compared to Jamen, he was a speck.

Jamen laughed, leaning down and putting both hands on Sherlock's shoulders, "I love children with attitudes," he said, so softly each syllable danced off his tongue like snowflakes, making Sherlock's skin crawl. "But were not talking about either of those things, no. We...are going to talk all about you Sherlock. I'm very interested to hear your point of view, do...enlighten me."