Sherlock: Before He Became a Consulting Detective

1. Moving to Liverpool

Sherlock was in his last year of school when the company his father worked for relocated to Liverpool and they had to move. He wanted to remain in London with his brother, but his parents refused. Little did he know Mycroft was the one behind it.

"There's only six months of school left, why can't I stay with Mycroft?"

His mother glared at him. "He doesn't have time to babysit you," she repeated her eldest son's words on why Sherlock couldn't stay with him.

"I'm old enough to look after myself. I don't need a babysitter." Sherlock stormed to his bedroom and slammed the door shut. He fell down on his bed and buried his face in the pillow.

His mother barged into his room. "What did I tell you about slamming doors in this house? You better start packing. We're moving the end of the month."

He jerked his head up. "But that's in two weeks."

Without a word, his mother turned around and walked out.

He snorted and hopped around onto his other side to face the wall. He pulled up his knees to lie in a fetal potion, which he often did when he was upset.

Later that afternoon, his father came home from work announcing he was leaving the next morning for Liverpool. "We emptied all the offices today. I have to leave early to help them setting up for work on Monday."

"When will you be back?" his wife asked.

"I have to stay. My boss already booked me into a hotel until you and Sherlock join me in two weeks."

Sherlock strolled into the living room after eavesdropping on the conversation. "So, you're leaving Mummy and me alone? We have to struggle on our own with packing and organizing a furniture truck."

His father glanced at him. "Jeez, it's only for two weeks, Sherlock. You're a grown man, I think you can manage."

His mother scoffed at him. "You told me a few hours ago you're all grown up."

"Argh," he mumbled and jumped around to head back to his room.

"Don't you go anywhere, Mister," she called out. "Set the table, supper is almost ready."

Sherlock threw his hands in the air. "I should've been a girl," he yelled before marching into the dining room.

His mother jumped up and stormed out of the living room. She stopped in the dining room doorway and glared at her son. "Stop it, now. You're beginning to annoy me. You're not the only one who's upset that we have to move. I had to give up my flower shop and my yearlong friends. You're still young. You can make new friends at school."

He cast his eyes down. "I'm sorry, Mummy. You're right as always."

She snorted. "Set the table I'm bringing the food." She turned away and walked over to the kitchen.

Sherlock opened the buffet's drawer and stared at the eating utensils. If she only knew how hard it was for him to make friends. After four years alone in high school, he finally made friends with a boy in his class last year.

***

The two weeks went by quickly. The furniture truck was loaded and ready to go.

Sherlock stood in the doorway and glanced inside the empty bedroom, his domain of the past seventeen years. His parents bought the house after they got married and lived there ever since.

"Come love, the truck is waiting."

He turned around, nodded and walked past his mother to her car.

As they drove through the gate, a black sedan with tinted windows pulled up next to them. A chauffeur jumped out, hurried over to the backdoor and opened it.

A dapper young man in a navy-blue suit climbed out and leaned on a black umbrella.

Sherlock rolled his eyes when his mother uttered a shriek of joy.

"Mycroft," she called out when she jumped out of the car. She hurried up to him and threw her arms around his neck. "I was wondering if you were coming to greet us before we leave."

Sherlock opened the door and dragged himself out of the car.

Mycroft smiled at his mother. "Oh Mummy, you know I wouldn't let you go without saying goodbye."

The two brothers greeted each other with a nod.

He glanced at Sherlock. "And you, little brother, are you excited to see the new house?"

"No," he replied bluntly. "I'm going back to the car. Good day, Mycroft."

"What's up with him?" he asked after Sherlock walked away.

"Oh, don't mind him. He has been this grumpy ever since we received notice about moving to Liverpool. Complaining about leaving his friend behind."

He arched his brows. "Sherlock doesn't have friends, Mummy. Well, as far as I know."

"He made friends with a boy in his class last year. Matt, or Mark, ugh can't remember the name."

He narrowed his eyes. "Matthew Clarkson, Matt for short," he asked. "A short boy with brown hair," he added when his mother pulled a face.

"Yes, that's the one. I saw him only once or twice. But how did you know who he was?"

He cocked his head and smiled. "Mummy, I'm working for the government, remember."

She nodded and carried on talking about the boy. "Sherlock never brings him home. He's mostly at that boy's house."

Mycroft smiled as he glanced at his brother in the car. "Well, well, well, my brother has a friend." He looked back at his mother. "Who would've guessed?"

"What does that mean?"

He gasped. "Oh, nothing, I'm glad for him." He smiled again. "Well, I have plenty of work waiting for me and you have more than three hours of driving ahead of you." He kissed her on the cheek and returned to his car. "Give my love to Daddy, and be careful on the road," he said before getting into the back.

She waited until the black sedan pulled away before she strolled back to her car.

"Mycroft had plenty to talk about. I thought he came just to say goodbye," Sherlock remarked after his mother climbed back in the car.

She turned to him and frowned. "Why are you so jealous of your brother?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not."

She shook her head, started the engine and pulled out of this driveway for the last time.

The truck driver hooted when she drove past him. He put the truck in gear and drove off, following them.