Words: 263

Author's Note: Prompt for this one is Children. Unbeta'd.

Year One

Sherlock hated school. It was boring and not in the "I don't want to do the work!" boring.

Sherlock had begun reading when he was two, and writing when he was three. He would steal Mycroft's books and try to read those too (not that he knew what most of the words meant). The kids here, they would just color and get their snot all over everything and the teachers didn't seem to know what to do with themselves and so many children.

It was almost annoying.

But he couldn't particularly bring himself to care. He simply sat at one of the tables, drawing out one of the chemical compounds that he remembered seeing in one of Mycroft's books. Why couldn't he be in Mycroft's year and not silly old Year One?

To make it worse, a new child was introduced to the class. He seemed nervous and his hands would shake - just sit there and tremble constantly. And he was quiet. Another pointless addition to the class. At least he wasn't loud or whiny like most of the other children.

It wasn't until later that he learned that the trembling child knew Mike (one of the less annoying people. He was alright. Someone that Sherlock could converse with occasionally. At least Mike didn't think he was weird.)

Mike had dragged the trembling boy towards him during recess, Sherlock was sitting on a bench, studying a couple of rocks formations and determining how they were created. The trembling stayed.

Little did he know that this trembling boy would change his entire life.