His education passed – relatively – uneventfully. He had a passion for chemistry and alchemy, however unorthodox those subjects were perceived. Over time, he developed a reputation for the bizarre, what with his hobbies dabbling in murder and mystery, which were completely unacceptable at the Royal Court. His first case was with a murder of one of the lesser Duchesses, and once he had a taste for it, began to disguise himself in order to sneak out and aid the detectives with crimes around London. This, of course, was horrifying for his father the Earl, and once his parents had caught wind of what he was up to, they forced him to sit down and have a nice, long chat.
Mycroft was already in training to become the next Earl, which left Sherlock a huge amount of wiggle room as to what he wanted to do with his life. The route most others in the Court took was to spend their days alternating between the palace and the courts in the countryside, playing polo and entertaining the young ladies' at the court. However, it was obvious that if they let Sherlock loose, he would have no patience for any of such expected activities. Therefore, three options were laid before him.
He could join the clergy, join the army, or join the navy.
Thinking back to his childhood days of chasing pirates, the answer, to Sherlock, was simple.
Four months of training later, he found himself aboard the good vessel the Scotland Yard, under the command of Captain Gregory Lestrade. Lestrade was a good man, a decent sailor, and an alright captain, directing his ship with a certain finesse that Sherlock couldn't help but admire. However, the Captain was, on occasion, quite lenient with his crew, which was irritating, especially with his first mate Donovan and and that infuriating crewman Anderson. Sherlock was only a crewman, of the same rank as Anderson and most of the men aboard the ship, which was horrifying.
Irritating. Horrifying. Boring.
Because in all his life, Sherlock could have never imagine how utterly bored he was here. Yes, being an insignificant part of a small ship in the British Navy was not entirely the same thing as living a dangerous, adventure-filled life aboard a warship brandishing the Jolly Roger, but Sherlock had expected it to be in some ways similar. And there were some things. He could never get enough of that beautiful smell of the salty sea air, even when he had to climb all way up to the crow's nest to detect it over the stench of vomit and sweat. He loved the gentle rocking of the boat that seemed to be the only thing that could ever get him to sleep within a half hour span.
But there were other things. The dreaded, scratchy uniform. The rigid falseness of everything, how they had to stand at attention while Donovan relayed orders to them in loud, barked tones. It was honestly rare that they left the port, and on the few occasions that they did set sails on the high seas for more than a few days at a time, he couldn't bear the whining and complaining that his fellow crewmates went on and on about, the large percentage of whom also often got ill (why in the hell did they join the Navy, anyways?). Sherlock snapped at them, told them off, on occasion sniped back at Donovan – but he never stood out of line anymore than he physically needed to. He'd seen what happened when someone questioned the more horrid aspects of life on the Scotland Yard.
They were sent home.
And if there was one thing Sherlock knew, it was that anywhere was better than home.
FILL: A Study in Piracy 1b/?
His education passed – relatively – uneventfully. He had a passion for chemistry and alchemy, however unorthodox those subjects were perceived. Over time, he developed a reputation for the bizarre, what with his hobbies dabbling in murder and mystery, which were completely unacceptable at the Royal Court. His first case was with a murder of one of the lesser Duchesses, and once he had a taste for it, began to disguise himself in order to sneak out and aid the detectives with crimes around London. This, of course, was horrifying for his father the Earl, and once his parents had caught wind of what he was up to, they forced him to sit down and have a nice, long chat.
Mycroft was already in training to become the next Earl, which left Sherlock a huge amount of wiggle room as to what he wanted to do with his life. The route most others in the Court took was to spend their days alternating between the palace and the courts in the countryside, playing polo and entertaining the young ladies' at the court. However, it was obvious that if they let Sherlock loose, he would have no patience for any of such expected activities. Therefore, three options were laid before him.
He could join the clergy, join the army, or join the navy.
Thinking back to his childhood days of chasing pirates, the answer, to Sherlock, was simple.
Four months of training later, he found himself aboard the good vessel the Scotland Yard, under the command of Captain Gregory Lestrade. Lestrade was a good man, a decent sailor, and an alright captain, directing his ship with a certain finesse that Sherlock couldn't help but admire. However, the Captain was, on occasion, quite lenient with his crew, which was irritating, especially with his first mate Donovan and and that infuriating crewman Anderson. Sherlock was only a crewman, of the same rank as Anderson and most of the men aboard the ship, which was horrifying.
Irritating. Horrifying. Boring.
Because in all his life, Sherlock could have never imagine how utterly bored he was here. Yes, being an insignificant part of a small ship in the British Navy was not entirely the same thing as living a dangerous, adventure-filled life aboard a warship brandishing the Jolly Roger, but Sherlock had expected it to be in some ways similar. And there
were some things. He could never get enough of that beautiful smell of the salty sea air, even when he had to climb all way up to the crow's nest to detect it over the stench of vomit and sweat. He loved the gentle rocking of the boat that seemed to be the only thing that could ever get him to sleep within a half hour span.
But there were other things. The dreaded, scratchy uniform. The rigid falseness of everything, how they had to stand at attention while Donovan relayed orders to them in loud, barked tones. It was honestly rare that they left the port, and on the few occasions that they did set sails on the high seas for more than a few days at a time, he couldn't bear the whining and complaining that his fellow crewmates went on and on about, the large percentage of whom also often got ill (why in the hell did they join the Navy, anyways?). Sherlock snapped at them, told them off, on occasion sniped back at Donovan – but he never stood out of line anymore than he physically needed to. He'd seen what happened when someone questioned the more horrid aspects of life on the Scotland Yard.
They were sent home.
And if there was one thing Sherlock knew, it was that anywhere was better than home.