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i.
The sandy-haired boy leaned on his crutches, peering down at his fellow kindergarten classmate, who was bent over a small ant hill. He didn't talk at first, content to quietly observe the other boy. As he watched his fingers fumble around shiny magnifying glasses and empty jam jars with a care that left him ogling, he was more intrigued than he'd been since Harry had shown him how to fake having a cry in front of mum in return for a lolly.
"Do you wanna be friends?"
"I don't have friends."
"I know. That's why I asked you."
A mass of brunette curls whips around, and the sweet boy with the broken leg is confronted with a chubby, pale face, screwed up in concentration.
"Okay," he decides. "You can help me by 'dentifying these specimens," he said, then added, "I'm Sherlock Holmes."
"I'm John."
So John sat down in the grass, next to the odd kid who talked like a grown-up. He laughed when Sherlock made funny expressions, or cried out a random fact about the ants that they were studying together. Sherlock seemed to be enjoying himself, and he smiled at the boy next to him when he wasn't looking at his ants.
"I live at 221b Baker Street," Sherlock suddenly announced proudly. "You should come over to my residence and we can go on adventures together."
"That's fun. What sort of adventures?" John looked at Sherlock expectantly, eyes wide with enthusiasm.
"Any kind you want. Don't tell anyone this, but," Sherlock leaned over to whisper in John's ear, "Sometimes, I go out on the lake to pretend that I'm a pirate. But I never had a crew to share my boat with before." Sherlock looked at John with a most serious expression on his face.
"I can be your crew!" John said determinedly. "Daddy says that I can get my cast off in five days. Then we can go on your boat!" John looks very happy with himself for remembering the amount of days he still had to wear the awful cast on his leg.
"Yes. That will be good, very good indeed," says Sherlock, and John giggles.
On the whole ride back from school at the end of the day, John tells Harry and Daddy about his new best friend.
"And we looked at the ants, and Sherlock says that he's going to be the bestest detective ever when he grows up! And he says that maybe," John lowers his voice for effect, "if I get to be a doctor, I can help him, Daddy!"
James Watson smiles at his son, eyes crinkling at the corners. He hardly ever smiles anymore, John thinks, and he's happy to see his Dad's grin once again.
"That's very nice, John. Do you want to have a play-date with Sherlock?"
"Yes! Oh please, oh please! We are going to go on an adventure on his pirate ship, Daddy, when I get my leg to be all better!"
Harry makes a noise for the first time since she and John had been picked up from school.
"I want to have a play-date with Clara, Daddy, but she's being mean," Harry sniffles, turning up her nose.
"Maybe because you keep eating Play-Doh, Harry. Nobody wants to be friends with a Play-Doh eater," John says.
Harry turns a bright shade of red.
"I do not eat Play-Doh!" She lies furiously.
ii.
"Look!" Sherlock gestures proudly to a large wooden box lying near the shore of the lake. It's complete with a wrapping-paper tube in the center, attached to which is a tattered pillowcase that Sherlock seems to have painted himself.
"Wow! It's amazing! Can I touch it?" John looks at the boat in awe, but doesn't move towards it; afraid that one touch will set what he thinks of as "the most amazing creation ever!" adrift.
"Of course you can. It is tied down very expertly. By me." Sherlock looks proud again, but also glances worriedly down at his friend. "Are you afraid to go on the 'pedition, John?"
John, who was running his fingers along the sides of the 'boat', pulls his eyes away to peer at Sherlock with a horrified expression on his face.
"I'm not scared, I trust you!"
"Good," says Sherlock, relieved.
"How did you get this?"
"I had to get Mycroft to help me move the boat, and I painted the flag with my very own pirate sign. I had to make Mycroft pinky-promise not to tell anyone, though. And he can't come sailing with me, because he would break the boat. He's much too heavy."
John looks confused. He wrinkles his nose. "Mycroft?"
"Mycroft is my brother."
"Oh! You are lucky to have a brother. All I have is a stinky sister who is a liar and a Play-Doh eater. I keep telling people that she eats Play-Doh instead of making things with it, but she tells everyone she doesn't. She's lying."
Sherlock concentrates for a moment. "Is your sister in our class?"
"No. She has Ms. Connie."
"Oh. Is she Harriet?"
"Yes! How did you know?" John is astonished.
"Harriet always has a little bit of clay around her mouth, and she sometimes wears boy's socks, but they're not too big or too small, so I can know that she has a brother who is our same age. You said you have a sister who is a Play-Doh eater and is in Ms. Connie's class, so Harriet is your sister."
"Whoa. You're smart, Sherlock." John looks up at his friend happily.
"You are too, John. You are also very not-boring. I think you are the most not-boring person I have ever met."
"Thank you," John smiles.
"No, thank you," the taller boy says gleefully, turning his eyes back towards his pirate ship, "for being my crew!"
"We should set sail, cap'n," John salutes.
"Yes. It is almost nightfall, and we have lots of treasure to examine."
The two boys scuttle into the wooden box, grabbing long meter-sticks from by their feet.
Sherlock takes a small set of binoculars from his pocket. They are broken in half, and Sherlock gives John one half and keeps the other, holding it up to his eye.
"I didn't have a telescope, but half of binoculars work good as replacement."
John starts to paddle as fast as his short little arms will let him, licking his lips in concentration. The two are soon out in the middle of the lake, going around in circles as they laugh and make up new parts to their adventure.
iii.
"Freak," Sally says scathingly as Sherlock walks to the cafeteria with John.
"You just don't want me to tell everyone how you and Anderson were kissing under the slide at recess, Sally," Sherlock tells her rather loudly. John snickers from Sherlock's other side, gripping his camouflage-patterned lunchbox in one hand, and Sherlock's wrist in the other.
"You are so weird!" Sally sticks her tongue out at the curly-haired boy, while her cheeks color in embarrassment.
At lunch, Sherlock tells John all about how he knew Sally was kissing Anderson, and John listens intently, commenting in between bites of ham-and-cheese sandwich. "Sally and Anderson are big bullies, Sherlock. You're not a freak."
Sherlock smiles.
The next day, a boy goes to John and Sherlock at recess.
"I need help," he says with a sad face.
"What happened?" John asks, at the same time Sherlock says "Duh."
"I told Walter that I would help him find his lost hamster, because it escaped when he brought it in for show-and-tell! But I can't find it and Walter is crying like a big baby, 'cept I don't want Walter to cry. Crying is not good. It makes you feel sad."
Sherlock thinks for a moment. "No. Boring."
"Sherlock," John starts angrily, we have to help! Walter's hamster could be in trouble!"
"Do we have to?"
John nods vigorously. Sherlock sighs.
The two boys follow Walter's friend, Bobby, around for all of free-time and second recess. They look under books and in the shelves even in the trash can for a missing animal. Sherlock finally reached into Walter's backpack, which was lying on the floor, with an excited expression on his face.
John and Bobby stare at him.
Finally, Sherlock removes his hand from the backpack, revealing a tiny ball of fur that is sitting in his palm.
"What do you think, John? Is it alright?" Sherlock thrusts the hamster into John's face, and the blonde boy peers at it intently.
"Yes," he decides. Bobby is happy.
"Oh my gosh! Thank you! I have to go show Walter!"
Bobby sprints away, leaving Sherlock and John alone in the empty classroom.
Sherlock brags and explains all about a hamster's sense of smell to John, who lets him, because he is so in awe of his best friend.
John notices a girl the next week that is always looking at Sherlock. When the teacher is showing them shapes or telling them about adding numbers, she is staring at his curly brunette head with a dreamy expression on her face. Her name is Molly. John doesn't think Sherlock notices Molly's staring.
"Sherlock," he says one day, "I think Molly's in love with you."
"What? Who?"
"There's a girl, who always stares at you. She always looks at you when you're not looking."
"Oh."
"Sherlock," John says worriedly, "you have to pinky-promise me that you won't leave me for any icky girls. Like Molly."
"Of course I won't, John! I need my crew." Sherlock and John lock pinkies, smiling. John giggles.
iv.
"John! We have some detective-ing to do!" Sherlock calls out to John first thing in the morning. He races towards the shorter boy on thin, fast legs and nearly knocks him over.
"What's it about?" John asks, interested as ever in what his friend had to say.
"No time to talk now! This is very serious, so you have to come to my house."
"Okay." John doesn't ask any more questions. He'll find out sooner or later what detective-ing they had to do.
After school, John gets his father to drive him over to Sherlock's house.
"It's very important, Daddy! Sherlock says that it is serious too, uh-huh," John nods his head.
"Sure, son."
Harry makes an angry noise from the back again. "That's not fair."
"What isn't fair, Harry?" James Watson asks, confused.
"John always gets to have play-dates."
"I'll drive you anywhere you want to go, pumpkin. Does Clara want to play with you again?"
"I don't know," Harry wails miserably.
When they finally arrive at Sherlock's house, John darts out of the car and meets his friend at the front door.
"What happened, Sherlock?"
Sherlock looks at John with sad eyes. "Someone stole Yorick!"
"Oh no!" John looks horrified. "Is he in trouble?"
Yorick was Sherlock's stuffed bear. He had a tiny skull mask that was glued onto his face, and he was very worn out but Sherlock loved him dearly.
"I think so," Sherlock says with a grim expression, "but I think we can save him. I need your help."
"Yes!"
The two boys search the entire house for Yorick, but to no avail. He seems to have vanished into thin air. Sherlock and John look under Victorian-style dressers, in countless drawers, and even venture into the attic, emerging from it covered in white dust. Why the bear would be there, neither of them knew; but it didn't hurt to look.
They ended up in Mycroft's bedroom, the very last spot Sherlock could think of.
When the owner of the room bursts in, he frightens John so much the boy falls off the bed, where he had been searching the blankets for Yorick.
"Sherlock, what are you doing in my bedroom?" Mycroft looks angry at having found them in his room.
"Mycroft, have you seen Yorick? He's gone missing!"
"Alas, poor Yorick," Mycroft remarks, then laughs at his own joke.
"Mycroft, this is serious! It is not a time to make jokes!"
Mycroft only laughs harder at the expression on his little brother's face, and Sherlock stomps out of the room, John trailing behind.
Before he is all the way out the door, Sherlock peeks his head around the wood.
"Also, I know you were with Greg last night," he calls with a grin. Mycroft stops laughing.
"Who's Greg?" John asks, wrinkling his nose in confusion.
"Mycroft's boyfriend. But he would say he wasn't, if you ask him."
John smiles, but Sherlock frowns.
To his alarm, John sees tears gathering in his friend's eyes.
"John, we're never going to find Yorick… he's probably so sad and alone."
Sherlock's lip starts to pout.
"Don't worry. I'll be your crew, and your Yorick," John says determinedly.
John engulfs Sherlock in a warm hug, and neither of them let go for quite a while.
Sherlock smiles as the tears running down his face dry.
"Thank you, John."
v.
Thunder claps from overhead, and a large window lets moonlight fall on the giant purple bed, where two boys huddle together, under the covers.
Sherlock grips the comforter up to his chin, and stares outside worriedly. John buries his face in his hands.
"Sherlock, I'm scared. I'm scared the thunder is going to take you away."
"It's okay John, I would never leave you all sad and alone."
"Really?"
"Yes. And I would never lose you, or let you be taken, like Yorick."
"Thank you, Sherlock."
John scoots closer to the taller boy, feeling the heat of his body warm the bed they share. He feels for Sherlock's hand, and, when he finds it, grasps hold tightly.