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He fell face first.
The bigger kids were laughing worlds away when Sherlock finally decided to stand up. It was not because he was ashamed.
His wild black curls were covered in soggy leaves, and his uniform coat and trousers were drenched with the slush that had remained from the previous night’s snowfall. He sighed deeply, ignoring the sting and heat in the back of his eyes because he was not ashamed, and moved over to the old monkey bars to dry off. Mummy would absolutely lose her mind if she saw him all wet like that, she really really would, but there was nothing he could do.
Sherlock Holmes sniffed and ran a muddy hand across his nose, fighting back stubborn tears of shame, but it was all wrong because he was not ashamed. The big kids were stupid anyway, he didn’t need them. They were silly and stupid, and were just too mentally challenged to understand Sherlock’s genius. Yes, that’s why they picked on him. They didn’t understand. Now, it wasn’t his fault that they were so slow, now, was it?
He sat on the lowest bar, because at nine years of age, that was the only one he could still reach - but one day I’ll be really tall, like Mycroft! he thought, full of determination. The park was empty at this time because it was almost time to go dark. As the winter solstice approached, the nights got longer and longer, and the sun was already setting. The other children’s parents whisked them away before it got too dark, but he walked home so it didn’t matter. With another sigh, Sherlock looked back in his pockets for the sweets he had saved from the Christmas party they had in his class. He had eaten the ice cups already - which were his second favourites - and the marshmallows, so there should be only the candy canes left. He dug right into his pocket, finding nothing. Misplaced it, probably, he thought, searching through the rest of his belongings for the red-and-green candy canes he had been saving since before lunch to eat on the way home - because if he had them at home, Mycroft was sure to eat it, he was such a sweet tooth!
No candy canes to be found! None! Then he remembered that when that big kid - he was really big, probably twelve, his parents were getting a divorce and he had a black female labrador - shoved him, he felt something falling from his pockets. Must have been the sweets, then. He stole it! That gigantic, moronic, idiotic buffoon stole his precious candy canes! He stole them! That was it for Sherlock. The tears he had been fighting were back and all he wanted to do was scream, curl up into a hole and send a deadly missile on that kid’s head. He wished and wished for one of those spacey-flying-things (what are they called? he asked himself, always the one to delete irrelevant information about Space).. Asteroids! He wished for an asteroid to fall right on his head and kill him. He sniffed, and tried to clean himself with his sleeve, but it was all wet and muddy, so he was now crying and sad and angry and dirty. That was just getting worse and worse.
Then he heard light footsteps getting closer and looked up. A big boy was walking towards him. He was going to beat him up, of course, that was what all the big boys who were jealous of his brains did. He had sandy blond hair and his cheek was rosy from the cold wind. He looked about eleven, so not much older than Sherlock himself, but his clothes were well-worn and his uniform was standard for state schools.
‘Are you okay?’ he boy asked in the softest voice Sherlock had ever heard. Sherlock stared at him quizzically, the question lost on him. ‘Hey, mate, are you all right?’
Waking up from his reverie, Sherlock began to nod, but then gave up and shook his head. ‘No…’ he said. Or whined. No, he didn’t whine. Holmeses do not whine. ‘No.’
The boy sat in front of him, legs crossed, a small smile softening his features even more. ‘My name is John. What is yours?’
‘Sherlock,’ he replied after a beat. The boy grinned. Now the mocking is afoot, surely.
‘What a strange little name!’ the boy said, sounding more amused than anything. ‘So, Sherlock, what happened? Why are you crying?’
Sherlock sniffed. No use denying it now, he certainly had been crying. Quite a lot, in fact. ‘Some big kids - idiots, they were - shoved me and stole my… my candy canes…’ the last bit came as a whisper and he almost kicked himself for being such stupid whiner.
John smiled again - a different one, always a different smile - and reached in his pocket. ‘Here,’ he said, handing Sherlock three white-and-red candy canes. Sherlock gaped at him, then stared at the sweets. ‘I’ve had a couple already, so you can have these, if you want…’ his voice got uncertain in the end, but Sherlock beamed and reached for the sweets, his fingers brushing against John’s.
‘Thank you,’ Sherlock said, meaning it for the first time in his life. John chuckled and stood up.
‘Well, I’ve got to go. Take care, Sherlock,’ John motioned to leave, but then took another look at Sherlock. He unwrapped the blue scarf from around his neck and placed it around Sherlock’s. It felt warm and amazing. ‘There, much better, now you’re not cold anymore.’ Another smile, bigger this time.
Sherlock couldn’t thank him again, so he just watched as John ran towards the entrance of the park, scarf-less. He smiled and stroked his new scarf, knowing that he would never ever delete his new friend.