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Sherlock Holmes was walking into the kitchen when he spotted Mrs Watson finishing a batch of her delicious gingerbread biscuits. He loved them as was about to ask for one when a little blond boy appeared from behind her, looking up at the gingerbread men with a smile.
'Can I have one, Ma?' he asked, his voice was soft and small. He himself was actually quite small as well -- smaller than Sherlock for sure. And his hair was much much shorter, also. Mrs Watson looked down at him and shook her head.
'Sorry, sweetheart, but this is for the Holmeses,' she told him, a sad smile on her face.
The boy sniffled -- his red nose suggested either a cold or allegies -- and nodded. 'Are you making more when we get home?'
Mrs Watson lowered herself to face her son, and Sherlock hid a bit more behind the door, since eavesdropping was frowned upon by most people. He watched as the cook ran a hand over her son's hair and sighed.
'No, I'm sorry... We can't afford it, Johnny,' she said and the boy -- John, it seemed -- nodded once more.
'Alright,' he agreed, giving his mother a bright smile -- although Sherlock could tell he was hiding something, he was just really good at reading people.
Mrs Watson have John a kiss on the forehead -- Mummy never gave Sherlock, or Mycroft for that matter, kisses on the forehead -- and stood up, then began placing the biscuits on a very nice plate. She put the plate on the kitchen table and moved along to the pantry. Sherlock entered the kitchen, then, since it was now safe. He moved over to pick up a biscuit when he heard a cough.
'Hi,' said John, half-hiding himself behind the door of the pantry. He seemed even smaller somehow, even though Sherlock knew he had to be at least a year older.
'You're Mrs Watson's son,' the boy nodded.
'And who are you?'
'Sherlock Holmes,' he replied coldly, because that's how he treated kids his own age -- they were all idiots who enjoyed ridiculing him.
John chuckled. 'That's a funny name,' he said. Sherlock glared at him. 'No, sorry... It's just... I'd never heard it before...' he grasped the doorframe with one hand and looked away. 'It's a cool name, though... Better than John, anyway.'
'At least you don't get mocked everyday because of it,' came out of Sherlock's mouth before he could stop it.
John smiled and nodded. 'Yeah... But I get mocked for being short, so it's not that much better,' he giggled and that made Sherlock smile, oddly enough.
Sherlock realised that John was not bothered by him. It was a strange feeling, quite novel indeed. So Sherlock decided to make a deduction and see if John would get angry.
'You pretended not to mind that your Mum couldn't make you the biscuits,' Sherlock said. John's eyes widened as he stepped forward.
'How did you know that?'
'I didn't know, I saw,' Sherlock said, quoting something he heard Mycroft say once. 'You didn't look her in the eye when you nodded that it was okay, and after she left, you wiped your eye after a sniffle, which means that you used your cold to hide the fact that you wanted to cry because of the biscuits. This happens a lot, then. Your mother has to cover for the entire household, since she doesn't have a husband. I know that because I overheard her telling it to the housekeeper on the interview for the job. And you also have a brother, which means she has to provide for three people with the salary of a cook, and that barely covers basic expenses, so there is no way she'd be able to ever make biscuits for the family. However, the fact that she knows how to make them and that you even bother to ask show that your family used to have money, but now it's poor somehow, probably something to do with your father,' Sherlock fired, not stopping even to breathe. He panted slightly as John gaped at him.
'That was... awesome!' John exclaimed.
'You really think so?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. John nodded.
'Yes! It was really cook! How did you do it?'
Sherlock shrugged. 'I don't know. I just see things and they make sense in my head, can't really say how...' he admitted. He was only eleven, anyway, and Mycroft hadn't taught him how the deductions happened properly yet. John smiled wider.
'Cool...'
Sherlock returned the smile. 'Was I right, then?'
'Yes,' John replied. 'Except that I have a sister, not a brother. We call her Harry, but that's short for Harriet.'
'There'a always something!' Sherlock smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. He then turned to face John again and grinned. 'You really liked it?'
'It's brilliant! Much cooler than the card tricks my Dad taught me...' John said, adopting a sadder smile. Sherlock deduced then that his father had died, but he liked John, so he didn't say anything.
'I'm going to have a biscuit,' he said and John nodded, looking down at his shoes. 'Would you like one?'
As John beamed at him, Sherlock realised that he had just made his first friend.