Chapter Text
"You're cheating!" The little girl's screech attracted the attention of the whole of the kindergarten class.
A little boy, with a curly mop of hair piled on his head and rather long legs for being only six, raised an aristocratic eyebrow delicately, in slight offense, at the girl who had just accused him. He was standing by a large pile of toys, all haphazardly stowed in front of the toy box, which sat by a tall book case full of pop ups and the like, where the girl inside the toy box was glaring at him. "No, I'm not," he replied calmly.
The little girl's face scrunched up. "You are!" she said loudly. "You peeked! N'one knew where I was hiding! You peeked, you peeked!"
The boy sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit likely picked up from a parent or elder sibling. "I'm not cheating," he repeated slowly. "You're just predictable." The little girl stared at him dumbly. The boy gave her a withering look. "It means that you're obvious. I could tell where you were most likely to hide before I turned around. It was child's play, really," he said with a sniff.
The little girl, confused by his logic, turned to the professor and tugged on his pants to get his attention. Botttom lip out and pouting, she regaled to him the tragic tale of her utopian hide-and-go seek game being trampled on by one Sherlock Holmes. ".. So he was cheating, 'fessor, he was cheating!"
Professor Lestrade listened to the girl, nodding along sympathetically at the appropriate times, then turned reluctantly to Sherlock. "Sherlock," he drawled.
Sherlock Holmes looked up at the professor, unimpressed. "Lestrade," he said.
"Professor Lestrade," Lestrade chided. Sherlock raised another brow. "Did you cheat?"
At this point, Sherlock had become indignant. "Of course not," he said huffily.
"How did you know exactly where she was? By all, means, this is a very good hiding spot. She wasn't even near it by the time you turned, and yet you knew and went straight for her when there were other children, at least five others, playing as well." Lestrade looked at Sherlock expectantly. Sherock glared at him.
"As a professor of education, no matter how low your station is considering you're teaching kindergarteners," Sherlock said distastefully, seeming to forget he was a kindergartner himself, "I thought you would be able to see, without a doubt and with no influence from hearsay, how obvious it was that I didn't cheat and how obviously horrid she is at hiding."
"I fail to see how she is 'horrid' at hiding, as this toy box is in a corner, partially hidden by a bookcase. It's a rather clever place to hide,actually."
Sherlock muttered something under his breath in response. Lestrade could only catch part of it, ".. imbecile.. he would.. Mycroft.. right.." It was enough for him to reach some conclusion that disproved the law of Syllogism.
"Mr. Holmes, we cannot permit liars in this classroom. I'll have to call your mother."
Sherlock's face dropped, and he seemed aghast, equal parts horror, disbelief, and betrayal expressed clearly on his cherub face. "You'd call my dear mummy for some petty lie this girl spewed? You have no proof that I cheated-which I didn't! You would know this if you weren't so clearly unfit for your position!" Sherlock's hand, which had been gesticulating wildly with his rising ire, dropped to his side in a big finish, emphasizing his point.
"Unfit?" Lestrade asked.
Sherlock met Lestrade's gaze, eye's defiant and chin lifted, and said, "Yes." The lack of 'sir' didn't go unnoticed.
Lestrade's mouth tightened. "Maybe we should have mummy visit the school.."
"Stop!" A small voice called. A boy with sandy blond hair and expressive eyes stepped out from behind a closet door a few feet away. "He didn't do anything," the boy said.
"John, please, this is none of your concern, really. As a new student, I'd advise you to not make assumptions about Mr. Holmes' honesty or actions. Now," Lestrade began patronizingly.
"You're lying!" John Watson interrupted, waggling a tiny finger at the little girl. She gulped. "'fessor 'Strade, Molly's lying."
"How would you know this, John? Sherlock is clearly the liar," the Lestrade said.
"You are clearly blind," John replied boldly. "He didn't turn around at all. I watched from behind the door there where I was hiding; he kept his eyes closed and faced the wall the whole time. The whole time," John repeated earnestly. He glanced at Sherlock shyly. The corner of Sherlock's lip upturned very slightly, gratefully.
"You saw this, you say?" Lestrade asked. "You're sure? Not lying, are you? Lying to a teacher is almost the same as perjury."
John frowned in confusion. Perjury?
Sherlock, who had walked toward John unnoticed, clasped John's hand in his reassuringly and said to him, "Perjury is when you lie on the witness stand and you're under oath." John stared at him blankly. "In a court, you know, and you lie to a judge," he added. John nodded unsurely, then blushed slightly. He stared at their interlocked hands. Sherlock smiled at him triumphantly and give John's hand a squeeze. "He's not lying, Lestrade. I can tell," Sherlock said confidently.
"And I'd believe you because you have such a great record for honesty," Lestrade deadpanned.
"That was one time, and it was under completely different circumstances," Sherlock replied complained, getting upset again. John squeezed his hand. Sherlock calmed, then said, "I'm not lying now."
Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Alright, let's say you're not lying.. How'd you know where Miss Molly was hiding?"
Sherlock scoffed at him. "It's obvious, isn't it?" Lestrade was silent. Sherlock sighed, disappointed, and shook his head. "Before we began the game, she had been eying the toy box for awhile. I could hear her walk to the toy box after I turned around, what with her shoes having a small heel and the walls in this room making a crisp echo, and the toys have clearly been moved from where they had been before we started the game."
"Any child in here could have done so," Lestrade repudiated.
"Which child was over there? Was there anyone over there?" Sherlock asked the room at large. No one said anything. Sherlock smirked at Lestrade smugly. "I could also hear her giggling and breathing when I got nearer, her breathing particularly hitching slightly from a cold. From all this, I deduced that that's where she had hidden, and my conclusion had been right.. Simple. Child's play. Obvious."
Lestrade sputtered. Sherlock, bored with Lestrade, turned to John. John smiled at him. "I'm John Watson," he said politely.
"Yes, I know," Sherlock said amusedly. "I'm Sherlock Holmes." They shook their interlocked hands, grinning at each other.
"I don't like the professor," John stage-whispered to Sherlock.
"It's okay, John," Sherlock whispered back confidentially. "No one does." Sherlock spared a glance to Lestrade's shocked face before ignoring him entirely to talk with John. "Do you like science?" he asked him eagerly.
"Science? What's science?" John looked at Sherlock innocently.
Sherlock gave John a long, analyzing look, then patted his back kindly. "What it must be like in your simple little head, John. It must be so boring," he said thoughtfully before continuing. "Science is everything; you, me, even Lestrade, although that's debatable.."
John giggled as they walked away, and Sherlock smiled at his new friend, tightening his hand around John's. Lestrade, still a little dumbfounded by the new student and Sherlock Holme's blossoming friendship and the whole debacle with the cheating, stared after them dazedly, little Molly still pouting at his side.