Work Text:
Like every night before this one John sat on the edge of his sister’s bed, who was more than a little reluctant to go to sleep, but would certainly do so in exchange for one of her brother’s famous stories. John was almost twelve years old, but that didn’t stop him from telling the finest of adventure stories. Most of which he told from firsthand experience. What he didn’t tell his sister was that they were an exaggeration of the truth, because he thought that shouldn’t matter. If the story was good, then the story was good. He liked to write about the things that happened to him and he was glad whenever someone wanted to listen to them.
From time to time, unbeknownst to John and his sister Harry, a young boy would enjoy the stories too. He’d be seated comfortably on the rooftop when he was in luck with a half opened window and a good story pouring out from the nursery. He liked John’s stories and would very much like to have them told to him every night, too. It would be so good, the boy thought to himself, if John was to share adventures with him. Certainly the stories would be the better for it!
Therefore, this night, he didn’t leave after John had concluded his stories of epic adventures into a very satisfying finale. He waited for the light in the nursery to turn off, before he leaped down from the roof into the windowsill. The warm night made London feel comfortably homelike and it had been a good reason for an opened window, through which the boy quickly climbed.
He had never broken into a bedroom before. Not uninvited, at least. It was quite exciting, he thought to himself as he looked through the familiar space. Harry was fast asleep, after the exciting story had ended so finely and peacefully. John, on the other hand, had only just closed his eyes a few moments before the break-in. John would not be asleep yet, so he should be quiet.
His eyes fell on the book that he knows John uses to write all his best stories in and although he was aware of privacy and what it meant, he couldn’t contain his curiosity. He grabbed it from the nightstand and sat carefully, but comfortably, on the end of John’s bed. But he can’t read in this dim light! So, he turns on the lamp standing on John’s nightstand, which receives him a shocked gasp from the boy who is now fully alert and staring at him with wide eyes.
“Who are you?” John asked, a brave question. “And give that back,” he added, snatching his book back.
“I’m Sherlock,” the boy answers.
“What are you doing here? And be quiet.” John nodded towards the other bed, where Harry was still fast asleep.
“You like adventures, right?” Sherlock asked. It didn’t take long for John to nod, but Sherlock saw that John was sad. “Is something wrong?” The mentioning of adventures shouldn’t make anyone sad, Sherlock thought to himself.
“I’m not allowed to go on adventures anymore. I have to grow up tomorrow,” he replied.
“Why?” Sherlock asked, clearly disapproving of such a concept.
“I fell while running yesterday and hurt my leg,” John said. “Grown ups aren’t supposed to run. I won’t be allowed to have any more adventures.” He looked at the book he held in his hands and Sherlock knew exactly why John would be sad about that.
“Well, if you have to grow up tomorrow, you should at least have the best adventure you have ever had today,” Sherlock decided. John frowned and looked up at Sherlock, who was already stepping towards the window.
“What sort of an adventure?” he asked, as he slipped out of bed and followed Sherlock, who was climbing into the windowsill. “Where are you going?”
“Where are we going, you mean,” the boy replied. He held out his hand and hesitantly John took it. He attempted to pull John onto the windowsill as well, but John let go of his hand again and did a step back, quite a wonky step too, he must really have hurt his leg.
“I can’t leave just like that,” John said. “I don’t know anything about you!” Sherlock seemed to consider that and jumped down from the windowsill to stand before John again, who was just a bit smaller than he was.
“I come here almost every night to listen to your stories,” Sherlock tells him. “I really like your stories, but there’s only one thing missing.”
“Really? What’s missing?” John asked curiously.
“Me,” Sherlock replied proudly.
John is only more curious now and he has to admit that he really likes the sound of another adventure before tomorrow. “Alright, I’ll come with you,” he tells Sherlock. First he turns off the light on his nightstand so Harry wouldn’t wake up from it, then he limps back to the window.
“You won’t be much good with a leg like that,” Sherlock stated and John thought it was quite rude of him to say, but before he could tell Sherlock off, the other continued. “It’s a good thing we won’t have to walk there.”
“Walk where?”
“Neverland! Where else would we go for the best adventure?”
“How will we get there?”
“We fly, of course!”