Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes:

My teachers had us pick names off of a list and I don't know how I got yours. I closed my eyes and pointed. Not sure what to put in here so I asked my teacher and she said to ask questions and talk about myself.

Okay so I have blue eyes and blond hair and I'm nine years old. I have a sister two minutes older than me. She's nice when she wants to be.

She told me to put what I want to be when I"m older and I want to be a doctor!

I don't know anything about you so I guess I just ask what you look like? How is your family? Where do you live? I live in one of the States but we just moved here so I can't remember the name.

Sincerely, John Watson

Dear Mr. John Watson:

The only reason I am replying is because my teacher and my brother both agreed that I would have to repeat the grade if I were to not reply. It is boring of both of them but I figure I have to learn something about a foreign student.

I am also nine years old, though I just turned such. I have brown hair and green eyes but they change to blue. I looked online and they're called hazel. I am not a twin, like you, my brother is older by five years. He is never nice, even when he makes an attempt.

I am one of two siblings and my parents are still together. We live an hour outside of London in our family home. Your vague placement doesn't allow me to know where you live within America, although I gather this may not be the first time you've moved, given your lack of sentiment to your old home. I have personally never moved.

Rather bored writing now. Mycroft, my brother, has been watching to make sure I actually write to you. This is interrupting my experiment and I must go.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes.

P.S. - I want to be a pirate

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

I think pirates are fun! I didn't really ever think of them until you brought it up. I asked my teacher to tell me about them and I think it's cool!

Mycroft doesn't sound very fun. At least Harry let's me have fun sometimes.

I'll be turning ten soon! It means I'm older than you but not by much.

You live in England? I don't know where that is but my teacher says next week we will get a chance to look at everyone's home on the globe! The boy who sits next to me, Mike, tells me his pen-pal is from England too! I heard the mean boy in front of me say he has a pen-pal from France who barely speaks English. I can't imagine that.

I asked my teacher and she says we live in Utah, but that I shouldn't say the city. She said Northern Utah. It's warm here, even in the winter! I used to live in Washington for a while but then moved to Minnesota and my mom didn't like that so we went to a warmer place. I can't remember before Washington, though. Moving is boring. I like that word, boring!

Glad they made you write to me! You're fun to talk to! What kind of experiment are you doing?

Sincerely John Watson

Dear Mr. John Watson:

I was doing an experiment on maggots. I found a bunch outside on a cat carcass in the woods and was testing the things they ate, what made them grow big and how long they took to become flies. Rather boring to wait. I went out looking for another dead animal to see how old the flesh has to be before maggots stop eating it. No luck yet.

Most children our ages wouldn't remember living in a different place for very long. Either you have a fair memory or you've moved a large amount. How old were you when you lived in Washington?

Mycroft is staring at me once more, but I'm a bit less reluctant to write back. No one ever asks about my experiments. Do you know the name of the man Mike is communing with? There is a small chance it is the same class as me, but it is worth questioning. Mycroft is being a bore. I can't go outside until I finish this letter with length. He is unaware that I'm going to look for dead things.

I've never been associated with the word "fun" before.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

My teacher gave me the most strangest look when I asked her what some of the words mean. I think maybe I will look them up myself from now on. She asked if I wanted to keep writing to you and I said yes.

You use a lot of big and strange words, but I like it. No kid here talks like you and all the letters are different, but you are the best one. I do think you're fun.

We all found where England was, five kids in my class have kids from there. I didn't tell them you lived near England-we aren't supposed to know-but I saw it on the map. It's a big city! I would love to visit when I'm much older.

Your experiments are cool. I hope you find the dead animal soon before all the maggots are flies. Let me know how it goes?

Mycroft should not bother you anymore, he seems like a big mean brother. Harry says she's going to buy me socks for my birthday. I am not supposed to tell you but my birthday is the 13th of December. Maybe one of your letters will come then? I hope so! Everything you have to say is so interesting.

Mike says the guys name is Phillip Anderson. I lived in Washington three years ago. We moved here because my dad got a new job. My mom says it's looking good that we stay here but she says that all the time.

Sincerely John Watson.

Dear Mr. John Watson:

Cool?

I found a dead bird. The body was fresh so I have to keep it in the woods for now. There's a very high chance I won't get much information from the maggots as they grew to flies days ago. I have been in search of more and I believe tonight will be a good night to take food from the table and drop it off outside. The weather isn't fair for maggots but there's a chance.

Mycroft left me unsupervised this time, speaking along the lines of him trusting me. He threatened to read the notes, which I do not care either way. You seem rather okay that your sister gets you socks. Is it usual to lack socks? I get socks but only when I've worn through mine. Are the socks in Utah bad?

Anderson goes to my school, and is in my class. He is an utter bore in more ways than one. That boy couldn't tell you the right side of a toad! His parents are divorcing and it makes him a right nasty bully when he wants to be. He picks on his younger sister too often and they can get physical, mostly bruises on him. He stopped eating for a while but he hates feeling hungry so he gave that up.

I believe doing your research over my large, confusing vocabulary may be the better idea. Your teacher seems boring.

Sincerely, Sherlock Holmes

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Of course it's cool! I wish you'd found the bird a lot faster, though. I hope your food goes to plan. How is the weather? We're expecting snow as early as next month, mother says. She was yelling about global warming.

If Mycroft doesn't make you write the letters anymore, does that mean you'll find me boring soon? I find the letters Mike gets to be so ordinary. Like that one? I looked it up in the dictionary! How do you know all that stuff about Anderson? Did he tell you? You two don't seem very friendly to each other.

No, socks aren't bad, but I don't get them that often. Most of mine have holes in them and mom told Harry it would be a good idea if they got some for me. I'm going to get her a new pair of mittens since hers don't have the left pinky. I don't know what to get for my mother or dad. There's tons of time left. Have you got your family presents yet?

Sincerely John Watson

Dear Mr. John Watson:

My family and I go Christmas shopping the first weekend of December, so I have not gotten presents for them. Generally I don't have to think too hard for my parents, they like simple things, and I normally get something for Mycroft that makes him roll his eyes at me. Last year I bought him slippers. I'm sure once I'm older there will be much more options for gifts.

I get new socks once every two months, that's when my mum considers them worn. I've never had a hole in my sock. Does it feel strange? I have to do experiments on it. Let me know your answer and I'll compare it to my notes.

The food I left out rotted very nice and I got a good amount of maggots to do the experiments on. They're very young which is a good thing, but they mature fast. Just in time for the weather to get more chilly. Of course I've seen snow. Do try to be less ordinary, as you put it.

I won't become bored of you if you aren't boring, simple. Mycroft can't force me to write, I still have to do this to pass my grade. I knew all of those things about Anderson because I deduced them.

Sincerely, Sherlock Holmes.

P.S. It's strange when you say the things I do are cool. It's unusual.

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

You better get used to it! Practically everything you say is cool. I've never met another kid who looks for dead things. It's strange but your letter are like reading the Discovery Channel. Mom doesn't let me when it gets bad so I'm glad I have you to talk to. I wouldn't want to be the one touching those things.

How's the experiment for the socks going? It isn't really a good feeling to have holes but it's not bad either. I guess it just feels weird when you walk like there's a par of your foot that feels solid and the other parts are on smooth sock?

It's nice to know that you like my letters, I guess? Maybe you'll enjoy them for what I write and not to keep your grade by the end of the year. I'll look up big words to keep you interested. Halloween is almost here, are you excited?

Deduce? I looked it up and I'm a bit confused. How did you deduce those things from him? It's fascinating.

Sincerely John Watson.

Dear Mr. John Watson:

Fascinating? Not only is that word used more rare to describe me than cool, but it's a big word. How long did it take for you to find that one?

In the group shower after exercise, Anderson has bruises on him. They're aimed similar height to him, poorly placed, and are from a feminine hand judging by the imprint. I've heard him mention his sister, I've also noticed the kind of sadness in him the past year that is different from his usual behavior which leads me to believe the parents are no longer just fighting all the time, but divorcing. It was obvious when he didn't eat at the tables in the common room, it was more obvious when he gave in to the food. Quite simple, really.

My sock experiment came to the conclusion that holes in socks are not, in any way, shape, or form, desired. I thoroughly hated it. For my other experiment the maggots have been eating the bird, even this late in the decomposition state. They have, though, been slowing down on their food intake. It's a very interesting but I am looking for other things to do.

I am not excited for Halloween, no. It's a boring holiday, as are all the others.

Please do keep in mind that I am not a fan of repetition. It is just as irritating in writing as spoken.

Mycroft took up his post at watching me again. He claims now that I am deemed untrustworthy to make these letters. He knows full well I've been sending them out and receiving  them. He says it is proper if I ask you if you are going as anything for Halloween.

Sincerely, Sherlock Holmes.

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

I'm going as a skeleton for Halloween! Harry is going as a cat, her tail curls up and Velcro's to her back. You and Mycroft should go, you don't know what you'r missing! Then again it would be considered boring. All you do is walk around to strangers houses and get free candy.

My teacher says we are going to take pictures of the Halloween party and send them to our pen-pals. You'll be able to see what I actually look like now. I'm supposed to ask that you send a picture of yourself, but only if you want to.

Mycroft doesn't seem very smart if he thinks you aren't writing. What do you mean boys' exercise? I've only heard about that in the really expensive schools. The computer tells me you're in a boarding school? Do you enjoy it there? I think I would be upset if I didn't get to spend time with my family every day.

I'm sorry for irritating you. I didn't notice I was saying things over and over. On repeat? What you deduced about Anderson, that's fantastic! You do that stuff all the time? You must have tons of friends! Holes in socks have never, ever been fun. Just don't do an experiment on frost bite, that's dangerous.

Sincerely, John Watson.

P.S. It took me a while to find most of the words, I am not shy about that. It's hard to keep up with you, but fun!

Dear Mr. John Watson:

I did an experiment on frost bite two years ago and it did not go over so well, as my mum would be more than willing to tell you how much of a trouble I was. She's always complaining about my experiments.

Mum got me a science kit for my birthday but wouldn't let me use it until the weather got too cold to go outside. She fears for my safety after the hospital visit from the frost bite experiment.

I am certain I know what I am missing, and I don't care for it. The candy explains Mycroft's joy of going, though he doesn't dress up. Holidays are boring and a good excuse for the family to get together and fight silently or quiet loud. To be honest, it's a flip of a coin, so to say.

You calling Mycroft unintelligent warms my smile. I may just start to like these letters. Rather correct you are, about the boarding school. It's all male, which doesn't bother me but apparently is a large travesty to the other-especially older-boys. Being away from family is a joy, not a harm. Unfortunately, the Holmes' manor is close to the school so on weekends we are there.

Humoring, I find it, that you think I have friends. No, I have no friends. No one likes the deductions I make but Mycroft keeps them from doing harm to me. They stay off my back and I continue with my work. Most boys-and every one else-find me a creep or a freak.

What is the point of going as a skeleton? You have one inside of you. Cat? I know more than half the female siblings of the boys will be going as such or similar. Halloween sounds ridiculous.

Don't apologize for being irritating, that just makes it worse. Just try not to be.

Sincerely, Sherlock Holmes.

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Halloween was awesome! Tons of candy! I picked a skeleton because it's easy to be. Plus, my costume glowes in the dark and comes with a pair of gloves and a mask. You'll see it in the picture I sent with this note! You don't have to send one of yourself, it's okay.

Your experiments are pretty radical. That was a fun one to find. Glad your mother got you to the hospital in time. What were your conclusions?

No friends? I find that hard to believe. You're fun and cool, very smart, too! Well, I can always be your friend. I love listening to your deductions and experiments.
If I had to spend my whole week with nothing but boys my age or higher I would go nuts! I like spending afternoons with my mom. Harry and I fight a lot when we're together but most of the time she's with us. My mom likes to take us out on long walks to the park. Do you have a park near the school? Is your home in the countryside or in a smaller town?

Is it seriously a manor, like one of the big castles I saw on the internet?

Sorry this is so short, I forgot I needed to write it and they're due tomorrow morning but I haven't removed the stuff from the house from Halloween yet like I was supposed to. Don't forget to let me know about your next experiment!

Sincerely, John Watson.

ATTACHED PICTURE

Dear Mr. John Watson:

Congratulations on your fun time, I believe that is the appropriate thing to say. I guess, in retrospect, being a skeleton is better than, say, a dinosaur. In the picture, all I see is your costume. Does this program not allow pictures of your face? What a curiosity.

Of course I have no friends. As I already stated: no one likes my deductions. You're the first person to not call me a freak. It is quiet strange. The other boys here don't like their secrets being revealed. Adults don't care for it either. Blowing up the science lab last year during class and having to evacuate during a rather cold day didn't help. I would rather not be friends with single-minded individuals. Being away from everyone at the school and home is rather good. Alone protects me.

Apologizing for anything is dull and boring. Don't do such average things.

We have parks in London, yes. Generally, I spend my time with my experiments and studies. The manor is large, and is located in the countryside, yes.

My experiments are not radical, to me. Radical would be if I were to kill a person for the sole purpose of watching them decompose. I would just have to go to the morgue, though I am not allowed any more after I cut a body open to view the organs. My mum wasn't too happy about that particular phone call.

I concluded that the body can withstand very strong amounts of cold, that the limbs grow numb and the colors of the skin slowly change. Just like in the book I read about it! By read I mean skimmed. My toes only started to grow a dark shade of purple when Mycroft found me. He was upset I would attempt to dishonor the family name in such a way: everyone thought I was attempting to commit suicide. I was, of course, not. The conclusion was final, but inconclusive. I have made a mental note in my Mind Palace to do the experiment when I'm older and have access to plentiful bodies.

For my next experiment I will be using the kit, as I have been the last few weeks. I'm almost out of ingredients and requested more for Christmas. I have blown up and burnt various woodland objects. This week I will be focusing on acorns. The two weeks before it was various types of tree bark. There's a large stain Mummy fusses about on my carpet I did last weekend when I was curious about how long darker wood bark took to burn and, in conclusion, I found it was of similar time frame but much harder to determine when said tree bark would split off and crumble to the floor. Also, from the kit there is an orange slime now on my wall that I haven't figured out how to get off yet, as well I've been able to keep it from Mummy so far. I will send you results when I figure out how to remove it.

Sincerely, Sherlock Holmes.

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Wow! Your letter was long and I really enjoyed reading about the experiments! How long did it burn on the carpet? Did you burn your fingers or did you use something to pick it up? How'd you make the orange slime? Have you gotten it off yet? I've never actually seen wood burning in a fireplace or outdoors so I'll just imagine how difficult it was.

I'm sure you worried your family with the frost bite. You make it sound like the morgue will let you have access to the bodies. You think so? You're writing much more, does that mean I'm keeping you interested?

The program allows pictures, but my teacher thought it'd be great if we showed the whole costume. She said we'll send nice pictures before Christmas. I looked up your last name and I got a few pictures of your manor. It's huge! There were no pictures of people on the places I looked but I didn't snoop too hard.

It's the other boys' and peoples' faults that they don't like your deductions. You're brilliant and hard to understand most of the time but I could never see you as a freak.
Thanksgiving will be soon. I'm supposed to help father with the turkey this year, Harry with the rest. The one time of the year my whole family tries to get together and, as you said, fight. Only my family always is loud about their arguments. I don't get so excited because my dad always drinks a lot during the holidays.

Sincerely, John Watson.

Dear Mr. John Watson:

BORED. Bored! This time of the year is always so boring! The boarding school sends us home for the holidays and my parents still work so I'm stuck with Mycroft. He makes everything so dull! When we leave for the holidays, we won't have classes until next year. The next note I will get from you will be January. Do make sure you remember this and not pile three letters onto my plate when I get back.

The wood stayed on the floor until it fully burned. I decided to burn the carpet to deduce the way it smells and looks after certain objects. Much to the irritation of my mum. I took some bleach cleaner from under the sink and opened all the windows in my room. It sizzled and smelled horrid but I got the orange slime from my wall. I made it with a mix of chemicals, I put the list on an attached document for you to look at over Christmas. Unfortunately the slime burned all the paint from my wall and my mother removed all of the chemicals from the room and specifically told Mycroft to trail me.

This makes everything so much more BORING. I might just go back to my experiments that ivolved the snow. How long would it take for me to start shivering? How long until I start to turn colors? Nothing as "frightening" as frost bite. This would force Mycfroft to have to be outside in the cold with me. Maybe I could get results from him as well, given his older age.

I am surprised you looked up my manor online. I must say I didn't expect you to do so. There's plenty of pictures on their of my family and I if you look in the right places. Have fun. Don't become boring while I'm gone. Then I'd have to fight Mycroft who says he may just trust me to write these letters by myself.

Sincerely, Sherlock Holmes.

ATTACHED SHEET

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

You won't get this message right away but Thanksgiving was okay. My parents are fighting a lot harder than usual. At least he didn't go after Harry and I like every year. I think I will just make the letters small and send them all at once. We still get writing time at school so I have to do something. The other kids with English pen-pals say their friends still have school. Looks like I got the only genius.

Sincerely, John Watson.

P.S. Mycroft should trust you. If I can't keep your attention, he can't force it. Dummy.

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

I've been looking through the sheet you gave me, the one with all the chemicals and the math on it? I can't make heads or tails of it. I've put names to most of the chemicals but the math is beyond me. I don't understand any of it. It's almost my birthday, but it isn't special because my dad moved out today. The fighting got too bad, mom says.

Sincerely, John Watson.

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

For my birthday I got the socks I was promised by Harry. She says they're both a birthday and a Christmas present. I can't argue with that, seeing as how I don't know where she got the money for the socks in the first place. I made her a card and got her some gum from the twenty five cent machines in the stores. Mom made a small cake and we had mac and cheese with it. She says dad isn't coming home. I guess it's a good thing.

Harry has been sleeping in my bed (we share a room) the last week. She has nightmares that he comes back all mad and drunk.

I hope your Christmas holiday is going good.

Sincerely, John Watson.

Dear Sherlock Holmes,

Christmas was pretty boring. My grandparents and my moms brother stopped by and I got a Nerf gun and some water balloons, plus $20! Mom got me a new outfit. Harry got a few new shirts, mostly band members she's been obsessed over. She also got some make-up and socks that are mismatched colors. Mom got her some notebooks she wants Harry to write her thoughts in. We can't afford therapists but Mom thinks Harry needs help.

I didn't mention before, but I don't feel any different being ten then I did being nine.

Sincerely, John Watson.

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes,

I'm sending all the little letters with this one. Hopefully you come back to school soon because it's really boring here. I got that from you, I guess. I hope my letters aren't boring to you. Was Mycroft and your family agreeable (like that word? Didn't take me nearly as long as the others to find) during the holidays? New Years was, as you'd put it, dull. I fell asleep shortly after the ball dropped and got to sleep in. Pretty much the best part of the holidays in total.

Dad still isn't home, but that's okay. He called New Years eve but only said "Hi" before getting into a fight with Mom.

What kind of experiments did you do over the break? When does your Mom plan on giving back your stuff? My Mom would have forgotten completely by now. Still can't make sense of the sheet. I'm clueless at it, but I love watching your progress.

Also, we took pictures back between Christmas and Thanksgiving and I thought I would wait until now to send it, you know, because you wouldn't have gotten it anyway. Ignore the sweater, my grandma picked it out.

Sincerely, John Watson.

ATTACHED PICTURE

Dear Mr. John Watson:

My holidays were as expected. Decent family behaving the exact way they should. Given the descriptions you give, my holidays went better. You are happy about your father being gone. It's for the best.

I wasn't allowed to do experiments, which was utterly boring. Mycroft went outside with me but he wouldn't agree to anything. Constantly calling me out when I tried tricking him. Not very brotherly of him. My cousins don't like spending time with me, either, so it was fairly useless trying to trick them.

It's nice. That you didn't send them all differently and waited until January. Not many people take me seriously when I make a request. Especially when I demand. You did get the one genius, and it appears I may have gotten the only good American. At least now I have a person who understands my struggle with Mycroft.

The sweater is horrid. I won't ignore it. I see your face. It's not what I expected. It's as horrid as your father.

I did not expect you to look so thoroughly into the sheet I gave. Most people would call it nonesense coming from a nine year old. I put a more detailed, and possibly easier to understand, spread sheet of the experiment with this letter. I'm so very bored.

BORED, John!

Sincerely, Sherlock Holmes

ATTACHED SHEET x2

Dear Sherlock Holmes,

Okay, okay, I'll think of something for you to do. Why not research my school? It's likely you've already done it but now you can tell me about it. Writing your findings will keep you busy. It's nice to read from you again after so long.

I think it's polite that I listened to you and very rude of people to not do as you ask. Demanding is a bit not good, but we'll work on that. Give me some time to look over the sheets. I'm a good American and there are a lot of good kids like me. It's adults you've got to worry about.

My grandmother picked the sweater out, and it is horrid, but you will enjoy that picture until we send more.

Why wouldn't I look into the sheet? It was interesting and fascinating, just like everything else you do. By the way, your handwriting is phenominal. I like that word. Much better than mine.

Sincerely, John Watson.

Dear John Watson:

Your handwriting is fine. Not perfect, but I can read it without attempt. Much better than most boys' I have seen. Looking at the sheet was not expected, I admit. Most people wouldn't bother.

Your grandmother needs to pick better clothes. You are a polite person.

It was a good idea, letting me write to you about the school research. I had researched but I was not tremendously interested. I very much so didn't need your permission. It is nice having it, though. I get to stay away from you being suspicious or irritated whenever I bring up something you never told me.

I looked up a bunch over your school website. Your school animal is a ferret, really? What is so menacing about a ferret? I saw how your name was on the football list. Although it doesn't look like the football we do here, which I found you call soccer. There's much more on there but most of it was mundane.

Parents are horrible, yes. Kids are no better, however. You are like the only bright light.

A bit not good?

Sincerely, Sherlock Holmes

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes,

A bit not good, yeah. When are you going to learn I'm apparently not like most people? I am the bright light in your dark world. I am also wiggling my fingers in your general direction. Take that.

I had a feeling you'd already looked up my school. I was in football for two years but I'm not sure now. My dad made me do it and I don't really like it. Mom says I have to finish up the year. Then I get to pick something else I want.

I wouldn't have been irritated. Curious to know where you found out the information. Most people wouldn't look up the school online or anywhere else. No one in my class has. I haven't for you. All I did was look at your home.

Ferrets are a fine animal. Our enemy is the string rays. We play them pretty rough and win about half the time. Wish we were better but at the same time I don't care.

Don't call me a bright light because it makes me sound like I'm such a good person. I am really not...

Sincerely, John Watson

Dear John Watson:

I will call you a bright light from now on just because it annoys you. Just because your dad is a worthless father and husband doesn't make you like him. You're a wonderful kid. Sto p sulking in self pity. Honestly, if I have to I will get tickets to America just to find you and smack you upside the head. Regardless of how utterly pointless such a trip would be.

Stingrays are almost worse. I am tempted to write to your president and tell him how utterly ridiculous the school mascots are. What kid desires to be such a weak animal? We have none here. It's much easier. No confusing children for weaker animals that can be spirited away by the wind. (You understand why I'm saying, don't make me spell it out for you.)

There's a very likely chance you would have been fine with me bringing up personal school things about you. Telling you beforehand just seemed a simpler way then having to explain myself later. Unfortunately, you're still making me do it.

As for your first paragraph...I don't understand what I'm supposed to take? Your fingers are not in the envelope, nor is anything else but the letter. Do you need assistance in getting your fingers back, because I'll take that case.

Sincerely, Sherlock Holmes.

P.S. I feel you should know that Mycroft doesn't sit with me anymore. He takes my "enthusiasm" in writing to you without encouragement a good thing.

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Wow. Um. No, my fingers in tact and I do not need your assistance in any case... It was just a funny play on words. Like, my payback to you is wiggling my fingers towards you. Get it?

I'm not in self pity. How could you know I'm such a "bright light" from way over in England? There's no reason-no intelligent reason-for you to travel here just to hit me. It would be very cool of you to come visit for the summer, but I don't think you'd like my house or family. Or friends. Maybe a few of them.

FINE I will drop the school issue. It wasn't even an issue to begin with! You can be so frustrating. That word was easy to find. Found it a long time ago, probably used it many times before, but it suits you so well. You frustrating boy.

I don't understand why you're so upset about ferrets and stingrays. It's perfectly normal. What's strange is how England doesn't have any.

Very glad Mycroft finally left you alone! I knew I could keep you interested. I'm not completely boring. By the way, Mike says that his friend, Anderson, kept writing to him over the time you guys were away on holiday. How come?

Sincerely John Watson.

Dear John Watson:

When holidays roll around, teachers give the option for kids to go home. Most of the student body does so. Anderson is a child that stays through the whole school year, even vacations, and sulks back home at the end of the year. His parents are horrible, remember? Home life must be absolute torture. I would feel bad for him if he weren't such a wanker.

I appreciate the enthusiasm for the lack of a watchful brother over my shoulder, but you push the boundaries. Are you always this excitable? It seems so.

It's not that I'm upset over the school mascots, it's that I find such weak animals so important to a student body! Did you run out of strong animals? Were all the giant beasts already taken? There can't be a law against reusing animals otherwise there would be thousands of schools with insect mascots. There's just not enough animals that the common person knows.

I would rather not come to America and stay for any given length of time. I am perfectly happy with my England.

Glad your fingers are in tact. I understand the reference now. I'll keep a note in my mind palace. Frustrating is the nicest mean thing anyone's ever said to me. You should probably just skip to calling me a freak. That way we can both be drowning in self pity. Glub, glub.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes.

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Did you just make a joke??? A fish joke? I didn't think you had it in you.
I am not drowning in self pity and neither are you. I will never, ever call you a freak. Anyone who calls you a mean name has a tiny, insignificant brain. (like that word? I do.) You will always be amazing, cool, and special to me.

Now, explain this "mind palace" that I am fairly positive you've mentioned before but I forgot to ask. Is it like a folder you write in? That sounds pretty cool.

You don't have to come to America, I was just thinking out loud. You've too much of a life there in cool, old England. With your non mascots. We can reuse names, yes, but the schools like being different.

I told Mike what you said about Anderson and he says it makes sense now. You shouldn't be so hard on him. If I looked it up right, "wanker" is not a nice word and you need to be nice. It's a bit not good.

Sincerely John Watson.

Dear John Watson:

Anderson doesn't deserve my niceness. He is a cruel little boy who calls me a freak on an hourly basis and who practically put the whole school against me. Granted, my behaviour and attitude towards the other students didn't help my case but I still blame him. I have every right to. Wanker is a right bad word, yes, and I don't take it back.

My mind palace is exactly what it says. Don't be dull. It's my mind, where I can store any information I want and delete anything I don't want to remember. Pretty simple, really. It is not, in fact, a notebook. Suggesting otherwise is insulting. I rarely have to write anything down, even during my experiments. I wrote down the equations and my finding for you but that was because I can't very well tell them to you now can I?

I made a joke. I'm fully capable of doing so. Knock knock.

Sincerely, Sherlock Holmes

P.S. You think I'm special?

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Of course I think you're special. The most special person I know. I showed the high school science teacher your notes and he practically lost his eyes they bugged out so far! He says it's amazing but I told him I didn't do it, a friend of mine did. He refused to believe you were the same age as me and told me I shouldn't be copying things off the internet.

You did all that for me? You didn't have to. But you know that. So thank you for doing it. I really, honestly appreciate it. I study it from time to time and the simpler version of it does make more sense but at the same time it goes so far over my head I feel like I'm drowning. And not in self pity, no matter what you say!

Your mind palace sounds fascinating. I looked it up online and it's not an actual thing. You made that up on your own. You're the coolest person I know. This pen-pal thing was the best idea ever. So glad I met you!

Fine, I'll agree that Anderson is a jerk. Mike says he sounds like a jerk in his letters and he might switch next year. We are given the option to switch and it looks like most kids want to. Sounds pretty cool, to meet a bunch of new people of the next few years. Doesn't it?

Sincerely John Watson.

Dear John Watson

If you switch pen-pals, I won't get a new one. There's no possible chance the next person will even want to write me. Besides, I only am required to do one year. That way it looks good on my record. Recommend that your friend Mike switches.

Of course I did it for you. You asked me to, and you were nice about it. It's the humane thing to do. I think. I was never good with that kind of stuff.

I made it up! Yes! I know! I don't conform to other peoples' view on their brains. My mind is my sanctuary. It's all I've ever needed from life.

I did an experiment on the tree my mother had in the dining hall. I lit it on fire and it did start the room on fire in less than two minutes. Fascinating. I made a bet with Mycroft on how fast the authorities would come and he won. Hasn't shut up about it. Tried seeing how much my aunt's dog would eat off my plate over the holidays but she always caught me before I could get his attention. I spent a good amount of time grounded. Which was okay with me because I got petri dishes and a microscope for Christmas and I've been experimenting on everything! I have a culture of a few different types of mold. I intended to be able to do cultures on the lake water a few miles into the woods out back. Going to have a fun summer compared to the others...

Your teacher humors me. He doesn't seem very intelligent. The equations were basic and he should have been able to easily believe you.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes.

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Did I upset you? Your letter seemed a bit edgy. It would be cool to meet a new person every year but I really like talking with you. What are the chances I'd end up with such a cool and smart pen-pal again? None. So next year I'll write to you again. If I have to, I'll write to Mycroft to make him make you write back. I'm not above doing that. Your mind is a precious thing, yes. I would love if you could let me be apart of it.

Would you let me know how your cultures grow? I'd love to know even if I don't understand, you know, any of it. You have a lake close to your house? I've got a lake near school but we're not allowed to go play even by it because the water is too dirty and all the fish died a few years ago.

Glad my teacher gives you a bit of a humor in your life. That sentence doesn't sound right to me but oh well.

Was the destruction to your house really necessary? Or was it payback for her taking your things away? It's more than a bit not good!

Sincerely John Watson.

Dear Mr. John Watson:

I don't want you a part of my mind! Go get another pen-pal. I didn't even want to be pen-pals to start with.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes.

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

I want to be here for you, please? I'm sorry that I made it sound like other people would be more interesting. They wouldn't be. No one ever could be! Remember that I kept you interested because of some way that I write to you? I don't even know how I did it. But that is still here, isn't it?

Sincerely John Watson.

Dear Mr. John Watson:

No. I'll pretend to keep being interested in these letters until the school year is over. Then, I will not continue to write. You can bother Mycroft all you want, there's only so much he can do. I will soon be done with my year of forced conversation.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes.

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

You're being ridiculous! Please, I didn't even say anything bad! I was thinking out loud. It was wrong, I know. If your next message is short I will write Mycroft, I swear it!

Sincerely John Watson.

Dear Mr. John Watson:

I would loooove to see you try and convince your teachers to let you send a letter to my brother. I honestly would. Go ahead, try.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes.

Dear Mycroft Holmes:

I don't know why, but Sherlock isn't taking my apologies. He's threatened to stop speaking to me. He's not doing the pen-pal assignment. I was forced to convince my teacher that I had to write his big brother as a secret gift for Sherlock's birthday. It's a good thing I'm young because they believed me.

Can you please help me fix this? I miss talking with him.

Sincerely John Watson.

P.S. I would owe you anything!

Dear Mr. John Watson:

I. Can. Not. Believe. You.

You actually got a letter directly to my brother.
How did you manage that? And yes, he gave me a right ear-full, thank you. I'll continue writing to you. He says I was being a baby. I think I had perfectly sound ground to desire no more conversing between the two of us.

Guess I better make the best of this and actually cooperate. By the way, my birthday is July 21st. Mycroft mentioned that you used an excuse that involved my birthday in it. Don't get yourself in trouble. It would be lovely if you could actually send me something. Payback, of sorts, you could say.

FYI: I broke a few of my petri dishes already. Don't ask my how.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes.

Chapter Text

Dear Mycroft:

Thank you so much. Please let me know what I owe you. I will gratefully do anything I can that you ask. So long as I'm capable.

Sincerely John Watson.

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

I am not as simple as I seemed in the first place, eh? I used a simple ploy that was inspired by you. I made it seem like I had to get you a gift but that you wouldn't tell me what you already had. I made them believe that Mycroft would willingly help my situation. Definitely gave me a feeling of excitement.

Are you sure I can't ask you how? I'm very curious.

I got you a birthday present. Don't open it until your birthday! School ends in three days so I won't be able to send any more letters. We were supposed to start our good-bys last month but I was busy just talking to you.

Keep a pile of experiments and your thoughts so you can send them next school year, okay? I'll do the same.

Sincerely John Watson.

P.S. I told you I'd get him.

P.S.S. I will miss you.

MEDIUM SIZED WRAPPED BOX

THE FOLLOWING IS INSIDE OF A NOTEBOOK SHERLOCK ASKED MYCROFT TO GET FOR HIM (Sherlock refused to tell Mycroft why)

None of this reaches John:

Dear John Watson

The gift is killing me. It sits on my window sill in my bedroom and mocks me. I'm not sure why it mocks, but it does.

Dear John Watson

My lake cultures are growing amazingly. There's so much algae! Wish you could see it. Drew a picture of it.

-Two full pages of very detailed drawings of cultured petri dishes.-

Dear John Watson

Mycroft made me go swimming with him today. It's not clear water but I kept thinking about your lake and it made me all itchy. I think you'd like my lake.

Dear John

Bored Bored Bored Boring Boring Bored. Waiting is booooooring. Boring Bored.

-four hastily ripped out pages. What is left of them has hard, dark scribbles all over.-

Chapter Text

Dear John

I took a half dozen of mummy's plates from the cabinet and went outside. I experimented on the capability of glass to float. It doesn't. I tried it with cups and was a bit more successful. I'm grounded again.

Dear John

I escaped out of my window for the first time today. I could have just left through the front door but I was curious. My whole leg hurts. Mycroft thinks I sprained something. Mummy is taking me to the doctor first thing in the morning if I still can't walk on it.

Dear John

Leg's fine. Just sore. Not going to the hospital at all. Which is good because I really need to not get in a mess like that.

Started keeping tabs on the trees. I'm going to see what kind of tree blooms the earliest and if being close to the lake effects it. And in the fall I'm going to see which leaves change first and if the lake effects that, too.

My birthday is tomorrow and I've been staring at your wrapped package the last week. I'm excited.

-Three pages filled with very detailed drawings of trees.-

-Two pages hastily ripped out. What is left is covered in dark scribbles.-

Dear John

Thank you for the spy glass and the half dozen petri dishes as well as another picture of you. I put it with the other picture you gave me. They're in the drawer of my side table next to my bed. I like them there.

Dear John

Heading back to school soon. Never been so excited to go before. Can't wait for your letter.

-a very detailed drawing of Sherlock himself modeled after a picture taken a few months back.-

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

I didn't get anything written down but I thought about you here and there.

My grandmother passed away in July and it saddened me. \+Her and I were really close. I don't expect you to try and make me feel better but I just needed to tell you. Needed to tell someone. Mike knows but Harry told everyone. I never really talked to anyone about it. Spoke to my Mom but she was a mess so it doesn't feel like it counts.

Dad still hasn't called since last year. I'm kinda okay with it though.

Everyone decided to change pen-pals but I told my teacher that I was perfectly happy with the one I have. She told me to think about changing next year but I'm 100% sure that won't happen.

What did you do all summer? I'll share more if you share! Give me all the awesome experiment details!

Sincerely John Watson.

P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Did you like the gifts????

Dear John Watson:

My summer was as it ever is: boring. I started an experiment on trees as well as more cultures in the petri dishes you sent. Thank you very much for them. I will tell you that I end up breaking many petri dishes all the time in a variety of ways for a variety of reasons. That's all the answer you get.

You don't need your dead-beat father. Stop worrying about him. And my apologies about your grandmother. I hope it feels better soon?

I was very busy all summer, barely thought of you at all. Though I did draw a few things for you to see. I thought it would keep me busy and it did. Took much longer than just taking a picture. Which is good. I also took a picture of me and drew a look-a-like that is nearly 100% the same. The drawing has no color in it, though. I sent the actual picture with, too. I figured this would be okay seeing as how I kept putting off actually sending one last year.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes.

ATTACHED DRAWINGS OF ALL PETRI DISHES, WITH DATES-ATTACHED DRAWING OF SHERLOCK WITH ACTUAL PICTURE-ATTACHED DRAWINGS OF TREES-ATTACHED SHEET OF CATALOGED EXPERIMENTS DONE OVER THE SUMMER(carefully rewritten to not include anything involving Sherlock's thoughts of John or Sherlock's antics themselves.)x5

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Don't take this the wrong way. But. Your summer was crazy. Also a bit boring. Crazy in terms of all the experiments you did. DOZENS. But boring because nothing exciting ever happens to you. I'm so jealous.

Mike invited me over to a sleepover every other weekend and we stayed up real late all the time and had pizza rolls and peanut butter jelly sandwiches. We had Ghostbuster movie marathons and Lost Boys, Blade and Lord of the Rings movie marathons! There were more movies but I don't want to list them all. His new pen-pall is a girl! Her name is Molly and Mike says she sounds so giiirly.

Why did you never mention that you drew? You're amazing at it! Very detailed work and very realistic. If it wasn't for the lack of color I'd assume they were pictures. Also, you look dashing. I mean that in the most wonderful way.

I think you're lying. I think you're a very popular kid. There's no way someone who looks as good as you could be so lonely.

Sincerely, John Watson.

Dear John Watson:

I am not, nor have I ever been, good looking. Or popular. Either that or everyone where you live is downright dog food. Nor have I ever done a sleep over. They don't seem fun. None of those movies were interesting. Except maybe that Hobbit Bilbo. You have a strange taste in movies, both Mike and you. I don't envy either of you.

It was a slow summer for experiments, I'll admit. Mycroft kept trying to convince me to go to this silly summer camp. That's for social interactions, I don't care if it was science. I didn't feel like being around people longer than school made it necessary. I have enough science here, by myself.

My summer wasn't boring. Yours was.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes.

This part is scribbled out and torn off the page:  P.S. I missed you.

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Let's agree to disagree on your looks, yeah? Yeah. You're a definite kill-joy for movies! Bilbo was so laaame.

I went to a summer camp when I was eight and it really wasn't fun. Mom never made me go back. I quit the team and told mom that I wanted a year or two to decide what I wanted to do sports-wise. We're in a whole agreement not to tell dad if he ever calls. You're pretty full of science already, I'd agree.

I hung all the pictures you drew-except your portrait and picture-on my side of the bedroom wall. Harry is furious I won't tell her if they're real or not. It's funny. They look amazing up there. If it keeps your mind busy, keep drawing me stuff, I like it. It all goes up.

My summer wasn't boring...

Sincerely John Watson.

Dear John Watson:

Yes, it was. I am very glad that you agree about the summer camp. I told Mycroft you agreed with me and he rolled his eyes. He says we're both insufferable.

Bilbo was not lame. Here, I drew a picture of him. Hang that up on your wall. Tell me what Harry thinks. I will keep drawing then. Very relaxing for my mind.

I found a duck sitting all alone and I sat perfectly still. The thing came up to me and quacked. I didn't know what to do so I shooed it away. It bit me. I don't like ducks.

What do you mean "my side of the bedroom wall????" Do you share your bedroom?

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes.

ATTACHED DRAWING

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

I share my bedroom with Harry, duh. We can't afford a three-bedroom apartment. But we make it work. There's fighting but I guess not too much. There's no physical stuff.

You don't like ducks because you shoo'd one and it disagreed with you? Wonderful amount of experimentation on ducks. I'm clapping for you. You can't see or hear, but you should definitely imagine it.

Mycroft thinks everything is insufferable. His opinion is no longer usable.

I'm still reading over all your experiments. I got to the one where you drowned all the dishes. Was that really necessary? Funny, yes, but you should have gotten grounded.

Sincerely John Watson.

P.S. I put the picture up on the wall and Harry thought it was you until I showed her the movie cover. She says she would love to meet you one day. I told her no way.

Dear John Watson:

Yes, no way will I meet her. And yes, exactly I don't like ducks! Don't try to trick me by using my science-lingo. I don't need to go searching for more ducks to bite me. I will take your clapping and be done with it. Maybe trick Mycroft into doing it. Or some kids at school.

Apartment? I always pictured you in a small home with a kept yard. Then again, that's the England view. Are apartments nice? I assume they're similar to dorms. I'm glad she isn't punching you. From the looks of you you'd bruise easily. Like a banana. How did you survive your football?

The drowning of the plates was required. I did get grounded for a whole five days. I was "grounded" from my experiments and going outside. Yes, "grounded." Glad you found it humoring. Truly.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes.

Attached drawing of two very detailed petri dishes with cultures.

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Halloween is almost here again. I'm going as a deer hunter. When grandma passed away we had to go clean out her house. Grandpa has been gone a long time and we found some of his old hunting gear. It's baggy on me but mom says it should be fine to go out in. Mike's jealous so I let him have the extra pair of clothes and we're going as "hunting buddies!" I still think you're missing out, but that's okay.

Yes, apartment. I've never lived in an actual home. It's always been our same apartment. Always been with Harry in the same room. We've got pencil markings next to our beds showing how tall we are each year. I stopped growing so much a few years back and Harry is a little taller than me. Mom says it's okay, though.

I prefer you trick Mycroft into doing it. I'd love to read about his telling of the "duck experiment." The petri dishes are starting to look real nice! The algae and the mold are getting big.

Sincerely John Watson.

Dear John Watson:

Your class making you send another picture of you in your outfit? Do you get to use a crossbow or did your grandpa hunt with a gun? Is that allowed in the school? Did you ever go hunting? Kill anything?

I will not be participating this year. Still no point. But please, don't let that stop you.

People actually pencil mark their height? I thought that was just a silly thing in movies. Sentiment was always the strangest thing in the world to me. Can you hear me sigh?

Because I'm doing it.

I prefer Mycroft get bitten by the ducks instead of me, too. You have some really good ideas sometimes, you know that? Of course the cultures are getting big, I raised them!

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes.

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

You are very proud of those cultures, I see. You should be, they're magnificent. Just like their creator. The almighty Sherlock.

Please get Mycroft to do it. I need it to continue breathing. And yes, plenty of people pencil their height. There are plenty of sentimental people in every house.

Apartments I assume, too, are like dorms. Bunch of people crowded into a building. Only we have our own bathroom and the door locks and no one can come in unless we say.

Or we're getting robbed. That happens sometimes. Not like we have anything to steal...

I've never gone hunting, never killed anything. Except bugs. I will be sending another picture and NO we do not allow any type of weapon on school grounds. I will NOT be carrying a bow or working gun during the holiday or any other day. Sorry to be a kill-joy.

Sincerely John Watson.

Dear John Watson:

Definite kill-joy. It hurt. Physically it stabbed me. Thanks a lot.

I would ask very kindly you never call me "the almighty Sherlock" ever, ever again. I may just put a hit out on you. Place your head on a pike in the front yard to ward off the undead.

Must stink having such a tiny amount of living space. I've had this home my whole life and sometimes it feels like there's no space to breath.

I got Mycroft to come outside with me but he told me he wasn't going to look for ducks with me simply for an experiment. He reads me like a book and it's frustrating. I asked him to do it for you and he said it was a definite no. We've been thwarted.

Sincerely, Sherlock Holmes.

-Scribbled and torn out- P.S. The holidays will suck without you.

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

You say I watch too many movies, holy crap. Morbid much? My head on a pike? Are you Dracula now? I figured someone as smart as you wouldn't believe in zombies. Love the movies, but they seem so unrealistic. Not very scary.

Your mansion, tiny? Don't say things like that I just might be the first person to die from laughter. My whole apartment building isn't as big as your house. I bet your room is the same size as my whole apartment.

Mycroft is so lame. He really needs to loosen up. Maybe you should kidnap a duck and put it in his room while he sleeps. I'd do it to Harry. Or not, she'd probably stuff it down my throat. I'd be the family turkey for Thanksgiving.

Trick-or-treating was fun. Tons of candy again. Everyone loved our costumes. Harry went with a group of girls as a cheerleader. Lame. Mom says I can keep the outfit and that Mike could keep his. He said yes and we're thinking we'd go as hunters next year, too, if we don't come up with anything better.

Sincerely, John Watson.

ATTACHED PICTURE

Dear John Watson:

I'm leaving home for the holidays by the end of this week. We're leaving earlier than the other kids because father has decided we're taking a trip to Peru. Something to do with his work. I will keep notes on the things that happen you may find interesting and I'll draw some thing for you as well.

I'm not Dracula, I finished watching a few horror movies with my father and the idea popped in my head. The man tried to "normalize" me sometimes. Like that will work with horror movies. I don't believe zombies are possible. They are strange and curious but I've thought it through and studied and there's no way it could occur. I drew out a sheet about it for you to study over the holidays.

Do something different, for heaven's sake, next Halloween! I'll think of something for you to do. Just don't be a bore!

While I'm away, don't send multiple letters. Remember last year? My request still stands. Don't become boring!

SIncerely, Sherlock Holmes.

ATTACHED SHEET x2 and a wrapped box with an attached card reading "DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 21 of DEC."

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Your sheets are always confusing. And your "request" was always a demand. I will follow it, as you wish. Also, I'm dying to know what you got for my birthday. You really do have a wonderful memory to remember that! You didn't have to get me anything, either.

Whatever it is, I bet it will be lovely. You put your present on the windowsill but I can't because Harry will get into it. I slid it between my mattress bed and spring box. It's killing me!

Sincerely, John Watson.

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

It's so cold outside, I hate it. There's snow everywhere and school isn't fun since Mike's been sick with the flu all week. I walk by his house to drop off homework every day and he looks and sounds just awful. I hope I don't catch anything.

Dad called and wished me a Happy Birthday really early. He said he had no money for a gift and then apologized. He didn't stay on the phone long and my mom cried after he yelled at her a bit. I don't like that man.

Harry got grounded. She was caught with a cigarette. I didn't even know she was smoking! Then again our mother smokes so I would have never noticed the smell, plus it would be easy for Harry to get smokes.

Sincerely, John Watson.

-crossed out, not sent- Dear John, I find myself missing your letters. They cheered me up when I was stressed over the everyday life going-ons. Mycroft is driving me up the wall and my boring family never understands my need for science. We've been cooped up in a hotel for weeks and father doesn't say when we'll be back. Mother is giving me a look. She's been trying to get me to tell her who I am drawing the pictures for. I say me but she apparently doesn't believe that. At least I'm closer to you here. Maybe I could visit sometime? -this part barely legible-Or you could come to my home?

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Harry was caught leaving her bedroom window. I don't know why she behaves the way she does. I didn't know she even could, she would have had to jump two, three feet to the tree branches. Not to mention I'm right there. How heavy of a sleeper can I be?! She's grounded for forever, now, though. That'll never work.

Christmas soon. It doesn't feel the same this year. Harry barely talks to me. Mom is depressed. I think I'm going to go out for the swim team.

I would like to mention, too, the git. I don't know how to feel about it. Tea? There's just a ton of tea packets! There's at least a hundred! Going by your note, I suppose I'm an accessory to your experimentation now? "Tell me which tastes better to you. I would rather not do this myself." Fine. I'll do it.

Looking back at some of our notes, one of them you said "knock, knock" and I'm going to take it literal. Who's there?

Sincerely, John Watson.

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

I really need you to get back soon. I think you're rubbing off on me, everything is so boring. Which is not good because my mother says the more bored I am, the more chores I should do. Harry hasn't been doing any chores so that means I'm already doing hers and mine.

Apparently the school called and said the pen-pal program has helped with my grades and she is so happy she might buy me a cell phone for my next birthday. Woo! There's a lot of kids in my class that have had phones for a long time. Almost a whole year is a long time to wait though.

Let me know how the trip went!

Sincerely, John Watson.

Dear John Watson:

We are back from our trip. Obviously. It was rather boring. Mum wouldn't let me do any experiments. Apparently I was too much of a risk to "make the vacation a flop."

Take your time on the tea.s It's an experiment of mine, so keep a documentation of each one. Mycroft says you should try them with and without milk but American foods are so strange... He says your opinions won't matter. He is being a right arse.

I can see you on the swim team, I suppose, but nowt with the suits. If I was of mind, I could make you swim much faster in a differently designed suit.

Holidays are overrated, there is no need to be upset that everyone around you cares so little. I don't-and never have-cared.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes

P.S. For the joke: Doctor.

P.S.S. Any phone you get will not have international calling, therefore would be useless.

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

My mother looked at me like I had grown a third head when I asked her to help me make some tea. She says with how many bags there are, I would be filled to my ears with tea before long. I did not mention to her that they were for an experiment. She didn't like the smells so she didn't stay in the kitchen for long.

I tried the Black Tea from two of the brands. Twinings was pretty good but I liked the one from Bewely's more. Although I had to use a lot of milk for me to stomach both of them. If all the tea tastes like this, I will be convinced you are trying to kill me. That's not nice.

Of course our food is different but I like it. Tell Mycroft that he hast o be open-minded and he must remember that his opinion isn't law. The stick needs to come out of his butt some times. You should try chili fries if you've never had them. Make your taste buds cry.

I got a gift card to a comic book store from my mother but when I went I didn't recognize anything so it's still in my pocket. I'll try not to like the holidays, ya Grouch.

Why is getting a phone without international calling a bad thing?

Sincerely John Watson.

P.S. Doctor Who?

P.S.S There are so many tea bags! Also, I'm sure you could outsmart the swimsuit. Registration is beginning of February.

Dear John Watson:

I spent a few hours researching comic books and have attached a list of the more famous and well-liked in America. Personally I would suggest the British ones. Like Doctor Who which makes little sense in the real world but entertains me.

I. Do. Not. Want. A. Singular play-by-play of your tea experience! Your mothers' now has no taste. Neither, apparently, does your tongue. Try something different than the strongest tea, John. Do I really have to point out the obvious.

To be frank, Mycroft does no like how you believe there is a stuck up his butt. I thought it humorous. He's been a rather rude grump the last few days from your comment.

There is so much tea because I need a lot of feedback. Can we be a little faster with the testing? I'm growing bored poking at my puppy.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes

P.S. For the Joke: Exactly.

P.S.S. I could outsmart the suit. Obviously.

-Attacked sheet of Comic Names: Marvel and Doctor Who related are starred.-

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

The swim team starts later this week. I made the team and I fairly enjoyed it. The suit rides up unpleasantly, though. Have you made a better one yet?

Fine! I'll make a spread sheet for your royal High Butt. I have drank more since... I'm not used to tea, you have to bear with me.

Why would you waste time looking up these comics? I ended up getting an Iron Man book and learned a lot about Doctor Who. Would have never thought you would like it. Tony Stark reminds me of you, with how smart he is.

I'm not very upset with how Mycroft views me. I can't make myself, ha! Why is getting a phone without

When did you get a puppy!?! And stop poking at the poor creature. He's no an experiment... right?

Sincerely John Watson.

P.S. Did you really make a Doctor Who joke at me?

Dear John Watson:

Yes, I made a Doctor Who joke at you. It just so happened to correlate with the events going on in your life and I find it very fortunate you had me to point you to the precious comics.

I got Redbeard for Christmas from my father and my poking isn't harming him, calm yourself. He isn't an experiment, breathe.

Finding the comics gave me something to do. Outside is undesirable, says mummy, and she has kept a tight eye on me since I fed a whole meat loaf to Redbeard. She says I can't be trusted. Tony Stark and I are two very different people, John! I appreciate your holding back on telling me about the tea but I'm growing restless. Hurry up.

Do understand that I"m not going to waste time designing a new swim outfit. Send me a picture. I knew you could make the team.

For your information the confusing and twisting world of the Doctor keeps me interested. Everything about it is unlikely and improbably, however.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes

P.S. BORED.

-Attacked sheet of exact differences between Sherlock and Tony Stark.-

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

You still haven't answer my question about the phone!

That's a nice name for a dog. Tell me about Redbeard? Why did you feed him a meat loaf?

Was it really necessary to make a list of differences? I see a lot of similarities between you two you never mentioned. Shame on you.

My teacher thought it a wonderful idea to send a picture of me in my swim gear. She has a lot of us sending pictures. Don't tell me if/how much you laugh.

I think it's a good thing you have a TV show that interests you. Does it help with the boredom?

Sincerely John Watson

-Attached picture-

Dear John Watson:

It helps when a new season comes out of the show, yes. I can't stand watching an episode three times. The first time, I guess things that will happen and it's all new. The second time, I try to enjoy it. That second time does not always work.

I sent a letter to the head inspector at Scotland Yard. Someone died and they were investigating if it was on purpose. I sent a description of the killer.

Redbear is a long-haired, medium-sized red dog. He was hungry. So I fed him.

Thank you for the picture. I laughed heartily. Mycroft thought I was dying.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

I said NOT to tell me how much you would laugh...
Judging by your description, I can see Redbeard is... a DOG! And hungry. Got any other information on him you'd like to throw at me?

Do you only watch every TV show twice like that? I don't have TV to be honest but I have read my comic book nearly a dozen times. Most of the technical stuff goes right over my head. Probably is like reading a bedtime story to you.

I didn't know you were in to murders! Is it the first time you've sent them something? I bet they don't take very kindly to you... But they should.

The weather is getting good outside. I spend a lot of time swimming. I know you weren't going to make a suit, I'm just yanking your chain.

Sincerely John Watson

Dear John Watson:

There isn't much to say about Redbeard, don't be so dramatic. his fur is long and red. He follows me everywhere. I named him because of his long fur makes it look like he has a beard. Like any other dog, he is growing fast and I'm teaching him how to be a good boy.

Of course I'm in to murders. The science of deduction comes alive with crime scenes. This isn't the first letter I have written and I have often not been noticed but sometimes the head detective listens to me. Some day I desire a head detective that actually listens instead of worries how the public views him.

I watch very few TV shows or movies. Often I watch a few minutes of an episode and never look at it again. Doctor Who keeps me interested.

Send me the comic and I will break down the "difficult" parts for you.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes

P.S. I don't have a chain you could possibly be yanking...?

P.S.S. I was always going to tell you how hard I laughed. You should have known.

-Attached sheet of similarities between Sherlock and Tony Stark.-

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Thank you for actually telling me about your dog. I've never had one, but he sounds like a ton of fun. Are you training him to fetch and shake? Or is it more, sniff out dead birds?
I guess I should have known you were into that stuff. Maybe one of your classmates will end up the detective inspector by the time you're old enough. Are you going to college to become a cop or detective?

Doubt mom will notice the comic is missing and my teacher can't technically stop me from sending gifts so I sent the comic book.

The chain comment was sarcastic, by the way. And you are right, I should have known you would tell me exactly how hard you laughed.

Do you get my point about you and Tony, now? The lists are practically the same length. Have I ever told you how awesome your handwriting is? Well I am now.

Sincerely John Watson

-Attached comic book of Iron Man-

Dear John Watson:

I have such good handwriting because I have practiced the fluent curves nearly since I could talk. If you put more effort towards it, maybe your handwriting will be more like mine, less like the scratching of chickens.

I do not intend to go to college for those things, but I will be attending college, possibly end up taking courses in a field I am completely aware of. How boring will it be to have to write and hear about the things I've already taught myself years ago? If anyone were to become detective inspector, I know exactly who it is and we do not, at all, get along.
Dogs are interesting creatures to spend time with. Have you never seen a stray or a friends dog? Once you've been around a dog for five minutes, you know what it's like to have one in your home.

Your teacher couldn't stop you from sending me thing, eh? Good on you for throwing it in the letter. Put some backbone into you. That's what Lestrade says to me all the time. He's a right arsehole if I ever saw one. He's been a rather large pain lately.

Tony Stark is a make believe superhero, John. The lists don't matter. What matters is the tea you haven't finished yet.

Sincerely, Sherlock Holmes

P.S. He's being trained to help me with deductions. As well as basic, boring dog things.

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

The lists matter, just accept it. Do you know how hard it is to drink even a cup of tea a day?! Shut it or I'll stop drinking the damn things.

I have spent time with dogs, but I've never trained one. Regular, boring dog tricks will help him learn the more difficult things. Is he getting good at deductions? I suppose he has the best trainer for that. Just be patient with him. Isn't that how it works?

My mom wants me to go to college and I do, too. She thinks it's amazing that I want to be a doctor. She is still happy about my grades. And I'm still happy about that phone. It will not have international because that's ridiculously expensive!

My handwriting is just fine, I'll have you know. I don't need to work on it, and apparently neither do you. You have no trouble reading mine. Why do you say "arse" instead of what we use? It seems so pointless to have different words for the same meaning in the same language. My teacher told me Britain's use proper English but if that's so, then why do we talk like this over here?

Lestrade sounds like a stiff-necked kind of name. Just tell him to go away. Shove him if you have to. Not literally, don't get into fights.

Sincerely John Watson

Dear John Watson:

I know how to train my dog. I had to take a class with him for two months after I got him. Mummy's orders. I won't get into fights, even if you begged me, which would be ridiculous.

If you think you're handwriting is fine, then fine. I can read it just as well. I give a mental shrug to you.

The phone needs international.

I say arse because it's proper. We're better in English. You lot had to run away and make your own country even though you basically copy all of us. Example? United Kingdoms, United States. Another one? Stare at the flags enough.

Don't drink the whole damn cup, John! Take enough just to give a good report, dump it, and move on! Don't make me give up hope on you. You're being ridiculous.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Are you ever going to explain what you mean by needing an international phone? Why would we ever call each other and why would that much money be spent when you are literally the only person I know that doesn't live in this town?

US broke off of UK like a bad growth, of course we limped away with mostly stolen ideas. But it wasn't my fault. I just was born here.

I can't be wasteful to the tea! My mother would kill me!

By the way, my father stopped by when he was drunk and broke a few things... Harry has cried herself to sleep ever since and I can't find anything good to help soothe her. Any ideas, Oh Great One?

Sincerely John Watson

Dear John Watson

In the box I sent you with the tea, there's chamomile. Take some and make if for her. It calms the nerves and will help her sleep at night. I am sending more in this letter.

Don't let your mother know you're dumping it, then. She doesn't like the smell and you've been doing it for months now, I have faith you can make it yourself without burning the building down.

I have my personal reasons for desiring your phone to be international. It helps make it easier to know I could slap you with immediate questions about tea, as well as bother you about getting it done. At this rate, you'll be done sometime in our teen years.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes

-Attacked box of chamomile tea-

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Swimming is going amazingly. I'm really fast, not as fast as the others but I'm getting better each week. The coach is sure I'll be an amazing swimmer if I stay with it.

I am not going to get a phone just so you can yell at me. It's bad enough I get chewed out by you in the letters and you're halfway across the world. I'm doing what I can, keep your knickers? on.

The tea tastes funny, I had to prove to her it wasn't poisoned so I tasted it. She sleeps soundly and actually snores. I never thought I would hear her snore. When she isn't so scared all the time, I'm going to make fun of her for it. What else are brothers for? Aside from being annoying jerk-wads like Mycroft.

Does Redbeard like being outside when there's no snow? My teacher says it rarely gets in the 90 degree weather over there and I find that odd because it burns to high hell outside already. Air conditioning is like my God. I worship this tiny, loud box.

Sincerely John Watson

Dear John Watson:

Our weather is pretty bland, fairly like you've been told, I'm sure. I don't need much in the way of an air conditioner. I do enjoy a heater, however, toasting my feet. But it being the warmer months, we've put them away.

Redbeard likes to eat the grass even though it makes him gag and sometimes throw up. It messes with my work, he threw up on a petri dish yesterday for the millionth time. I have no interest in looking at his vomited dog food under the microscope again. It always looks the same.

You American's and your horrible taste in tea's. Do I need to send more?

With practice you'll be faster than anyone on the team. Don't let the coach stick you with needles. You don't need that crap. Do you have to shave your whole body? I read it online but they were commenting both sides to the story.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

I shave my whole body, yes. Every inch but my head, which has a cap on it. I am about middle for the people we have, speed-wise. And he won't stick me with things, you loon. He is very strict on it, actually. Kicked a guy off in high school for doing weed.

Don't slam my taste-buds. And for now, I think we're fine with the tea. For your sake, I've asked her opinion on the chamomile and she added a bit to the study group. You're welcome.

Do you stick your bare feet in front of the heater? I got the most wacky mental image of you doing that, you have no idea. Wiggling your toes and everything.

Your dog is gross. Vomit is gross. You're gross! Don't send me a picture, or a drawing let's just leave that topic alone.

Sincerely John Watson

Dear John Watson:

My dog is beautiful and so am I, you shut your face. The vomit though, I have to agree with you. I won't draw it. Pansy.

Don't lump me in with your "wacky" mental images because I wiggle my toes for warmth. You try standing outside barefoot in freezing rain or snow, see if you need to feel the numbness go away.

What's the point of shaving your whole body? It's a nuisance and the hair will just grow back thicker and darker colored. You'll regret it when you're older and you look like an ape.

Weed isn't such a dangerous drug. It's steroids I'm talking about. Get with the program. Also, your sister is welcome but not you, for being so rude about it. You're almost as bad as Mycroft when he wants to get information out of me. Poking and prodding all annoying and obvious like.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

I'm going to choose to ignore most of that last letter. For my own sanity's sake. If there was anything important for me to comment on, I am sure you'll let me know. I have good faith you will let me know.

School is almost out agian. We were asked to pick if we wanted to contingue and if so, with who. I picked you. Obviously. This will be out last letter until next school year.

Don't have too much fun without me. And I promise to have the tea spread sheet done by then. I got Harry to help. She doesn't understand why her opinion on the taste doesn't matter and I can't explain it right.

Anyway, see you then, and Happy Birthday!

Sincerely John Watson

-Attached box with letter: "do not open until July 21st"-

Dear John Watson:

I will be home shortly, as I suppose you will be. I never have fun, don't be absurd. Inform Harry that her taste buds are exceptional, as well as her nose, but I only require your tastes for now. Maybe next year. I can't believe you are making me wait for this list.

I have attached a box with this letter, it can be opened at any given time, within your school or at home. Just due so before the end of the month. Do read the instructions carefully.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes

-Attached box, no note.-

8:40PM

xRinging phonex

S-Hello?

J- Sherlock? You sound different than I...

S-Hush now! I told you to text.

J-I did. I think. You never answered...

S- Did you have the loading bar all the way? Is texting even turned on. Find the sw...

J-I didn't hit send...

S-...

J-...

S- I don't have to say it, do I?

J- That I'm an... arse?

S- Dolt.

J-Ahh, right.

S-Is the phone to your liking?

J- I can't believe you sent me a phone. If my mom finds out...

S- That's why you text! I sent the instructions with the box. Did you find it?

J- Yeah, but most of if is nonsense to me.

S- Then study harder- Xdog parkingX - I must go. Text me!

xDial tonex

8:52 ~start

How much does a pack of tea cost? -JW

I shan't tell you. Figure it out yourself. -SH

You got me this phone just so you can have someone to berate over the summer, didn't you? -JW

I made Mycroft send it to you. It has conditions. -SH

What conditions? -JW

Few phone calls. Few texts. -SH

Have we passed the texting limit? -JW

No, but I don't care. -SH

So I should limit my texts for us. -JW

If you want to. Makes no difference. -SH

How many texts a month do we get? -JW

I think he said 100. Or 1,000. -SH

You're 100% aware of what he said. You're going to keep texting me even if I stop, aren't you? -JW

It's likely. -SH

You make it difficult. What will he do if we go over our limit? -JW

Nothing. He bothers me to remember to answer my phone when you text. NOT SENT- as if he needs to remind me.- -SH

What a lovely brother. -JW

Don't make me barf. I'm going outside to see Redbeard's track in the mud. I might not answer for a few days. -SH

I figured. :) -JW

9:26 ~end

xDays LaterX

I looked it up online. You went outside at 3AM in the morning. -JW

xNext dayx

12:03 ~start

Yes, no time for sleep. Redbeard was out swimming. -SH

Covered in mud? -JW

Yes. Mummy screamed when she woke up. -SH

Splattered up the walls? -JW

New living room furniture and rugs. -SH

Better than before? -JW

Much. It was ghastly. -SH

What room next? -JW

I was thinking the kitchen. -SH

Ceiling this time? -JW

I would have to try hard. Put him on the counter. -SH

Send pictures. -JW

12:21 ~end

xDays laterx

6:26pm ~start

-Five attached pictures of a white and black kitchen, large, covered in mud splatters. One picture depicting ceiling splatters, a hanging light half covered in mud.-

Wow. -JW

He got it on me this time. -SH -attached picture of a muddy dog sitting in muddy bathwater-

I'll let you know when I stop laughing. -JW

6:32 pm ~end

July 15th

xPhone ringingx

J-Hello?

S-Take a picture.

J-What? Of what? Now?

S- You. Now.

J-Ah, okay, just... xDial tonex

-attached picture of John awkwardly smiling, two blurry fingers in the covern making a peace sign.-

Who's hand? -SH

Harry's. -JW

xDays laterx

Tea? -SH

Almost done. -JW

Send a pic of Harry. -SH

-attached picture of Harry, female look-a-like to John-

xdays laterx

Payback, you owe me Mycroft. -JW

-attached picture of a disgruntled, frowning Mycroft.

July 21st

xPhone ringingx

J-I thought there was no calling

S- Why did you get me a key chain of Doctor Who?

J- I had some money on the gift card left and I...

S- Why is it the tenth Doctor?

J- He's your favorite.

S-...

J-... What?

S-What makes you think that?

J- The joke you wrote to me was the actors' joke.

S- xdog barking, Sherlock yelling in French.x

J- I didn't know you spoke French.

S- I know a lot of languages. I am currently learning Chinese.

J- When you get back to school?

S- No, right now. xloud sound of paper shufflingx

J-Shoulda figured.

S-Thank you for the key chain.

J-You're welcome. Happy birthday.

S-... xDial tonex

xDays laterx

7:31 pm ~start

Where is your mom? -SH

Work. -JW

Overnight? -SH

She does double shift a lot. -JW

Waitress? -SH

Yeah. -JW

~1:02 AM

Can't sleep -JW

Harry home? -SH

No, I'm alone. -JW

xPhone ringingx

J- Hello?

S- Lie the phone down on the pillow.

J- xshuffle noisesx Okay...

xViolin playing, soft and slowx

Chapter Text

-crossed off-

Dear John Watson

I've never heard someone sleep on the phone. You don't realy snore. Did you like the song? -violently scribbled out- It was worth no sleep.

8:12AM ~Start

Where did you learn to play violin? -JW

Home. Mycroft and I had to pick something to do over the summers. -SH

Every summer something new? -JW

This time is Chinese. -SH

Mycroft? -JW

Who cares. -SH

8:17 ~end

xDays laterx

School soon. -JW

Pen-pal letters? -SH

And texts. -JW

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

These letters seem pointless now but at the same time it's nice to throw a bunch of information at you. I've been playing with the phone. You just had to and give me a ridiculously expensive one. I looked online. I know what it costs.

I am typing up the tea spread sheet. You'll have it net letter. Harry complained we were all out and i thre the camomile packets at her. Shut her up.

Never got around to mentioning it but Redbeard is so cute. And huge. I don't know his breed, does he keep growing still or is he done?

Did you ever end up taking a picture of you after Redbeard's kitchen fiasco?

Sincerely John Watson

Dear John Watson

I did take a picture. Or rather, Mycroft did. I will not be sending them to you. Not a one.

Redbeard is done growing for the most part. He may have another two inches the next few months. You are taking longer to do the tea then it took for me to convince Mummy to let me stay at the school on weekends.

Stop bringing up the phone or I swear i'll make Mycroft call you!

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes

August 29th

Pictures. -JW

I will call an air strike on you. -SH

Please? -JW

If you think I'm kidding. -SH

I want to war paint your face. -JW

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

I went online and found some Briths terms I like.
Wanker. Sod. Pillock.
Interestingly, they all describe you. And all mean stupid.

Sincerely John Watson
Attached sheets x3 of tea drinking rresults

Dear John Watson:

Your detective skills are admirable. Due enlighten me in your ways.

You still aren't getting those pictures. I told Mycroft to delete them but he won't. Fortunately for me, you don't have each others numbers.

I drew more cultures for you. In appreciation for the tea results. The were quiet conculsive. Have Harry make one.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes
Two attached detailed drawings of petri dishes with cultures.

4:32 pm ~start

J- I am not making Harry do a spreadsheet of her tea experience.

S- Why not?

J- Because I'm just not.

S- Kill joy.

J- You can buy it off me.

S- You and those poxy pictures can rot!

J- Is that a no?

S- I will burn you for this.
Attached picture of Sherlock, dressed fair, arms held out to his sides, splattered with mud, dark hair mated, a scowl on his face.

J- I'll tell Harry she can give me the notes.

S- She had notes!

J- I told her to write them with me.

S- You're fantastic, John.

4:49 pm ~end

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Sorry for tricking you. The picture was worth it, just wanted you to know. All I expected it to be, and then some. I'll roll in dirt and send a picture if you want.

Don't mock my skills. I'm better than my class. I think. Mayb. Better than I was before.

I'm going on a comparison of the photos and am going to say these cultures are different than the other ones.

Sincerely John Watson
Attached sheet of Harry's tea spread sheet x4 pages

Dear John Watson:

I will ignore your trikery... this one time. It gest me faster results. There's no need for you to do as you sugges but please. Be my guest.

Your comparisons would be correct.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes
Attached comic book, x6 pages of explanations

I still don't get this comic book. -JW

sigh -SH

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

I'm keeping up with the swim team again this new year. I've been practicing. Mom says I might be able to make my school career off of it if I wanted to. I'm considering but I still have a long ways to go.

See? you're rubbing off on me. I look at things differently. Harry says I act different, but not bad. I think she's smoking something not cigarettes though because she smells odd sometimes.

I found a TV show I think you might enjoy. The Big Bang Theory. Give it at least two episodes for trying.

Sincerely John Watson

Dear John Watson:

I tried the show. I might keep watching it. The blonde irritates me. Does she eventually die? Or wander into the ocean?

You need to have faith in yourself. Don't swim just because it isn't football. But if you like it, sure. Don't do anything halfway, life is too short.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes

11:59 pm ~start

What does she smell like? -SH

Who? -JW

JOHN. -SH

Kinda like pot. -JW

In her clothes? -SH

Everything, everywhere. -JW

Does she sneak out? Red eyes? -SH

Attached picture of Harry, eyes red.

She's stoned. -SH

Oh. -JW

Let me know if she starts seizing. -SH

She isn't an expriment! -JW

No, but you will need to be talked through what to do. -SH

Okay.. you're right. -JW

When did you notice the smell? -SH

Few weeks ago. -JW

What happened before? -SH

Dad called and told mom he didn't want to come back. -JW

Wasn't that established prior? -SH

He said we're mistakes. -JW

You are not a mistake, John. -SH

12:28am end~

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

We moved into my grandmothers house. I still share a bedroom but it's closer to the school. Mom says I can walk home by myself next year. I told her I didn't want a phone anymore and she told me she hopes I don't break this one. Apparently she knows...

The woman stays. Hush your face. Don't be rude.

I swim because I like it. Plain and simple.

Sincerely John Watson

Dear John Watson

Answer my last text, I hate texting twice in a row unless I absolutely have to! if the woman stays I may reconsider my first opinion, though their humor is entertaining. Sheldon and I would get along so long as he stayed away from my crime scene.

I sent another letter in. The last one got a guilty man in jail. Hopefully, with my help, they catch their serial rapist. If only they let me go onto the crime scenes.
It was only a matter of time before she found out about the phone. Why did you move? Was it related to your father?

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes

5:58pm

John. You aren't a mistake. -SH

6:22pm

Goddammit! -SH

8:31pm

Last warning. -SH

What? -JW

Stop sulking. -SH

I'm not sulking. -JW

Oh, really. -SH

You forgot the question mark. -JW

No, I didn't. -SH

You're insuffereable. -JW

Yes. -SH

I went as a ghost for Halloween. -JW

You're killing me. -SH

I know. -JW

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

There is an attached photo of my Halloween costume. Don't grimace too much.

I tried some of the chamomile tea, there's barely any left, three packets I think, and I tripped. I think she spiked them. For hours I saw the brightest green and yellow colors of my grandmothers painting. Mom found out and it's possible she may sent Harry to the clinic.

Hope I didn't hurt my brain. I need all my cells to deal with you.

Sincerely John Watson

P.S.- The Holidays are coming.

Attached picture of John painted white, hair white.

xPhone Ringingx

J-Two seconds!

S- John!

J- Two seconds!

S- ...

J- Okay what you need?

S- What are you doing for the Holidays?

J- Family dinners, I guess. Why?

S- Stop sounding so depressed. Come over for the Holidays.

J- ...What?

S- Don't shout.

J-How would I got you for the Holidays?

S- Easy. Plane ticket. whisper Why do I even bother...

J- Don't sigh at me. My mother would never-

Mom- What would I never?

S- Ask her.

J- No! Nothing mom.

Mom- Is that Sherlock?

J- Yes.

Mom- Tell him I say "hi."

S- Hello Mizz Watson.

J- He says hello.

Mom- What does he want?

J- Nothing.

S- John!

J- He wants me to visit!

Mom- England?

J- Yeah.

Mom- When?

J- Over the Holidays. Like, when he has school off but I don't.

S- You could just come for your Christmas week.

J- Hush, you.

Mom- We don't have the money.

S- Let me talk to her.

J- No, I won't give her the --Mom!

Mom- Sherlock?

S- Hello, ma'am.

Mom- Hello dear.

S- I have the proper funds for John to come visit and I can assure you it is no trouble at all.

Mom- His school...

S- I have everything worked out. My brother is studying to be on as the government. He can make sure John doesn't miss five minutes.

Mom- He'll be safe?

S- Of course.

Mom- Okay, I'll make sure he packs.

J- Really? Really!

S- Do you not want to visit?

J- *deep sigh* I'll go, okay?

xDial tonex

Dear John Watson:

I have attached the paperwork Mycroft readied for you. Make sure your mother reads and signs, as well as gets them to the necessary places. Please have her call me if there are any questions.

Getting high won't hurt you or your brain cells. Worrying about it will.

Your sister will do well to get herself fixed. She is far too young to have a drug problem

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes
Attached files and card for Visa visit/passport

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

Harry is the same age as me. We're twins. She will never be old enough to have a drug problem. Mom says She'll be gone longer than I will be.

Of course I'm going to worry, you--I didn't even know what to call you right now but I imagine something bad.

As for all the paper work, most of it has be filed. My passport picture of me makes me look like a mugger.

Sincerely John Watson

2:13am ~start

Send me a picture of your passport picture. -SH

Nope. -JW

Why? -SH

Because it's 2AM! -JW

So? -SH

Attached picture of mug-shot John

2:15am end~

Dear John Watson:

I long ago stopped watching your TV show. Not for me, but if you like it, fine.

Calling people names is rude, John, so I'll not imagine any word. Pick on from that list of absurdity you sent in September. Rude.

Don't repeat yourself, it gives me headaches. I know she was your twin and I know it'll never be a right time to be doing drugs but she is so face that fact.

Mycroft has your ticket and everything set up. They are attached.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes
Attached envelope containing a ticket and traveler guides.

Chapter Text

Dear Sherlock Holmes:

I am glad Harry is away, she would be ragging jealous right now. The whole of waht I need has been on the kitchen table all week. I'm more excited for this than my birthday!

Just because you can cope with addictions better than me gives you no right to be rude.

Don't think you're rude, huh? Well sod off. There, I said a bad word.

Sincerely, John Watson

December 13th 2:34Pm ~start

No mention of your show? -SH

It wasn't your type of science. -JW

I have a type. -SH

I know,you'd rather stare at a dead body then contemplate the atom. -SH

Correct. -SH

2:37pm ~end

Dear John Watson:

I will be home ina few days. When you get here, try not to be too nervous. Mycroft says if you need to throw up, they have sick bags.

Don't say bad words, it's not good for your growth. Which you don't need any less of.

Sincerely Sherlock Holmes.
Ripped off, scribbled out P.S. Can't wait.

December 23rd 5:49 am ~start

I got into the waiting area. -JW

Plane? -SH

Boarding now. -JW

5:51 am end~

Chapter Text

WINTER, a day before Christmas

John Watson stepped off of the plane and the terminal was busy. Christmas looming, everyone was jostling about trying to get through the congestion. Thankfully, just off the plane, a man stood with a sign, dressed in a three-piece suit and gloves. Watson was scrawled on the sign, the male looking somewhat bored. For his age, John had not realized that these types of people actually existed outside of movies but he was beyond thankful.
“I've arrived but my phone doesn't have a lot of battery. -JW”
“I take it the flight was okay? -SH”
“I really liked it. I've never been on a plane before. -JW”
“Conserve your phone battery. -SH”
John stuffed the nearly-dead phone into his pocket and sighed softly, devoting his attention partially on the accents and partially on the occasional, albeit bland, talks with the driver.
The man drove him through London out into the countryside. Though his plane had landed sometime in the early morning hours, it was nearly dinner time before the driver slowed down on the road and turned down what seem to be a driveway. Trees lined both sides up the long stretch of road even around the three mild curves. There was a break in the trees on the side about halfway, showing a beautiful body of water but only for a short glimpse. What was more fascinating to John, however, were the gates that the driver had to stop at.
After pushing a button on a small device in the compartment for sunglasses, the gates opened up. The car rolled forward and showed a turnabout driveway. It went from blacktop to gravel before the young male knew it. He pressed to the window as he eyed the large mansion he was being driven up to and then over to the large-more like gigantic-water fountain in the middle of the turnabout. Distantly, to the side of the house, though close enough to still be considered the yard, stood a decent amount of trimmed hedges. The line of them curved around to the back of the house beyond John’s current sight.
At the nearly dozen steps leading up to the house doors stood three people. There was a woman and young male two-thirds of the way up the stairs. They simply stood there and watched as the car came forward. The third body, a sk ran from the assumed mother's side down towards the bottom of the steps. John shoved himself closer to the door, expecting the young male to not stop in time and get hit by the car. His worry died rather fast when it was a parent that the Young male had stopped. What was left over inside of John was pure shock.
He had known he was coming to England to see Sherlock. He had seen pictures of the useful mail and thought that he knew what he was expecting. Seeing Sherlock was something that John didn't think he could have ever prepared for. Even at this age he knew that there was something special about this boy.
John scrambled out of the vehicle for a faster than the driver could get out of his own seat and come and open his door. There was a mild fight between the two boys over who would have the privilege of opening the door as John grabbed the handle the second Sherlock did. The result was Sherlock nearly getting hit in the face as John shoved it open. Then all that was left was exiting the vehicle. It seems like such an easy step yet John was hyper aware of it the entire time he moved out of the the car. It seemed almost like it was an otherworldly experience as he stepped onto the gravel and close the door behind him.
Dark colored curls a top his best friend's head greeted him first. Then he noticed the smile, then the eyes, and everything else followed in a mess of input within John's brain. Without even thinking about it, John basically threw himself forward and wrapped the Slender boy in a hug. The pictures had shown how small Sherlock was but there was not enough words or picture angles to prepare him even for this. It was almost as if he swallowed the poor male within a hug rather than enjoy it with him.
Everyone was dressed for the chilly weather, Sherlock in nothing more than a light coat and thin gloves. John, expecting cold weather, had bundled up but had removed a large chunk of it on the warm car ride. He was immediately thankful he hadn’t put it back on, considering it was almost warm to him. Compared to Minnesota winters, this place felt closer to spring. Pulling away from the hug, huge smile on his face, John turned to the other two on the steps. Mycroft-who he assumed was Mycroft-had a surprised and disgusted twist to his face. The mother had a loving smile.
John fully peeled away from Sherlock and bound up the steps to hug the woman. He came up nearly to her shoulders and hugged her tight. She hugged back nice and warm, chuckling softly.
“Welcome, I’m glad you got here nice and safe.” She smoothed her hands down his back and squeezed. Smiling into her coat, seeing hints of a sweater underneath, he inhaled the motherly scent of her. She’d been baking, at least he thought so.
“Thanks. It was scary but I made it.” Pulling away, he smiled up at her. There was a small pull around her eyes that made him tilt his head. Before he could frown, however, Mycroft reached over and touched John’s shoulder. Blinking, the young blond turned his head. Slowly, the mothers arms pulled from him and left him basically alone with Mycroft's stare that, maybe, should have been commanding.
“Sherlock will show you to your room. Then we’ll all meet back in the living room where we can discuss the plans for your visit.” The way the elder brother spoke sounded so… posh, as John remembered how to say. Not really reacting to the elder that he didn’t really like, John simply started to make a face.
“Yes, we will!” Sherlock nearly shouted, bounding up and grabbing John by the arm. The initial sting of pain was one over by the jolt his whole body suffered at the sudden movement he was forced into.
John, surprised, didn’t remotely fight back as he was dragged-and stumbled-up the remaining stairs. He glanced back to the mother and Mycroft as he was yanked right through the large wooden doors and into the home. Feeling suddenly toasty as the door snapped shut behind him, the blond boy blinked rapidly. He finally gathered his bearings enough to jerk Sherlock to a halt by the arm which was held captive. Sherlock spun, brilliant eyes snapping to John’s own. To his credit, the dark haired boy didn’t seem all that upset he’d been stopped. His eyes were sharp, watching, scrutinizing but John turned away from it.
For whatever he had imagined visiting his friend would be like, this was not it. The home he entered was enormous, to say the least. The two sets of stairs, split to wrap around opposite sides of the huge room, were lined with carved railings. Giant pictures of animals or, John assumed, ancestors hung on the walls, trim perfect on every corner of the walls and pictures. A large chandelier hung in the middle, dark floorboards accented with a rug bigger than John’s room and far more expensive than his whole apartment. There was a large doorway to the side where he could see living room items but he made no motion to go look. On the other side, eyes wide, he noted a pair of doors that, for whatever reason, reminded him of that Titanic movie his mother cried over sometimes.
“If you’d prefer, I can give you a tour of the home after we get you settled in.” Sherlock suggested, voice soft. The young male hadn't moved an inch from when John had turned away from him. There was a stiffness in his shoulders as John looked back, more than enough for the blond boy to notice. The young face, as well, appeared questionably stiff and placid.
“That would be wonderful, actually. Sorry, I’ve never been in such a… a…”
“I understand. I suppose I should have warned you. It never exactly came into conversation about my parents wealth or, for that matter, my home. I assumed you could tell from the pictures and...well. me.” John nodded, closing his mouth and swallowing. He didn’t know what to do, actually. In movies, people who met rich families overseas often bowed but Sherlock wasn’t someone who John considered welcoming to bows. That and his mother had hugged him. Also… This wasn't a movie.
“It might take a bit to get used to…I'm not as perceptive as you.” John conceded, nodding a bit. Sherlock mad an, “obviously,” face with a nearly-inaudible Huff. John pushed some hair from his face despite it not being long enough to be a bother. The two boys seemed far more somber than their years as Sherlock finally nodded. The dark haired boy toed off his shoes and opened a door, pushing the shoes into what looked like a mud room. John followed the example and stood with his plain white socks, the beginning’s of a hole in one. Sherlock eyed the socks but said nothing, leaning down and grabbing the same hand as before. John watched long fingers wrap around his hand and then they were off again.
The dark haired boy didn’t seem interested in stopping to sight see further. John managed to catch glimpses of the intricately made balustrade as he was hauled up the far right side of the stairs. Unlike the ones in he apartment complexes John usually lived in, these stairs didn’t make so much as a peep as both boys shot upwards. It took maybe a third of the staircase before John was actively smiling and rushing behind Sherlock. The dark curls looked funny as they bounced on the back of his friends head but he had only a moment of that thought before even more amazing things appeared.
At the top of the stairs, John caught sight of a trio of statues against the wall. He couldn’t place them-only noting they were not human-before Sherlock had them rushing to the right and down the hallway. Emptiness was filled with the sound of their rushing bare feet. Underneath, the somewhat floral runner felt softer than anything John had ever had the pleasure to speed walk on. Under that, stained hardwood floor made for nearly solid thunks at each footfall. The walls up here were lined with pictures, as well, but this hallway was more of drawings. Even at a passing glance, John knew most of them were Sherlocks.
Windows broke apart the decoration occasionally but John couldn’t get enough exposure to comprehend what was outside. There was enough time, however, to wonder why all the windows were on the left side of the hallway. He figured he’d have plenty of chances over his stay so he wasn’t upset about the speed. After all, he’d really only come for his friend.
The two hands broke apart as Sherlock slowed rapidly to a stop just as the end of the hallway was coming up. John flexed his fingers as his eyes looked about, noting the same carpet had made it basically the whole length. His fingers felt a bit chilly without the extra body heat but he was too focused on his friend going to the wall where a door sat, the dark wook nearly matching the wall perfectly. How many doors had they passed that he hadn’t noticed?
“This is my room,” Sherlock declared as John came up behind him. “Over there is yours.” A sharp arm rose and a finger pointed directly next to Sherlock’s door. It was a hefty amount of steps down the rest of the hallway but it appeared to be the last door. “The building is in a U shape, by the way. All the windows face inwards into the courtyard.” Sherlock walked to the opposite wall and John followed, trying hard to piece this information into his brain for a map of some sort. It wasn’t working all that great.
Sherlock stood beside a window and John came over. Sure enough, the view of a large courtyard stared back up at him. It looked somewhat like the family barbequed back there. Lounge chairs and a table off to the side, a grill on the other. More hedges and tons of flowers lined around the walkways. John noted that the hedges he’d seen earlier did make their way to the back and most of the way towards the line of trees that appeared to surround the entire property.
Now this place, this looked like a movie.
“This is massive, Sherlock.”
“It's rather posh. I despise it. There is no point to anything.” Sherlock threw a hand into the air, John noting how exaggerated the motion was. Somehow, it fit the boy.
“I suppose… Can I see my room, now?” Suddenly, John had a sinking feeling in his gut. He'd been suspiciously calm the entire flight despite anxious butterflies, and now that he stood here-finally here-his body wanted to throw up. The dark haired male stared, eyes soaking in every detail they found.
“Oh! Of course.” Sherlock snatched John's hand once more. The two didn't burst into action like the previous times, but rather John was gently lead: from the side of the wall down a few feet-still more than seemed necessary.
Sherlock shoved open the door and went in first. John, not thinking twice about it, entered in. The uncertainty only seemed to be growing worse. Inside, he glanced about. It was a large room, far bigger than any room he'd ever slept in, that only seemed to deepen the feeling. He walked a bit toward the large four poster bed and frowned, head tilting to the side.
“My bags are up here already?” Momentarily distracted, he turned to Sherlock who was fiddling with something off the large dresser on the far wall. Without looking up, the dark haired boy shrugged one shoulder.
“While you were hugging mother and glaring at Mycroft, the driver carried them up. Father paid him for it.” The object clunked hard back on the dresser-John suddenly became fully aware of how solid wood the piece of furniture was-and pulled a stressed face. His lips pulled tight, eyes wide, but then they smoothed out and he awkwardly took a step away and thrust hands behind his back.
“I see…” John put himself at the end of the bed and wiggled up. His feet dangled and he planted his hands to his sides. Sherlock glanced over and stared at his friend, the small smile on John's face both humored and strained. There was no question John had seen what the other had done, but the strain drew concern. He paced over a bit slowly, frown pulling lips downwards.
“John…” Pulling himself upright four feet away, he tried to encourage the blond boy to speak.
“I'm okay, Sherlock.” John nodded his head rapidly, wrapping his arms around himself. He didn't want his friend to worry. “Everything is new and I just feel like I want to be home.”
“Oh.” Sherlocks whole body stiffened, all emotion draining from that face. John rubbed his upper arms and hugged himself tighter.
“Mom told me it would feel like this and said it would go away… I forget what she called it. The plane, too. I just…”
“It could be a variety of things, yes.” The stiffness gone, Sherlock walked up and stood closer to John. The two boys looked at each other and John tried to relax but it wasn't working. “Everything is new and you're alone. We've technically never met…”
John managed a nod and his friend turned, looking to the one large window in the room. John hadn't even noticed it. Sherlock strode with purpose and flung open the light, white blinds. For an eleven year old, he sure knew how to fling open curtains. They rattled to the sides and let open even more light. Confused, John simply watched as Sherlock turned back and went to the bed. He pulled the three trunks off each other and turned them around to face the side of the bed. Slapping the top of one, mildly startling John, Sherlock locked eyes and smiled wide.
“I'll leave you to unpack... Let you get your bearings. Mother wants you to come and speak with her but she can wait. Back in the colonies, I believe it's six hours…” Sherlock's eyes glazed for a moment before he focused again. “From Minnesota, it's a six hour difference, yes. Dinner… Were going to be eating later for your benefit but your mother might be at work.”
“How do you know she works overnight tonight?” John pushed off until his feet were on the ground again and Sherlock gave a cocky smile as he started slowly to the door.
“I observed. Don't take too long! I'll be back in about half an hour.” Sherlock didn't give any time for a response. With John's mouth wide open to attempt a comment, the dark haired boy spun on his heels and was gone. John was then left alone, door snapping shut.
He shoved away from the bed and thrust his hand into his pocket. The small phone trembled a bit in his grasp as he unlocked it and dialed his mother. He had forgotten to call when he landed but right now he needed her. He needed her voice.
“Hello? John?” She answered with a frantic tone. There was a lot of noises John could only assume was the bustle of her workplace behind her.
“It's okay, I'm okay. Everything was just really crazy at the airport.”
“You made it, then. Good. I didn't want to call and interrupt your fun but dammit, John! I told you to call me!”
“I know, I know! I'm sorry.” his voice took a small turn downwards and her mild rampage turned off.
“Honey, what's wrong? You sound down.”
“Nothing… I… It's just…” He sniffed and raised a hand to his face, wiping tears.
“Not what you thought? Are they mean people?” Her tone was soft but he could hear the rising anger. If she had to, she would make it so he was sent right back home if he asked.
“No, they're nice. More than nice. His mom smells like a kitchen.”
“Ew.”
“In a good way.” She chuckled and he relaxed. Curling on the floor against the side of the bed, John closed his eyes. “It's strange here. I'm tired and it's almost dinnertime.”
“Missing home?” She always seemed to understand.
“I am… I really am. I like him, he's exactly as I thought he would… Ita just so different.”
“Mhmm. I know. It's okay. Remember, you're only there for a few days. The experience will be wonderful. Everything there sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to hear...” Something clattered in the background but John didn’t mind at all. “Everything about your time there. I always wanted to go traveling. It’s hard to believe they would be so generous… Besides, I picked up a ton of hours. We’ll be just fine.”
“His mom is really nice, you’d like her.” He nodded even though she couldn’t see. “Mom, you work too hard as it is. You should have used some of the time… to. I don’t know. Relax or something.”
“Aha, sweetheart, I don’t know the meaning of the word. Hold one second.” She hollered out to someone and he winced, knowing she would have to go soon. “Listen, sweetie…”
“I know, mom. You gotta go. Uhm… I know it costs a lot of money but can I call you tomorrow?” One of his fingers rubbed the side of the phone, anxiety and fear tickling his insides. The cooing sound she made over the phone somehow made him feel better.
“Of course. I’ll have the ringer on high just in case I’m sleeping or in the bathroom. You call me whenever you need. I have to go, I love you!”
“Love you…” she made kissing sounds and hung up. “Too…”
John put the phone down and tried his hardest to breathe nice and slow. He knew that he was probably just homesick. He missed her and worried about how hard she worked but it hadn’t occurred to him when he’d gotten ready to go. On the car ride here, he hadn’t thought about it. Everything had happened so fast. Now that he was here, in the room he’d be staying in, the house gigantic, he didn’t want to be there. Well, he did. He just wished his mother was there. With a little bit of pain and ache, he stood up and went to the other side of the bed that would hide him from the doorway. He crouched down and clung to the phone, wishing he had asked if she could have come. Everything would have been better with her.
The tears that pricked the corners of his eyes fell down his cheeks and he sniffled.
~
Sherlock could be the only one to come through the door. John heard it being opened and realized he’d been curled up against the side of the bed for far too long. His legs felt a bit like they were going to cramp the moment he stood up. Fantastic.
“John?” The uncertainty in that young voice dragged John to pull himself up to his feet. He winced, feeling the pain in both of his legs, using the bed to help. Sherlock smiled when he saw his friend and came over. The joyful expression stopped when he noticed the red eyes and wet cheeks. “John?” This time, the dark haired boy was filled with concern. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, I…” Shifting, he looked down at the phone cradled in his hands. “I wish my mom had been able to come.”
“Oh.”
“It’s no big deal, really.” John shrugged, trying to play it off. Sherlock stared at him as John wiped roughly at his face and shoved the phone into his pocket.
“It’s okay to… feel this way,” the other boy tried. John looked up and watched Sherlock for a moment, seeing absolutely no judgment. Back home, tons of kids wouldn’t hesitate to pick on him for being sad, let alone crying and hiding behind a bed. The blond boy shifted his feet a little and nodded. “Mother wants to know if you’re ready to sit and talk… I believe you need a bit more time. Come on, I’m going to show you to the bathroom.
John nodded and followed the other. Inside of a wonderfully large and tiled bathroom, Sherlock handed over a washcloth for the others’ face. They both chatted softly, Sherlock appearing somewhat awkward at first but then he started to talk about Redbeard.
“I didn’t see him when I pulled up,” John commented softly, sitting on the counter beside the sink.
“Oh, mother didn’t want to completely overwhelm you so he’s closed up in his room. It’s somewhat like yours, except downstairs and filled with a dog bed.”
“Oh,” John nodded like he understood, but he couldn’t understand why a dog would need their own bedroom. Was that a rich person thing or just the Holmes’?
“You look better,” Sherlock commented, reaching over and taking the small, now chilly washcloth from the others hands.
“Do I?”
“Wonderfully so. We shouldn’t keep her much longer. At some point she’ll go to the kitchen and start angrily baking.” John hopped off the counter and twisted his face into confusion.
“Angry baking?” He followed Sherlock to the door, rubbing a bit under one eye. “I thought she hated messes.”
“Oh, she does. Her angry baking is pretty much baking anything she can get her hands on until she’s no longer angry. Oftentimes, though, it makes her calm and she just keeps baking because it’s relaxing. She pretends to not like doing it, though.”
Confused, but more understanding of it than other things so far, John nodded in silence. Back downstairs, he was no less amazed at the sheer quality of the things around him. He was positive the statues at the top of the staircases were worth more than anything he owned combined. How was it that so much money was in one families hands? Regardless of his curious mind, he said nothing as they took down the stairs. John had no idea where they were going but he trusted the other boy as only an eleven year old could trust their best friend.
“This is the dining room.” Sherlock explained as a large door was pushed open and John was led into a large room with a matching wooden table. The table had fourteen chairs, two of which were occupied. They were over towards the top, Sherlock’s mom and brother, the way they sat making John immediately self conscious. “Don’t worry,” his friend said aloud, “no matter where they had sat, they’d look utterly pompous.”
“It’s about time, Sherlock,” Mycroft chidded, face stern. John made a face as he followed his friend to sit across from the elder boy on the other side of the mother. Mycroft’s eyes widened fractionally but then smoothed back out.
“What time would that be?” The sharp tipping of Sherlock’s head made a few dark curls bounce. John smiled at it, hiding a chuckle behind his hand.
“Boys,” their mother said, the one word snapping all three into attention. Sherlock dropped into the seat next to his mother and John gingerly took the one beside his friend. Those sharp eyes of hers softened as they landed on John and she smiled. “John, I hope you like the room. I wanted to speak with you, however. Before you get fully settled, that is.”
“Okay,” respectful, he sat upright and kept attention directly on her, ignoring the two others in the room watching. Her soft smile was glorious as she reached over and he willingly pushed his hands over the top of the table so she could hold them within hers.
“I spoke with your mother before we asked you to come with. I didn’t want it to be something we sprung on you only for her to dismiss. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, ma’am.”
“We understand that you have some circumstances at home that may lead this place to be a bit of a shock to you but I want you to understand that you are welcome here as a family. If you find yourself upset or confused, you just need to ask. Everything has to be somewhat scary to you.” He nodded a bit, lower lip trembling at her words but he fought the urge to cry again. Mycroft didn’t need to have that as fodder. John understood siblings. “Here, we run as a pretty nice family. I don’t know everything Sherlock has told you but his father is gone often and might not be around to see you, though he did say he’d like to try. Such a businessman. We go into town occasionally, you are welcome to stay or go. I’m going to give Sherlock the run of you.” John nodded that he understood, though he was getting a bit emotional and not liking it. “Otherwise that’s it!”
John felt a hand touch his thigh briefly and glanced to Sherlock who was watching him with a plain face. He looked back over to the mother and nodded, swallowing.
“I understand.”
“Do you have any questions?”
“No… no, I don’t think so.” He gave a small tug for his hands back and she patted them gently before letting go.
“Alright…” She leaned back and smiled at her two sons. “Alright, okay! You guys can go play. Go get into some kind of trouble.” At those words, Sherlock shoved nice and quick up to his feet. She tossed him a pointed look. “Don’t bring mud into my house.”
“Yes, mother!” Sherlock tugged John to his feet and, though John felt a weird form of whiplash, ran out the door with him.

Chapter Text

Dinner at the Holmes’ house was infinitely different than the Watsons’. The large room with the table in it was not even close to full with the two brothers, mother, and guest. The father was nowhere to be seen, which John wasn’t unused to that. He was, however, surprised with the fact that Sherlock had their empty cups and placemats were dragged to the other side of the table. Curious blue eyes looked to the woman who seemed perfectly calm that her youngest son was eating so far away. His mother would have ended him.
John took his appropriate seat and was thoroughly startled when a woman in a suit brought out plates. Eyes huge, he said nothing as things were placed in front of him. His glass was even filled with a curious looking clear liquid. It didn’t look like pop but it fizzled. As he realized that it was sparkling juice, his eyes went to Sherlock, the other staring at him.
“This is weird,” John managed. With a head tilt, Sherlock furrowed his brow in a worldless question. “I’ve never been handed food inside a home. You guys don’t always eat like this, right?” Ducking his head, he felt bashful as the mother glanced to the two at the other end of the table.
“We do. Father employs a lot of people. That’s the other wing of the house: workers. Well, mostly.” Sherlock took his fork and poked at his food, John curiously watching.
“Oh.” This information only further made John feel deeply out of place. He sighed softly and picked up his own fork. The two at the other side of the table appeared to be eating without issue: not speaking in the slightest. Sherlock seemed to carry this same habit as he didn’t speak further.
The food on John’s plate was delicious, if a bit odd looking. It tasted nothing close to what he had ever had before, but that was okay. New things. That’s what this whole trip was about, right? Mostly just Sherlock. As he ate away, the two at the other end seemed to finish. Sherlock’s mother encouraged them to take all the time they would need at the table and headed out. Mycroft, with as much formal behavior as any stiff adult John had seen, tipped his head to them as he left. Both kept their dishes on the table and John squirmed with an uncomfortable feeling. Though he was barely over halfway done with his food, he put down his fork. The plate had held more food than he was used to for meals sometimes anyway, so his stomach probably couldn’t have dealt with it even if he had scarfed it all down. Glancing to his friend, he noted that Sherlock had yet to eat more than, perhaps, ten bites. The boy had slid down the chair, deeply slouched, with one long arm extended to playing with his food.
“This seems weird,” the blond murmured despite being alone in the room together. Without looking up, Sherlock offered a single shoulder shrug.
“It’s just like before. You’re out of your depth. Everything is new and strange.” The dark haired boy wiggled himself back upright and let out an exerted huff. Piercing eyes were turned on John and he couldn’t look away. “What do you want to do? There’s plenty of things we could try to make you feel more at home.”
“I honestly have no idea. I...” His mouth closed, tongue moving about as he tried to think. The images that came to mind were his bed, his mother, the stain on the kitchen table where he loved to sit, and Harry. Was she home now? Unlikely. Was his mother off of work, sleeping? John forgot how to tell what time it was in the states, his brain coming up blank on that as well.
“Come along,” Sherlock shoved up from the table, fork making an odd sound as it clattered half on the plate and then falling fully to the table. With a stunned expression, John thrust himself out of the chair and after his friend.
Sherlock didn’t even glance back to see if the other was following him, rapid footsteps carrying them from the dining room back up to the double stairs. The two took the stairs rapidly, John having forgotten his upset tummy. With the help of the banister, John took them two by two, catching up to his friend who was doing the same. The similarity had him smiling to himself even while feeling exerted. Upstairs, they went down the same hall as before, but they didn’t go as far. A little more than halfway, Sherlock slowed down to a halt and opened up a door. John was not too far behind, slipping in right before the dark haired boy pushed the door closed. Honestly, the room was huge, like all the others, but was more like a library.
While John stood and gawked at the rows of books on the walls and stacked up on the two large tables, Sherlock moved further into the room. Obviously, the British boy was used to seeing this so he wasn’t as amazed, but John needed to soak it in. Not concerned with what the other was doing, John moved to a bookcase and felt along the spines. Most were older books, the spines worn lovingly. None of them were fiction. His eyes scanned up and down, head tilted to read down spines. Losing himself a bit, he found himself on the other wall of books, crossing in front of a window to the books on the other side. He stopped at a certain one, a well-known picture pressed into the upper part of the spine.
John took the book off the shelf and felt over the smooth cover. It was an anatomy book, the medical symbol on the front as well as a partial skeleton that went from bone to muscle to full skin. His lips pulled into a small smile as he flipped it open and looked through a few of the pages. The book had a lot of words he didn’t understand, pictures that made him smile even more, but he seemed drawn to it. Losing himself in a particular page, he felt over the lines of the picture. It showed the muscle structure of the legs, offering up the names of each one as well as the top bone joint.
“Into bodies?” The sound of Sherlock’s voice right next to his ear had John jump. He gasped in shock, the book popping from his hand. He fumbled, just managing to get a grip on it, the covers popping loudly back together in his sharp clap. Clutching the book to his chest, hunched over, he turned wide eyes to his smirking friend.
“I don’t know. It looked cool.” Straightening, he continued to hold the book to his person. The heavy weight of it pressed to his chest was comforting somehow. Sherlock stared at him, looking to how he held the book.
“Bring it with, then.” He cocked his head to the side, curls snapping. John did as he was told, following as previously.
On the other side of the room there was a drastically different view. Behind two long bookshelves was what John could only describe as being a lab. Every single comment about experiments and drawings of petri dishes made sense here. There was a show his mother watched before his dad left and they had to get rid of everything, including cable, where a group of people tried catching killers and one always worked in a lab of sorts. This reminded John of that very much. Which meant he wasn’t going to touch a single thing.
“Don’t breathe on this.” Sherlock took to fiddling. He moved a few things around to clear some space off of the metal table top. With a flourish, he pulled a sanitary wipe from a rough container and wiped spot clean, leaving a glistening silver. Worried he would contaminate it, John took a handful of steps to the side and turned his head as far as he could while still being able to watch his friend. Sherlock smiled wide at him before pulling nine petri dishes out of what looked like a fridge.
“What are those for?” John questioned, knowing full well that Sherlock had a solid purpose for each of them.
“I’m testing different types of bacteria and mold and how they react to dead flesh. These are my fridge examples. I have a thermometer on each level of my fridge to test how cold they get. It’s not much of a difference.” Sherlock showed the spot on the petri dishes, right along the side, where a black marker placed a number and letter of the alphabet as well as a few letters that made no sense to John. “I have another group in the heater over there.” John glanced here a finger was pointing and, sure enough, a heater and aquarium held a few more dishes. “It’s far harder to control the heat, however. I haven’t managed to figure that out just yet. Makes the experiments far longer than I like.”
“Dead flesh.” Though Sherlock had been speaking about other things, John found himself hung up on that particular fact. His friend blinked at him and raised a brow a fraction upward.
“Animal flesh, John. It works basically the same, except for the fur or feathers. Maybe scales but I don’t exactly have plenty of reptiles to work with. Though… I should…” A distant look came over the males whole face and he frowned, looking off to the side. Tapping a finger against his lower lip, Sherlock moved quickly from the table. He flipped through paperwork and moved notebooks all around. John watched, amazed. The male seemed to find what he was looking for-a notebook with a curiously bright blue cover-and brought it over. On a smaller table beside the fridge, he flipped it open and went to a page. As he scribbled down whatever was in the brilliant mind of his, John came over quietly.
“You do a lot with bacteria.”
“It’s all around the world. I need to learn how it reacts with bodies. Benedict helped me with these, actually.” Sherlock left the notebook, turning and nearly running into John. The two stared for a moment before the dark haired boy turned and looked at the dishes.
“Benedict?”
“My personal driver. Father got tired of me asking our regular driver to take me to different places in the country so I got my own.”
“You get samples from over the country?” John’s brow furrowed, trying to comprehend how that was possible. He figured, considering the money the Holmes’ had, that it was fairly easy. Feeling silly, he remembered that Britain was drastically smaller than the states.
“It will help when I’m older.”
“Solving crimes? You expect a lot of dead bodies.” John didn’t mean anything by it, the tone of his voice casually curious. He moved to the table, forgetting the earlier comment about not breathing on the table. It didn’t seem to be a big deal anymore at least, considering Sherlock said nothing.
“The reality of human nature is rather violent, John. Being prepared will help avoid further tragedies. Killers rarely kill just once.” John made a soft grunt in agreement.
“Google and youtube is your friend.”
“Mother and father don’t like such things. We don’t even have computers.” To be fair, the most expensive thing in the Watson’s home was John’s phone from Sherlock, so the news wasn’t that surprising. Except that the Holmes’ could easily afford far more than just a phone.
“Does your school have them?” John leaned down to try reading the side of a particularly gross looking dish. The black, fuzzy substance on the inside gave him ideas of what it could possibly smell like on the inside. It was not pleasant.
“No. We just get letters and occasional phone calls. They prefer us to work on our studies.”
“Must be lonely.” John straightened up and looked to his friend. Sherlock had gained a somewhat steeled expression, lips thinning a bit.
“It’s not something new to me.”
“Sherlock…”
“You can take the book with you. We can drop it off at your bed and then I want to show you the music room. I’m sure you’ll adore it.” Just like that, the smile was back. John gave a soft smile, knowing his friend was hiding whatever pain that was, and nodded.
“Sure, let’s go.”
The boys entered the music room and, though John had been informed of Sherlock’s violin, he was still shocked. When he thought of a music room, he thought of speakers and a DJ table with a laptop, perhaps even another wall-size bookshelf but filled with CD’s. Instead, the room held a piano and record player in the corner. John pushed the door closed behind himself and leaned against it, palms flat against the wood as he stared. Sherlock simply watched the male’s reaction. A violin sat beside the piano, a stand for music right beside it. There was a bookshelf but it had longer shelves to hold so much straightened or rolled up sheet music. They had been stuffed so full, John was sure taking out one sheet would topple over dozens more. There was a guitar case tucked away by the player, a two-story shelving unit appearing to hold records.
“This house is ridiculous.” John huffed out the words, unable to even think about what else could be within the walls of the home.
“It’s far more than necessary, yes.” Sherlock was watching the male, his face unreadable. John stared back once he’d had his fill of the room. “These are just the instruments we currently use. There’s more downstairs. Father doesn’t like crowding. He plays the piano.”
“It would be nice to learn.” The blond boy nodded enthusiastically and pulled himself away from the door. He stood a bit closer to Sherlock, a crooked grin on his lips. “I get to tackle a bunch of people at football, that’s about it.”
“The piano?” Dark eyes glanced to the large object and then back to his friend. “It’s not really hard. I could show you.” John’s face lit up but he shook his head and pointed to the violin. Sherlock’s eyes opened a fraction wider.
“The piano would be nice but I just remembered that I wanted to see you play that.”
“The violin.”
“Yeah. Show me.” Even though he had only physically been around the boy for less than a day, John knew that the way Sherlock reacted to that was a little negative. His body shifted inward. “I’ve been waiting for months,” the blond boy said softly, “just one song? The one you played when I couldn’t--”
“Okay!” Sherlock shot forward, yelling the word when John started talking about putting John to sleep. He looked panicked but then corrected himself back to neutral. “Okay, I’ll show you that one.”
He moved himself towards the violin and pulled it out. John situated himself in a nearby chair, the room plenty of backless seats. Smiling encouragingly, staying quiet, he waited for his friend to be ready. Sherlock picked out some music he wanted and looked over the violin before situating himself. He let out a soft breath, eyes closed, and then started. His body shifted as he played the first key and John was already mesmerized.
Sherlock’s body shifted with the notes, his face twitching into an expression so filled with emotion that John had trouble understanding what the other was feeling. Everything was utterly beautiful, at any rate. The dark haired boy seemed moved, and swallowed up, by the act of playing the violin. John recalled having fallen asleep to this exact song and his whole person lit up. Mouth widening into an O, the blond haired boy grew excited enough to bounce a little in his chair. Without meaning to, it caught the artist's attention and the violin stopped. Dark eyes stared at John, the male blushing bashfully.
“S-sorry… I just…”
“It’s the song I’ve played.” Nodding, Sherlock left the violin perched just perfectly as his sparkling bluish eyes stared at the other. “I didn’t know if you’d prefer hearing it first.”
“Anything,” John shrugged, reaching to grab onto both of his ankles, pulling them up on the chair seat, and smiled encouragingly. “I’m not picky.”
The two stared at each other for a handful of moments before Sherlock made a tiny motion with his head and closed his eyes once more. The piece that he started to play was unlike anything John had heard. The American didn’t have a habit of listening to violin music-Sherlock was technically the only person he’d heard play before-but it reached into him. It held him close, caressing his ear drums and giving way to a feeling so deep he had no idea what to do with it. He couldn’t explain it, nor could he really understand it in the least. It simply was. The eleven year old didn’t stop to question why his brain responded so positively, or why his palms sweat just a bit. HIs eyes glued to his friend, he forgot about how anxious this place made him feel.
As the song-or maybe many songs since John wasn’t exactly paying all that much attention to the violin-ended, John nearly jumped off the chair when those eyes landed on him once more.
“Did you like it?” So it had been just one song?
“I love your music.” The blond hair shifted as the male nodded. “Or... the way you play. Who made the piece?”
“I did,” Sherlock stated, turning and starting to put away the instrument. John blinked a few times, uncurling himself and putting his feet down.
“You? Was it hard?” John watched the other put the violin away and he felt a bit sad about that but said nothing. One of those sharp, skinny shoulders rose and fell in a partial shrug.
“It used to be. Sometimes, when I try to challenge myself, it keeps me awake for a few days but eventually I get it right.”
“Wow.”
Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but his eyes snapped to the door. John shifted sideways just in time for a sharp knock to sound on the door and then it opened. Mycroft strode in, a frown on his face and one eyebrow, sharper than Sherlock’s shoulders, up high on that forehead.
“Mother says it’s almost bedtime. Christmas calls for early bedtimes.” John wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but knew he wasn’t tired. “Sherlock, show John the bathroom for his personal use while he is here.” He ducked out and then popped back in. John glanced to his friend, finding a scowl pulling Sherlock’s face down. “Mother says if she hears your violin any further that you’ll be grounded from it for a week.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Neither is keeping or waking up the whole house simply because you don’t sleep like the rest of us.” Those dark eyes turned to John who crossed his arms. Simply because Sherlock disliked Mycroft, so did John. “Sleep well, John.”
John opened his mouth to offer a retort but Mycroft was gone far too fast. Scowling, closer to a pout, John huffed and looked to Sherlock who clenched the bow of his violin tighter than he should be. Seeing the male pivot and put the bow back gently, despite the irritated flex of muscle, had John soften just a bit.
“You wake up the house when you play the violin for me over the phone.” It wasn’t a question, but more searching for clarification.
“Mycroft doesn’t know I do it so I would appreciate that you omit that fact from any further conversation you have with that monstrosity.”
“...omit?”
“To leave out. Don’t spill the beans, I think you’d say.”
“Oh, oh yeah. No problem.” John wiggled his toes, feeling a bit self conscious that he didn’t understand the word. Sure, letters had held words he didn’t know but he hadn’t been face-to-face with Sherlock. He’d had time to look it up and reread the letter a handful of times until he understood.
The two left the room once everything was carefully put into its place. The trek back towards where the boys’ rooms were didn’t take long. Sherlock reached a hand out, feeling the side of the wall for a few yards, the sound of fingertips on the wallpaper drawing attention. John reached out and did the same, gaining a small smile over a shoulder from his friend. The door that they stopped at was a while before the two bedrooms, and when it was opened, John found that he still had the ability to be blown away.
This bathroom, full of gorgeous tile and a glass shower built for three people to comfortably share space, was almost as big as the locker rooms where he changed for football. John went in, looking around in utter amazement. How was it possible that this place could even exist? In movies, these places were only for the most rich characters, or even the deadliest. John was partially sure that Sherlock’s dad wasn’t a notorious superspy but the trip was still on its first day. He felt over the smooth marble of the double sink, seeing his own reflection in the mirrors, and paused. He watched Sherlock come behind him, that smooth face curious as John stared at himself.
“Something wrong?”
“I don’t know why I’m here.” Sherlock frowned heavily at that, hands reaching out to touch John gently on a shoulder.
“You’re here because I asked you here for Christmas.”
“No,” John turned to face Sherlock, noting how the lanky youth was a fraction taller than him. Sherlock’s hands pulled away, relaxing a bit at his sides. “I’m from a run down apartment smaller than the room you have me sleeping in. And you live in a literal mansion. I don’t see how you aren’t.. Disgusted by--”
“I’m not disgusted by you.” Sherlock’s hard snap interrupted and shocked John. “You’re my friend and I don’t care if you live in a cardboard box or in a mansion bigger than mine. You’re not here for any other reason than me wanting to spend this holiday with you…” Sherlock inhaled slowly and his fingers curled into his jeans.
“I’m not a charity case.”
“I’d never think of you like that, John.” Dark curls shifted, twitching across Sherlock’s forehead and ear tips. “I don’t have any other friends. If anyone is a charity case here, it’s me. I’m sure you had millions of other choices for your Christmas, but you chose to say yes and came here. You know, I asked your mother to come with.”
“What?” Even though John knew Sherlock was trying to distract him, the blond haired boy let it happen. Mostly because he wanted to know what this was about.
“Yeah. She said she had to work. She was she was actually not happy with you leaving but she was going to use the time to pick up overtime.”
“Mom…” John felt guilty just then. He hadn’t even considered her during this whole time. Knowing she was purposefully spending Christmas alone, working more than she already did, made his chest hurt. There was that homesickness again.
“In the morning, it won’t be too late in the colonies so you can give her a call while we open presents.”
“O-okay.” John wrapped his arms around himself and breathed in. He was probably going to cry again, but the thought of it didn’t exactly upset him. “Can I shower before bed?”
“If you want. Want me to show you how it works?”
“No, I’m pretty sure the showers can’t be much different than mine.”
The two chuckled and agreed. Sherlock stated that he was going to spend time with his experiments before bed and wished John a good night. John, after a long shower in the large bathroom, fiddled with his phone for at least two hours before he slipped into sleep. Perhaps tomorrow would be better, less upsetting. He hoped so. The idea of calling his mother in the morning warmed him more than the floor vent and heavy blankets combined.

Chapter Text

Christmas morning in the Watson's house was usually a mildly festive event. Despite the hard work John’s mother did, she could rarely afford gifts, food, and decorations so John and, at one point, Harry, used to make decorations at school and hang them up while their mom was at work. The food was usually the same as usual with one present for Harry and John, maybe some new clothes.
Since their dad left, Harry's present stayed under the construction paper tree. John usually tried his hardest to ignore that.
When John woke up this new morning, he forgot where he was. Eyes squinting open, he stretched and groaned loudly. If Harry was home, she'd thump him on the back and call him a dirty name and slander his person. He'd laugh and get up, ignoring her as he got ready for the day. This time, nothing but the room answered him. He looked over, expecting to see her empty side of the room, but was stunned with the vast space of where he slept at the Holmes'.
“Oh.” John pushed the heavy blankets off of himself and put his feet on the floor. Homesickness settled into his chest and blossomed like a flower, reaching out to the far reaches. He breathed in and went for his phone, tugging it away from the charger and unlocking it. There was a handful of texts from his mother, all of which wishing him a happy christmas and requesting he text her a message when he was awake so she could call him on her breaks. Seeing those messages helped ease the ache so he tossed her a text and then rolled off the bed.
The young blond knew that another shower would be just weird so he stayed in his room and he dressed and applied deodorant. He poked a bit at his hair on his way to the bathroom, not wanting to run into Sherlock just yet-or Mycroft for that matter. Thankfully, he didn’t run into anyone so he closed the door and did his business.
As he pushed open the bathroom door, he was not ready for the straggly Sherlock to be standing, staring. The two made eye contact as Sherlock’s face snapped into a ridiculously big smile. The mop of curls on his head looked even more worse than usual, his body dressed in red, black, and grey striped plaid pajamas. His socks looked black but John just glanced down for a moment before locking eyes with that weird smile.
“You’re already dressed. I would have figured you’d want to open presents in your pajamas.”
“I usually do when I’m home but… wait, what presents?” John reached up, wrapping his arms around his chest and holding onto his elbows. It was an unconscious self conscious reaction. Why would he have presents? Sherlock stared at the movement, face suddenly expressionless, before he looked back up.
“Mother wants you to feel as welcome as possible. Which means she bought you a few things. Is that okay?”
“I don’t… know.” The two stood in silence before Sherlock shuffled an inch closer and reached out. He curled fingers around a forearm and gave a soft tug, pulling the arms from John’s clench. Both pulled away but Sherlock didn’t let go.
“It’s okay. Usually we open when everyone is downstairs by the tree. Mycroft isn’t in his room so we might be last.” His hand slid down a bit, both males looked to the way it felt on John’s arm. Wordlessly, their fingers linked and John felt the ache in his chest lessen drastically. “I suppose asking you to race me to the tree might not work since you don’t know your way to the tree.”
“It would actually be unfair, since I’m probably faster than you are.”
Sherlock dramatically pulled his hand back and snorted, tossing his nose high in the air, “prove it.”
John was small enough to thrust himself right past his friend. With a surprised inhale, Sherlock jumped into movement right behind the other. It was an interesting scramble seeing as how John didn’t actually know his way around the place. He could probably manage to accidentally find the front entrance, maybe even the kitchen, but he’d more likely than not get lost and find himself halfway in the yard before he realized he’d gone too far.
“That one!” Sherlock offered, three steps before the running blond nearly passed the doorway. Smiling, laughing and enjoying himself, John turned and bound down the hall. He was actually surprised that the male would tell him when to turn, especially since John was clearly gaining on the other.
“You’re not even trying!” John goaded, tossing the words over a shoulder as he kept on pushing. Truthfully, he wasn’t trying much either.
“Oh, ho. Okay.” The harsh pounding of feet picked up space and John was fully surprised when Sherlock caught up to him and then went past. Huh.
With a huge grin, lopsided from running, John laughed and pressed on. The two went wild down the hallway, Sherlock frantically motioning at the next turn and then they were at the stairs. The two bound down, the sound of them booming in the large space. Neither paid any mind to how disruptive it could possibly be, the laughter from them more than enough to let anyone know they weren’t tumbling to their doom. From here, John had to stay near Sherlock to find the right way to the room with the tree. He couldn’t remember if he’d been shown it the previous day but it all looked foreign to him at any rate.
The room the two burst into was large and decorated for Christmas. The rest of the home had barely any hint of festivities but this space-what looked like a fancy office from a movie he had watched at some point in his life-looked like someone had thrown up the holiday. Lights hung from the two large windows on one side, a large, most likely real, tree stood between the windows and was adorned with more lights, bulbs, and what John thought was called tinsel. He could swear he saw a popcorn string and some hanging pictures among other things but the tree was not the only thing that commanded attention by its intensity. Dozens of presents wrapped perfectly filled out underneath and over the bottom of the tree. The paper that wrapped them seemed almost like an endless line of different patterns and colors. Along the bookshelves, tiny christmas trinkets sat before books. Art lined random places along the wall. The seating furniture-two chairs and three couches-had on what John could only assume were covers. He’d heard of them but couldn’t believe there were Christmas themed ones. The table in the opposite side of the room had on the darkest red and green cloth John had ever seen, filled with various food items he couldn’t name at first glance.
Stunned too much to move, he skidded to a halt just inside the doorway. The laughter in him died and the smile fell away. Sherlock was still laughing, stopping a little further into the room. His mother, staring at the two, raised a singular brow upwards while Mycroft glared.
“I guess it’s a tie,” the scraggly boy chuckled out, turning and finding his friend looking on the verge of some kind of panic attack. “John?”
“What?” John twitched as a hand waved in front of his face and snapped his attention to Sherlock.
“Is it too much?” Mother inquired as she pushed up off the couch, coming over in a flowing robe that just kissed the floor. “We usually have this setup every year so I didn’t think about it until now.”
“It’s okay,” he murmured bashfully, feeling a mess.
“We can have most of it taken out. There’s no need to overwhelm you.”
“Mother, he said he’s okay.”
“...Okay.” The woman stared at the two boys as Sherlock turned to John, eyeing him. Mother made a soft noise and sat down, Mycroft’s face almost scarily plain.
“Are you, really?” Sherlock murmured, standing directly into John’s line of sight. “You don’t look it. You actually look like you paled.”
“I’ve never been away from my mom for Christmas. Or ever. And I’ve never… been here before I just…” John reached up and rubbed the heels of his hands to his eyes, hating that they watered. Hating that he wanted to cry all over again. “We’ve never had a tree, or real lights. Or presents. It just…”
“Doesn’t feel fair?” Sherlock prodded, trying to find the problem. He kept his hands on John’s arms, gently offering comfort without pushing too far.
“No, that’s not it. I’m just… overwhelmed? I’m tired and miss my mom. I wish she was here.”
Sherlock didn’t speak after this. In fact, no one in the room did. John was allowed his emotions, was allowed to decide what he wanted to do from here forward. The hands went up his arms, fingers curling around hands that shifted and linked their fingers together again. Sherlock gave a small tug forward and John responded by allowing it. That being enough of an answer, the dark haired boy turned and pulled John by their fingers to the other couch and they piled onto it. John, shamefully, kept his head down but no one brought attention to it.
“SHerlock, Mycroft, can you start spreading presents? Your father wanted us to wait to open them but he wouldn’t mind if we prepare.”
“Father’s home?” The mild squeak to Sherlock’s voice had John’s brow furry, light eyes raise up and question his friend without words. Sherlock glanced to his friend but offered nothing as he stood and went towards the tree with his elder brother.
“He’s been home.” Mycroft’s voice, as all times previously, was so clipped that John couldn’t help but want to make faces at him until the male snapped. No youth ever had a right to sound like he ran the country.
Like two brothers, Mycroft and Sherlock mildly squabbled about who took which present to whom. Despite the stiff spine, Mycroft appeared-and sounded-like he was enjoying his time. A few packages were even maneuvered above and around Sherlock who was outright frustrated with his brother but obviously could do nothing about it, judging by the looks he gave his mother who simply sat watching. Honestly, it lifted John’s mood enough that he forgot how upset he had been.
That is, until the first present was handed to him by Sherlock. It was flat with snowflake print wrapping. The box was light but it felt like a hundred pounds as it was slid into his lap and settled down. He was too busy staring at it to notice the second until it was gingerly handed over like the first. This one had “HO HO HO” print on it, somewhat light for its full-lap size. The third one, John looked up and saw Mycroft holding it out to him. Unsure what to say, John reached a hand up and took hold of the flat square box wrapped in the strangest shimmering silver. It fit in the palm of his hand, leaving more questions than he knew what to do with but the male was gone before he could even realize he had them.
“Your mother and I had a lovely handful of conversations while you were in school.” Mother said gently, pulling John’s attention from the presents to her. She looked so lovely even in her pajamas. How did she do that? “I asked her what you’d like and she gave me some options. I wanted you to have things to take back with you.”
“Th...thank you.” It sounded more like a question but he didn’t know how to fix or change that. She appeared satisfied with it, however, smiling that motherly smile before looking away.
At her side, a handful of smaller presents sat as well as a few cards. Mycroft and Sherlock both had nearly double the presents as John but the only thing that concerned him was what they could possibly be. His mind couldn’t understand what the two didn’t already have. Maybe they were sweets? That idea was tossed out the window when Mycroft laid a long, thin present at Sherlock’s pile and John was right back to being beyond lost.
Once the presents were separated-Father’s spot holding only four-the two brothers stood up and headed to the table for the food. Before he knew it, John was handed over a plate by his friend who had all but pranced over with a powdered biscuit in his mouth. John stood and came with, curious and hungry. Now that he had the time, John looked to the table and found that he knew most of the items. It was more food than he had for dinner last night, and more than he saw in perhaps a month back home. How was he going to even try everything?
“Oh, try this!” Sherlock tried to whisper but it turned more into a hiss. He handed over the same kind of pastry he had in his mouth moments prior. “It’s cranberry and pumpkin.”
“Is this a scone?” John took it and stared at it. He couldn’t recall ever having had a scone but he knew they were sold in most places back home. He always was more prone to other, more familiar items when given choices.
“Yeah.”
More food piled his plate than he knew he would be able to eat. STanding with his plate, he looked over to where Sherlock had gone back to the couch and appeared to be ignoring his family. Looking over, John watched Mycroft at the table, pointedly ignoring his messy brother. Mother sat with her back straight, eating just a fraction more sophisticated than her eldest son. John didn’t know what to do so he picked being respectful and sat gingerly at the table. After a few bites of the eggs, he saw Sherlock out of the corner of his eye as the male came over and sit beside his blond friend.
Mycroft and mother glanced to each other, a look John somehow managed to see, and then looked to the two younger boys. Sherlock was too busy eating but John found himself without words at the weirdly impressed expression Mycroft was giving him. John looked down to his food and ate until he was full, and then just a few more bites.
After the meal, Sherlock pulled him to the couch to groan about their stomachs. John found it odd that Father hadn’t shown up. He was curious about the male, honestly. Despite his own father being a dead-beat, he knew that Sherlock’s wasn’t so bad. Busy and gone a lot, but at least he provided. At least he still cared. Almost as if on cue, a woman walked into the room and came over to Mother. The two spoke briefly, Sherlock peeking over and causing John to lean down and look himself. The woman left and Mother stood, saying something to Mycroft who got up and then the two came over and sat back down on their couch.
“Father is busy with an important client. He wants to open his presents later with you two.” SHe settled into her spot as Mycroft nodded solemnly.
“Okay,” Sherlock looked through his presents and took two to the pile for his father. “I’ll open these with him.” He took two from Mycroft and sat them with the others, the brothers utterly unfazed by this news.
John couldn’t understand how the two seemed so relaxed about their father but, then again, all he knew was a dad that didn’t want to be around so bad that he left.
“We all open together. The boys don’t have any patience.” Mother chuckled lightly and picked up one of her presents, setting it off to the side at Father’s side. John wondered if he was expected to do the same but he had no idea what was going on. He didn’t even want to open the ones he had, let alone pick one to open up later in front of this strange man that was slowly giving him more and more bad feelings.
“Okay…” John leaned over to Sherlock. “Which one do I wait to open?” Might as well ask.
“Ahh,” Sherlock looked over the presents and picked the flat one that fit in the palm of John’s hand. “This one. It’s from my dad. We’re just waiting to open the ones he gifted us. The rest you can open.” Standing up, John put the small one into the pile and then came back. The three waited until he was seated before digging into their piles.
Almost nervously, John stared at his own and picked up the first one he had been handed. Inside, two pairs of new jeans and two shirts sat folded on top of each other. They were his exact size and he didn’t know how to take it. He had never gotten jeans without thrift store tags on them but these were without tags, without markings. Creased. Unworn. Clenching his jaw, he went to open up the second. This one he had to sit on the floor. Inside, he found a plain manilla envelope with various drawings, all of which he knew were from Sherlock. They were all original, he knew because one smeared in the far corner where he held onto it. Carefully, he put them back in and to the side, looking further into the box. Wrapped up in newspaper was a brand new football, American not Britain, and hefty socks for warmth and protection. John’s hands trembled as he stared at the gear. How could he possibly accept these?
“Those were from Sherlock, actually.” Mycroft chimed in, causing John to look over to him. “Mother told him it would be a bit much for you but he insisted.” John looked to his friend who was holding a long, gorgeous violin bow in his hands. Those dark eyes were staring at him, the green gorgeous in the hanging lights.
“Thank you…” John couldn’t manage much more but that didn’t seem to be much of an issue. Sherlock smiled huge and nodded.
“Of course. Oh!” He reached down and snatched something up, leaning over and thrusting it into his friends hands. “This must have slipped off. It’s from Mycroft.”
Wow, okay. John just managed to keep the gift from taking a quick shot to the floor. Oddly enough, the plain red and green wrapping paper seemed to fit the fact that it was from the elder brother. Awkwardly, he decided not to look at Mycroft as he unwrapped it and found two cards that looked a lot like credit cards. Eyes huge, mouth open, he started to tell Mycroft that he couldn’t possibly accept either one of these but when he looked up, the male had his hand out to encouraged John not to even start.
“I’m unsure if you’ve seen one of those before. It’s a train card. Unlimited access. There’s one for you and one for Sherlock so you two can spend a few days around town… with supervision of course. There’s no reason why you should have to spend the entire week cooped up at the mansion.”
Sherlock, apparently not having known about this, looked like he’d just won the universe. Reaching over, he snatched one from John and shook it in the air.
“We’re going so many places. I thought my driver would do the transporting.”
“He will be going with you. He is going to pay more attention to keeping you two safe rather than driving you.” Mycroft spoke in such a definite tone that even Sherlock just accepted it. John stared at the card left over and didn’t know how to feel about it. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t recall getting any present from anyone not his family. Did they expect anything back? He didn’t have any money or means.
“I didn’t get you guys anything…” He murmured, fingers rubbing around the card. “These are all so nice.”
“You don’t need to give us anything,” Mother cooed gently. “The fact that you’re here is enough. You make my Sherlock so happy.”
“Mother!” Sherlock huffed and pushed up from his seat. He scowled heavily and motioned for John to stand, to which the boy did. He pushed the box of gifts to the side, still clutching the card. “John and I are going to go put our things in our room. Can we play after?”
Mother appeared to think it over, obviously having wanted to say more. She did nod, however, and softly waved them off. John gathered his gifts and looked over to Sherlock who had left everything on the couch but the bow. The dark haired boy went over and kissed his mother before grabbing John’s hand and pulling the other towards the door.
“Thank you!” John managed before being pulled through the doorway. As the two made their way back to the stairs, John smiled and swayed a bit in his walk. “What was your mom talking about? That I made you happy?” Sherlock shot a dark look over his shoulder, the action a simple whip of the head as they kept moving.
“I told you in our letters that most people don’t like being friends with me. Mother is convinced that you being here is a big step for me.” They took up the stairs and John found himself almost obnoxiously close to his friend, smiling like a dork. Sherlock looked back periodically before they got up to the top and he sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’ve never talked about someone before, to my family. No classmates or people I even talk to. Having you come here and stay… not even Mycroft has brought friends home.”
“I’m not sure why you would have picked me. I still don’t find it real that people wouldn’t just adore you. I’ve never had an issue you with.” The two resumed walking, John speaking softly a bit.
“Must we have this conversation again, John? There is nothing wrong with you. In fact, there is everything right.” Sherlock reached over and took the big box out of John’s arms so he was less burdened. “When your stuff is in your room we’ll go to the music room and I’ll play the violin for you some more.”
This brought him into a good mood and he nodded, picking up his pace. True to his word, Sherlock set up the violin when they were in the music room and John sat in a chair, leaning against the windowsill and looking out at the yard as his friend practiced with the new bow.
~
John was gently woken up though he could not recall falling asleep. Blearily, he rubbed the heel of a hand to his eyes and sat upright. Sherlock stood at him and the blond boy felt something tight in his chest at the slanted smile that was waking him up.
“Father is done with his business and wants to see you open your present.”
“Okay,” he nodded and found himself just staring at his friend.
“That means get up,” Sherlock chuckled and John swatted a the male and chuckled with him, pushing to stand up from the chair and stretch out his stiff muscles.

Chapter Text

Mr. Holmes was this big, scary, shadow, faceless father-figure inside of John’s imagination. His own father was all but useless, therefore his mind couldn’t conjure up a male parental figure worth talking about. Sherlock had, however, assured the young blond that Father was nothing compared to Mr. Watson.

Still, walking into the living room where Father was waiting for them, John’s heart thumped. The mans actual appearance was well-kept. He had his hair a bit tousled but it looked nice and his suit appeared as if he had truly been in meetings with others all morning. To be fair, John couldn’t recall if the man had been away at all or not. His face had worn lines and dark under the eyes but once Father spotted the two children walking in he lit up. So much so that John was startled.

He flinched in Sherlock’s grasp, the small fingers pulling a bit on the hand being held. The two slowed down until John pretty much pulled them to a stop. As if he hadn’t noticed the very obvious reaction, Father grinned widely.

“I’ve been dying to meet you long before you arrived.” Even the voice was big, sturdy, but homely pleasant. “Mother tells me that the two of you have been getting along wonderfully but you’re a bit nervous. It’s to be expected.” The man waved one of his hands wildly upwards in circles. “Now, now! You’ve opened all your other presents, let’s have the last one. I’m dying as much as you are. Probably more!”

Sherlock thrust the small palm-sized present of John’s into the blond haired boy's hands. John looked down and, for a moment, couldn’t process a thought. Father was so unlike anything he’d expected and yet, he was so much like a father. Like a father should be. Everything that John wanted.

Tears welled up in his eyes but he fought them back violently hard. He pulled on the wrapped paper and hoped, prayed to any God that would hear him that he could keep it inside. How silly he must look to them. Under the wrapping there was a thin box much like those used for necklaces. Inside, an ID card sat with John’s face and name. Under his name, the official words grew fifty feet in front of his every-blurring vision: Companion to the Holmes’. Under that, a credit card in Mr. Holmes’ name sat. It was too much and John burst into tears.

“Oh, dear.” Mr. Watson leaned back a bit and eyed his son. Sherlock, unsure what to do, leaned down and touched John’s shoulder.

“It’s too much,” John managed to mumble. “I just…” He shamefully wiped at his eyes as Sherlock snuck the box from those trembling hands. In safe keeping, the box was tucked into a pocket for later use.

“John…”

“I don’t have enough money for food to last a week at home and here you… you can just… hand me a card. I don’t… I just…” Unable to get out what upset him so much, John broke down into soft mumbles and then just stood there crying into his curled fists. Sherlock gently rubbed his hand over the young boy's shoulder. His shoulders shook and Sherlock stared at his father, searching for any answer.

“Perhaps… John would feel comfortable back in one of the bedrooms for the moment. Mother told me the Christmas room was a bit much. John? When you’re feeling up to it I would deeply love to speak with you if it’s alright. Sherlock, take him if you would. I’m sure standing here isn’t making him any more comfortable.”

Sherlock followed his fathers orders forthwith and corralled John out of the room and back up the stairs. The two walked to John’s room and Sherlock awkwardly led him to the bed where he plopped down. For now, most of the crying seemed to have finished but he still sniffled and rubbed at his red eyes and cheeks.

“I’ll let you--” Sherlock’s voice cut off as John grabbed his wrist the moment he’d turned to leave. John pulled the other close and stood up, wrapping arms around him.
The two boys hugged each other and relaxed in each others’ presence for a bit. Eventually, they moved to sitting on the floor with their sides touching. Sherlock wasn’t bothered by the silence though he was a bit bored. His brain itched to get to other things but he knew this was important. John was important enough to be bored.

“Is it the money?” The black haired boy ventured.

“No… no. Sorta. I don’t know how to put it into words. I’m out of place here. The fancy things, the new stuff. The gifts and the cards. Sherlock, the cards full of money!” Sherlock blinked at his friend.

“You know my parents wouldn’t hesitate to send money home with you to help your---”

“No! This isn’t about that. I’m not jealous of the money, it’s just. Weird. I’m just struggling with it.”

“Oh.” Sherlock shifted awkwardly a bit away but John shifted with him.

“Not with you.”
The silence turned back to comfortable if not a bit more so than just a moment before. With a soft sigh in what seemed like ages, John threw his head forward and rubbed at his eye socks.

“I suppose I should go speak with your dad. Apologize and all that.”

“He doesn’t expect an apology… but it would be nice.”

The two decided to head down. Their walk back was nothing like earlier when they’d shook the hall and the staircase. Their hands were linked together as they descended the stairs but Sherlock let go to rush ahead and check if Father was still in the room. He wasn’t so they made their way to the dining room and then towards the office.

“Usually we aren’t supposed to bother him but I don’t think he’d mind,” Sherlock assured John as he knocked.

“Come in!” The two boys did so and found Father sitting at his desk. The office was lined with books on two long walls while one wall dazzled with huge windows and the last had a giant map of the world among various other pieces of art. The desk was big and solid, a few chairs dotting the room as well as a separate desk that looked as if it would buckle under the weight of papers and books at any moment.

“I’d like to apologize,” John started sheepishly. “I thought I was handling all of this a bit better. Your home and gifts are really, truly amazing.”

“No need to apologize.” Father waved it away but lightly. “I wanted to apologize myself, knowing how much of a shock all of this must be. I also wanted to explain my gifts.” John waited during the moment where Father paused and contemplated the two. “Your ID is for your own safety, mostly, in case you are separated at any time when visiting the country. Mycroft told me he gained the both of you passes. It’s a precaution, nothing more. The card, too, is part of it. There is not much money on it but it is for food and emergencies when about. Sherlock isn’t to be so highly trusted with the fine details but I hope that you are.”

Hearing the two small cards explained so well sobered John from his sadness. Of course Father hadn’t just handed him a wad of money and swatted him on the backside to go crazy in London. Safety measures were expected, none of which he’d even thought of. Then again, he hadn’t even expected to leave the home for the entire week.

“Oh,” was all he could manage.

“I hadn’t thought how it might look, forgive me. You’ll also still need your passport when out and about but the cards will help. Of course, I’d have allowed far more extravagant gifts but Mother knows best.” He twiddled his thumbs for a few moments as the two stood without comment. John wanted to say something but Sherlock glanced sideways and shook his head minutely.

With the apologies and explanations over, Father wiggled his fingers and held out his arms. John wasn’t entirely sure how it would feel but he didn’t want to make a bigger scene than he already had so he went in for the hug. It felt, to say the least, glorious. Perfect. Even more perfect than anything he could have imagined.

It was one thing to be aware of how much you missed your useless father but another to be hugged by such a good one.

That sucked.

Sherlock and him silently left the office and walked towards one of the various other rooms filled with various other things John hadn’t even realized you could have. An entire room of fauna startled him so much that he jumped back and Sherlock laughed. Another library though Sherlock swore this one was strictly for books out of Europe. They finally settled back on the music room, mostly from a casual comment out of John, and Sherlock played.

He played until it was dinnertime and then the two poked around Sherlock’s room. The cultures from earlier in the day had, unsurprisingly, done nothing. John watched for over half an hour as Sherlock started to draw a new picture. The males hands worked so beautifully, the digits taught exactly how to follow the commands of the brilliant brain under those dark, curly hairs.

John found himself watching Sherlock more than he watched the drawing. Something about the way his face twisted, only slightly, when heavily focused. Those eyes were not strained but so focused it was unbelievable. For a hot moment John wondered if Mycroft could come in, make a thousand obnoxious demands, and leave to which Sherlock would never know he’d been there.

“Tomorrow, everything will be open again and we can head into London. Make use of the tickets.” Sherlock’s voice broke through John’s daze and the blond haired boy twitched and looked away from those sharp eyes staring into his soul.

“Sounds good.”

Chapter Text

For all of the precautions of losing John in London, they were not needed. Thankfully.

John and Sherlock stuck together the entire time they were in London like Siamese twins. The driver made little to no comment about running around behind the two younger, faster boys. In fact, he made little to no comment at all except when asked what he would like to eat for both lunch and dinner. Fast food for the usually prim and proper family. There wasn’t even a peep, either, when Sherlock fondled the credit card given to John and bought a variety of the most ridiculous things.

“You’re lucky the shop in the mall isn’t open,” Sherlock said offhandedly as he paid for drinks in a small shop. John took both the driver and his, handing the driver his drink carefully. The driver nodded his thanks and turned away as if not part of the tiny party. He was good at that, giving space. John wondered how much he got paid.

“Is it a science shop?”

“Ooh, how did you know?” It was the closest thing to a purr Sherlock had ever done and it pulled John to stare at him. Sherlock had actually barely said much of anything since leaving his family estate and, in fact, had spoken far less compared to John himself. Suddenly bashful, Sherlock ducked his head into his Styrofoam thermos and started to walk down the street. Smiling huge, John followed with the driver close behind.

The weather was a bit snowy but mostly just cold and wet. John was more used to eight to ten feet of snow around this time so it was bizarre for him but he also didn’t mind. It was nice only having small tufts of snow here and there. Most of it was up high on the buildings where he couldn’t touch but he liked looking. London was a beautiful city. After they ate dinner, everyone piled back up together and paid their way to the Holmes’ estate. The vehicle was full of all the things Sherlock had bought and one pair of boots Sherlock had insisted John buy. “Your feet will fall right off. I swear, I promise, I won’t tell Father or Mother.” John had been distressed at the idea of Sherlock’s parents thinking he was spending the card money frilly but Sherlock had talked him into it. They were good boots, after all.

Upon their arrival back, the baying of a dog filled the air. Sherlock lit up and flew out of the vehicle towards the stairs. John watched the boy get mauled by a large, red dog. The driver was already unloading the packages from the car so the other driver could leave. John helped the best he could, waving the man away when he was encouraged not to “worry yourself.”

“Oh, dear.” Mother appeared at the top of the stairs with the inner light behind her spilling from the doorway and adding to all the large lamps around the drive. “He missed you. Hello, John!” She waved at him and he smiled warmly, hands full.

“Hey, Mrs. Holmes!”

“Here, let me.” She walked down, her body in a gorgeous dress that just kissed her middle calf. Her hair was braided on one side and let loose on the other to make her look ethereal. She grabbed the items from his hand and motioned him towards Sherlock and the dog. “Go play. Redbeard was cooped up at the vet over holiday and would love to get some running in. Before it gets too cold!”

John didn’t even make it four feet closer before Redbeard was on him. He’d not only forgotten that a dog should have been there but had completely underestimated how big Redbeard was. The two boys took to the yard where the dog did pretty much all of the running. John and Sherlock stood roughly three feet apart as the dog, full of zoomies, sprinted around and between them. Mother called from a window when it got “too cold” and they all headed inside. John wasn’t fully positive but he was pretty sure Sherlock was grinning so big that he was rubbing his cheeks. Smile aches.

“Mother doesn’t like that Redbeard sleeps on the bed with me,” Sherlock whispered as he took John’s sleeve and tugged him towards the stairs. John leaned in conspiratorially. “She doesn’t wash the sheets, the maid does, but the maid complains where she thinks no one can hear.”

“It’s not really her house, though.” John curled his nose up at the idea of someone coming in and telling him how to live. Obnoxious, not to mention awkward.

“That’s what I think.” Four steps up and Sherlock broke into jumping up two at a time. John followed and Redbeard became thrilled. Like a pack of animals--literally--the three tore down the hallway.

It did not occur to John to be homesick until he was expected to call his mother before bed.

~

“Hello!” The sound of his mother's voice rang through his skull and into his spine to bring peace so deep into his person that he nearly sank through the chair into the floor. “How’s my most favorite boy! How was Christmas? Did you get presents to open? I have yours still sitting here for when you get back. Just a few more days!”

“It was really good, actually. I got tickets for cab fare into London and Sherlock and I found this weird place to eat pizza… I can’t wait to come home.”

“Are you okay? Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine. I love it here, don’t worry! I just miss home.” John wanted to avoid saying that he missed her, specifically, as she might feel bad. However, it didn’t work.

“I miss you, too. I still can’t believe you’re over there. Allllll the way across the ocean.” She laughed but he could tell it was nervous.

“Mom, are you alright?”

“Just tired, honey. I pulled a double yesterday and I have to go in again today. It’ll be alright, though. The last paycheck was pretty decent and I have the next two days off. Did I tell you Barbara, the old woman next door, she had some pain left over and it’s kinda the shade you wanted in your room. I figured you could go snag it when you’re back and we could paint your room. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“That actually sounds really cool.”

She didn’t want to know the presents he got and she didn’t want to talk about Sherlock’s parents. She did listen to their trip around London and was upset until he explained that the driver had been there the whole time. She loved Redbeard and sighed out remorse for not being able to get him a pet, to which he soothed by reminding her that he was too young for a whole living being to take care of. Her part of the conversation focused a lot on when he would be back--just a few more days!--and what they would do together.
He grew to understand that she was anxious and had started to talk at an almost desperate fast pace.

“Hey, mom?” His fingers fiddled with the hem of his shirt as he shifted in the big chair within his room. “I love talking with you but I’m falling asleep. Don’t wanna be rude.”

“Oh, of course, of course!” She nodded audibly. “I have to get ready anyway. Listen, I love you. So much. More than anything. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, right?”

“Of course. I can’t wait.”

He hung up the phone and fiddled with it. The weight on his shoulders was so heavy and the phone, so light. He shouldn’t have left. He shouldn’t have walked from his mother during the holidays, leaving her all alone. Temptation to call her back and cry over the phone, letting her know he’d be on the next flight home, itched at all of his skin. The only thing stopping him was hearing Redbeard bark across the hall. He lifted his head and looked over. The huge closed doors to his huge room gave him a bit of personal space he needed while here. The only space he could really detach from the drastically different life of the Holmes’. Redbeard had just returned and they’d only had one day in London. Besides, more cultures would be done in a day or two and maybe by then they’d have found other weird stuff while wandering the yard.

John had a lot of stuff he still wanted to do with Sherlock and going home on the next flight may be a mistake. He was so torn.

After listening to the patter of paws and general dog noises he sighed and put the phone down. Pushing up, he headed to the doors with a need to play with the giant red dog.

~

John was woken up suddenly by a heavy something dropping down on the bed. For a sharp second he thought maybe it was Redbeard and he tensed for a playful attack though none was forthcoming. Sitting upright, he saw a pile of clothes and a wooden sword right next to him and an expressionless Sherlock standing at the end of the bed. Did the boy forget to knock?

“What’s this?” The question danced up from John as he reached forward and grabbed the pile. The sword came first, a heavy piece of wood that could have bruised him if it had landed on him.

“A pirate costume.” The answer did little to explain exactly what it was doing on his bed and, if for play, why there was only one. With everlasting patience, John let off a soft breath and held up a frilly undershirt.

Is it yours?” Two could play the teasing, drawing-out game.

“It is. I’ve worn it before.” A thin shoulder raised and fell in a shrug and John nodded. It was wild, imagining Sherlock inside of this.

“Put it on, then.”

“What?” Sherlock looked utterly aghast at the mere idea. Eyes a bit wider, he glanced to the shirt and then the brown pants John had separated from the vest. Smirking, John shook the pants out a bit.

“Does it still fit?”

“Ahh, I don’t… dress up.” Those intelligent eyes blinked at John but the blond boy shook his head and tossed the pants over.

“You can’t barge into my room while I’m sleeping, hand me this, and expect me to just forget about it. Go put it on!”

“I will not!” John jumped out of bed and gathered up the outfit in one go. He rushed after Sherlock who was backpedaling furiously with his hands raised. His curls bounced wildly as he kept glancing backwards in a mad attempt to walk backwards around the room in circles while he also attempted for the door. “I mean it. John!” A smile broke out when he ran into the dresser and John was only three steps away. “Okay! Okay.”

“That’a boy.” Sherlock was grinning when he pulled the items from his friend. “What time is it, anyway?” Arms empty, John rubbed at an eye and yawned.

“A little after nine.” Right there, Sherlock undid the clothes he was wearing. He flung the pajama pants and shirts away before tugging on the outfit. John watched and then winced when it became apparent that the outfit did not, in fact, fit anymore.

“Need a bit of help?” The two grunted as John helped the arms get free and then watched the lanky boy sit down and tug the pants off. It was all ridiculously hilarious. “What are we doing today, aside from trying on old outfits?” John took the sword and swung it around slowly. It felt real but he’d never actually held a real sword. It was heavy, though.

“We could go back into town or play in the yard. I have to do some studies after lunch, first, though.”

“Studies?”

“Yes. Three hours worth of studies and some violin practice.”

“Oh.” John’s face fell and the sword tip thunked against the floor. Sherlock watched, head tipping to the side. “Can I… go with?”

“If you wish.”

Chapter Text

Studies were boring, somewhat. John stood in one of the rooms filled with books--the actual library of the house, Sherlock stated--while Sherlock sat with a tutor. Not allowed to make any noise at all, he was restricted to only so many things. Reading was one, but so many of the books were over his head. He heard Sherlock reciting some language for nearly half an hour and then the studies switched to something else that John assumed was history. The conversation rolled around in his skull. Just as he found some medical books, he had tuned out the history lesson from some random country in South America. Why that was important to an eleven year old, he’d never know.

Grabbing a few of the medical books, he stationed himself at a desk and thumbed through the pages as slow as possible. Interesting. Most, still, went over his head but he liked it. He liked flipped to the muscles and veins, tracing them on his own body and mouthing the long, difficult words. His hand went up and he felt himself say “mandible” and “larynx.” It was a struggle not to laugh at “coccyx.” Still, they were truly interesting.

After a while, he put the books back and figured it would be horribly rude to leave the room while Sherlock was expecting him to be there upon the completion of the three hours so he wandered once more. The tutor and him were onto another language, this one sounding a lot like French. What had the first one been? Didn’t matter, though, as apparently it was the last thing since, suddenly, the conversation was louder and Sherlock was nodding intently while the tudor was packing up. She headed for the door and Sherlock snapped his head to look at where John was peeking around the bookcase. A big smile lit up his face and John couldn’t help but reciprocate.

“Time to go outside?”

“In a moment. Wait here?”

John nodded and Sherlock slipped away. Feeling once more bored and a bit trapped inside the room, John headed to the window and looked out. Their plans of messing around in the yard might not work, judging on the clouds. Darker ones were coming in and the wind was picking up.

“Mother stopped me on the way and asked if we would pick up a few things in town, if this is alright with you.”

“The weather looks bad.” Sherlock came closer and looked outside. He was holding a wad of items in one hand: John’s cards and passport among a shopping list.
“We might be back before it gets really bad.”

John nodded and the two gathered up their gear. Mother had called a cab so it was there by the time the boys were ready. They piled in with the driver pressed against one door while the two wiggled in. John was a bit awkward as Sherlock wanted the door, too. The feeling slipped away, however, as the cab took off and the giant, looming trees met them at the end of the drive. John was in as much awe then as he had been upon his arrival only days ago. Sherlock quickly regretted not giving John the window seat as he was practically squished into the door and under the bulkier boy.

It only took a few minutes before Sherlock shoved John away and the two boys switched seats. The blond felt bad but only allowed himself to be bashful for a short time before smushing his face into the window. Before long the trees turned into countryside and then London. It still amazed the young boy how the city was in the distance and then, without any graduality to it, was suddenly all around.

The two boys paid no mind to the weather, even when it drizzled shortly before lunch. They visited a strip mall but only went into two shops, buying nothing in either of them. They had Chinese for lunch because Sherlock hated most fast food and John was familiar with Chinese: “It’s cheap and you get a lot of food, I guess.”

“Did you ever think,” Sherlock started suddenly as they were in the back seat of the cab. “That you’d be in London in your life?” John eyed his friend thoughtfully. He knew the scrawny boy hadn’t meant it in any demeaning or cruel way but what was the purpose? Still, those eyes bore into John and he became hyper aware of the saliva in his mouth.

“No… I never thought I would.”

The mall was the final destination after lunch. They planned on wandering around until closer to dinner and then heading back. The driver made a noncommittal “not really” when asked if he minded at all. To the two young boys, that was enough of an answer.

Sherlock was thrilled to show John the multitudes of shops. He encouraged the blond boy to pick out something here or there but John refused to use the card for anything. Honestly, the money for lunch had made him uncomfortable but such was the hunger. About two hours in, Sherlock finally piqued interests by bringing up the idea of drinks. After debating--and getting nothing from the driver--all three of them wound up in line.

“Would it be too much to ask to break from the line to use the bathroom?” John murmured to his friend after only a short minute. The line in front of them was about eight people, a few behind them. After looking about for a moment, Sherlock turned to his friend.

“We might not want to get back in line. Would you be okay going by yourself if I stay back to order? Could you go with John?” The driver made a nod and John, feeling eons more awkward, followed the taller male. None of the signs were in other languages but he still felt like he was on another planet. Even in another universe.

John looked back as they walked and found Sherlock staring at him as he walked away. Something deep in John’s chest tightened, ached and he gave a little wave. Sherlock didn’t outright wave back but John smiled with it and was rewarded with a small wave and half smile. That ache in his chest worsened and he ducked his head to hide the giant, uncontrollable smile.

He made his break quick, washing and drying his hands faster than he ever had before. Popping back out he slipped right up to the driver.

“Good?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Uh…” The driver may have enjoyed the respect but he had been side blinded from it. For some reason, John thought that was funny and he smirked.

In the place of Sherlock, there was nothing but adults or other families. John took half a second to feel panic in him but then it switched to something else, something strange, when he heard laughter. Kid laughter, coming from the opposite side. Turning, he found Sherlock surrounded by a handful of other kids roughly the same age, perhaps older. For a moment, John didn’t even want to go over there. If Sherlock was around his normal friends, he didn’t want to intrude as the strange, weird kid from the U.S. Then, the driver made a weird sound and the realization came to John that Sherlock didn’t have friends.

The driver barely had any time to react as John kicked up a power walk and headed straight for them. None of the group seemed to notice and the closer he got, the more he could hear what was going on.

“--the beaker!”

“Chav--”

“I asked you a question!”

“Little no-friends, I was talkin’ to you!”

“Whatever you’re doing here is stupid.”

“Look, he might hit you!”

“Wipe the stupid smile off your face!’

“You thick?”

“I think we upset him, boys!”

“What a chav…”

All of them were talking at once, goading Sherlock on. John wasn’t sure what a good handful of those words meant but he knew enough to understand them as insulting. What he did understand made his stomach twist in disgust. Without even thinking, he shoved the first boy he could reach. It startled the whole group, including the shoved boy, to the point where they all stepped back. In fury, John shoved another kid that took half a step forward, a cocky grin on his face.

“Back off!” John shouted, knowing that his accent and his volume would gain attention. One of the boys reached over and shoved Sherlock who was staring at John without expression. John thrust himself forward and struck the arm away with as much force as he could muster, gaining a pained shout.

“What’s it to you!”

“He’s just a lil’ tosser!” Their steam had run out, though, when they noticed not only the driver who was walking up to the group but other people staring.

“No one touches my friend.” Perhaps with more aggression than needed, John buried fingers into Sherlock’s clothes and jerked the much smaller boy over. Similar in height, John was built thicker than the other and it showed in the way he simply dragged Sherlock away from the others.

“It’s time to go…” the driver murmured, putting a hand on John’s shoulder. Food was forgotten at this point, no longer important. Sherlock clung to John as the small trio started to walk away. John glared at the group, trying his hardest to appear as threatening as possible. Sometimes, boys could feel threatened and attack on turned backs. He wasn’t going to let them have it. Only once they had turned the corner did he turn away and breathe. Sherlock eyed him and John offered a shrug. The driver said nothing, just like the boys, as everyone seemed to agree that their time was up here.

“Where to?” The cab asked as they piled into the backseat.

“The Holmes’ estate.”

On the quiet ride home, Sherlock tentatively reached over a few inches and touched fingers to the palm of John’s hand. With a glance away from the darkening London views, John saw a bashful Sherlock and said nothing as he linked their fingers together before turning away.

Chapter Text

In his room, taking time to himself while Sherlock did his studies, John called his mother.

“How are you doing?” It was early for her there but she still answered.

“I’m doing really good. They got me a new football. Do you think I can take it back home with me?” He cradled the mentioned object between his thighs and chest, curled up against the side of the bed not facing the door. It made him feel more private.

“I’m sure you can put it in as a carry-on when you board.”

“Did you tell them my one at home was getting worn?” It was a playful accusation. He’d had his suspicions but didn’t want to say anything to them. She chuckled, a tired but happy sound.

“When would I have had time?”

“Uh-huh. They also got me clothes in my size. Want to explain that?”

“Not really, no. I have no idea.” Her tone teased back and they laughed together. It felt nice and made him feel less homesick. Sure, it also made him crave being with her but she was still there. Alive and probably sleeping more often now that he wasn’t making a bunch of noise all the time.

“Hey, mom?”

“Yes?”

“I was wondering…” He shifted and used his free hand to touch along the lines of the football. The thing smelled perfectly new, which he’d never had before. The football at his house had been one bought from a Goodwill store and loved even as the thing had turned more into tatters than actual football. “Why…”

“Is everything okay?” Crap, he hadn’t intended for her to worry.

“Everything is fine! I’m just trying to find a way to word this.”

“Oh.”

“I was wondering mostly on why I’m here.”

“Uh…” The sound of shifting and a small scoff came through the phone. “You were Hell-bent on going to visit your friend so you went. Did you hit your head?”

“No, not at all. What I mean is, why did you send me?”

Silence filled the space and John realized he didn’t want to know the answer. His anxiety, not usually a problem suddenly whispered all sorts of wild things at him. Was he going to go back? Had she adopted him to the Holmes’ and he hadn’t known about it? Would he see her again? Maybe he was away so she could remarry someone he’d never met? Thousands of other wild scenarios spun around his head so fast he nearly became dizzy.

“A few reasons, actually. Is this something you really want to talk about now? You’re coming home in a few days and I want you to relax and enjoy your time. It’s New Years.”
“I know it is, but mom, you’re all alone right now and missed Christmas with me and--”

“John, honey, sweetie.” It shut him up pretty effectively. “Relax and enjoy your time. I’ll talk with you about it when you get home. It’s not this huge issue. I have reasons and I’ll tell you. When. You. Get. Home.” Her tone was light, attempting to be playful, and he swallowed down a burning desire to keep pushing the issue. He couldn’t though, without turning both of their moods sour with an argument and then he’d not have any fun despite her not telling him anything. And she wouldn’t. He knew that tone and he knew his mother. With a heavy sigh, he conceded.

“Alright. Now… I want to tell you about London…”

~

No matter how much anyone wanted it to, time never slows town. Mother Earth has only ever been the one to keep up with Father Time, the only one that enjoys the chase.
It seemed like the day at the mall had been a turning point for the two boys. They visited London only two more times, both of which ended up in malls where John refused to the point of ridiculousness to stay away from Sherlock. Every time the issue was brought up, John would snack Sherlock’s hand with his own and squeeze nearly to pain. The issue would be dropped.

Not a single question was brought up over why the two decided to spend the majority of their time at the home. Mr. Holmes stayed for a few days and enjoyed most meals with them. He was a wonderfully cheerful fellow who loved long talks after meals before shuffling off to his office or study or wherever he went to.

The day before John was to leave--his taxi would leave shortly after three in the morning--Mrs. Holmes nearly had a heart attack when she walked into the kitchen one day. Sherlock had brought in an unGodly amount of snow from the immediate doorway to the outside--which was still wide open--and the two were testing the way liquids splashed depending on the liquid thickness and height it fell. John--currently standing on the countertop--had willingly let Sherlock slice the tip of his thumb and they had already tested the blood splatters.

“What… are you two up to?” Her tone was light and gentle with only a small hint of strain. John expected her to fly off the handle but she only clasped her hands in front of her, waiting.

“Testing splatters.” Sherlock said dismissively.

“Couldn’t it be done outside?”

Sherlock’s hands slowed and he finally looked about himself. Though John and him had taken the time to scoop snow from the ground through the door and across the floor, he apparently hadn’t realized what they were doing. Or at least that no one had closed the door.

“Sorry, mother.”

She grunted and turned on her heel, leaving without another comment. The two boys burst into a fit of giggles before Sherlock quickly rushed to document results while John got about cleaning up the mess. They didn’t do a perfect job but, as kids, they were not expected to. Up the stairs they went with the results and Redbeard with a suspiciously wet and dotted-with-white coat of fur. They stashed themselves into Sherlock’s room where John began the battle of keeping Redbeard off the large bed and Sherlock rummaged through his things to find where his findings should go.

“What should we do after dinner?” John had ideas of playing in the snow, wrestling around in one of the libraries… “I could listen to you play or I would watch you draw. We were interrupted last time and I actually really liked it--” Suddenly, John stopped speaking as he noted the dark haired boy's face.

“You’re leaving in the morning.” The words were cold, something John had never heard before. Looking into those eyes, he didn’t like the emptiness in them. Shifting uncomfortably, he stressed the bed comforter with flexing fingers. Was Sherlock done with him?

“I know, but… but I don’t have to stop spending time with you just because I’m leaving. We can still play. I don’t mind losing sleep. I don’t--”

“You need sleep.”

“--Want to stop spending time with you. There’s nothing--”

“Sleep deprivation to the brain is dangerous.”

“--That I want to miss--”

“It would be silly.”

“Sherlock!” John’s shout had Sherlock’s eyes popping a bit with surprise. Both boys swallowed and John took the chance to press onward. “Please don’t make me go to bed when I just want a bit more time with you.”

Silence spread between them and John put his eyes down. He stared at his knees and flexed his toes, worried. Worried about what? His anxiety told him that Sherlock suddenly didn’t want him here. That dead look had scared him. If he had to go back to the states where the only good thing was his mother, he wanted the memories of here to be wonderful. Perfect.

“Oh…” John looked up at the breathy sound from his friend. Sherlock’s face was openly surprised, shoulders dropped. “I did not consider that you’d be so against sleeping on the last night… Won’t you be grumpy?”

“I can sleep on the plane.”

“You sound strained… Are you alright?”

“I’m glad you’re not tired of me.” Sherlock stared at John for a moment, uncertainty now on his features. What did John expect the young boy to do? Did he even know himself? “That would have ruined the whole trip. I’d have had to time travel and start all over.” Grinning, John cocked his head to the side and Sherlock snorted. The emotional twist in John’s chest was gone. Sherlock mumbled something close to “time travel isn’t even possible” but John let it go.

“Next time,” Sherlock stated suddenly once he had put away the papers and come over to John, “Just tell me you want to stay up.” Next time.

~

“Wait a second,” John blurted incredulously. “You do what?”

“Really, John, do I have to repeat myself?”

“No.” The blond haired boy had heard bright and clear how Sherlock rarely slept. How, usually, he continued with his workings most nights but since John had come he usually saved what they’d been working on during the day for when John woke back up. “I’m blown away at the fact that you went to such lengths. Amazing, really.”

“You… think so?”

“Brilliant, actually. Strange that you don’t sleep.” Sherlock had pulled John to his room after they’d been ‘sent to bed’ shortly after dinner. The two fully intended not to even sleep despite Mr. Holmes’s warnings about being overly tired. He worried about John in a way the young boy was not used to. They had just started settling down when John noticed a handful of newly started drawings and petri dishes he hadn’t known about, not to mention there was a to-do list with times in the early am’s.

“It would take too long to fill you in on all of those, why don’t we do something we’ve been working on?”

“You know what we haven’t done…”

It was a bad idea but Sherlock liked it. If they were going to be up, and if it was their last night for a while, the two boys snuck out. They slipped out of a back door through servant quarters and ran into the cold backyard. They sprinted towards the woods and slipped away from view. For protection, Redbeard was right on their heels with tail wagging, tongue drooling, and wet snow flinging all over.

Sherlock hadn’t done one thing scientific in the woods but the two of them played. Sticks were broken against each other as they sword fought, balls of slushy snow were chucked at each other, an attempted snow castle was left barely a foot tall in areas, and bruises and scrapes dotted skin.

The two were shivering to their graves less than two hours later but they entered into the kitchen with large smiles on their faces. John had a nice cut down his forearm from one of the many trees they had either climbed or sprinted by. Sherlock’s hair was a wild mess with bruises already forming on both inner legs when he’d fallen onto a fallen tree. The floor of the kitchen was immediately a mess as they trudged in and Redbeard shook his shivering body out. Like the mud in the photo John had received, a mess in the kitchen was created almost instantaneously. They peeled clothes off until they were in their underwear and then dried off a bit with plain kitchen towels. When they were satisfied with themselves, they snuck off to one of the bigger bathrooms and started the shower on warm. Shivering, the two rubbed their own arms and waited in the coming heat.

“We need to be careful,” John suggested, swearing he could see purple on the tips of his digits. “Warning up too fast will hurt us.”

“You were retaining those medical books then?” Sherlock was smiling when John looked over, surprised. “Of course I noticed you looking at them every time we were in the libraries.”

“Then you already know.”

“Yes and no. I don’t find medical things all that interesting. I know what I need to know.”

“What does that even mean?”

Sherlock laughed and shook his head. Both stepped into the shower, big enough for the both of them plus more, and proceeded to fight over the water to warm themselves up.

~

Once warmed back up and in fresh, dry clothes, the pair went to the kitchen. John had insisted that they head back and clean up. Sherlock was into the idea but it was sweetened when John reminded him: “You tried the splatter with mud, what about snow?”

John stood by as Sherlock took photos of the splatter and even sketched a few pages in his notebook. Then, they got to cleaning. Time slipped away, though neighet noticed. It was either the noise they were making or the fact that it was getting closer to John needing to leave, but Mr. Holmes came into the kitchen with a thick robe on. He cleared his throat to gain attention. Sherlock looked over but his attention immediately changed to John. In reaction to the cleared throat, John flinched hard and spun, one arm going up as if to block a strike. Breathing hard and heavy, those wide eyes snapped from Mr. Holmes to Sherlock rapidly for a few seconds before he sank against the cupboard he’d been scrubbing.

“John, if I could have a minute?” The tone of voice wasn’t harsh but John still flinched. He fidgeted with the towel in his hand hard enough to flex the muscles up both arms.

“O-of course…” John stared straight ahead as he walked out of the kitchen and after Mr. Holmes to his office. Everything in John told him to run but he refused. Stiff feet crossed the threshold of the office and Mr. Holmes closed it. “Sir, I--”

“Hold on, John, you’re not in trouble. I just wanted to give you something really quick.”

“Oh…”

John watched Mr. Holmes go around the sturdy desk and open up a drawer. A thick, heavy book was pulled out and handed over. Shocked hands grabbed it from the older male and stared with disbelief.

“You can bring it on the plane with you as a carry on so it won’t hurt the baggage weight.” Mr. Holmes sat on the edge of his desk. “It’s the newest edition, far newer than the ones in the library.”

“How…?”

“Sherlock’s instructors have made comments--not all of them--and I noted that most of the dust by the medical books have been disturbed. Unfortunately, with medical books, the book will most likely be outdated within a few years but this is a good place to start if you liked what you were reading.”

“I… I really like it.” The book was so heavy in his hands. He was afraid to open it and afraid to put it down. “Thank you so much.”

~

The cleaning of the kitchen was halted, though not much was left. John went up to pack after having told Sherlock he wanted to do it alone. His things were done shortly and the two boys, barely tired at all, dragged John’s things down the front steps. The driver waited with the normal car and both boys climbed in, much to John’s surprise.

“You’re coming with?”

“Of course. I’ll just be brought back with the car.”

John sent his mother a quick message that he was on his way to the airport just as Sherlock glanced at the middle space between then and shuffled closer. The two boys made eye contact before John simply reached over and took the darker-haired boys hand in his.

For the last time--for now--John watched the scenery slip away. His eyes were glued to the window even though he could barely see anything until lights cleared away the darkness. The sun wouldn’t rise until well after the plane took off. At some point, he became aware of Sherlock’s thumb rubbing the back of his hand gently but he didn’t bring attention to it past a soft squeeze of that hand.

~

Bags were unloaded. Everyone went inside with John to settle the bag issue and make sure the young boy was prepared for his flight except going through the motions. The driver gave them some space when all things were cleared up, a variety of people milling about around them.

“You’ll message me when you land?” Sherlock muttered the words softly, no part of either boy touching the other.

“Yes, I will. It will be a while. Are you going to sleep when you get home?”

“I might. Though I have some…” Sherlock waved his hand up in the air a bit, “melody in my head that I might play beforehand.” John snickered and gave a gentle push. “I will miss you.”

“I will, too.” Hiking his bag up a big higher on his shoulder, John went in for a hug. It is unclear who did it first or who did it second but, for a moment, the boys kissed. It was a small thing that lasted only a few moments but one that they both pressed into. John thought of the cruel boys in the mall, of the fun things he’d done all week, and the loneliness that waited for him back in Minnesota. He thought of intelligent eyes and curly dark hair that, in a way, belonged to him. Did they, really? Yes, he supposed they did.

Chapter Text

The layover in Georgia had him on the phone with his mother for nearly an hour before he fell asleep on the chair. Sure, he’d slept a bit on the plane but it had been fitful and left him more tired than before. She promised to pick him up as she simply couldn’t wait another moment to see him.

The flight was only about another hour once he got back on the plane. As he sat in his seat this time he watched the snowy ground slip away the higher the plane went. For nearly the entire time he’d been away from Sherlock he had forced himself not to text or call. What was an appropriate time period? Checking the time on his phone, he figured that it was crazy early back in England. He could text, but he wouldn’t want to wake Sherlock up. The poor kid didn’t sleep normal and John didn’t want to screw that up even more.

Sighing, he set a reminder on his phone to message at a later hour.

It seemed like the flight back, the last part, was the shortest time in his life. He watched the world slip by under the plane as it circled down to land on the strip. His mother wasn’t there as he tugged his suitcase and clung to all of his things. The football was in his carryon so he couldn’t really feel it but he still felt it. Calling or texting Sherlock would be a bad idea right now. Maybe on the car ride back home.

Everyone was so loud but he was searching above taller heads for something familiar. Now that he was so close to being back home with his mother he couldn’t bear to wait any longer. The Minneapolis airport wasn’t the biggest of the ones he’d been to but it was crowded and more than one kid was crying. There was a tap on his shoulder and John whipped around to see his mother smiling with tears dripping from her eyes. The two joined in a hard hug as she cried and he, despite fighting it, cried a bit, too. Her hug had never felt more comfortable in his life. Had he really been away from her during the holidays like this? What had he been thinking?

“I’m sorry for leaving you on Christmas, mom,” he blubbered but she shushed him and gathered up his suitcase. John clung to his carryon and she gripped his hand tight in one of hers. The two walked out of the busy place with sides bouncing against each other, not wanting to be separated. John hadn’t really thought about it up until now but being away had been such a scary, horrifying thing. He had no idea how he had even managed.

The familiar, beat-up car wasn’t in sight but John followed his mother trustingly. However, he frowned and grew suspicious when she led him to a taxi and then nudged him into the back seat. Fiddling his hands in his lap, he watched her put the suitcase in the trunk and then come around to sit beside him. He stayed quiet as she leaned forward and told the driver an address he didn’t recognize. As she settled into the seat beside him, John shoved his seatbelt into place and then turned himself mostly towards her.

“Are we going to talk about it now?”

“Honey, please, wait until we get home.” She patted his hand and pulled it into her lap. He let her to avoid hurting her feelings but when would they be home?

“Alright…”

She wanted to know about his trip and he figured he could fill in the time doing just that. John talked about the house and the yard, growing excited over Redbeard and insisting that Sherlock’s parents were perfectly weird. He talked about the cards, the driver, the bad time at the mall-- “I don’t get how people can be so mean, mom”--and even Mycroft who she laughed with John over.

“This was my going away present,” the blond haired boy puffed out. He tugged the medical book out and handed it over to his mother who groaned in surprise over the weight. “Mr. Holmes noticed that I looked through his medical stuff while Sherlock was in his studies.”

“That’s actually sweet of him. It sounds like you had a really good time.”

“I did. Mom, aren’t taxi’s expensive?”

“When we get home, we’ll talk about it.”

John nodded but he hated it. Their home wasn’t anywhere near wherever they were now. In fact, they were a lot farther west than he was comfortable with. Shifting in his seat, he chatted casually with her about all the random things in the huge house he’d found, the decorations, and how Mrs. Holmes was always so sweet but hands off.
“She just let you guys do whatever?” His mother didn’t sound happy with this, actually she sounded mad.

“No, not really. I mean, what could we possibly have done to get into trouble? Their home was miles from anywhere and Mycroft is a huge stick in the mud. Plus, we had Redbeard and Sherlock knew the woods.” Her grunt wasn’t reassured. “We were running around out once and he even stopped me from walking too close to a dip in the ground behind a fallen tree. He didn’t want me to sprain an ankle. I was just fine.” That seemed to soothe it.

His mother talked to him about her job and the kinds of customers she had to deal with. To no surprise, everyone was just as selfish and mean this year as they were every other year. John tried not to show how sad he was that she’d willingly put in more hours this season because he wasn’t home. The guilt was tickling his stomach.

“Here we are! Well, not here here, but here.”

John had no idea where “here” was but he trusted her. She pulled his suitcase from the trunk, paid the female behind the wheel who thanked his mom with a heavy accent for a gracious tip. The ride had been around an half hour long and they had tons of nature around them.

“Mom…”

“John, please.”

A good kid, he quieted down and held his bag close. He hadn’t been paying attention outside of the vehicle while it was driving but now he got a good eyeful. Various slow moving individuals were wandering around the grounds on what he assumed were paths. The building was huge and reminded him of a Bed & Breakfast. Just over one of his shoulders he caught the sign. The Retreat. His fingers dug harder into his bag straps.

He followed his mother to the main building and then inside. Her hand was on his shoulder and he fought to shrug it off and demand answers. Inside was obviously a reception area and John couldn’t fathom why they were there. She pulled him to the side with tons of chairs and sat down. Her gentle hand patted the one beside her and he plopped down. On the table before them were pamphlets and John stared at them only partially seeing.

“This place isn’t what I think it is, is it?”

“Mrs. Holmes’ and I had a wonderful series of talks before you left,” his mother started. John reached forward and pulled a pamphlet to himself, opening up the three folds. “She wanted to assure me of your safety, of the trip, of their plans. We talked quite a lot. She is a wonderful, gracious woman.” Her eyes were watching him but he barely noted it. He was so focused on the blurry words he couldn’t read. The pictures on the paper out of focus. “It came up about Harry, her issues. I didn’t like the way Mrs. Holmes gave so many options for help. Had so many ideas.”

“When I left, Harry was being taken care of. This isn’t where you told me you sent her.”

“Harry broke out of where she was even before you left. I didn’t bring it up because you didn’t need to worry about it.” He was definitely worried about it now. “They found her in some run-down house and she was in juvenile hall. Mrs. Holmes helped… somehow, she helped get ties and Harry is staying here.”

“How can you even afford this place! We live hours away.” He pointed to the map on the back of the pamphlet and she put a hand over his.

“It’s part of you going away. It was her idea. She had to talk me into it for a while but… I finally agreed. It’s a bit expensive but she made a deal that if Harry stays, she’ll pay as long as is needed. Harry can’t leave, though. Not until she is better.”

“Oh…” What else was he supposed to say to that? It made practically no sense to him. None. Why would his mother have accepted the help, aside from the obvious? Why would Mrs. Holmes care so deeply for such a stranger? He wondered if it had anything to do with their constant chatter over him making Sherlock so deeply happy. John still struggled to wrap his mind around how no one liked Sherlock. The kid was a genius, funny, adorable. Cute.

“Another thing,” his mother mumbled. Jerked from his thoughts--thank Gods!--John snapped his attention back to her. She looked sheepish. “I also used the time alone to… find us a new place. I think you’ll like it.”

“I don’t… understand….”

“Okay, trust me on this. We’ll go visit Harry and then I’ll fill you in on the way to the new place, okay? I know you probably badly want to rest but it’ll be okay! You’ll settle in no time.” She patted his knee and he wanted to scream. Why couldn’t she have told him anything? Were they not close, inseparable, part of a team? Mother, son kinda thing that happened when everyone else walked away into the night?

John felt hurt, betrayed, and tired. Honestly, he didn’t want to see Harry. She had been going down a slippery slope for a long time and it hurt that she was doing it to him and their mother. The woman didn’t deserve that. Still, his pouting didn’t get him anywhere. His mother requested visitation and he was dragged into the special dining hall where Harry was also led into.

John sat down but he turned his face from her. The sound of Harry’s voice stung inside of his chest and he wanted to cry. He’d been forced to leave his bag in the main room but that didn’t stop him from holding his arms close. Harry and their mother chatted about the place here. The rooms were nice and she had to share with another young girl. Everything they did was monitored but Harry gained the ability to go on walks outside. They didn’t last long due to the cold but she liked them anyway. John noted that her voice sounded different and he looked up under his lashes at her. She looked older than she should have, skinnier, and tired. Her hair was down and her smile, as far as he could tell, was sincere.

Suddenly filled with relief at her being safe and getting better--though pot wasn’t exactly the worst thing to be smoking, really-John rushed around the table and hugged her so tight to himself that she wheezed and fought against him for air.

~

“Is it a house?”

“No, it’s not a house. It is a duplex, though. We have half a house. It’s split so we get, like, the left side. Our neighbors have the right. It’ll be cool.”

“Sounds cramped.”

“Not at all.” She beamed him a smile.

John found out the reason a taxi had brought them was due to the car being in the shop for new breaks. Nothing serious, just a bit spendy. However, apparently money wasn’t nearly as much of an issue all of a sudden. They were taking a taxi to a strange place more South this time and John hated it. He wanted his old room back. This was utterly unfair.

“I know it’s a big change, but in all honesty so was you being across the ocean for the holidays so this makes it fair.”

“Those don’t even compare!”

“You’re right,” she nodded, “you still owe me a lot.” John sputtered to argue further but couldn’t find standing with another point. It frustrated him all the more. He sank into the taxi seat and sulked into his backpack.

The building was a nice, wide, two-story house. John couldn’t believe his eyes. His mother encouraged him to head inside right away and he did just that. Of course, the inside looked bare. There was almost a hundred percent more room than their apartment so the crappy furniture was not only out of place but it was small. The walls were white and the walls didn’t have weird colors on them. The ceiling didn’t have water stains. The floors had the same white carpet on them as the living room.

“The bedrooms are upstairs!”

John’s room was still all packed and ready for him to do with as he pleased. The bed was set up but the sheets were simply tossed onto it. It wasn’t the biggest room but it was bigger than what he’d had before. Jeez. As he came back down the stairs, he heard his mother talking to someone. Going to the voices, he found himself in a nice looking kitchen, their damaged table in the far corner. A man stood beside his mother--far too close--and smiled at him as John came into the room.

“Oh! John. I wasn’t expecting Jeremy to be home so quick.”

“Home?” John narrowed his eyes at the man.

“Yes. He lives right next door. The other side of the duplex. We’ve been friends for a while now and he convinced me to just… give it a go!” John looked them both over and considered the house for a moment.

“If you’re dating you can just tell me.”

“Ah… well.” She chuckled awkwardly. “I didn’t want it to seem like we were moving too fast--John!”

John had turned and gone back to the stairs. He took them two at a time and then slammed his door shut. He leaned against it and slid to the floor, staring at the far wall. Mental images of his father shot through his third eye and he rubbed the palms of his hands into his eyes. He wasn’t exactly mad she was dating someone, not really. He was mad that the man existed. Jeremy. Was he the one helping with the financial stuff? John was so overwhelmed with everything that had gone on. Was he or wasn’t he mad? Where had she met the guy? Did he know everything? About Harry, their dad? That John had been away? Obviously that last part.

His mother didn’t go chasing after him and he appreciated that. Their voices were soft, incomprehensible. He pushed up and started to unpack, figuring that this was his home now. He didn’t like it, but that’s just how things were.