Dear Santa,

I know you probably aren't real, even though Mummy says you are. But it doesn't hurt to try. I was pretty good this year except sometimes to Mycroft, but he's my brother and doesn't count. For Christmas, I want a best friend. One who won't get mad if I say mean things or ignore them. This is very important to me. I also want a new lab kit and a real violin. But the friend comes first.

From, Sherlock Holmes, age 5

It took two years for his desire to be fulfilled.

"My! My! Mycroft!"

"What, Sher?" Sherlock's elder brother yanked open his door, but blocked the doorway with his body. His shirt was untucked and the top couple of buttons were undone. Distracted momentarily, Sherlock tried to see into Mycroft's room.

"Is Gregory still here?"

"Yes, now what do you want?"

"Oh. There's someone at the door."

"Then look at them through the window. If you know them, let them in," he said impatiently. Sherlock nodded and raced downstairs. Stealthily, he peeked out from behind the curtain and discovered two adults and two kids shivering on the porch. A snowstorm was approaching, and had sent messengers ahead in the form of driving winds and sharp hail. The four of them were bundled up, but Sherlock could tell they were freezing. He didn't know them, but what harm could come from letting them in?

Unlocking the deadbolt, he opened the door and stared at the family.

"Hello."

The man leaned down. "Hello, son. Are your parents here?"

"No. But Mycroft is."

"And who's that?"

"My big brother. He's upstairs."

"Can you get him for me? I need to ask him a question."

Sherlock frowned. "If you want to come in, you can. My won't mind."

The adults exchanged an uncertain look, but by then Sherlock had lost interest in them. Instead, he was staring at the boy in the green parka who was, in turn, staring at him. Tentatively, the older boy asked, "Are you a pirate?"

Sherlock looked down at himself. He was indeed wearing his fancy red pirate coat and black captain's hat. A wooden sword rested against his hip. Drawing himself up proudly, Sherlock answered yes.

"That's...amazing."

Sherlock was shocked, to say the least. He had been expecting to defend his outfit for the hundredth time, but the boy looked at him in...admiration. Without a second thought, Sherlock yanked the boy in the parka into his house.

His parents debated for a second, then went to their car and grabbed a couple of bags before retreating into the large manor. Sherlock showed them to the sitting room. They were dripping all over the rugs, so he directed them to the bathroom to change. He carefully examined the boy when he exited the restroom.

He now wore jeans and a green jumper. His parka no longer obscured his dirty-blond hair and Sherlock found himself staring into his pretty green eyes.

"I'm Sherlock," he said suddenly.

A grin split the other boy's face. "I'm John. It's very nice to meet you."

Sherlock hugged him compulsively. No one had ever said that before.

He pulled back long enough to ask, "Do you want to see my fort?" When John said yes, he grabbed the older boy's hand and pulled him upstairs. They passed Mycroft and Gregory on the way up.

"Sherlock, who is that?"

Sherlock ignored his big brother and the two boys ran down the hall.

The teenagers cautiously went downstairs and found the rest of the family. The father greeted Mycroft. "I'm Henry Watson. You must be Mycroft."

The eldest Holmes smiled politely. "I see my reputation precedes me," he said. "Now, how can I help you?"

"Our car stopped working and I think we popped a tire. We were wondering if we could use your phone."

Mycroft nodded and pointed them to the parlor. He stayed behind to ask Greg to find his wayward brother before joining the Watsons.