Ok, so I wrote the beginning of this as an impromptu fic for my friend last night, on Halloween. I decided, "I kind of like where this is going…what the heck, let's post this!" and here we are. Yay for quick-fics. Enjoy.

The leaves of the London trees had turned crimson and orange, forming auburn puddles around the trunks. An autumn chill was in the air. It was Halloween.

Sherlock, as usual, paid little attention to the holiday, as he felt it was a waste of time, energy, and money. He hated looking out his second-story bedroom window and seeing smiling children asking strangers for candy. He hated seeing people his age hang around in groups, their adolescent heads rising above the throngs of primary schoolers and acting as if they enjoyed it. Sherlock knew they didn't enjoy it. He knew they didn't enjoy spending time with friends.

But perhaps that was just Sherlock's problem. He didn't have any friends to spend time with.

Sherlock sighed. He glanced at his mobile. Silent, as was always. He rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. Sherlock took a deep breath. He always shut people out. Always. He was always worried he would say the wrong thing, or do the wrong thing, or become too attached and have his heart ripped out if something happened.

So he put up a wall. A wall no one could penetrate or see behind. He was accused of being an emotionless automaton. But these words never pierced Sherlock's mental wall, and so they could not hurt him. Or could they? Sherlock was generally disliked by his peers. He was so lonely.

Suddenly, his mobile buzzed. Sherlock jerked, startled, at the unexpected noise. He picked his mobile up off his paper-strewn desk. It said:

NEW TEXT MESSAGE: John Watson.

Sherlock recognized the name. They were in the same Chemistry class. John was a year older than Sherlock. They were lab partners, but rarely talked outside of class. The only reason they had each other's numbers in the first place was because of the group project the teacher had assigned earlier in the semester. What could John Watson want with him? He opened the text message.

hi sherlock, i was wondering if you had anything going on at the moment. my sisters got a bunch of her friends over, and its getting pretty chaotic. i havent had the time to make plans because of volunteering w the hospital. let's meet up somewhere?- JW

Sherlock read over the message, cringing at the horrid grammar. But the point had come across. He felt as if a weight had been released from his chest as he wrote,

I don't have anything going on. Let's meet up at the park. –SH

He pressed send.

Barely a minute passed before a reply came.

ok, thx mate :). costumes? –JW

"Mate"? Sherlock had never been referred to as "mate" in his life. And costumes? Did John really think they were five years old? He sent another message.

Costumes? Why? –SH

The reply read,

because its halloween, sherlock. im wearing my volunteer scrubs. i can bring you a hat or something if you dont have anything. –JW

Sherlock sighed. If he was going out into public, he might as well go along with it. He knew how to hide in plain sight. In fact, he considered himself quite an expert at it. He just hoped the hat wasn't too bad. He replied,

Ok. Meet you at the park in 15 mins. –SH

Sherlock stretched and lazily rose from his desk chair. He pulled on his black coat and scarf, which he usually wore. His parents were out, as was his brother, who was probably with people multiple years older than he was. Ah well. Sherlock wouldn't be missed at home.

He exited the house and locked the door behind him. Setting off at a brisk walk, he headed towards the park.

Within ten minutes, Sherlock arrived at the park. He had been tediously slowed by the already-forming crowds. He sat on the bench nearest the entrance to wait. The streetlamp above his head clicked on, as the sky was beginning to darken.

Sherlock saw John round the corner. True to his word, he was wearing scrubs, with a jacket to protect against the cold. He looked completely ridiculous. The smallest of smiles played at the corner of Sherlock's lips. He looked completely ridiculous…because of Sherlock. Oh yes, Sherlock knew how to manipulate people to do what he wanted. But this was different; John had done this of his own accord. And, also true to his word, John's hand held a double-brimmed plaid hat.

"Hey, Sherlock," said John.

"Nice to see you," Sherlock replied as he stood, forcing the smaller boy to look up. An awkward pause followed.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "So, um, you brought me a hat, I see?" he said, gesturing towards the object in John's hand.

"What? Oh, yeah. Here," John responded, handing it to Sherlock. "It's a bit weird, but I thought it would be a fair excuse for a costume. It's my dad's, actually."

Yes, of course it is, thought Sherlock. He had deduced as much already. The initials are on the tag. Obviously a man's handwriting. And John doesn't have any brothers. So his father's.

Sherlock examined it. "Why's it got two fronts?" he asked.

"It's a deerstalker," answered John.

The fabric is a bit brittle, but not firm enough to be recently manufactured. Five years old, then. But obviously not up to much deerstalking…it's dusty and practically in perfect condition. The man can't be blamed. It's…unusual, Sherlock thought.

Sherlock continued examining it. "What are you supposed to do, throw it? What is it, some sort of…death Frisbee?" He mimed throwing it at John, who chuckled. "And it's got flaps. They're ear flaps. It's an ear hat, John!"

John was smiling, shaking his head. "So put it on, then!"

Sherlock did as much, grimacing as he pulled it over his dark curls.

"So, are we going somewhere?" John asked. "Or just standing here all night?"

"Where would we be going?" Sherlock asked, but he already knew the answer. John, unlike Sherlock, was one who enjoyed tradition and was hard in breaking habits. That much he knew from the way John always chewed the end of his pencil, and from the method he always used to clean up the equipment at the end of class. Not to mention the fact that John had brought costumes.

"Trick or treating, of course," responded John. "I know the best houses. Come on!" He started off down the sidewalk and Sherlock followed.

The boys' pockets were bulging with candy as they ended their round, arriving back at their starting point, by now Sherlock leading and John behind as they walked.

"Have fun?" John asked, whose smile had not dropped since the time they set off.

"I thought it was dreadfully childish," said Sherlock. He added quickly as John's face fell, "But if by 'fun' you mean enjoying taking potentially poisoned, high-calorie food from people we don't know, then yes, I had fun."

John perked up again. "That's good," he said. Both boys were silent for a long moment, the lamplight casting shadows on their faces.

"So, um, thanks for hanging with me. I'll, uh, see you around, okay?" John finally said.

"See you around."

Both boys turned and began walking back to their homes.

As Sherlock strode away, he pondered the night's events.

I suppose it's nice having someone to spend time with. And John seems like an interesting person. Not nearly at my intellectual level, but that's to be expected. Would I consider him a friend? Not yet. But there is still time, he thought.

And so, for John, he removed a brick from his mental wall.