I realise, that no one really knows what Sherlock's childhood was like—except for ACD. This is just my interpretation… with a little OC twist. (AU, obviously. Whether this will end up as a Sherlock/OC story is really dependent on how these next few chapters pan out, because I don't even know.) Hope you enjoy!

Everything Has Changed

He wasn't always like he was these days. He used to be fairly sweet. When I first met him, he was still… well, he wasn't as… damaged, I suppose. And by damaged, I mean, closed up to people to protect himself. The way he hides behind his deductions and his analytical view about everything he encounters, his lack of social skill and his bluntness. As I was saying, though, he wasn't as closed up, but he was just beginning to form his Mind Palace and notice the small details.

I remember meeting him for the first time, quite clearly. It's actually a very fond memory. You see, I had just moved and he actually became my first friend. I don't know how I managed his sometimes cold demeanour or uncaring attitude, and his straightforwardness, but as time went on, and we grew close, they became attributes and idiosyncrasies that I associated with him. Of course, they weren't as pronounced during childhood as they were now, but, like I said, they became him and I became used to them. I accepted that he was unique and had a very beautiful mind.

Anyway, the first time we met was my first day at a new school (in the middle of Year 3). I was new so I didn't have any friends and when I walked into the lunchroom, I noticed him for three reasons: 1) he was reading the newspaper, 2) he didn't have a lunch and 3) he was completely alone.

My heart pounded as I walked into the crowded lunchroom. Around me kids chattered and ate, the noise in the room almost overwhelming. It was like sensory overload and it only made me more nervous. I looked around the room, walking slowly through the maze of tables and children, searching for an empty table or maybe someone who I thought I might be able to relate to and become friends with.

As it turns out, I spotted a boy at the end of the lunchroom, sitting by himself, reading the newspaper. It was folded down to a small size giving me a view of his messy, dark curls atop his head. His eyes—I was too far to tell the colour of—were focused on what he was reading and he had no food in front of him. Without continuing to scour the lunchroom for other possible candidates, I went straight up to that table and sat down a few feet away from him (setting my lunch bag on the table and my backpack on the ground at my feet), glancing out of my peripherals to see if he'd react. He didn't, he seemed far too engrossed in what he was reading.

As I peeked over at him, though, I caught a glimpse of what he was reading. I'd heard about it on the news but I never really paid much attention. I didn't like hearing about death. It was too tragic and morbid for me. Curious now, though, seeing him read it, him being my age and all, I unknowingly scooted closer to him to get a better look at the article. Carl Powers was the boy's name and he'd drowned in a pool, here in—

"Do you mind?" a voice interrupted my train of thoughts and my reading. I blinked and turned my head to come face to face, quite literally, we were centimetres apart (and I was practically pressed up against him), with the curly-haired boy, whose eyes were a very inquisitive grey.

I instantly pulled back, blood rushing up to my face.

"I'm sorry, I just… I just wanted to see what you were reading." I mumbled, pushing myself a little farther away from him, my eyes flickering from him to the table and the walls and the floor. "It's a bit strange," I commented, looking at him, realising that he'd been reading about a tragic, morbid death. "Reading about something so… grim."

The boy shrugged before straightening his newspaper and going back to reading. Chewing my lip, I turned back to my lunch. Not a very good first impression. But, I wasn't about to give up. I could really use a friend and the reason I was over here trying to make friends with this particular boy, instead of the other kids crowding in this lunchroom, was because it looked like he could use a friend more than I ever could.

So I turned back to my lunchbox, trying not to feel awkward. Thankfully he seemed pretty involved in the article he was reading, so he didn't seem to mind that I was sitting a few feet away from him. For now anyway.

I laid out a napkin on the table, like a placemat, before pulling out my ham and cheese sandwich, apple slices, yoghurt and juice. I unwrapped my sandwich from the plastic wrap and took off one of the pieces. My mum had cut it into two perfect triangles. I was on my third bite when I glanced over at the boy again and remembered he didn't have a lunch. Which I found was just about as odd as reading about a death in the daily news.

Swallowing my third bite a little hard, I picked up my other piece, slid over a little closer to him and held it out—just a little in his face, I'll admit. I saw annoyance flash in his now fierce blue eyes before he looked over at me, shooting daggers. I didn't flinch, I merely extended my hand a little more.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding more exasperated than angry, which struck me as odd, considering his eyes were cold, blue crystals.

"I'm offering you half of my sandwich." I told him simply. "I… I noticed you didn't have a lunch. And I thought you might be hungry—"

"I'm not."

I didn't move my arm, but it was starting to ache from holding it up and out for so long.

"Why would you care?" he finally asked when he realised I wasn't going to relent.

"Well… because..." I trailed off too afraid to say it. It was very straightforward and I wasn't sure how he'd take it, seeing as I'd bothered him twice already in the span of ten minutes. But then I figured, if he hadn't gotten up to leave after I invaded his personal space he wouldn't mind me being a little blunt. "Because I'd… like to get to know you better. I'd like to… be friends."

His blue eyes softened a little at this, morphing into a more blue-green. However, as soon as they had softened they harden again.

"No, thank you." he said a little crisply, turning back to his paper. I made a face and slid back to my spot before grabbing another napkin, unfolding it, wrapping the sandwich half in it and sliding it over to him. I then pretended to mind my own business, watching him from the corners of my eyes. It was hard not to turn to him when he stared at me and continued to stare at me for what felt like an eternity but slowly, he turned back to the paper. I continued to watch and not a moment later did he reach out and gently pick up the sandwich, not looking away from his paper.

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face, but I kept my eyes firmly on my food. I then continued to go off into my own world, so when the boy cleared his throat, sitting much closer to me, however long later, I jumped and squeaked before covering my mouth with my hand a deep shade of red.

"Oh, I-I just realised," I started quickly, trying to get past that embarrassing moment as fast as possible. "I haven't introduced myself at all. I'm—"

"Wait," he interrupted. "Let me."

My eyes narrowed, but I stayed silent to see just what he was going to do. Then I watched as his eyes wandered to my food and my lunch bag and then back to me, looking me over from my head to my shoes before he met my eyes again.

"You're name is Elizabeth Hallows. You've moved here from Manchester. You're a fan of poetry. And your favourite colour is blue."

I stared at him in shock for a few seconds before turning to look at my lunch, trying to process what he'd said. He'd been exactly right, of course, but that's what was so baffling about this whole situation. I had no idea how he'd managed that one. Especially because we'd never met and I didn't even know his name!

"Wow," I finally whispered, when my brain started functioning again. "That was… that was incredible!" I looked over at the boy who seemed a bit startled at my exclamation, but he blinked a few times and it was gone, replaced by a sort of smug air. "How'd you do that?" I asked eagerly.

The curly-haired boy outwardly smirked before explaining, "You're backpack reads E. Hallows. I recalled earlier today hearing a teacher calling a Lizzy back into class and seeing you quickly run back into the room. Lizzy is sometimes a short-name for Elizabeth. I got Manchester from your dialect. A moment ago you were muttering under your breath, a poem by William Wordsworth. 'I wandered lonely as a cloud,' I believe it's called. And your favourite colour is blue because all the charms on your bracelet are blue. A charm bracelet indicates choice of charm, thus far you've only picked blue ones. So, you must be very fond that colour."

"Oh, well, I do like poetry… I only know that one so well because my mum recites it to me every night. It's… soothing." I mumbled, keeping my eyes on the table. A small moment of tense silence forms before I look back at the boy. "How old are you?" I found myself asking. I was half-joking and half-serious.

The boy slightly narrowed his eyes for a second, his brow furrowing.

"I'm eight. Why is that important?"

"You don't remind me of an eight-year-old." I blurted.

"What do I remind you of?"

"I don't know. Older, I guess. Just… older. No specific age or anything. Are you in Year Three?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"No, it's just… well, it seems like with your intelligence you'd be in a higher grade or something. I mean, you read the newspaper. You know personal things about a complete stranger just by looking at them."

The boy turned away from me, then. He slightly cast his head down at a small angle and averted his gaze. (Which I'd come to find out later was something he did whenever someone picked on him or started making jokes, or even the mere mention of how different he was from other people.) I'd struck a cord somehow and I had a sinking feeling it had to do with the fact that he was sitting all alone at this lunch table.

"Yes, well," he spoke, his voice much quieter than it was before. "I… I've talked about it with my teachers and Mum and Dad. I didn't want to be with older kids. I wanted to be with kids my age. And, though, going through some of these classes is unbearable because of the simplicity of it all, I want to be with kids my own age."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." I mumbled, feeling bad now. And it had been going so well, too!

The bell sounded, signalling the end of lunch and the boy quickly stood, his newspaper in hand, his backpack appearing out of thin air, slung over his shoulder.

"Thank you for the… uh… sandwich." he mumbled before quickly starting off.

"Wait!" I yelled, standing up too, only too fast. My feet got caught in the chair's legs and gravity did the rest, however instead of falling onto the floor, I fell into the boy. He'd caught me. I quickly righted myself and pulled away, blushing like mad. "I-I… I never got your name."

"Holmes." he said. "Sherlock Holmes."

Based off and inspired by the song and video of "Everything Has Changed" but not a song-fic. Also inspired by the movie, Young Sherlock Holmes. I hope I made them sound kind of like eight-year-olds… I tried my best.

I tried to tone down Sherlock's personality because he is, after all, eight. And though, as John will put it many years later, he "started out young", he couldn't have gone through whatever made him so closed up at such an early age.

Thank you for reading,
TheBrightestNight