This is a translation of "El chico", which takes part in the Rally "The game is on!" from the I am sherlocked forum.
Beta: Montse Latre
Characters are not mine, they are from BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Summary: John and Sherlock in school age. Magic.
Long life and prosperity to the empire of Scotland Yard.
o.o.o
THE BOY
John would prefer to stay at the table than playing with the others boys in the classroom. In his game, he pretended to be an expert wizard who could do everything, from taking pigeons out of his hat to make a ship disappear. But this was only in his imagination and, when he got out of it, sadness took possession of his mood.
The boys and the girls in the classroom were so traditional that they did not play other game apart from cars and dolls. Except for one boy. The boy with the sea eyes.
John had a crush on that classmate. His hair was so dark, in contrast with his snowy skin, giving the impression of fragile porcelain. But he was out of reach.
If he wasn't very social, the dark boy was still less, disappearing like anybody else into the wooded backyard. He was amazing. Until one day he found out his secret.
The boy, whose name was strange for John and somewhat unpronounceable, had a hideout behind a wall. Time, or perhaps himself, had made a hole big enough so he could fit loosely. A silent boy is a silent boy.
No one noticed him. Except John.
One day, the little soldier took courage and followed him after breakfast. In that place, he saw something that had never been seen.
—Sher... —he said with difficulty.
The dark-haired boy turned around with his hands wrapped in beautiful lights that went out at seeing him.
—Get out of here! —the caught boy exclaimed in a firm tone.
—It is magic! You are a wizard!—. The blonde did not control the torrent of his voice and his joy, and Sherlock covered his mouth and took him further inside the place.
—You can not tell anyone. Never and ever. Or you will regret.
John, fearful, nodded while swallowing and, finally free of the grip of the other boy, he left, never to return to that hole.
But one day Sherlock did not come to school. Neither the next day. Not the next. It had already been a month when John decided to ask the teacher who kept the yard.
—He may be sick —she said to him, without worry in her voice. Young kids were sick a lot, so she was used to it.
However, the boy was not very convinced.
It was then when he came back to the hated hole. And he searched. He searched until all the corners of the hole had been explored and, when he sat to rest, it was when the ground… gave way under his butt.
He fell down, down and he kept on falling down, then he twirled, twirled and he almost vomited. Until he finally stopped. The place was as beautiful as scary.
—Welcome.
—You don't look sick to me —a shared grin took shape unintentionally. —Are you going to throw me out of here?
—Why? —the boy inquired, looking puzzled. —This is my home.
—But I want to leave. You do not go to school because you do not want to and, when you go, it is only to threaten me.
—It was just once —he took away the drama with a gesture of his hand.
—I do not care, Sher. I do not care what you are —his words hurt between his lips and in his ears.
—John... —Sherlock approached the blonde and covered his eyes with his own hands. He whispered unpronounceable words and then, just darkness for John.
John Hamish Watson appeared at the school leaning on the wall under the warm sun. In the distance, a pale figure watched him and, thereafter, nothing.
o.o.o
Good morning, afternoon, evening and night! How are you? I hope you are OK.
Here is the story. Remember, reviews make us better writers.
See you soon! Enjoy!