Sherlock was out catching bugs in the field again. From the parking lot where Sherlock's father stood, fitting his key into his car door, he could not spot his young son hidden within the grass as he peered out across the field at the starry sky. So, without a worry and a call to be careful, Sherlock's father got in his car and drove back to work where one of his co-workers was currently recovering from a panic attack after his laptop mysteriously went black. This was much to the chagrin of Mrs. Holmes, who was at the moment having trouble getting back to sleep beside the empty space which her dear husband had recently vacated.
However, from his one storey bedroom window where he happened to glance as he bent to pull the covers aside on his way to sleep, Mycroft Holmes spotted his brother laying on his stomach with a jar in one hand and a holey lid poised to seal the jar closed in the other. With a roll of his eyes that he would deny was in any way fond, Mycroft finally climbed into his creaky childhood bed and settled his red-haired head onto his pillow with a sigh.
Outside, underneath a dark sky the colour of his father's favourite blue pen, Sherlock finally closed the lid on the confused moth he'd been stalking through the grass, then he sat up on his haunches and ignored the water that had seeped through his shirt as he tucked the jar into the basket along with the others.
The teen double-checked to make sure each jar was properly sealed, then he stood upright at last and dusted the stray leaves of grass from his water-stained shirt. After stretching his legs, which seemed to ache all the time now, he put his hands on his thin hips and scanned the field, trying to determine where he should investigate next.
As he looked out across the grass, a streak of light caught Sherlock's attention out of the corner of his eye and he peered up at the dark sky, littered with twinkling stars, and watched in fascination as a single star crossed the blue, trailing bright light in its wake. Sherlock's breath caught in his throat and he slammed his eyes closed to make a wish, remembering how his mother had done the same years earlier with a shout of "make a wish!". When he opened his eyes again, feeling like an idiot, he was glad Mycroft hadn't been there to make fun of his childishness.
The star, Sherlock realized in surprise, hadn't disappeared like he'd expected it would. No, this one was actually getting closer and closer by the second. It was so near to him that Sherlock actually felt like he might have to run to avoid being hit. In awe Sherlock watched as the star struck the ground with a flare of blinding white light. A tremor rippled through the earth beneath his feet and Sherlock dived to the ground, covering his head as dirt and grass was thrown his way. He hissed as little rocks pelted his back on their way by.
He continued clutching at the back of his head with a racing heart until the earth's floor stopped trembling, then, heaving for air, Sherlock sat up and blinked at the plume of dirt filling the air. He rubbed at his watery eyes and reached for one of his water jars to take a drink to clear his raw throat as he rose to his feet.
After putting the jar back in place, Sherlock glanced toward the landing site and realized the dirt cloud had cleared away, so he hefted the basket up and started toward the landing site. The closer he got, the more curious he became, and then suddenly he was racing across the field, not even noticing as the tall grass whipped fiercely at his bare legs until suddenly he was standing at the edge of a crater.
With wide eyes, Sherlock peered into the gaping hole in the ground and his mouth fell open as he saw what lay curled up in the middle. There was a young man, perhaps two or three years older than Sherlock, laying at the bottom of the pit. Except he wasn't a normal boy. This boy was emanating a pale, yellowish light; dim like a streetlamp.
Sherlock startled when the boy gave a raspy cough and watched in amazement as the glowing young man sat up and coughed again and again until it probably hurt. Without a thought, Sherlock grabbed his water jars from the basket and shoved them into his pockets so he could begin his journey down to the center of the crater.
Clutching at the biggest rocks as he descended, Sherlock looked down to see the other boy looking up from the bottom of the pit. His eyes were wide as Sherlock dropped the rest of the way down and landed with a grunt beside him.
He watched as Sherlock wiped the dirt from his palms on his already dirty shorts and pulled a jar from his pocket. He unscrewed the lid and held it out for the boy to take. "Water."
The glowing boy reached out for the jar and Sherlock stared at the boy's hand. Where it came into contact with the jar, the boy's skin glowed just a little brighter. It was the same when the jar touched the boy's lips; it looked like he was swallowing light. As the water ran in rivulets down his skin, it appeared as if light was spilling through fissures in his skin.
Sherlock mechanically handed the next jar to the boy when he was finished, taking the empty one in turn without taking his eyes off of him. When the second jar was empty, Sherlock slipped them back into his pockets.
"What are you?" Sherlock asked, studying the boy's face with a critical eye. He noticed that he was shining just a little brighter now, that his hair looked like gold, and besides the glowing skin, the boy looked otherwise pretty ordinary.
Sherlock blinked in surprise as the boy's lips curled up into a smile. "A fallen star," he said.
So he understood English.
"Do you have a name?" Sherlock asked.
The star shook his head. "Do you?"
"My name's Sherlock Holmes. You landed near my house."
"Sherlock," the boy repeated, giving him a small smile.
Sherlock felt a warmth begin in his chest and nodded toward the wall of the crater. "Want to see?"
The star nodded.
Both young men went to the crater wall and the star watched as Sherlock grabbed onto the first hand hold, then copied his movements, fitting his foot into a crevice in the dirt. They climbed side-by-side to the lip of the crater then heaved themselves up onto the grass. Sherlock dusted himself off again and the star did the same, sending cinders to the ground. Sherlock's mouth fell open when he saw grass grow where they landed.
The star smiled at the look of shock on Sherlock's face. "Is that your home?" he asked, pointing past Sherlock's shoulder.
Sherlock nodded, blinking and looking away toward his house before turning back, unable to keep his eyes off of the glowing boy beside him.
"Do you live there alone?" the star asked, raising his eyebrows in question.
"Unfortunately not," Sherlock said, turning to frown at his house. "I live with my parents and my brother Mycroft is visiting at the moment," he told the star with a look of distaste scrunching up his nose.
The star giggled. "I take it you don't like your brother," he said, looking at the younger boy nearly pressed shoulder-to-shoulder beside him.
"I don't like a lot of things," Sherlock told him. "Mycroft is one of the worst."
"But you like bugs?" he asked, pointing at the basket full of jars beside them.
Sherlock nodded. "I like doing experiments with them. I'm going to see how quickly these can ruin Mycroft's giant clothes."
The star laughed. "That's brilliant!" he said with a beaming smile the took Sherlock by surprise.
The younger teen turned to the star with a look of surprise and the glowing boy's smile grew even bigger. Suddenly both boys were giggling like children and smiling with equally blinding intensity at each other.
In that moment, if all the stars decided to fall from the sky, neither boy would have noticed. They didn't realize it then, but they were too busy falling themselves.
"Come on," Sherlock said once their bellies settled from laughter. "I have a phone book inside. Let's find you a name."
The star nodded and the young men started across the field in the direction of the unlit house, Sherlock's jar of moths clinking against each other with each nearing step.