It was a warm sunny day and a nineteen year old Mycroft Holmes was sitting inside. He had work to do for Uni and could not be bothered to spend time outside with his five year old brother. So of course Sherlock could not be bothered to leave him alone.

"Mycroft! Come look at my new pet!"

"Busy, Sherlock."

"But Mycroft, he's so cute!"

"Go away, Sherlock!"

It only seemed logical then for Sherlock to put his dirty, little, newfound pet onto Mycroft's work.

"Sherlock!" yelled Mycroft, "What is this dirty animal that you have just allowed to leave mud prints all over my work!"

"I was trying to tell you , Mycroft. He's my new pet. He is an Erinaceus europaeus, a European hedgehog."

"You can't keep this thing as a pet, Sherlock. Do you even know what it eats?"

"The European hedgehog is insectivorous. And I can and will be keeping him, Mycroft. His name is John."

At this even Mycroft began to become slightly amused. He picked up the little hedgehog and began to look him over. The hedgehog was a bit small, leading him to believe it was not yet full grown. He had a light face with a slightly darker patch around the nose. The little animal looked at Mycroft, and then turned to Sherlock and struggled to get back to his owner. Mycroft smiled.

"Why name him 'John', Sherlock?" he asked, passing the little hedgehog back to the small boy.

"I like the name John. It sounds sweet, and cute, just like him."

Mycroft's smile widened and, being completely out of character, he even began to hope that the boy never grew out of this phase of curiosity and perpetual happiness.

"Well, if your going to keep him, we're going to have to get him a place to live."

Sherlock's face lit up like it was Christmas,

"Thank you, Mycroft. Come on John. We're going to find you a place for you to live."

Twenty-two years later:

Mycroft watched his younger brother as he walked off with his new companion. John Watson, he thought. It was, of course, perfect coincidence that his brother had found a friend that shared the name of his favorite pet.

Sherlock had kept his pet hedgehog for six years. He had fought mother tooth and nail to allow keeping it. Mycroft himself had bought the little hedgehog a large enclosure.

However, nothing lives forever. When John the hedgehog had reached the end of his life, Sherlock had been devastated. John had been his only friend after Mycroft had left the family home. The boy had never been the same since. The first John was the end of curiosity and the end of happiness.

But now Sherlock the man had found another John. "Found" was a good term. It implied chance, and not Mycroft, who had brought the two men together. Mycroft smiled.

"Interesting, that soldier fellow. He could be the making of my brother. Or make him worse than ever. Either way we'd better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade 3. Active."

"Sorry sir, who's status?"

"Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson."