This is for my friend. It was supposed to be a Christmas present but then my computer died and didn't autosave it so now I guess it's a Valentine's Day present. Even though this is a super shitty present to get on the day that celebrates love and happiness… Oh well. Enjoy (please)!

Playing Detective

I never realized it until it was too late. Which is awful, if you think about it because I never had the chance to thank him before all this, or remind him. Not that he really needed reminding, because I'm sure he knew; he knew from the moment he read my name in the roommate-required ad I put out in the post those years ago. But I didn't. And I still didn't until he jumped. And that is the hardest part of it all.

It was a long time ago, back when he was eight and I was six…

I was sitting on the swing in my new neighborhood in Surrey. My father had gotten a new job there and I didn't know anyone.

So there I was, sitting on this ratty old swing, wishing my friend Mark was here to tell me stories about his imaginary world where we fought dragons and werewolves. They always made me feel better, but I was rotten at making them up myself. But he was back in London, and I was in for a long boring rest of my life…or so I thought.

That's when I saw him for the first time.

He was thin with curly black hair and high cheek bones. He was wearing a little black coat and a navy scarf that would fly behind him as he walked. His eyes were cool and calculating, and they narrowed as if they were taking in every detail, looking for anything out of place. He looked like a man on a mission. And his eyes narrowed even further when they landed on something most definitely out of place: me.

He walked right up to my swing and looked me up and down. "Hello, my name is Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes. And you are?"

My eyes widened slightly. This guy was not a day over eight and yet he sounded like my dad during a business call. "I-I'm John Watson. I just moved here from London. Do you want to swing with me?"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose slightly. "No thank you, John. I have lots of work of to do and I can see you are not who I was looking for. Good day." And with that he turned to walk away.

"Wait!" I jumped off my swing and ran after him. "Maybe I could help you find the person you were looking for? I'm really good at finding things! I find Waldo every time!"

Sherlock just raised one eyebrow. He didn't seem as impressed as I had hoped he would be by that last fact. But still… "Fine. I guess I could use another pair of eyes. Just don't get in my way, and please, for the love of God, let me do all the thinking and talking. You don't seem as though you'd be much help in those regards."

My eyes lit up with child-like happiness. I had made my first friend in Surrey, and we were going on a real adventure! "So who are we looking for?"

"A murderer named James. He's thirteen and he killed an eleven year old boy recently, I'm quite sure of it, but no one will listen to me. So I have to find him, catch him, and bring him to the worthless brigade that calls themselves the police. That way, they'll never doubt me again, and there won't be a crazy murderer on the loose anymore."

My eyes bulged out of their sockets. "We're trying to catch a m-m-murderer? But isn't that dangerous?"

Sherlock sighed impatiently. "I never said this was going to be a game of Chutes and Ladders, did I, John? No I most certainly did not. If you're too frightened you may leave. If not, stay. Either way, I will catch this murderer; with or without you. Now, are you going to leave?"

His calculating eyes flashed angrily at me, so I just shook my head and followed him as he continued to walk down the street.

"Good." He turned back to me and his softened ever so slightly. "If it makes you feel any better, you can pretend we're playing detectives. That way, we have an alibi if our parents ask what we're doing and you won't be so jumpy all the time. Does that sound better?"

Once again, I simply nodded my head. It did make me feel better to pretend we were playing a game instead of chasing a killer. We walked all around Surry, looking for anything that looked like it could house a person, or any other signs that killers would apparently leave behind. Then we walked back to the park and our parents picked us up. He didn't even say goodbye.

I came back the next day, hoping to find Sherlock and "play detectives" again, but I didn't see him.

"Hey, excuse me, but do you know where Sherlock is?" I asked some random kid who had been playing football the previous day and saw us walk away.

"Not a clue mate, sorry. But I do know, he doesn't live 'round here. Yesterday was the only day I'd seen him before, and I know just 'bout ev'ry kid in the neighborhood. This is the only place for us kids to go, ya see."

"Oh. Thank you."

"No problems, mate. Hope ya find your friend!"

I just nodded as I dragged my feet back to the swing from yesterday. My only friend in the whole of Surry was gone, and he apparently wasn't even from Surry. 'I guess I'll just have to make new friends. Maybe that guy wouldn't mind if I played football with him.'

I looked down the road once more, wishing maybe I'd see Sherlock walking down it again, just as haughty as the previous day, but I didn't.

"I hope you catch your killer, Sherlock. I really hope you do." I whispered as I hopped off my swing and began to walk back over to the nice guy playing football.

You'd think I would have figured it out, right? That Sherlock had barely even changed since I met him, how could I forget such a strange little boy?

But that's the thing; I had met him once as a six year old child. I can't remember everything I've done in my life, every person I've met, every place that I've seen. I'm not Sherlock. I'm human, and if there was one thing he never let me forget was the fact that humans are prone to forgetting important things because they are assumed unimportant at the time.

But you know what the real kicker is? I couldn't even remember on my own. Sherlock had to do it for me.

You want to know what his real last words to me were? Because they weren't "Goodbye, John" like everyone thinks them to be. Sherlock never said goodbye to me, ever. Not when he left that first time, not when I'd go out to the store to get more milk, and most certainly not before he jumped.

So here they are; the last words of the seemingly immortal Sherlock Holmes.

"It's been fun, John, playing detective with you. Keep it up."

And then he jumped. And I had to watch as plummeted to his death and I had to listen as he hit the ground. I heard every bone in his body shatter, as his neck snapped and his skull was smashed. I saw all of his blood seeping out of his body and I saw as the medics lifted him onto a gurney and carted him away. I was there when he died, I was there when he was pronounced dead at the scene, and I was there was they dropped into a hole in the ground.

And now I'm the one sobbing when I subconsciously make two cups of tea and set the table for two people; when I buy his favorite snacks at the store because they're finally on sale and "maybe now he'll finally eat"; when I knock on his door every morning to wake him up only to remember he's not here. He's not here and never will be here ever again because he's dead! And he didn't even say goodbye….he didn't even….goodbye.

Okay…so this got really angsty/depressing. I'm really sorry, guys. It was supposed to be a cute little back story of how Sherlock and John met as kids and John never released it, but then it took on a life of its own and decided that John should be emotionally unstable and…well, you read it, you know how it ended. I should uploading happier, fluffier pieces super soon though (if anyone even cares)! And no, they probably won't be JohnLock. I seem to only have one JohnLock setting and that is sad. *shrugs sadly* What can you do?