Wall of Disclaimers is up.
Check out Love-Sherlock-Holmes on deviantART. Request by Ammlott for Share the Sherlock Love week. Art is here.
John shrugged of the feeling more than once. He had tried to enjoy the holiday, he really had. But there seem dot be a strong tugging every time he went out. It was like he was being watched.
Of course, he didn't tell anyone about it. Who would believe a twelve year old anyway? His mum had taken them on this trip more for her benefit than for their. She just wanted to get away from her husband's ghost. A year ago, John had come home to see men in dark coats by the door. He had gone inside to see his mum crying. She didn't tell him what was wrong. She just kept crying. Harriet, who was fourteen, had made dinner and put him to bed.
She was the one who told him that Father was dead. He had been shot in war. It had been close. Just a centimeter over and it would have missed his heart. She never sugar coated anything. Harriet was a strong girl. She was a tough girl. She didn't cry. John followed her example and didn't cry.
So he tried to enjoy Nantucket. His aunt lived there. She had gone on a holiday to Miami, another city in the States, and left them her big house on the coast.
John had been overwhelmed the first time he went there. Their accents had been so strange. He couldn't understand why people called coffee "cawfee". So, he kept well away from the sailors and the pier. For most of the summer, he followed Harriet around.
She complained that she wasn't legal in America. John found it odd that she didn't realize she wasn't' legal in Briton either. But, he followed her around and stayed out of the way while she talked to boys and went to parties. He still felt the eyes on him.
Half way through the holiday, he decided to do something about the eyes. He snuck out one night when his mum was asleep and Harriet wasn't home. John snuck out in his warm jumper and looked around. There was a light in the window across the way.
John stayed out of the way and started running. His little feet carried him across the picketed yard. He stopped at the base of the tree. The bark was rougher that he had thought. It would be hard to climb. John hadn't thought that far.
Tomorrow, he told himself looking at the window. Tomorrow he would find the person who was watching him.
John woke early. One thing he had learned remembered was that no one seemed to go to or from that house. That morning, he saw a blue car leaving the garage. There was a woman inside.
He peeked through the curtains and saw a man on the porch. He looked like he was older than Harriet. By his side was a bleary eyed boy. The boy was wearing a big t-shirt. John kept watching as they walked back in side. He waited and saw a figure appear in the room he tried to break into the night before. It was the boy, but all John could see was a mop of dark curls.
At breakfast, John learned that the people across the way were also British. They were the Holmes's. John thought the name was fitting. Harriet, who finally appeared a t breakfast, waved her fork at him and told him that he shouldn't chase shadows. She gave him a knowing smile.
He found a pair of gloves on his bed with a flashlight.
That night John tried a little harder. He crossed the yard and scaled the tree. The splinters hurt a little but not as much as he thought they would. He never thought the night would be so chilly, though the people Harriet talked to told him this year was colder than most.
He made his way to the window and peeked in. The boy was there. John recognized him to be a lot younger. He looked like he was around seven or six. He was scrawny and a little coltish. He was reading a big book. John could make out the words "pirate" and "treasure island".
He put his hand to the window. Should he knock? He pulled his hand back and ran across the street.
Tomorrow, he would knock tomorrow.
The next morning he tried to erase the dark circles under his eyes. They were big and blotchy. Mum would know he wasn't sleeping at his bed time. Harriet banged on the door.
"I need the shower!" John gingerly opened the door.
Harriet's eyes popped out of her head. "Dang." She used a lot of American words.
"You look like road kill." John knew that something that died on the road was very flat. Little did he know: his definition was close.
She glanced around and made sure that their mother was in the kitchen. Then she pulled him in and rubbed some stuff under his eyes.
It must have attested to Harriet's skill that their mum didn't notice the concealer under his eyes.
That night, John ran across the street again. He scaled the tree more carefully, avoiding the prickly parts. When he got to the window, he found it open.
"Hello." The boy was sitting there, looking like a little ghost.
"I'm John." John said in reply.
The boy gave him a once over before saying, "Essex or East End?" John gave him an odd look.
"Essex," John replied before realizing how the boy knew.
The boy didn't seem to be paying attention. "Oh, good. I was right." John looked blankly at the boy.
"Right?"
"Yes. I thought you were from either the east end or of Essex, which you have just confirmed."
"Confirmed?" John parroted back.
Then boy frowned. "Yes. Must you repeat what I say?" John shook his head. This was surreal.
"Were you the one who was watching me?" The boy nodded.
"I get bored," he said.
John settled more comfortably on the branch. "Why so you get bored?"
"I can't go outside. Mycroft say's it's bad for my health."
John cocked his head to one side. "Who's Mycroft?"
"My brother." The boy shivered. "He's seventeen and already running the British government." The chilled air must have been getting into the room.
John glanced at the clock on the boy's wall. He wouldn't get much sleep. The boy seemed to sense his urgency.
"Come back tomorrow?"
"Sure," John said while climbing back down. At the base of the tree he stopped.
"I don't even know your name," he whispered. The dark mop of hair appeared over the ledge.
"The name's Sherlock Holmes." John heard the hushed whisper drift down to him and retreated to his room.
"So you like pirates?" Sherlock had his window open again. John had discovered the boy was eight years old and a little small for it. But, what he lacked in height he made up for in brains.
John had never seen someone who could recite the first fifteen pages of Treasure Island from memory.
Sherlock gave him a particularly sparkling grin. "Yeah, I want to be a pirate one day."
"You do realize that there are no more pirates," John queried.
Sherlock sniffed. "Of course I do. I want to be an actor who plays pirates at the cinema." John grinned.
"That's good."
"What do you want to be?" John looked at Sherlock's round face.
"Anything but a soldier."
"Your father was a soldier." Sherlock looked a little surprised at himself. "Did he die?"
John's breath hitched. "Yeah, he did." He felt his eyes ready to brim over.
"You know, I never see my father." John looked up to see Sherlock draw his knees to his chest. "He goes off on business and I don't see him. Mummy cried a lot." He looked at John. "Please don't cry. I never know what to do."
John wiped his eyes. "I won't cry." His hand met Sherlock's head, tousling the soft curls. They talked until Sherlock was asleep on the window sill and John's eyes lids were drooping.
"John, can we play again?" He heard as he climbed down.
"Of course, Sherlock, but you have to get stronger first," was his reply.
There was the hush and finally: "I will."
The next day, a knock came at breakfast. His mum went to get it.
John could barely stop his face from landing in his plate of toast. He did manage to eat all of it though. Harriet looked worried but for only a second. A girl, who John vaguely remembered, told her there was a volleyball game by the beach. His mum seemed to be in greater spirits though, she didn't comment on his lack of sleep.
"I'm looking for John Watson?" John turned to see the pudgy man there. He was Sherlock's brother, Mycroft.
"Here." John wondered why Mycroft would want his attention.
Mycroft turned to see him as he walked into the sitting room. "Ah, John Watson, it's a pleasure. I see my brother has been keeping you up all night." He smiled, which should have been reassuring but was actually quite contrary.
"Yeah, Sherlock. Why? Is something wrong?" Mycroft sighed.
"I suppose there is. You see, your midnight visits disturb his schedule. That is what the doctor have called absolutely necessary, since he is ill." John's mother frowned at him.
"However, he has benefitted from company. I am not wrong to suppose you are the reason for his sudden increase in appetite." Mycroft raised an inquiring brow. His mother did too.
John yawned. "I don't know, maybe?"
"You have. But let's keep the visits to daylight hours alright?" John nodded.
Mycroft turned to his mum. "Could I borrow John for the day? Sherlock seems to have taken a liking to him." He gave her the same smile he gave John. "You see, my brother is weak and can't play as he likes. Most children stay away from him. Your son is a great light in his days."
His mother seemed to think about it. Finally, she replied, "But he has to be back by dinner."
Mycroft only grinned. "Don't worry, Emma, the housekeeper, makes the most delicious meals. I think John will find everything to his liking. I hope he has had breakfast? If not, we have pancakes." He seemed truly happy at the word pancakes. His mother rolled her eyes and shooed him off the Holmes's home.
Sherlock was trying to demolish a piece of toast as John walked in. John couldn't help but find the sight cute. Sherlock, upon hearing the door open, automatically swiveled and dropped the toast.
"John!" Sherlock launched himself at the older boy. John just tried to stop himself from smiling like a mad man.
"Hey, Sherlock." The younger boy really did seem to be more energetic. He gazed at John in wonder.
"You're better looking in daylight, you know." Mycroft made a choking sound.
John just smiled and placed it as an eccentricity. "Thank you. Now, eat your breakfast to we can play." Sherlock made the plate disappear without argument.
Sherlock was bouncing along the hall to his room. "Pirates or castles? I read about William the conqueror and how he defeated feigned retreat."
John smiled. "Both."
He might have thought himself odd to play imaginary castles and ships with a boy 3/4ths his age. But, he didn't care.
Check out Love-Sherlock-Holmes on deviantART. Request by Ammlott. Art is here. Enjoy!