Author's Note: This is my first time trying anything like this. Young Sherlock and young John and so on. I'm hoping to take it as far as I can.
Please tell me what you think! It'll keep me going if I get positive feedback, and I have a lot of ideas for this story...
John Watson hated his new house. He hated the fact that it was in the middle of nowhere. He hated the many rooms that were in it. And he hated his room. It was so bland, white walls, with a white ceiling, and a white sheeted bed that sat in the corner.
Harriet's room was much better in his opinion. It was large and spacious, with a high ceiling and a canopy bed. Harry had made it her own right away, painting the walls black and purple with cheap paint that she had gotten from a shop downtown. She had found a large chandelier in a thrift shop, which now hung from the middle of her ceiling. Multicolored beads were draped over it and wound about the four posts of the bed, leading up to pitch black fabric that was draped over the posts. Her walls were littered with all sorts of strange things that she had collected throughout her sixteen years of life. There were license plates, bumper stickers, posters, paper plates, magazine covers, CD covers, pictures printed out from the internet, pictures she had drawn, nail polish stains, food stains, even a charred hole from where she had had a unfortunate accident with some matches.
John wished he was as creative and outgoing as Harry. She had managed to make friends the moment they had moved. She now had a small posse of boys and girls, who went around the neighborhood making trouble in their free time. John preferred to stay indoors during the hot summer, wishing that he might have a friend to read and daydream with.
It was fairly easy for other thirteen-year-old boys to make friends. They usually had sports or hobbies in common. But John couldn't find anyone who liked what he liked. No one wanted to take the time to dissect the plots of Harry Potter, or discuss what living on a spaceship might be like. John did like sports, but he liked fantasy better.
John had often begged his parents to move back to their old house. But with his dad's job change, and the fact that there was better school systems in this area, the Watsons were staying in this strange new place which John despised so much.
It was on a particularly gloomy summer morning that John decided to go exploring. His house was still completely new to him, and there were quite a few rooms in which he hadn't been.
He started on the topmost floor, peering around corners, cataloguing how many doors there were, taking care to steer clear of an old, scary looking door. He looked through every window, taking in the views from each side of the house.
The front of the house faced a large, road that stretched down through rows of trees. John's house was sort of out in the country. There were a couple other houses next to his, but aside from the one situated to the right of his house, the others were all a ways off, a walk through trees and bushes.
The right side of the house gave way to a view of another home. John had no idea who his neighbors were, but they seemed like private people, and his parents had told him to leave them alone. They had a large backyard that was fenced off by a brown picket fence. In the middle of the yard sat a giant, old tree, in which there was a sad looking tree house. It looked as though it hadn't been used for years, so there was probably no hope that the neighbors might have had children.
To the back and left side of the house there was a large field that went on for what seemed like miles. It was mostly empty, but a large, lonely shed sat in the middle of it. It was black in color, and rather dull looking. It appeared to be two sheds meshed together, both with triangular shaped roofs, one higher than the other, with a red and white striped awning poking out from the smaller shed.
John noticed that there seemed to be a flag flying from the top of the taller shed. I wonder what a flag is doing there?, John mused. He decided to check it out.
He skipped down the stairs, yelling to whoever can hear.
"I'm going out. Don't know when I'll be back. I have a snack!"
He grabbed a plastic bag from a drawer as he came into the kitchen and shoved five, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies into it. Placing it in his pocket, he ran out the back door and into the green field.
The shed was much farther away than it looked and soon John became quite tired and thirsty. He thought about going back to the house and giving up on finding out why there was a flag flying from the top of an old shed, but then he noticed what adorned the flapping piece of fabric. It was a white skull and crossbones, grinning at him from the black fabric. A pirate flag.
John had always like the idea of pirates, scraggly, burly outlaws, roaming the seas in search of treasure. He didn't know much about them, but they had always intrigued him. So, naturally, the sight of such a flag caught his interest, and he carried on across the field.
He arrived at the shed and peered up at the flag. It blew in the soft, summer wind, the skull daring anyone and everyone to come close. Despite himself, John shivered. There was something scary about the grinning skull, with the black eyes. But John wasn't about to be scared off by a stupid flag, besides he was far too curious as to what was inside this mysterious shed with the pirate flag atop it.
John tested the doorknob to the shed experimentally. It turned easily and John stepped into darkness. He shut the door behind him and let his eyes adjust. The shed smelled strange, but a good strange, like saltwater and wood, which was an interesting combination that pleased John.
As his eyes adjusted he could see that there was one long room that he was standing in, at the far end was a black door. Sunlight flitted in through windows on either side of the room that had been mostly blocked off by old sheets. Upon closer inspection, John could see round circles cut out in each sheet, through which the sun was coming through. They were obviously meant to be the windows of a ship; some of them even had water drawn into the bottom of the circles.
The floor of the shed was littered with boxed and crates. Some of them were filled with food, crackers and what looked like dried meat poked out of the top of one of them. There was an old picnic table shoved in the right corner near the door John had come through. Atop the table there were hand drawn maps and instruments that John remembered seeing in a book on pirates that he had read once.
He inspected the maps, they were surprisingly detailed and showed such exotic places as Africa and the Caribbean. John noticed a small sea monster drawn in the corner of one of the maps, next to an elaborate compass. His fingers traced the scaly body, curled upon itself, teeth bared in a snarl.
Words could not describe how amazing it felt to be in this shed. It was like being transported back to the times of great ships and sea dogs. John thought that the shed might start to pitch and roll as if it were an actual ship he had stepped into.
There was a shout from the other side of the door at the far end of the shed. John looked with fear at the door. Another shout came from it, this time followed by a strange screeching noise.
John thought about running. What if there was some sort of animal on the other side of the door? He was about to open the door behind him and get away from the pirate shed, when the black door was thrown open to reveal a tall, thin figure silhouetted by the light that was pouring from the doorway.
"A stowaway!" the figure yelled, his deep baritone voice echoing through the shed. He stepped toward John, who backed up against the door.
He was clad in pirate attire, a large tricorn hat sat atop dark curls which fell in front of his eyes. His eyes, an icy blue, seemed to shine in the darkened shed. The light from the sheet covered windows cast strange shadows on his pale, angular face, high cheekbones and a defined brow.
He wore a white shirt with sleeves that poofed out around his thin arms, a faded blue vest was over the shirt. A belt, complete with a cutlass, was round his hips. His pants were brown and disappeared into elegant black boots.
"What be yer business aboard me ship?" The strange boy growled.
"I… uh… I…" John stuttered, his eyes fixed on the pirate before him.
The pirate boy grinned, flashing brilliant white teeth at John. Then he stood up to his full height, towering over the smaller boy in front of him. He whistled and there was a flapping noise.
A brightly colored bird landed on his shoulder. It was a small parrot, golden orange in color, with blue and green tipped wings and tail. It squawked loudly and eyed John through a glinting black orb surrounded by white skin.
The pirate boy reached a hand up and ruffled the feathers of the bird, crooning, "Me thinks we have a stowaway. What shall we do with him?"
"Please don't hurt me!" John cried, his voice cracking slightly, "I didn't know that this was your shed, I swear!"
"Shed?" the pirate said, offended, "Aint no shed, this be a ship. The good ship Doyle, finest ship on the seven seas." He patted a wall affectionately.
"Ship. Yeah. I didn't know this was your ship. Please don't make me walk the plank."
John was genuinely scared of this boy and his parrot. John was convinced that this boy really was a pirate, and he was starting to think that he really was aboard a ship. He knew what pirates did to stowaways, and he wasn't keen on taking a swim with the sharks.
The pirate in front of him looked him up and down and then laughed. His deep laugh eased John's fear a bit, it was strangely soothing.
The boy took off his hat with a flourish and extended a hand to John saying, "Name's Sherlock, me heartie. What be yours, ye landlubber?"
"Uh, I'm John," John replied, grasping the boy's hand.
"Pleased to meet ye, John." Sherlock shook John's hand warmly, making the parrot upon his shoulder tighten its grip in order to stay on.
Sherlock stepped back and spread his long arms wide saying, "Welcome aboard me ship, John!"