The newspapers reported the alleged abduction of Johnathan and Harriet Watson on April 6th, 2007. Johnathan was ten years of age and Harriet four. The siblings lived in a modest suburb that hadn't seen any crime beyond the occasional stolen lawn ornament. According to their mother Janice Watson, who called the police within minutes of their disappearance, the children had wandered a few feet from their yard in pursuit of a rabbit. The authorities sent out a search party, an investigation was undergone, but the lack of evidence and suspects lead to a fruitless investigation conclusion a few months later. The Watsons never did sell their home in the hopes of their children one day returning. But eventually, their story fell out of the news, replaced by celebrity sex scandals and natural disasters occurring in other parts of the world. Soon, Johnathan and Harriet's faces blended in with the other missing kids on those printed flyers that hung in the super market.

Sherlock Holmes, who lived up the road in the richer neighborhood nearby, remembered Johnathan—John Watson from his class. The boy had sandy brown hair and played tetherball real well. Girls blushed when he was nearby, and he was named student of the week a few days before he disappeared.

Sherlock remembered that once, John Watson got in trouble on the bus for being loud, and the bus driver had punished him by making him sit in the very front, next to Sherlock. Neither of the boys had spoken to each other throughout the duration of the trip. John left to join his friends when the bus came to a stop, and that was the closest Sherlock had ever gotten to the boy.

A few days after the Watson children went missing, Mrs. Pickering explained that something very unfortunate had happened. She told them that sometimes, very bad things happen to very good people, and then the class proceeded to watch a video about "stranger danger". It was the topic of whispered conversation on the playground for a while, and the girls who had blushed when John was near cried together in the sandbox. But then the new Marvel movie came out, and the playground stopped whispering and the girls stopped crying, and that was the end of that.

To Sherlock, John Watson went from being a boy with sandy hair who was good at tether ball to something far more interesting. John was his first mystery. His first case. Something to keep him up at night, something to investigate. Even as the evidence ran dry and the years passed, Sherlock remembered the boy who unintentionally changed him, shaped him, and motivated him: John Watson, his first puzzle.

Part 1:

Thank God for gas station markets that are open all night. Where else would a slightly depressed, slightly exhausted, teenage boy go to buy cigarettes at three in the morning?

Sherlock stepped through the door, the familiar ding sounding above him. He'd come to associate the bell sound with cigarettes, and like one of Pavlov's dogs, it made his cravings grow.

He stocked up on a few packs, and the guy behind the counter didn't ask for his fake ID this time.

The ding sounded again, and Sherlock was surprised. He had never run into any other costumers this late before.

It was a boy, roughly his age, with sandy brown hair. He came in, bought a few snacks, and Sherlock followed him out of the shop. They stood nearby each other, waiting for a bus that would come in 15 minutes.

"Want one?" Sherlock offered, extended the cigs toward him.

The boy looked at the package, then up at Sherlock. "I'm okay, thanks."

"Smoking relieves stress," Sherlock noted, blowing out his first long puff. "And you've been rather stressed lately, taking care of your younger sister and all. She's what, nine years old? Ten?"

The boy seemed to see him for the first time. His eyebrows formed a V-shape. "How'd you know any of that?"

"Insomnia and poor dietary practices are both notable signs of stress," said Sherlock, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world (well, it sort of was). "I'm guessing you have a sister because, well, you don't seem the type to eat Hannah Montana fruit snacks."

John looked down at his shopping bag.

"You look familiar," Sherlock continued. "Don't I know you?"

"I don't think so," said the boy quickly.

"Where'd you go to school?"

"Home schooled."

"That would explain the poor social skills," said Sherlock softly. "But usually, parents that are protective enough to home school wouldn't let their kids wander around at three in the morning."

The boys seemed to pace with nerves. "Don't lecture me about poor social skills. Has anyone ever told you that you're a little too—"

"Arrogant? Invasive? Freakish? I've heard them all," Sherlock interrupted before taking another long drag.

"I was going to say observant," the boy clarified.

"Oh. I suppose that you just… interest me." Sherlock bit his tongue, unhappy with his choice of words. "What I mean is, you are very familiar, and I don't notice people, so you must be significant for one reason or another."

"Listen, I think that you're mistaking. I've never met you before. I'm sure of it. Now if you don't mind, second-hand smoke kills."

Sherlock decided not to take the bus. He walked home, his mind working madly to justify his interest in the boy with the sandy colored hair.

Hi everyone. I'm trying to write a different type of teen!lock fic, more serious subject matters. I hope you enjoy it. Reviews would be very welcomed!