Disclaimer: Sherlock doesn't belong to me unfortunately.
It was supposed to be a one-shot and basically a sketch, but I think there will be more to it. I am desperate to know what you think, so please review!
Sherlock is two, a walking adorability, all bouncing curls, chubby cheeks and sturdy legs. He is making his way slowly but stubbornly through the overgrown weeds. He can hear his mother laugh somewhere in the streams of sunshine in the middle of the field. Sherlock already knows the field starts right behind the garden of their mansion. His mother often takes him to the field and they spend glorious hours playing, laughing and lazying about. When Mycroft comes from school he often joins them, already growing very serious for his age but still able to throw his dignity to the wind and roll in the grass or chase his baby brother through the intoxicating aromas of thyme and sage.
Sherlock is angry at his small legs, his mind is whirring, nudging his clumsy and slow toddler body to move faster than it is capable of. No wonder he trips over the next tussock. Sherlock is seriously considering crying for a moment but then a long golden nuzzle appears in front of the toddler and a large wet brown eye stares at him with immense curiosity. The foal is much taller than Sherlock but when mother scoops the toddler in her arms laughing and cuddling him, Sherlock sees the foal from above and its height barely reaches mother's waist. He stretches plump fingers to the strayed from the nearest farm golden miracle with short shaggy mane and almost humanly puzzled expression of the nuzzle.
Mother's voice is shimmering with golden flecks of sunshine as everything around on this happy morning, 'How would you call your brave stallion, Sherly, dear?'
Sherlock frowns, back on the ground and suddenly shy. The foal stumbles closer, totally unafraid of humans, friendly and a little skittish. 'John,' Sherlock finally decides, reaches for the foal and pats its silken mane affectionately. In this long stretch of colorful summer Sherlock has a new friend by his side.
Sherlock is six, thin and almost translucent, all baby fat gone as if blown away with a gust of the wind. Stormy grey eyes consume the deathly pale face, raven curls are badly in need of a cut, neglected for a long time now. His mummy is gone. It's been days and it's only getting worse, the empty house with patient servants is unbearable. Mycroft has run away back to the boarding school right after the funeral, and it's not something Sherlock is going to forget or forgive for a long time.
It's cold, the grass withered and flowers losing the petals. Sherlock is strictly forbidden to leave the territory of the mansion, his father was adamant about that. But he is out in the field anyway, running to the farther end where the field abruptly ends in a steep. It's a long fall to the shallow river beneath. Sherlock stops on the very edge of the abyss, his eyes dry and furious, he hates his life and his loneliness. He is searching for clues in the whirls of opalescent clouds and finds none. He makes a small step towards the abyss at last, then another one…
One foot of the boy is almost touching the emptiness when strong jaws close on the collar of his shirt and Sherlock is gently yanked up. He cries in surprise and squirms till he can finally see the warm golden hide and tousled mane from the corner of his eye. John drags him away from the edge and drops unceremoniously, neighing softly. Sherlock jumps to his feet and wonders at his old acquaintance. Now it's a strong tall beast with taut muscles clear under the velvety hide. But the mane is as short and unkempt as ever and wet brown eyes are as curious and wise. John nudges Sherlock cheerfully and the fragile boy is almost swept off his feet. 'Hey,' Sherlock grumbles but he is already distracted from the darkness that engulfed his thoughts for days, he is intrigued and relieved, he isn't alone any more. Suddenly he is just a boy again and when he darts ahead the tawny horse bucks enthusiastically and follows.
Far away in the shadows of his school room teenaged but already powerful Mycroft lowers his phone and smiles mournfully.