Bright blue sky stretches its arms out into the horizon, as far as the eye could see. Only the large puffs of the cottony white clouds are there, mixing with the undisturbed blue.
Captain John Watson takes in a breath in fresh air as he flew across the terrain of freedom and dreams. In his mind flying in his plane is much preferable than being stuck on the ground with simple-minded adults.
They'd be talking about bridges, and golf, and politics and neckties. And so John would never talk about his drawings, or jungles, or boa constrictors...or stars. He would make small talk with the adults he met and speak in a voice that doesn't belong to him, but a simpleton who wonders about nothing but what he sees and must deal with everyday. When he did speak of these mundane things, adults would smile brightly, happy that they had met a sensible adult and someone to confide in about their husbands and their wives and houses and furniture.
There were people that John would think that they should seem open minded enough. And he would show them his picture of the boa constrictor that has eaten the elephant. They didn't notice this, of course, so they guessed what every 'sensible' adult would: a hat. It was not a hat! John wouldn't say that out loud, he'd nod instead and continue on speaking as a 'normal' and 'reasonable' adult.
And so John lived on alone, having no one to really talk to.
But there was someone who did get the picture right, who understood. A boy, a mysterious one, one who came from the stars. And with that image, a memory slowly resurfaces onto the surface of his mind, no longer buried deep in it.
A prince he called himself...
John grinned up in the air as he had done a hundred times and a hundred more times will he do it again. He's testing a plane for the Air Force army. From France to India. He does soon hope that he will be able to afford enough money to live at home. In London.
The radio sounded for specifics of his location, as John was about to answer the airplane juttered.
The engine, he realized. The plane's going down.
And then there was darkness. Like night, but without the comfort of the moon or wonder of the stars.
John blinked. Then he immediately groaned. He crawled over to the open door, and got out. The second he stood up he immediately hissed in pain.
The pilot looked down to his right leg, Damn leg's acting up again.
He limped over to the front of the plane to start digging it out of the sand. When he finally pulled the plane down (quiet painfully) he started to look in the engine.
Turbine engine failure, John concluded with relief and disappointment. Well it's not fuel exhaustion. Much better than that, at least I won't have to walk around the sodding Sahara looking for unexistent gas. A malfunction other than-
"If you please- draw me a sheep."
John froze, then looked frantically to his right. His eyes widened as they set on a raven haired child. The boy wore a dressy black overcoat, and a nice blue scarf was wrapped around his neck. His dark hair curled at his eyes. He stood upright in a proud posture, like he'd nothing to fear. His gleaning sword held by his outstretched hand was pointed at the dirt.
"What?"
"I said, sir, 'If you please- draw me a sheep!'" The little boy dressed like a prince exasperated.
John looked around wildly and ran around the plane, Where on earth had this little boy come from? He turned and faced him; he walked to him cautiously, looking at him up and down. "How-uh. How'd you- How did you get here? What are you doing here!"
"Waiting for you to draw me a sheep," grey-blue eyes stared at him back.
"No. No," John bent down to look at him in the eye. "Listen to me. Where did you come from?"
"Would you draw me a sheep," his pink lips exaggerated their words, like every other child would when they were talking to adult that wouldn't listen to them. Wouldn't understand them.
"Don't you know any other words?" John asked desperately, when the boy didn't answer. "Is that all you can say?"
"No. I also need you to draw me a bumble bee."
John stared back in wonder.
"Would you please draw me a sheep with a bee?"
John stood up and walked back to his plane in a dreamlike state. For if a mystery was too over-powering on you, you would have no choice but to listen to it. So in the middle of the Sahara Desert; death at his heels. John picked up his pad and paper and began to draw.
"Look I- I don't know how to draw." John told him.
The little boy stood firm and shrugged, "That doesn't matter."
"But I've only drawn one thing in my entire life- look, here." John showed him the picture everyone mistook for a hat.
The dark-haired, little boy smiled slightly, "Oh no. I don't want an elephant inside of a boa constrictor. A snake is very dangerous and extensive, and the elephant is too colossal. Where I live everything is very small. What I need is a bee with her sheep!"
John looked at the boy shocked, How in hell?
John flipped the page, and started to draw a sheep. "Do you live in a small town?"
The mysterious boy pointed his sword at the plane, "What sort of object is that?"
"It's an airplane. I was flying in it and it crashed to the ground." He showed the finished product to the little boy.
Bell-like chuckles and giggles erupted from his throat, "So you fell from the sky? Me too, how funny."
John narrowed his his eyes at the boy, "If you don't mind, I like my misfortunes taken seriously." John stopped.
"Wait- What do you mean 'you too'?"
"The bee's is looking radiant, sir. But uh- A rather sick-looking sheep, don't you think?"
"Is that how you got here? Were you in a plane that crashed?"
"Could you make another?"
"Why?!" John asked.
"Because the sheep doesn't look well." The boy slowly as if speaking to a child.
"You know this isn't how two people in their average desert get to know each other." John put the paper down, "Look, you ask me a question."
"Where did you come from?" The boy looked curious.
"Good!" John walked over to him, "To which I reply, Paris."
"Is Paris on this planet?"
John looked at him as if he was crazy, "Well of course it's on this planet!" He showed him the sheep.
Little curls of black hair shook from side to side, "Oh no. That won't do."
"Why not?"
"Well see for yourself," he pointed his sword at the parchment. "That is not a sheep, but a ram. Sheep don't have horns."
John took the booklet from him, "Do you think I don't have anything else to do? Do you think I have enough time to be drawing sheep and talking to a boy in a princey overcoat with a sword? I need to get my engine running so I don't stay in this desert and starve! And you think I can spend all my time drawing sheep?!"
The boy stood still and silent.
John took a breath and drew another sheep. The last one. "Here."
He showed him the drawing, "It doesn't have horns."
The strange boy shook his head.
"It's not sick."
Again he shook his head.
"Well?"
The boy opened his mouth hesitantly, "It's old."
Watson sighed and shook his head, "I'm sorry." He walked tiredly back to the plane. He sat down then an idea popped into his head. John took the pencil and paper and quickly scribbled something down. He ripped the paper from its book and handed it to the prince-like child,
"Here. It is inside this box. The sheep you ask for is in this box."
A happy grin split the little boy's mouth, "Thank you! This is exactly what I wanted!"
"It is?" John said baffled.
"Yes! Yes it is!" The boy looked at it with glee, and tried to peek through the little breathing holes to see the sheep. "Do you think it'll need a lot of grass?"
"Why?"
"I told you where I come from is very small."
"Well, don't worry," John reassured. "It's very small sheep."
The little boy smile was a little one, like him.
John thought to himself, whilst working on the plane, "Is Paris on this planet?" He wondered aloud, quoting this boy's words.
"Well of course it's on this planet," The little boy said. "Did you forget already."
"Of course I did not forget." John exclaimed.
"Shhh," He shushed John. "The sheep is sleeping."
The next night John tested his engine again.
The plane sputtered And jerked, but it just would not go up.
John grunted in agitation and killed the engine. He got out and slightly limped over to engine.
"Are sheep friendly to bees?" The little boy asked, watching the scene before him. "Do sheep eat flowers?"
"What? Umm...not now." John grunted, twisting a bolt.
"Would the sheep be friendly to the little bumble bee?" The little boy with no name asked in the morning.
"Uh- er yes! Sheep and bees can be nice to each other, besides even if they weren't the little bee could fly." John Watson tried to replace the cogs in his engine, though this one doesn't seem to fit.
"Do sheep eat flowers?" The little boy asked again after that.
John frustrated started turning the cogs harder, "What? Uh...yeah!"
"Besides the ones with thorns, of course?"
"No, they eat the ones with thorns as well." John removed the cog and started fitting another.
"But if they have thorns won't it protect them?"
"Maybe to stop them from getting picked, not from getting eaten."
"Then what is the point of having them?" The boy asked worriedly.
John groaned frustrated as it popped out of his hand and broke in front of him, "Of having what?!"
"THORNS!"
"I don't know! Maybe for spite!" John grabbed them and started fixing them together again, "They have thorns just for spite."
The little boy's nose flared, John had never seen such indignance in a child, the boy sat up, "I don't believe you. Flowers are weak and helpless, and they know it! How could they possibly face the world if they didn't think their thorns would protect them?"
John looked up somewhat annoyed, "Look what I'm trying to do is important."
"Important! Flowers have been growing thorns for millions of years and for millions of year sheep have been eating them just the same! Eating them! And you think that's not important!"
The boy with storming grey eyes glared at John, "I know one flower that's the most unique in all the world. And it grows no where but on my planet! But one day a sheep can come along and destroy the flower in one bite, and you thing that's not important?"
John muttered an 'I suppose so,' and it enraged the little prince.
Little boy stood up on the rock he was holding and pointed his sword at John. "What you don't understand is that if a flower grows on one star, out of the millions of millions of stars in the sky is enough to make a boy happy enough to look at the stars and say to himself, 'Somewhere my flower is up there.' But is a sheep ate the flower, it is enough to make all the stars go dark, and you think that's not important?!" The little prince turned and broke into a run.
John looked up, finally, and caught sight of the disappearing black coat. He immediately dropped his tools, "Wait! Wait, stop!"
"I most humbly apologize!" John looked around frantically, "I was acting like a grown up! Your flower is very important! I swear it!" He too started to run, run after the little prince. 'This has got to be the most ridiculous thing I have ever done.'
John returned to the camp alone. He sat in front of the fire, and realized with unsurprised guilt that he missed that little prince. He also realized that 'little prince' is what he'd been calling him, and he's no idea what his name actually was.
And he'll never find out.
He took that time to draw. He felt weird about it, considering the fact he had only draw boa constrictors, and elephants, and stars.
He drew the little prince, so he wouldn't forget him. Because he would never see him again-
"I'm hungry." A tiny voice called out. Speak of the devil.
John turned, he grabbed the food across from him, "I have your supper right here." He gave the small meal to him.
"Is this all you have," The dark haired boy asked.
"Well at the moment, yes." John admitted, "I'd advise you save the rest of that for tomorrow, that is unless you're very, very hungry."
The boy blinked, and took one half of an apple, "This'll be quite enough then." He bit into it, slowly and John sat next to him.
"That-uh problem you addressed to me. About the flower. In fact all flowers and sheep. I've come to realize that that is very important. So important in fact, I cannot find anything else more important. So," John cleared his throat awkwardly. "I haven't gotten the chance to apologize. I'm sorry. I was acting like a grown up."
The little prince looked at him and gave a slight smile, "You were born in Paris, did you say?"
"No I wasn't born in Paris. It's where I live now. I was born in London, and yes, it is a part of this planet."
"What's it like?" The boy wondered aloud.
"London...is unlike any place I've ever seen. It's filled with people. And so many shops, and buildings, and parks. The weather is perfect, in my opinion, though many people would like to disagree with me. It cold, but all you need is the coat you're wearing and you can enjoy it. Besides you get used to it after a while. The people that are in it are the most interesting. Believe me, there's never a dull moment. It's my home, but I can't go back there. I haven't enough money to afford it."
"You were in the army weren't you?" The boy deduced sullenly.
John looked at him shocked, "Yes, how-"
"You're tan. You have a psychosomatic limp, seeing as I couldn't pin point any wound on your leg. I bet it's caused by war, which would also explain the gunshot wound on your left shoulder, seeing as your always favoring it. You mutter to yourself about machines not being nearly enough easier to fix as humans so simple: army doctor." He said simply, "If you're wondering how I know about the army and wounds as such, is from a man with a bunch of books. He told me the next planet I would most likely visit is this one and he tells me about the dangers of it, so he tells me to read about war. Of course this isn't the first planet I was dropped off on, obviously."
John stared, lost in shock for the third time that.
"What- what is your name?"
The boy sat straight, "The name is Sherlock." He giggled a little, "Though my flower calls me Little Prince."
John tried to shake off the shock, but he couldn't. Instead he outstretched an arm for him to grab, "Pleased to meet you Sherlock, my name is John Watson."
Sherlock.
Sherlock looked at his hand and mimicked his expression, putting a hand out to air.
John Watson couldn't help but smile and chuckle softly. He took Sherlock's hand and shook it, "This is how you greet a person."
"Oh."
"You have two names." Sherlock observed, "Why?"
Funny how incredibly book smart this child could be, but how ignorant to people he is.
"Usually most people have two names: a first name and a surname. My first is John, and my surname is Watson. You can call me John."
"Okay," Sherlock said pensively, committing it to memory. "John..."
"Anyways, I have been giving this a lot of thought, and I think I've come up with a solution to remove any possible danger that would come to your flower."
The winter eyes were lit with excitement and they stared at him in anticipation, "So there are two: one, you could put a muzzle on your sheep. That way it won't disturb bee nor your flower." John waited, "and two, if you could describe your planet to me in excessive detail, I'll put a fence around your flower."
Sherlock was silent for a moment, and after what John thought was a no, he said, "Would you really do that?" The little boy looked at him with disbelief, as if no one had ever really helped him like that.
John grinned and nodded as he swiftly got out a pencil and paper and he begun to draw.
"London?"
"Yes London."
"It sounds nice, I would like to visit it one day."
"Really?" Sherlock nodded, "I feel like I could fit right in there just fine. After I go back to my planet, of course."