AN: Alright, a little background info: This is a Sherlock/Maximum Ride crossover, I don't own anything, etc etc etc. There will be no characters from the actual Max Ride book in this crossover, only the setting. John and Sherlock are around the age of 6 or 7. Sherlock is an experiment, and John got captured by the IOU (an organization working for the School) to become experimented on. The rest is from here on out! I don't know how many chapters, but there is definitely more to come! Enjoy and review! –Evin.

EDIT: I just edited a few things that were wrong with this chapter; chapter 3 will be up today, more to be explained later.

A boy woke up in a cage, shivering. The temperature was exactly seventy-three degrees Fahrenheit, and from one glance he could see one thousand two hundred and eighty-six goose bumps on his right arm. He turned to check on his other arm, but stopped when he realised that it was chained up behind his back to what appeared to be bars. He was in a cage. Whipping his head around, the young child took in the dimensions of his prison. The cage was approximately three feet and 4 inches wide, five feet in length, and three and a half feet in height, not including the top, which he couldn't see. If he had to guess, he would have given an answer of around 3 or 4 inches of solid metal. Much like the bottom, this, after moving around, appeared to be attached to the ground. Most likely inserted into the cement when it was still drying, it ensured little to no escape. The boy tried to move around the small cage, but with his arm locked up, even the slightest lurch shot a spasm of pain up his arm.

Goodness, it was a pain to keep waking up in different rooms, with different people. This was the second time he had been in the dark, though, so he guessed that he wouldn't complain about the scenery change.

Suddenly, a small noise came from a cage beside him. The boy tensed, his eyes shifting through the thick darkness until he could make out another boy, around his age, huddled in a cage. He was a bit scrawny, and had a mop of brownish blondish hair stuck to his face in clumps. He was clad in a knitted sweater- the first boy figured it was about two years old, and worn frequently from the small tears and frays here and there.

The boy sat still, not daring to make a noise, as he listened to the blonde silently whimper. He could tell that the other could not see him, and he let the boy have a few moments of privacy. The boy would have kept quiet for longer and observed more, had his arm not become too numb. Attempting to shake it alive, he accidentally rattled his chains, and they made a harsh clanging sound against the metal bars.

"Who's there?" the scrawny boy cried out, shrinking back against his own cage. The boy moved his arm again, rattling his chains even more, and moved slightly towards the lock that held his arm hostage.

"I-I'm not afraid of you!" the small boy cried out again, and came closer to the sound.

"Hello there" the first boy said, peering closer at the lock. It was inscribed with tiny letters, and he could make out a "Made in China" stamp on the bottom. Shifting his eyes to the blonde, he could see that the boy had relaxed a little from hearing another child's voice. He was still nervous, though, and the boy couldn't blame him, even though he thought it was ridiculous to fear the dark.

"H-hello. What's your name?" the boy with the sweater asked, crawling to the edge of his cage. Unlike the first boy, he was not attached to or chained to anything, and he had a larger cage, despite his body being smaller.

"ZSVJU0009XPXXX2" the thin boy replied curtly, trying to look into the keyhole.

"Hey, that's not a name! Okay, how about we give you one? You can't have my name; my name is only for me. What about Peter? Steven?"

"Sure is locked" the first boy muttered, his right hand yanking around to try to break or loosen the lock.

"What was that? Sherlock?" the scrawny child asked, eyes straining to see.

"Mmm." the boy replied, tugging on the chain, attempting break free. When he saw it was impossible, he stopped, and with a sigh, turned to look at the other boy.

"Ha, that's a curious name. I'm John. John Watson." The boy said, his lips quirking into a slight grin.

"Pardon?" the boy asked, but John had already begun to rattle on about other things. Sherlock decided to try another method of escape; he strained and pushed against the bars of his cage, his thin legs stretching to attempt to bend the bars.

"Where are you from?" John asked. Sherlock didn't pause his attempts to break free as he answered the boy.

"Here." He said, finally noticing that he wasn't coming out of this cage, unlike all those other times. There were plenty of other times; he guessed he would soon be gone after a test or two, in another room, with other experiments. He was oblivious to John's absence of response, until he turned over to John. The boy's mouth was parted slightly, shocked.

"…Oh…" was all that John could manage.

"Yep." Was all that Sherlock said in reply. They sat there, looking at each other, until Sherlock decided to break the silence again.

"I'm guessing you are not from here, then. Where did you partake in living before arriving here?" he questioned, his mouth a straight line. John's face drained colour, and he looked down. Sherlock squinted his eyes briefly before he registered the salty water gathering around the boy's eyelids, and noted two drops sliding down his face 2.67 seconds before the rest joined. Sherlock's face remained impassive as he reached through the bars of his cage, his fingers coming four inches short of John's.

"Don't cry, John. It is unattractive." He said softly, and pulled his arm back when he realised that John was not going to look up for a while. Exhaling, he proceeded to scan the rest of the room outside his dog cage. There was a steel door, with no window, on the wall to the right of him. A lab table with equipment was lined up by the left wall, and there was a large refrigerator; from what Sherlock could see, it was labelled as "Mixed Parts." Most likely to be from body parts of past experiments, Sherlock thought, making a mental note not to tell John.

"I came from Liverpool." John finally mumbled through his arms, which had come to wrap around his knees. Sniffling and wiping his runny nose on the trailing sleeve of his sweater, he shivered, just noticing the cold.

"Hey, Sherlock?" he asked. "Why am I here?" Sherlock paused, uncertain how to answer.

"You're here to-" he said, but got cut off by the sound of keys rattling outside the door. Both the boys shrank back against their cages, scooting to the furthest corner away from the approaching footsteps. The keys were put in the lock and the steel door opened, the lights flickering on. John threw his hands up to cover his face, and Sherlock looked down, hoping that his curly hair would hide him.

The clicks of the footsteps approached, and John tensed up even more, but Sherlock had recognized its owner.

"Mrs. Hudson!" he whispered, scooting forwards in his cage. "Mrs. Hudson, I'm here!" he called out a little louder. John peered out through his hands, adjusting to the light, and saw an old lady approaching. He was about to shoosh Sherlock, but he seemed to know her.

"Oh, dear, they've got you all locked up this time?" she asked, and trotted over, crouching down next to Sherlock's cage. He reached a hand out, and Mrs. Hudson took it in her own, rubbing it. John just watched on, numb from the shock of the light and the unfamiliar face. Mrs. Hudson noticed him, and leaned over to whisper to Sherlock.

"Have they… done anything to this boy here?" she managed to get out, but Sherlock just shook his head silently. Mrs. Hudson looked relieved, and scooted over, reaching through John's cage for his hands. John shrunk back, his instincts taking over.

"John, it's okay, she's a friend." Sherlock whispered, and John tentatively reached out to meet Mrs. Hudson's outreached hand. Her fingers were warm to the touch, and she tsk-ed, rubbing his hands till they were more of a pink colour again.

"Dearies, I brought your dinner. Goodness, they were having me on the regular route; can you believe it? I noticed your absence and demanded they let me on this one! You've grown on me, dear." She added fondly, her eyes crinkling as she quickly brought over a plate of food.

"Now, dear, what's your name?" she asked John, handing him a plate of bread and cheese, with a glass of water alongside it. "I know, the School doesn't give much, but ZZ never eats, so you can probably have his portion, too." She said, frowning a little.

"It's John, miss. Thank you, miss, but I'm not that hungry…" he mumbled, poking at his bread with a finger, and shyly added "and his name is Sherlock."

"Sherlock? My my, ZZ, he gave you a name." she chuckled, turning to Sherlock. "And a quaint one at that!" she added.

"Well, I'll leave the food here just the same. I won't have you two starve." She said to John, and turned to walk away.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock asked, his face pressed up against the bars of the dog crate.

"Yes, dear?" she answered, looking back.

"Could you give us some blankets? The temperature is only seventy-three degrees Fahrenheit." He said, his eyes growing large and pleading. Mrs. Hudson sighed, rolling her eyes, and walked to the cupboard next to the refrigerator to get two thin sheets.

"I'm your feeding lady, not your housekeeper, dears." She said, but pushed a blanket through the bars of each cage anyways. Walking away, she turned off the lights, whispering a quick "Goodnight!" and secured the door shut. Sherlock tossed John his blanket with his free hand, and John managed to pull it in through the bars after a little effort.

"I don't need mine; take it. I'm not hungry, either." He said, pushing his food over to John. He then turned so that his head was resting on his arm, like a cradle.

"I… uh…well… goodnight…I guess." John stuttered, pulling the sheets close to him. Lying down on the floor of the crate, he shut his eyes. This isn't that bad, he thought drowsily. Not as bad as he expected a scary place like this to be.

"It's only downhill from here, John. Could be dangerous." Sherlock muttered, thinking. John's eyes flew open, startled, but then he realised that he must've just been talking to himself again. Shutting his eyes again, he drifted off into an uncomfortable and cold sleep, oblivious to the other boy who sat awake, pondering over what the morrow will bring.