A/N: This is a Sherlock AU – the circumstances of their meeting at Bart's haven't changed, but the boys did not realize they had met before. (For the purposes of this little story, the age difference between Sherlock and John is 2 years.) Thanks to A.A. Milne for the title.


When We Were Very Young

John was comfortably ensconced in 'his' chair in 221B's sitting room, a mug of tea in his hand and a couple of hobnobs perched somewhat precariously on the arm rest. He'd been sharing quarters with The World's Only Consulting Detective for about three weeks now, and the ex-Army doctor had never been happier.

As he smiled to himself, John recalled the first time he'd set eyes on his insane flat mate. Theirs was not the most auspicious of initial meetings. Honestly, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" What kind of greeting is that? In spite of everything, though, by the time the lanky Detective winked at him and headed out the door, John had known he was in for a world of trouble. But, for the first time in a long time, he had been looking forward to what the next day would bring. Who would have thought it would bring a drugs bust, a kidnapping, a chase across London and a shooting?

It was an unusually warm winter's day and, for once, the heating system in the old building was working up to snuff. In fact, John had found the flat comfortable enough to dispense with his usual jumper and had rolled up the sleeves of his button down. As he took a sip of his tea, Sherlock walked into the sitting room and glanced at his roommate.

Suddenly, the Detective reached over and grabbed John's left arm, almost spilling the still-hot tea into the Doctor's lap.

"Oi! Careful!" said John as he quickly transferred his mug to his other hand. "What are you doing?" he added as Sherlock stretched out his arm and rotated it slightly.

"Where did you get that?" asked Sherlock as he pointed to a scar that ran along the upper edge of John's forearm just above his wrist. The mark was about an inch long and, from its faded appearance, was obviously quite old.

"It's a scar, Sherlock. What's the big deal about where I got it? I've had it forever." As John was speaking, Sherlock was unbuttoning the left cuff on his own shirt. He pushed the sleeve up and thrust his arm in front of John's face. "I've got the same scar," he said. "Where. Did. You. Get. Yours?"

John blinked his eyes slowly as he gazed at his friend's arm. Sherlock's scar was in the same location and looked to be about the same length and age as the one that adorned his own arm.

John stared up at Sherlock with a look of disbelief on his features. "I got it the summer when I was eight. My family had spent two weeks at the beach …. it was my first real vacation. I was so excited. While I was there, I met this boy named Will. We quickly became friends and spent every day together. When it was time for my family to head home, Will and I …"

As John's voice trailed away, Sherlock picked up the narrative, "You decided that you would become 'blood brothers' so you found a sharp shell and each of you cut the other's arm and swore to be friends forever."

"Oh my God," whispered John. "But … but his name was Will."

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes at your service," intoned Sherlock as he bowed to his friend.

"Oh my God," repeated John, with a smile. "I knew there had to be a reason why we clicked so quickly."

"Indeed," answered Sherlock with a smile as he stole one of John's biscuits and flopped onto the sofa ready to update the "John Watson" room of his Mind Palace.