Because I haven't been writing recently, and this idea wouldn't leave me alone. My version of this story doesn't really diverge from the original a whole lot; I can send you the original in a PM if you want it. :) Otherwise, Snow White doesn't belong to me, and neither does Sherlock. Enjoy!
Once upon a time, in a great castle, a Princess's son named John Watson grew up happy and contented, in spite of a jealous stepfather named Jim Moriarty. John was really very handsome, with startling blue eyes and blonde hair that shimmered in the sun. His skin was tan and warm, his smile happy. Everyone was quite sure he would grow up to become a very beautiful young man. Though his stepfather was a wicked man, he too was very handsome, and the magic mirror told him this every day, whenever he asked it.
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the handsomest man in the land?" The reply was always; "You are, your Majesty," until the dreadful day when he heard it say, "John Watson is the handsomest in the land." The stepfather was furious and, wild with jealousy, began plotting a way to be rid of his new-found rival. Calling one of his trusty servants, a man by the name of Sebastian Moran, he bribed him with a rich reward to take John into the forest, far away from the castle. Then, unseen, he was to put him to death with one shot from his gun, a shot directly to the heart. The greedy servant, attracted to the reward and enamored with death, agreed to do this deed, and led the innocent young boy away. However, when they came to the fatal spot, the man's courage failed him and, leaving John Watson sitting beside a tree, he mumbled an excuse and ran off. Poor John was all alone in the forest.
Night came, but the servant did not return. John, alone in the dark forest, began to cry bitterly. He thought he could feel terrible eyes spying on him, and he heard strange sounds and rustlings that made her heart thump. At last, overcome by tiredness, he fell asleep curled under a tree.
John Watson slept fitfully, wakening from time to time with a start and staring into the darkness surrounding him, hand shaking just barely. Several times, he thought he felt something, or somebody touch him as he slept.
At last, dawn woke the forest to the song of the birds, and John Watson too, awoke. A whole new world was stirring to life and the young boy was glad to see how silly his fears had been. However, the thick trees were like a wall 'round him, and as he tried to find out where he was, he came upon a path. He walked along it, hopefully. On he walked till he came to a clearing. There stood a strange cottage, with a tiny door, tiny windows, and a tiny chimney pot. Everything about the cottage was much tinier than it ought to be (though John's diminutive size made this less noticeable). Despite his deep-seated politeness telling him he really shouldn't, John let his naturally inquisitive nature win and pushed the door open.
"I wonder who lives her?" he mused to himself, peeping 'round the kitchen. "What tiny plates! And spoons! There must be seven of them - the table's laid for seven people." Upstairs was a bedroom with seven neat little beds. Going back down to the kitchen, John had an idea.
"I'll make them something to eat. It's the least I can do, having rifled through their home. And when they come back, they'll be glad to find a meal ready." Towards dusk, seven tiny people marched homewards singing. But when they opened the door, to their surprise they found a bowl of hot steaming soup on the table, and the whole house spick and span. Upstairs was John Watson, fast asleep on one of the beds. The chief dwarf, Lestrade, prodded him gently.
"Who are you?" he asked. John told them his sad story, and tears sprang to the dwarfs' eyes, though they tried very hard to hide it. Then one of them, a small woman named Molly said, as she noisily blew her nose:
"Stay here with us!"
"Please do! Please do!" they cheered, dancing joyfully around the small boy. The dwarfs said to John:
"You can live here and tend to the house while we're solving the crime 'round the kingdom. Don't worry about your stepfather leaving you in the forest. We love you, and we'll take care of you!" John gratefully accepted their hospitality, and the next morning the dwarfs set off for work. But they warned John not to open the door to strangers.
Meanwhile, the servant had returned to the castle, holding the heart of a roe deer. He gave it to the cruel stepfather, telling him it belonged to John, so that he could claim the reward. Highly pleased, the stepfather turned again to the magic mirror. But his hopes were dashed, for the mirror replied: "The handsomest in the land is still John Watson, who lives in the seven dwarfs' cottage, down in the forest." The stepfather was beside himself with rage.
"He must die! He must die!" he screamed. Disguising himself as an old peasant man, he disguised a picnic basket as a bomb, then, taking the quickest way to the forest, he crossed the swamp at the edge of the trees, just as John stood waving goodbye to the seven dwarfs on their way into the kingdom.
John was in the kitchen making tea when he heard the sound at the door: KNOCK! KNOCK!
"Who's there?" he called suspiciously, remembering the dwarfs advice.
"I'm an old peasant man come to give you a gift," came the reply.
"That's very kind, but it's not my birthday," he replied.
"But it's a lovely 'welcome to the neighborhood' gift!" said the velvety voice from outside the door.
"I'm not supposed to open the door to anyone," said the young boy, reluctant to disobey his friends' advice.
"And quite right too! Good boy! If you promised not to open the door, then you are a good boy indeed! And good boy's deserve rewards, don't you think?" Without further thought, John opened the door just a smidge, to take the basket.
"There you are dear, now isn't that nice? Enjoy your lunch!" Now chuckling evilly, the wicked stepfather hurried off. But as he ran back across the swamp, he tripped and fell into quicksand. No one heard his cries for help, and he disappeared without a trace.
Back at the cottage, John eyed the basket sitting on the kitchen counter warily.
"Surely," he said to himself, "such a kind old man wouldn't want to hurt me?" Feeling reassured, he lifted the top of the basket. When he did so, the bomb exploded, throwing the poor child quite some distance, and demolishing a wall of the cottage. John did not sir.
Some time later, the dwarfs came from the kingdom to find the forest had grown dark and stormy. Loud thunder echoed through the valleys and streaks of lightning ripped the sky. Worried about John, they ran as quickly as they could down the mountain to the cottage.
There they found John, lying still and lifeless, in the rubble of a wall of the cottage. They did their best to bring him around, but it was no use.
They wept and wept for a long time. Then they laid him on a bed of rose petals, carried him into the forest and put him in a crystal coffin.
Everyday, in between repairing the cottage, they laid a flower there.
Then one evening, they discovered a strange young man observing John through the glass. The man was tall and slim, with lovely, intelligent eyes the color of the galaxies, and soft curls upon his head. His name was Sherlock Holmes, and he was interested in John's fate. The dwarfs' told him all they knew, though two, by the names of Anderson and Donovan, were reluctant to do so.
After listening to the story, Prince Sherlock (for he was a prince!) made a suggestion.
"If you allow me to take him to my castle, I'll find a way to waken him from this peculiar sleep," the hard planes of the Prince's cheekbones softened, and he placed a hand on the glass. "He's so lovely… I'd like to kiss him." The dwarfs' started, and the prince looked surprised as well.
"I think," Lestrade said thoughtfully, "I think you should do it!" Then the dwarf chief removed the glass over John's crystal coffin, and gestured for Prince Sherlock to kiss him.
The Prince hesitated, then leaned over the small body and kissed him, gently. As though by magic, the Prince's kiss broke the spell, and John had come back to life! Blinking wearily, John stared at his savior.
"Who are you?" He asked quietly, staring into the calculating eyes in front of him. The Prince stared back, nebulous versus strong, sold blue, and smiled.
"I'm Sherlock Holmes."
Now in love, the Prince asked John to marry him, and the dwarfs' reluctantly had to say goodbye to John.
From that day on, John lived happily in a great castle. But from time to time, he and Prince Sherlock popped down to the woods to help out the dwarfs' when they were out of their depth with a case in the kingdom - which was always.
The End