"Mycroft! Let's play pirates!" a young Sherlock shouted running to his brother.
"I'm busy, Sherlock," Mycroft sighed as he continued to do his homework.
"That stuff is for ordinary people and completely dull," Sherlock said pulling on his brothers arm. "Come on! You're Redbeard and I-"
"No Sherlock," Mycroft barked and the little one jumped back in surprise. "We're not playing pirates, not any more. It's time for you to grow up."
"But-"
"Grow up, Sherlock," he growled grabbing his books. Sherlock watched his brother leave the room and sat down on the ground. He looked at the pirate hat in his hands and scowled. He didn't know what had happened; Mycroft used to play with him but in the last few days he's been turning Sherlock away; always saying the same thing. "Grow up." Why, he frowned turning the hat over in his hands. Grownups are boring. He just wants to play pirates; that's all he wants.
"Shall we play pirates, Sherlock?" His head snapped up to see a girl standing a few feet away. She was small, light brown hair hanging around her chin. She wore a white sundress and green shoes. "I'll play with you," she said and the boy put the hat on his head.
"How'd you get into our house?" he demanded, standing up.
"I'm not in your house," she smiled at him. "I'm in your head."
The boy frowned, "What do you mean?"
"I'm your imaginary friend," she smiled.
The boy groaned, "Great! I've gone mad! Mycroft will never let me hear the end of this."
"You're not mad, Sherlock," she giggled, "You're little and you wanted someone to play with."
He frowned tilting his head to the side, "You better play pirates right," he warned her.
She put her hands on her hips, "I'll play it however I feel like. You can't tell me what to do."
The boy smiled at her, "I like you, what's your name?"
"My name is Asha."
~8~ Twenty-eight years later ~8~
"Hello Sherlock."
It was the night after John's wedding and Sherlock was sitting rather uncomfortably in his Baker Street flat. Those emotions he always tried to separate himself from had come down and hit him square in the chest. An unusual pressure was spreading across his chest as he stood up from his chair and walked to the window. John would be upset that he left early. Let him, Sherlock frowned taking another sip of the scotch in his hand. What was wrong with leaving early? He didn't like being around people, everyone knew that. He didn't want to dance, he didn't want to "chat", he just wanted to be left alone with this thoughts.
He turned around when he heard a voice to see a girl sitting in John's chair. Late twenties, he thought as he observed her. Old band t-shirt and ripped jeans suggesting either low income or a nostalgic disposition. Her nails were self-painted a dark blue that matched her heavy eye liner and- that was it. He frowned looking at her but there was nothing else he could deduce.
"How did you get in?"
She smiled at him, "You let me in."
"No I didn't."
She stood up and walked over the mantle, "You don't remember me? I guess it was a long time ago and you were so little."
He raised an eyebrow, "We've met?"
She picked up the skull and held it up as a mask and she smiled. "Shall we play pirates, Sherlock?"
"Asha," He frowned cocking his head to the side.
She put the skull back and smiled at him, "It's been a long time Sherlock."
"Why are you here?"
"Why was I ever there?" she asked walking up to him. "You're sad. Like your brother all those years ago, John is moving forward with his life."
"He said nothing would change-"
"That was before a baby came into the picture," she said cupping his face. "While marriage doesn't change much, a baby does. You know this… and you're sad."
Sherlock swallowed, "He's my best, and only, friend."
She cocked her head to the side her thumb wiping away the stray tear running down his face. "Shall we play pirates, Sherlock?"
He nodded once, "Yes, let's play pirates."