John was only eight years old when he found himself lost in the woods near his uncle's house. People said that the woods were haunted and mothers would scare their kids with the tale of the ghost child who lived there, waiting to eat them at night if they did anything wrong. John never believed the stories… until he ran right into them.

John had been lost for a while. He and his mother had been vacationing at her hometown all summer, but it was only tonight that John had dared venture out to explore the woods. And, as the sun dipped its giant head beyond the horizon, he had to remind himself that he was not scared. Just because he started running faster, doesn't mean he was scared.

Then, when he tripped in the dark and cut his knee against a rough rock, he just dusted himself off and kept going. He tried to calm himself after that, shaking his head and trying to remember which way he'd come from. So he was moving a lot more cautiously when he heard it.

A crack of twigs behind him.

He turned around just fast enough to see a glimpse of white disappear behind a tree.

The heavy beating of his heart was telling him to run the other way and never look back… but he did the exact opposite. He stepped closer, as silently as possible, and jumped in front of the tree.

"Ahh!" something white and small screamed.

John felt his heart rise into his throat.

But it was just a little kid. Sure the kid was pale beyond belief and dressed to match in a white shirt and dark trousers, but it was still just a kid. A kid who was quickly regaining his composure and straightening his back to glare up at John.

John couldn't stifle his laughter.

"I suppose you think it's funny to jump out at people, don't you?" asked the boy indigently.

"You were the one following me."

"Well you're trespassing. This is my forest!" said the little boy with a stomp at the ground. John managed a weak apology, finally remembering the stories his aunt had told him.

John's voice was very low as he asked, "You're the one they talk about. The one who haunts the forest?"

The boy managed a scoff and a sigh. His skin was so pale that it looked like it was shining in the moonlight. And even though he looked disappointed and angry, his blue eyes still managed to shine like the stars.

"So, you've heard the stories," said the boy with a show of arrogance as he folded his arms in front of his chest. "Which do you think I am, a ghost or a vampire?"

John didn't really think about it, he just blurted, "An elf."

The child did a double take. "Why?"

Because you're too pretty, John almost said out loud. "Umm… your ears, they look a bit pointy."

"Are not!" shrieked the little boy, covering his ears with his hands.

"No, no! I didn't mean it like that." John was stumbling over his words trying to convey how sincere he was. "I'm sorry."

"I hate you," said the shorter kid, and John felt like someone had just kicked him in the stomach. "You're supposed to be scared of me and run away!"

The little boy was pouting, and John felt much better about it. "Well I'm not scared of you. You're just a little kid." He ruffled the little boy's hair for good measure.

"Hey! You're just a little kid too. "

John laughed, "Yeah, but I'm taller than you."

The boy couldn't have been much younger than John himself, maybe just a year. But he was definitely acting his age. It was refreshing. John really felt like he was talking to someone real and fun.

"So why does everyone think you're a mythical creature, when you're really just a crazy kid?" John asked suddenly.

"You don't know that," the kid retorted defensively, "I could just be really good at pretending to be a kid."

John just raised his eyebrows in response.

The kid managed the most dramatic sigh that John had ever seen on someone so young, complete with an arm flail and stomp. "It's called Xeroderma pigmentosum. It's a genetic disorder that impairs the body's ability to repair damage caused by exposure to ultraviolet radiation."

John looked at him blankly, the words all sounded way too big coming from such a small body.

"It means I can't go out in the sun or I'll burn to death." The boy was definitely angry, and John had a feeling that he should change the subject and just research the thing when he got home. But the boy continued. "And that doesn't mean that I go around sucking people's blood, or eating them, or cursing them, or whatever other nonsense is going around these days!"

"No, you just creepy stalk them when they're in the forest." John couldn't resist a smirk.

"It wasn't creepy or stalking! It's just… you're hurt. And you're lost, right?"

The boy was looking down at the ground now, his pale face acquiring a most interesting shade of pink.

"I can help…" the boy said so softly that John wouldn't have been sure it had come from the kid at all, except that the boy suddenly took his hand and led him to a flat boulder at the base of a big tree. John sat down diligently and didn't say anything as the other boy worked.

John hadn't noticed before that the boy was carrying a small first aid kit, except that it looked more like a chemistry set than anything else. The boy removed a vial from the box and added absentmindedly, "Don't worry, it's just disinfectant."

"I'm not worried," John said honestly, and the boy continued to avoid his gaze while he worked.

It was really a simple matter of disinfecting John's knee, removing the dried dirt and bits of rock, cleaning it up with some water from a spray bottle, and then bandaging it up. Maybe it was because of the paleness, but John was sort of expecting cold rough fingers. Instead the boy's hands were warm and delicately careful.

No one had ever cared for John like that other than his mother. Not even his aunt or sister.

"My name is John, by the way. John―"

"Watson, yeah I know."

John tried not to jerk at the surprise. "How…?"

The boy sighed, but continued to fiddle with the gauze wrapping. "The initials on the inside of your shoe are JW. The only family names from around here that start with that letter are the Wilkins and the Winchesters. And none of their kids fit your age bracket. Then there's the fact that you don't seem like you're from around town, because most boys from around here would avoid the forest completely. Especially if they were on their own. So that must mean that this is your mother's town, as there aren't any tourists that visit this time of year. Your accent is also more Londoner than anyone here and the only 'maiden' who married into the city was Elizabeth Jameson, who, and I'm only quoting the gossip circles, 'Ran off with that Watson.' The Jamesons also live right next to the east end of the forest, which would have made it a lot easier for you to have gotten lost. So no… once again, I am Not stalking you."

John suddenly found himself at the receiving end of a very defiant stare. His mouth was also hanging open. "That was… That was amazing!"

It was the kid's turn to look surprised. "That's not what people usually say."

"What do people usually say?"

"Piss off."

And, true to their age, they both fell into a fit of hysterics at the mention of the curse word.

"My name is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes," said the boy with a hint of awkwardness as he took a seat on the flat boulder beside John. "My family owns the woods. Our house is the one right at the edge of town."

"Wait, you mean the mansion?!"

Sherlock just shrugged his shoulders. No wonder he had such an odd name, the mansion looked ancient. But John though better of asking about Sherlock's family.

Instead he just asked, "So how come you know so much about the people here?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders again. "Well, it's a small town and I do a lot of walking around at night―"

"You mean sneaking."

"―so it helps to know about the people and their habits," the shorter boy continued without paying John's interruption any mind. Though John did detect a hint of a smile at his lips.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, looking up at the moon and the stars. John sneaked a look at Sherlock and was momentarily startled. He'd never seen someone look so sad and wistful at the same time.

"What's wrong?"

Sherlock didn't exactly snap out of his reverie.

"Huh?"

"The sky… why do you look up at it like that?" John asked more clearly.

"Oh…that," Sherlock blushed a little and John wondered whether the tendency was linked to Sherlock's skin type or condition or something. "It's just fascinating, how my skin could be so sensitive to sun light… but then from this distance and when it's reflected off of the moon, it's okay."

Then John was completely surprised as Sherlock's face broke out into a most sincere smile. As he talked, his thin body practically radiated energy. "My favorite is the full moon. When it's big and round and fat! It looks almost exactly like the sun does… at least that's how it looks in pictures. I had my brother buy me extra special camera lenses that can pick out the sun's outline. Of course, he also had to take the pictures himself, but I can always bribe him with chocolate cake so it was okay. And it was just as I suspected. The sun is a bright white disc just like the moon is. Most people don't even look at the disc. Of course, I'm told that even healthy people aren't supposed to look at the sun, but I still would if I could. So when the moon's out I try to get as much of it as possible, you know. And there's something about the nighttime, especially in these woods that's just… magical."

John looked up at the moon, and then at Sherlock's smile. Yeah… it definitely felt magical.

Then Sherlock's smile started looking a bit embarrassed. But he still seemed eager to talk, like someone who'd been forced to live in silence for a long time and was finally getting a chance to speak. "I actually tried looking at it once. The sun, I mean. It was two years ago… it was six and I― I don't know. I just wanted to see the light with my own eyes. I ended up in the hospital for more than a month. If Mycroft hadn't been there, I might have gone blind."

He said it so casually, even grinning and raking his hand through his hair sheepishly.

"You're very brave," John said.

Sherlock looked stunned. "No one's ever said that to me before."

"Well you are. You're brave and you're smart and you're completely amazing."

John didn't know why he said it; he just felt that Sherlock needed it… that he'd needed it for a long time.

In a very small voice, Sherlock managed a weak "Thank you."

The moment wasn't very long this time, it wasn't so comfortable either. "Um… it's getting late for you isn't it? Your family might be worried." Sherlock told him suddenly and the effect was immediate.

John jumped up from the rock, cursing under his breath.

"Come on, I'll get you there in no time," said Sherlock with a failed attempt at sounding casual. John could sense the boy's sadness, and he felt it too. Sherlock took his hand without looking at him this time and just dragged him forwards. John went willingly, though his footing did drag. He wasn't nearly as eager to get back as he should have been.

Sherlock walked steadily through the forest as though he'd memorized every tree, root and stone, and John felt mesmerized every time he caught sight of the white moonlight playing in Sherlock's curls. Maybe he was a woodland elf after all.

When they got to the edge of the woods and John's aunt's house was in sight, John found himself lingering. He didn't know what else to say, "Thanks for the knee thing, by the way. You're very good at it."

"I get hurt a lot. My skin's sensitive and all that. So I learned to patch myself up." Sherlock said it so offhandedly, but that bothered John all the more. There was some vague notion in his head that no kid should ever have to patch up his own cuts. So John decided to learn a thing or two when he got home.

But for now, there was nothing more to say. John and Sherlock were looking down at their feet, their tongues tied. He just couldn't leave, couldn't bring a 'Goodbye' to his lips. He wanted to stay so badly, now that he'd finally managed to make a friend.

"You're leaving tomorrow, aren't you?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, we're going back to the city."

"Summer vacation's over, I guess."

John pulled himself together enough to meet the other boy's eyes. "Sherlock… I really wish I'd met you sooner."

After a long moment and a bit of blushing, Sherlock finally managed a weak, "Me too…."

But even as they stood there, the voices of John's family were now loud and clear. They were definitely looking for him.

As John ran towards the house, he turned abruptly and shouted, "I will see you again!"

But all he saw were trees, and he had no idea what the other boy's expression would be. He found himself thinking about it a lot, especially during those nighttime moments right before sleep.

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A/N: I'm going for a more short and romantic approach with this and it's all mostly written out. So I'll update as soon as I get some feedback. Please review and tell me what you think. Thank you for reading and Enjoy the Full Moon tonight!