Neither

One: Glimpse

"John, look!" Sherlock pointed with enthusiasm as John's hair flopped over his eyes. But he looked to the little creature crawling over the leaf and smiled.

"Wow, Sherlock! How did you find that?" he tried to stroke it.

"Don't," Sherlock pulled his hand away. "And I found it by looking, duh," he snorted but squeezed John's hand. "Come on, let's go find a butterfly now!" he was enthused and John followed, being practically drug across the field by Sherlock.

They trampled through flowers until Sherlock let go of John's hand and he sunk to his knees, "Did you find one?" John asked and Sherlock nodded, his little curls shaking and John smiling, and following his gaze.

This was beautiful and far more so than the fat green caterpillar they had found only a moment earlier. "Oh, Sherlock," he gasped, "it's so pretty," as they both stared at the blues and the greens mixed together on its wings.

"It's rare, and beautiful," he giggled, looking to the boy sitting beside him. "Let's show Mike!" he suggested and soon it wasn't a suggestion as they were running through the field and back to Sherlock's home.

John's hair was whipped from his small and round face as he ran beside Sherlock. They found Mycroft sitting with their parents, and Sherlock was so happy, "Mike, Mikey, we found a butterfly, and it's pretty and I want big brother to see," he demanded as he seized Mycroft's hand.

Mycroft pulled away, the teen pulling his hand free, "I have no time for little boys who have their head shoved far up their-"

"Mycroft! Go and play with your brother!" his mother demanded.

"But Mummy," he complained.

"No buts, or I'll kick yours. Go and see what he found. Go on," she shooed as John's mother was chuckling. Mycroft stalked behind Sherlock dragging John back to the field, and Sherlock showed him the rarity of the insect in the flower.

"Wow!" he actually said that, as he knelt with the five year old and his eight year old friend. "For once, you're not a complete idiot," he teased and bumped Sherlock's shoulder with his own.

"I told you it was pretty!" he was vibrating from joy and he squeezed John's hand harder. Mycroft did notice that Sherlock wouldn't let go of John, but he didn't see the blond boy complaining, so he didn't say a thing. He simply wished his brother hadn't fallen to such stupidity. Sentiment is boring and dangerous.

"Come now, Sherlock, I think it's supper time," he grabbed the boy's forearm and drug his brother along, and with him, little John Watson. "Mummy, is it time to eat yet?" he complained when he was standing in front of their parents again.

"Actually, the chef should be starting supper, here soon, why don't you and Sherlock go get washed up? Say bye to John, dear. Unless," she looked to John's mum, "you two want to stay with us and eat," she suggested.

"Oh, Mum, please?!" John begged as he latched onto her arm.

She nodded and chuckled, "Alright, as long as it's okay with Mrs. Holmes," she agreed and Mrs. Holmes smiled.

"Any friend of Sherlock's is a friend of ours, right dear?" she looked to the lazy man in the lawn chair who was about to fall asleep.

He snorted as he woke completely, and just realized what was being asked, "Oh right, yeah. John can even stay the night if he likes," he suggested as he drank from his glass of water, as his mouth had dried out from hanging open.

John was jumping lightly at the idea of staying over and Sherlock's eyes lit up, "Oh, could he stay the night?! Please! He can ride with me in the morning to go to school!" and his mother nodded.

"As long as Mrs. Watson has no objections," she looked to John's mother. She slightly rolled her eyes smiling and nodded, agreeing.

"I love you, Mum," John cheered as he gave her a kiss to the cheek and Sherlock did the same.

"Thank you!" and he drug John by the hand upstairs and to his bedroom that had a bathroom attached. "We can wash up in here," Sherlock suggested as John's eyes went wide.

"This is your room?!" he gasped and looked to the huge bed, then the complicated things spread out all over his room, ranging from science to maps, to simple drawings.

"Oh yes!" he boasted, then drug John to his bathroom. John was even more surprised when he thought the knobs on the sink were real gold. "No, silly, they do look pretty, though, don't they?" he nudged John's shoulder and the little blond boy nodded.

"Almost as pretty as the butterfly!" he agreed and Sherlock twisted one of the knobs.

"There, let's get washed up and eat. Our chef is amazing!" he boasted once more and John nodded furiously, plunging his hands into the warm water and he sighed at how warm it was.

o0o

Supper was just as good maybe even better than the rest of the house. John practically inhaled his food while Sherlock sat there and ate some, but the rest was pushed to the side. "Sherly, eat," his mum pressed. He glared at that nickname.

He shook his curls, "I'm not hungry," he complained and his mother sighed. John simply ate the last of his own and stared at his own mum to let him go. "Mum, can me and John do something else?" Sherlock asked, bored with food.

His mother rolled her eyes, "Don't get yourselves into any trouble, you hear?" and he nodded. John was pulled from the table and back up to Sherlock's room and he couldn't help but to feel like he couldn't do anything.

This wasn't his to mess with, so he didn't touch anything. He simply stood there. Sherlock stared at him as if he expected him to do something. John stared back, saying he had no idea what to do. Sherlock smiled, and then he took John's hand and sat him down in the middle of the floor.

Then he was off to get something, and he came back with a game board. Okay, John could do that. He could definitely play Cluedo, but, "Sherlock, are you sure you can play this?" John was three years older, and he could understand more. Or so that was what he thought.

Sherlock nodded, "Mikey hates it, because I'm actually a match for him," he sat down and popped the cover and John eyed the pieces and cards.

"Okay," he nodded. What he didn't know was that Sherlock was the master of this game and John was in for it…

o0o0o

"God damn it! Sherlock, how the hell?!" John was definitely angry.

"John, do watch your language, I'm not sure Mum would appreciate it," he asked and John nodded, giving up on this game. The sixteen year old blond stood from the floor and plopped on the bed, flopping back in exasperation. "It's okay, Mycroft still hates it," he said, referring to the board game scattered in the middle of his floor.

He loved looking to the middle of the floor and seeing the slightly faded spots from the tradition of playing Cluedo every Saturday, seeing as it the day they met as young children. Sherlock never really did have friends until John showed his face.

Sherlock sat beside John and grabbed his hand as he used to when they were younger, and he never really stopped doing that. He squeezed in reassurance that John could calm down, and John sat up, looking at their joined hands.

If this were any other thirteen year old boy, John would have freaked out and dropped their hand. But it was Sherlock, and he always did this. So instead of being creeped out, he squeezed back, smiling into those lovely shade of blue/grey eyes.

Sherlock let go and asked, "Staying the night, then?" as he himself laid back and looked to the blond.

John nodded as the brunette eyed him, "You know it. Since when have I not? Or vice versa?" Sherlock shrugged as John made a good point.

"I imagine you have clothes and things, then? Like you didn't last time," he teased. John crossed his arms over his chest and pouted.

"Shut up, William," using the name Sherlock hated the most to be used for him. All the teachers did it, and he always corrected them. He didn't care if it was only a week into the school year, the teachers are smart enough to remember that Sherlock hates it.

So when Sherlock tackled John to the bed, he wasn't surprised. "Don't call me that! I hate it," he straddled the blond and crossed his long arm over his own chest.

"Hate's a strong word, Sherlock," John teased and this position wasn't comfortable, but he didn't feel the need to push off the brunette. It was just… awkward? Yeah, guess that was it. But when Sherlock got up and left John's hips, he felt something else.

He couldn't hell what the hell that was, but he knew it didn't matter because Sherlock acted like it was normal. For them, it might as well have been normal. And then there was a buzzing in John's pocket. "Shit," he jumped and realized it was just his phone, and he pulled it from his jeans as he looked to the screen.

Just a text, from his mum. John, dear I'm off, come say bye to your old mum…- CW

John smiled and was down the stairs before Sherlock could follow, which he did. "Leaving already, Mum?" John teased and she smiled.

"Stay out of trouble," she always warned and he nodded, kissing her cheek and she said good bye to Mrs. Holmes and even Sherlock before she left. Sherlock never disliked John's mother, he just never connected with her the way he did John.

And then Sherlock drug John back upstairs, "You want to try another round, or watch telly or something?" Sherlock asked as John stepped back into the room and looked around at the bed over there on that wall to the left, the telly on the opposite wall, and then Cluedo in the middle of the floor.

Then it was the rest of the room, where the dresser was against the wall at the end of his bed and then there was a bathroom beside the telly. He processed this as he did every time he walked in here, and Sherlock smiled, waiting for an answer he usually got.

"Can we first clean up the game? I just want to watch telly," he admitted and Sherlock nodded. Soon they were on their knees on the floor, and the game was in the box as Sherlock stashed it on the top of his dresser, as he always does because it makes it easier to get to.

John took the remote from the top of said dresser as well, and their sides brushed together, and as said before, if it had been someone else, he would have blushed or something, but it was just Sherlock. What John was surprised to see was Sherlock step away a bit, and he was confused.

Did John hurt him or something? "Sherlock?" he reached out to touch his side again, but Sherlock inched away.

"Don't touch that," he put his hands over it to protect his waist. John looked to him with a face that said that if he didn't spill it now, John would make him spit it out. Sherlock simply shook his head and replied to John's silent request, "I- it isn't something you'd care about, it was… an accident, can we just watch telly, now?" he asked as John threw the remote on the bed.

"No, you tell me what's wrong, or I smack you," he threatened.

"You wouldn't," Sherlock smirked and John rolled his eyes.

"You're right, I wouldn't. Just tell me, please?" he asked, and stepped closer.

"No, just. Fine, not right now. Sometime later, just not now, yeah?" and John looked discouraged, but nodded. Sherlock looked to the remote and pushed past John to sit on the bed.

He plucked the remote from the edge of the mattress and sat all the way back, with his back to the wall and his legs crossed. He placed his hand over the spot that he wanted John to sit at, an John sighed, pulling himself there and sitting beside his best friend.

The telly flipped on and he smiled as Sherlock's head was on his shoulder. Once more, it would have been awkward, but it was just the way they were. John rested his head upon Sherlock's curls and he exhaled, content that he wasn't at home.

Sure, he loved his mum, and all, but he liked being with Sherlock more than anyone else. He knew it sounded a little queer, but those who think that he is queer can shove it up their arse. People at school had asked him if he and Sherlock were together and he denied every single one of them.

He had said, that they were together, but like brothers, and brothers don't kiss and have sex, now do they? They were practically raised together, and they had considered that was what made them so close. But soon John was getting tired and the bullshit for telly wasn't helping as he nodded off on Sherlock.

But Sherlock had already been asleep, and they ended up sleeping for about half an hour like that before they woke and realized they should actually go to bed. "John," Sherlock asked. John hummed, still half asleep, "can you stay here tonight? In my bed?" he asked.

John, not exactly knowing what was going on, but then again exactly what, nodded and they settled under the covers, separated. But that didn't last long as the lights were turned out and they fell asleep again. John somehow rolled over into Sherlock, and Sherlock accepted as they cuddled in their sleep.

But they only got a few hours in before Sherlock was whimpering about something and woke up not being able to breathe at first. His curls were plastered to his forehead as he had been sweating and he squeezed John's body in his grip.

John felt all of this and woke up from Sherlock squeezing the hell out of his ribs, "Sherlock," he tried to wriggle free. But then he felt tears against his shoulder. "Sher?" he asked and Sherlock buried his head further, the tears falling freely as he was still sobbing.

John quit trying to get free and instead wrapped himself around Sherlock. "Sherlock, it's okay now. Whatever you were dreaming about is gone," he assured and Sherlock nodded, but when he tried to stop crying, he went right back to it, and he couldn't help keeping his tight grip on the blond who smelled so good and who was comforting him.

Why did his nightmares have to stay when John was over? He had been having them ever since the first day of school, when that bastard did that to him. No one had ever actually intentionally hurt him like that, besides Mycroft, but even then, it was usually just a joke, you know? No, that fucking dick, was serious and he hurt Sherlock, a lot.

Now the little brunette will never forget the words, and the pain. He tried, but it wasn't enough and he could remember everything. "Sherlock, do you want to tell me about it?" when his tears had finally stopped. He shook his head.

"Okay, okay, sh," because Sherlock had started up again with John's words. How could someone so loving find someone like Sherlock? They had been friends for years, but only just now had someone got offended and approached Sherlock about it.

But he did eventually wipe away the tears for the third time and he looked to John, "I'm sorry," he croaked and John shook his head, having tears of his own forming.

"No, whoever or whatever did this, is going to pay. Do you hear me? I will protect you, and nothing will hurt you," he declared. John loved Sherlock, whether it was like a brother or a best friend he wasn't completely sure, (maybe both?), but he loved the tall brunette and he would never deny it.

"John," he hummed as he had brought Sherlock back into an embrace, "this isn't weird?" he asked, referring to their position in Sherlock's bed.

"No, you're practically my brother, and if you need me, I'm here," he promised and Sherlock smiled sadly as he was exhausted from sobbing. John let a few tear fall and they both fell asleep again until mid morning the next day.

"Sherlock," John nudged Sherlock's shoulder and he simply buried his head further, tickling John's ear with his curls and John giggled. "Sherlock, we have to get up," he said and Sherlock shot up, scowling at John. He had never woke up easy and when he did, he was always slightly pissed.

John laughed as Sherlock's curls were sticking out in every direction and he looked so pissy, it was hard not to laugh. Sherlock shook his curls and smoothed them out as best he could as he stared at John again, this time, it was a blank look.

"John," he said, sounding bored, but he was simply trying to hide his feelings now.

"Yes?" John had settled from giggling like a school boy.

"I think I should tell you what was wrong?" he said as John pulled both of them out of bed.

"If you feel like you can?" he was careful, as he knew what it was like to be sad and hurting. Sherlock had always fixed it somehow, but he still knew what it was like.

"Well, I think I can…"

I don't know if this is any good so far. So, reviews are welcome, and even suggestions if you like?