Eight year old Sherlock was crouched on the floor, examining some dirt on the toe of nine year old John's shoe, poking it and prodding it. Eight year old Mary was stood opposite John, conversing politely with him. Sherlock was on the bit of floor between his best friend and his best friend's girlfriend, blocking them from eachother.
Why is Sherlock interested in such weird things, John was thinking, along with, Mary is so pretty.
The dirt in the nearby farm has a similar consistency, Sherlock was thinking, has John been there recently?
I wonder if John will kiss me, Mary was thinking, I wish he would.
John suddenly gave a brilliant smile. Mary picked up on this and shuffled forwards slightly, pursing her lips. She leant forward, over Sherlock, and closed her eyes, waiting expectantly. John started to lean forwards.
He's going to kiss me, Mary was thinking, this is it!
I'm going to kiss Mary, John was thinking, this is it!
I'm done looking at the dirt now, Sherlock was thinking.
John's eyes closed, and he pressed his lips to another set of lips. It lasted less than five seconds, before Mary pulled away.
But it wasn't Mary he'd just kissed. No, it certainly wasn't.
"Oh, god." John moaned.
"That was gross!" Sherlock said loudly.
They were both blushing.