A/N: This is story idea I've had for a while now, and over the last couple weeks I've been getting this first part put together. It's actually loosely based on the story The Boy In Striped Pajamas (which you should read if you have not). Enjoy! :)

Sherlock had run home from school that day. His father was due to be back in town, and the young boy was excited to see the man after weeks of his absence. He made his way quickly down the sidewalk, backpack bouncing on his back, and his little feet slapping on the pavement. He did detour slightly though, only to climb the brick wall and walk along it, arms outstretched for balance. Reaching the end Sherlock jumped off, continuing on again.

He gave a grin and looked behind him. Oh no! The fierce warriors of the Sherwood tribe were after him! He, Captain Sherlock of the Black Elm, Crusader of the Seven Seas, needed to get away with the stolen treasure. He must return it to his pirate ship and awaiting crew without getting caught. The little boy ran down the street, picking up a short stick from the side of the road to use as a sword. He slashed it in front of him, pretending to cut down the branches of the thick forest he was supposedly running through. He turned in a circle slashing at an invisible tribesman behind him, then continued running, a wide grin on his face. Moments later he dropped the stick and slowed down his run just a bit in order to go up the steps to his front door. He pushed it open and entered, his mind now forgetting about his recent pirate adventure for the moment, instead focusing on the original task of coming home to his father.

The eight-year-old ignored the maid's protests as he ran farther into the house, sneakers sill on his feet and trailing mud and dirt on the freshly cleaned carpet. He didn't even set his books down on the wooden bench as he normally would, Sherlock rushing through the entrance hall to reach the sitting room. He ran through the doors grinning, only to be disappointed and came to a stop before entering on to the rug. The only occupants of the large room with the three chairs and bookshelves a plenty, was his mother, older brother Mycroft (who was going on seventeen), and Mrs. Reynolds of the big white house from down the road. The three looked up from their afternoon tea to see what the interruption had been. Sherlock's small mouth made the shape of an "o" as his grin faded, and he prepared to turn around and head out again. His mother stopped him.

"Aren't you going to wish Mrs. Reynolds a good afternoon?" his mother asked softly, Mrs. Reynolds giving a polite smile in addition.

"Afternoon," Sherlock said in barely a whisper.

"Mrs. Reynolds," his mother added with a nod of the head for him to do as well.

"Mrs. Reynolds," he whispered again, a hand in the doorframe, ready for him to turn around.

"Good afternoon, Sherlock, dear," Mrs. Reynolds replied with a smile, taking a sip of her tea. Mycroft spoke up from across Sherlock, setting his cup gently on the side table.

"Now where were you, Mrs. Reynolds," he asked with all respect noticeable. "before we were so suddenly interrupted?" at that the older boy gave Sherlock a glare, his idea clearly that Sherlock should be taught more manners, or at least disciplined for them. Sherlock stuck his tongue out at Mycroft, and was immediately scolded by his mother.

"Sherlock Holmes! Don't make faces a your brother, especially not in front of company," she warned harshly. "And take your shoes off, you're tracking dirt everywhere." She added, turning back to the conversation.

"Pardon my dear brother, Mrs. Reynolds," Mycroft gave an apologetic smile. "he has yet to grow out of his childish habits." he gave another glare to the younger boy who glared back before turning to leave.

"Not at all, not at all, Mycroft." Mrs. Reynolds returned. "Now where was I? Ah, yes- " Sherlock left to the sound of their neighbor droning on about some story of her experience at the shop the week prior.

The boy sighed and returned to the front door, removing his shoes and jacket. Mary, their maid, bent down to retrieve the small coat, hanging it up on the hook where all the others hung. Sherlock couldn't reach it even if he stood on tiptoe. The boy started up the steps, sitting on the first few and watching Mary.

"When's Father coming home?" he asked, peering around the end of the banister to watch Mary as she moved.

"Later this evenin', Master Sherlock," Mary replied, moving his shoes to go with the others.

"He is coming, right?" Sherlock stood up now, standing on tiptoe and leaning on he banister railing. "He promised. Mother promised." he explained, watching Mary carefully.

"Yes, yes he is," Mary gave Sherlock a quick glance as though she held a secret he mustn't know. Sherlock stored this in the back of his mind for later.

"Now go run upstairs and change out of your school clothes," she added, "before you ruin them by running about."

Sherlock gave a grin to Mary and she returned it with a smile. He left his perch and slowly trudged up the steps to the third floor where his bedroom was.

He had always liked Mary. She had worked for the Holmes family for many years now, and had taken care of Sherlock when he had been a baby. She was always kind to him.

Even walking as slowly as he was, Sherlock eventually made it to the top of the ninety-seven steps. He felt proud for counting all of them the week before. And he knew how many here were until each landing as well, not just the total.

The boy wandered down the hall coming to his room. He pushed open the door, leading into the large space that was his bedroom, complete with the large window that he could see out of if he climbed up to the window seat. There was even a tree outside of it, and sometimes if he was patient, the eight-year-old could watch the bees fly in and out of the hive that hung on a branch, not too far away. Sherlock walked past it now, but didn't stop to linger, instead wandering to his closet.

The boy pulled his school jumper off over his head of curls, and after, began unbuttoning the numerous clear buttons of the white, long-sleeve dress shirt. When he had that undone and off, he began on his belt, and the trousers, adding them to the pile his uniform had made at his feet. Sherlock now went over to the closet, pulling out a pair of dark shorts, then a white buttoned tshirt. He put those on, now satisfied with the more comfortable clothing and the slapping of his bare feet on the floor.

He gave a smile and jumped onto the bed, crawling over the nicely made sheets, and tossing them up again before sliding off the other side. He chose a book from his ever growing collection that had long since left the overflowing bookshelves, and now found itself collecting in piles on the floor. Sherlock picked up his most recent favorite The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, with it's cover that was worn and faded from use.

The boy gave yet another smile to himself, rushing over to the big armchair where father or mother, and occasionally Mycroft, used to read to him as a younger boy. Sometimes father still did if Sherlock asked nicely. But rarely would it happen since the man was always away for work. Mother was too busy nowadays, and Mycroft considered Sherlock too old for that. Which was fine to the younger boy. He could read anything himself, and often did, from adventure stories to encyclopedias, to classic Shakespeare plays. Sherlock Holmes read it all, even though he was only eight. Mother had always told him he was smart for his age, just like Father and his older brother.

Sherlock would smile when he remembered all the countless times his mum would take him aside, kneeling in front of him. She would ruffle his dark curls, and place a hand on his shoulder.

"Sherlock Holmes," she would whisper in her always soft, gentle voice. "you're a special little boy. Dont you ever forget that."

She would then place a light kiss on his small forehead, right above his mix of blue and green eyes. Whenever he came running home from school, having been teased by the bigger kids for always reading, or being so small, his mum would tell him this, and Sherlock would feel better.

He really was extremely small for his age, and mum always said it was because he hadnt reached his growth spurt yet. But at this rate, Sherlock didn't believe it would ever happen, and he would always be small and short, forever.

Sherlock went back to his reading, diving in to the story of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, running about town and hunting for treasure. He left the window with the tree outside of it, and the bees fluttering in and out of their hive. The bed with the now messy sheets, and his always growing book collection, left back in his bedroom, back in his large house. Right now the eight-year-old was elsewhere. In St. Petersburg, Missouri to be exact, with his friends Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn, and Joe Harper.

It was when Tom had skipped school lessons with Joe and both were sword fighting and playing Robin Hood in the forest, that Sherlock decided he should be having an adventure of his own instead of simply reading about one. He grinned to himself and stood up setting the book down, rather roughly on the floor by the chair, still open with the spine up in order to save his spot. Sherlock ran over to his closet, picking up a newspaper hat from the floor, and a nice wooden sword Mycroft had gotten him. He placed the hat on his head and gave the sword a good swish in the air before turning to the layout in front of him.

Captain Sherlock stood on the shore of a beach, his dark curls blowing in the wind underneath his hat. He had a firm grip on his sword as he studied the sea in front of him. The waves felt good as they washed up onto his bare feet, at the same time his toes sinking into the wet sand below him. Captain Sherlock was shaken from his trance as he heard shouting from his crew to the left. Oh no! The waves had dislodged his boat and it was beginning to sail away. Quickly with no hesitation the pirate ran forwards and jumped towards the water, landing carefully on a dry rock before reaching up and clinging on to a trailing rope. He used it to pull himself up to the boat deck, climbing over the edge and standing up confidently. He had made it. The captain walked along the long deck of his ship and made his way over to the ships giant wheel, standing on the bow in front of it and going back to his observation of the sea as the crew maintained the ship. What a beauty she was under such a fine crew, his pirate ship, the Black Elm.

Sherlock stood up on his bed, grinning and grabbing one of his numerous stuffed animals from by the pillows. He placed it right on the end of the bed to steer the wheel, then stood by it, hand on the sword hilt that was now slung through his belt loop. Bringing a hand to his forehead as though blocking the sun, Sherlock gazed out over his bedroom floor.

The ship was sailing brilliantly over to the beautiful ocean. No clouds in sight up above, and the water flat and peaceful. Captain Sherlock had told his men to go below and rest. No help was needed on the deck at the moment. But wait, what was that? Rising out of the water ever so slowly. But then it was huge and looming over the Black Elm's deck. A submarine! A big one too, rising out of the water. Before he knew what was happening, Captain Sherlock was leaping back from ropes that had come flying towards his ship, attaching themselves to the edge, and now a horde of Ninja Pirates were sliding down them and boarding his ship. The captain began to panic. His crew was all below deck and here he was alone and about to face of hundreds of dreaded Ninja Pirates in their fancy black clothing and face masks. Wait, what was he talking about? He was the brave Captain Sherlock, Crusader of the Seven Seas, and nothing could stand in his way or stop him. He gave out a battle cry, sword drawn and already slicing toward the enemy.

Sherlock jumped around the bed, the mattress springing up with each jump and creaking under him. The eight-year-old ran back and forth from end to end, stepping on pillows and leaping over the bulges the rumpled covers now made. He spun in circles and swung his sword around, yelling to the imaginary enemies as he fought them.

"Take that you menacing beast!" With one final strike, Captain Sherlock defeated the last of the evil Ninja Pirates. He placed his sword back into it's scabbard, wiping a hand across his brow where sea spray and sweat was now dripping down his face. His hand brushed his long curly hair, then quickly flung to the top of his head. Oh no! His pirate hat, black with a skull and cross bones on it, had flown off in the fury of the battle. The pirate rushed over to the bow of the ship, leaning over the edge. There! There it was, already sodden and started to float away. Captain Sherlock reached his arm out as far as he could, his fingers just barely brushing against the pointed tip of the hat. He stretched his arm as far as he could, but it was no use. The hat was floating away and his arm wasn't long enough.

Sherlock was leaning over the bed frame, sword in hand and holding onto the railing, the other reaching out towards the ground for his hat, where it lay on the carpet. He stood up straight when he heard the door open downstairs, and the laughing and greeting of the new person, his hat forgotten as he gave a wide smile.

The eight-year-old leapt off the bed, letting the sword drop to on the mattress and running over to the window, jumping up to the window seat, and kneeling on it with his hands and face pressed against the glass. He grinned at the sight of his fathers blue car in the drive, and he pushed himself off to rush downstairs, running across the carpet on the wood, and pounding down the stairs, hardly caring if he was making quite the racket.

The window looking out front was left with it's Sherlock sized prints on it's glass, the evening sun shining through it and across the bedroom floor. Over the pile of his school uniform, and the bed with the sword on it and the hat on the floor. Over the arm of the big chair then the spine of Tom Sawyer before it spilt through the crack of the halfway opened door, left so as Sherlock had rushed out to greet his father.

Clambering down the stairs, his hand trailing along the banister, Sherlock jumped off at the two bottom steps, coming to a halt on the wooded floor. His father saw him and let his jacket drop to the hook he had been placing it on, bending down to receive the hug Sherlock was now running towards him to give.

"Hey there, bud!" he said, ruffling a large hand through Sherlocks curls. The man kept his hand flat on the boy's head, and stretched his arm out, as though measuring Sherlock's height. "My goodness! You've grown in the last few months." he grinned and stood up. "You might as well be the height of a tree soon," he laughed, ruffling the dark hair once more. Mycroft stepped forwards, holding out his hand and shaking the older man's.

"Father," he greeted. Mr. Holmes shook Mycroft's back and placed a hand on his son's shoulder also in greeting. He finally went over over at his wife and grinned, pulling her in for a hug as well and giving her a light kiss on the cheek.

"It's good to be back, a whole family again."

Mary came in from the kitchen to tell the family their supper was waiting on the table.

"Perfect timing, eh?" he said, grabbing both of his boys by the shoulders and pulling them in next to him. "Shall we eat then? I've got a little announcement for you two." Sherlock nodded against his fathers waist and looked up as his father let the two boys go, leading the family into the dining room to eat. Mr. Holmes gave a smile to his wife, who smiled back.

"Moving!?" Sherlock nearly shouted, his jaw hanging open and his spoon dropping and clattering against the nice china of his soup bowl.

"Sherlock, pick your spoon up and don't leave your mouth open like that," his mother pointed out in response.

"Yes, moving. It'll be fun," his father cheered with a smile next to him. Mycroft across the table from Sherlock looked between his mother and sibling, then back at his father.

"Where exactly are we moving?" the older boy asked, taking a spoonful of soup as he watched his father for a reply.

"To the country side a bit. A nice place." Mycroft nodded with approval before their father continued. "Theres even a forest nearby for you to run in," he added, looking at Sherlock who no longer had the appetite to eat.

"But what about school? And this house, and my bedroom and the bees outside the window, and the books and the park down the road, and- "

"Sherlock," his mother hushed him from his left. "Let your father speak."

His dad gave a short chuckle at the boy's outburst before realizing just how serious the eight-year-old was.

"It'll all be fine. The books we'll take with us and you'll get your own new bedroom. As for the park, you'll have a helluva backyard stretching miles over, and I'm sure you'll find some bees there." he gave a smile and reached over to ruffle Sherlock's hair.

"And school?" Mycroft asked. It was a question he had as well. "Will we be busing?"

Sherlock looked between his father and brother. His mother nodded to their father to continue. After eating a bit of soup, and clearing his throat, the man spoke.

"No, no. I've already arranged for a private tutor who'll come mornings, Monday through Friday to give you two each lessons."

Sherlock gave a groan, and received a kick from his brother under the table to shut up. He then proceeded by leaning his cheek in his hand, and stirring his soup around in his bowl with the spoon.

"That, um, that sounds great." Mycroft answered for the both of them, putting on a fake smile, not really looking forward to it.

"Great!" their father replied with a grin, and their mother gave a weak smile, well aware of the boys' absent enthusiasm. "We'll be leaving in three days, so you boys'll spend the weekend packing up all your things together.

"Monday!?" Sherlock burst out again, all though not as suddenly as the first time. "That's so soon..." he trailed off, not having expected any of this when he so eagerly ran down the stairs earlier to greet his father.

"Yes, Monday." his father confirmed.

Those two words seemed to be the end of the discussion, the family of four silently going back to their meal. The only sounds were their metal spoons clacking against the china bowls as the scraped out the last bits of soup. All excitement from his rushing down the stairs or his earlier adventures was forgotten, as Sherlock silently mixed his food around in it's bowl. A few minutes later, the youngest broke the silence once more.

"Is this forever?" he asked quietly, looking up toward their father, then mother, then back to father. "That's what you said last time..." The family was quiet, three of them all staring at the boys' father, none knowing the answer and eagerly waiting for his reply.

Their dad looked at Sherlock a little unsure.

"Hopefully not. A year at the very most. Then we can come back here again." He gave a smile, hoping that would satisfy his awaiting family members.

And that was the end to the conversation.

A/N: How did you like it so far? I would love to here your comments and reviews. The title I randomly came up with just for this first part until I decide otherwise. But if you have an idea of a title I should put, I would love to hear about it! This is actually my first ever chaptered fanfiction, so bear with me as I write it. The second chapter will hopefully be up in not too long, but I'll be starting up school again in a few days, so it might not go as planned. But look out for updates! Or you will miss parts, and the next chapter ;)