Disclaimer: I own nothing
A young Sherlock Holmes, around nine years old, stood precariously on a thin limb at the top of a tree. His friend, Molly, walked underneath the tree, and gazed up at him.
"Sherlock, what are you doing up there?" Molly called up.
"I'm surveying the park," Sherlock replied in a solemn tone, without even looking down at his friend as he adjusted his perch.
Molly rolled her eyes, and brushed a lock of her wavy brown hair away from her face. "Get down from there! You'll get hurt," she yelled up at the boy.
"No!" Sherlock yelled back. "I have to look for murders!"
"I'll call Lestrade," Molly threatened, her gaze hardening.
"That Bobby wannabe? Go ahead," Sherlock retorted stubbornly. "I can fight him, or even the real police!"
Molly sighed, lowering her gaze from the tree as she looked around to try to think of something that might lure her friend down before he broke his neck. An idea came to mind as she spotted her backpack on a nearby bench. "I have cookies!" Molly called up.
At that, Sherlock's gaze instantly dropped from the horizon to Molly's face. "Did you make them?" he asked.
Molly nodded, and Sherlock began scrambling down the tree. They both ran over to Molly's backpack, where she retrieved two of her famous confections.
"Thanks." Sherlock said awkwardly.
"You're welcome," Molly said with a beaming smile.
"I totally would've fought the police, you know," Sherlock said hurriedly before stuffing the cookie in his mouth, as if to defend his honor.
"I know you would," Molly smiled.
