So I have honestly no clue where this idea came from anymore, but it was actually pretty fun to write. Now, I do know that all of the characters are different ages and probably wouldn't have gone to school together, but I ended up changing that for the purposes of this story. As such, there are a few references to other characters, though I'm not sure how well those come across. Also, I did try to keep the Americanisms to a minimum, but I apologize if some slipped through, as my knowledge of British customs and speech is basically limited to what I remember from the show. Anyways, reviews would be much loved!
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or any of its characters.
Chapter 1: A Study In Grape Juice
"Alright, who did it?" came the not-yet-matured voice, full of a bold confidence any other at this age would have never dared use. But this boy, tall and lanky despite his young years, was anything but ordinary, and he knew it well, loved to flaunt it. "Who took my grape juice?" At the resounding silence which met his question, the boy simply scoffed. "Please, don't embarrass yourself and just admit it. I will find you."
Dozens of pairs of eyes watched him, a mixture of awe and annoyance, but none spoke a word, uttered even a sound. They'd all seen him pull this stunt many times before, scanning the crowd with sparkling, colorful eyes and somehow telling the life story of everyone present within a matter of mere minutes, understanding it better than even they did themselves. He did this then, taking in all, missing no detail, regardless of how minute. The thin hairs sticking to the cotton clothes of many, all alike in their ownership of pets. Dogs more often than cats, and an even blend of large and small breeds. The straight-backed and disciplined posture of once boy, hailing surely from a military family. Likely determined to join himself in the future. Dark and watchful eyes of an older brother trying to hide their concern for the younger boy beneath the insults and derisions stemming from an unnatural form of sibling rivalry. Untucked shirt hems, gelled-back hair, tapping fingers, they all told him the secret stories of each and every person present, whether they could see it or not.
"Ah, how simple. Hardly even a challenge." He turned with an artful flourish , striding with natural arrogance to one boy picked seemingly at random from the masses. "All the signs are obvious, and you didn't even bother to try and hide them."
"Aww, Sherlock…" the boy whined, apparently innocent in everyone's eyes. Well, almost everyone. "Why me? You couldn'a known."
"Couldn't have known," he corrected the thief automatically.
"What?"
"It's couldn't have, not couldn'a."
"I don't care!" the other boy shouted, twisting to slam a hand down on the table. "I didn't do it, and you can't know if I did!"
"How naïve," the young Sherlock Holmes chided, sharp eyes glinting almost madly with a cold, near inhuman, glee. "When I first began, you were the only one to match eye contact with me the entire time. Overconfidence? Surely. A challenge? Most definitely, meaning you don't believe my abilities are real, but it's hardly my concern whether you are too ignorant to recognize true genius. The water drops on your jeans, when you have nothing cold packed nor a drink anywhere in the vicinity. Where might they have come from? Now, the hand shoved in your coat pocket. It's closest to the table yet you slapped your other hand down, despite the awkward contortion it took for you to do so while continuing to face me. Why might you do this? Unless, of course, you're trying to hide something in that conspicuously bulging pocket. Your hand is obviously not that large, judging by the one still on the table, so it could only be," the future consulting detective reached forward, plucking a small bottle from the other boy's pocket, "my grape juice."
The other boy crossed his arms, a pout forming. "Fine, you win."
"Oh, when will you lot learn? I'll always win in the end," said Sherlock plainly, as if stating a known and proven fact, before returning to wherever he'd come from, long coat billowing out behind him in the chill breeze.
However, in his marching away, Sherlock Holmes never did see the features of one other boy seated only a few people away from the thief. Pale, almost white, skin and cold, dark eyes, just as intelligent and clever as the detective's. For many minutes after, this boy still continued to observe his equal, never moving from where he sat, calculating, plotting, seeking out any and all flaws, sorting them away to be well exploited sometime in the future. After all, playing these games with the normal children could get so boring, but this one here, he might be a bit more fun. Perhaps this might be a challenge for even both of them, a wonderful little game where only one could reign victorious in the end. And besides, didn't every hero need their fairy tale villain?
So then, in that case, didn't Sherlock Holmes need Jim Moriarty?
