***Author's Note***

"All grown-ups were once children... but only few of them remember it." -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (from "The Little Prince")

A brief alternate first meeting story. This is actually the second chapter of a multi-chapter WIP piece that notjustmom and I are co-writing on AO3. This chapter stands fairly on its own, but if you'd like to read more (it's a continuous story, but each chapter is inspired by a different quote from "The Little Prince"), it's called "Quotes From Elsewhere," and you can check it out here: /works/7258249/chapters/16480279

"How do you feel about the beach?" John handed Sherlock a steaming mug, tucked himself into his chair, pointed his feet toward the fire, and wrapped his hands around his own mug for warmth.

"Loathsome. Absolutely detest it."

John huffed a quiet laugh.

"Why?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his flatmate.

"I'm thinking of taking a holiday. Just a week at the beach. Any beach. As long as it's warm." John shivered and wrapped his robe more tightly around him. "This winter is never going to end, and I'm tired of being cold all the time."

"I thought you of all people would be averse to anywhere that was all sun and sand." Sherlock wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"You're not wrong. But," John sipped his tea, "the beach has the ocean. And some of my happiest childhood memories. We spent a week at the beach every summer up until my mum died."

"A torturous month at the beach was inflicted upon me every summer until I was twelve years old." Sherlock grumbled. "My parents traveled abroad for mummy's lecture series, while Mycroft and I were dumped at our grandaunt Tilly's house on the coast. It was miserable."

"Miserable?" John frowned. "Really? No good memories at all? No adventures? Scientific discoveries? Friendships foraged?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, then closed it just as quickly. "There was one summer. I was six. I saw a boy, he was older and bigger than me, climbing some rocks. I was curious, so I followed him. I slipped and got stuck. He found me, and cut his foot getting me out. He had to get stitches; I remember it seemed like a thousand to my childish mind."

John propped his elbow on the arm of his chair, rested his chin on his palm, and quirked his mouth into the slightest of smiles. "A bit of hero worship follow after?"

"Don't be ridiculous, John." Sherlock scoffed. "Though, Tilly did insist on treating him to a sundae. And we met back on the rocks every day for the next four days. I showed him different types of algae. He taught me to swim. We collected insects and sea shells." The corner of Sherlock's mouth ticked up into a tiny smile. "I suppose that summer was... tolerable."

"It sounds like you had genuine fun, Sherlock. And made a friend." John's smile grew a bit broader.

Sherlock hummed his agreement, though a hint of loneliness crept into his voice. "The day his family left, he told me they visited that beach every year, and that he would find me the next summer. But, he never came. I waited for him on the rocks everyday that next summer..." His sigh was wistful.

John's smile was tremulous, his own tone gone a bit sentimental. "Mum died two months after that trip. We couldn't afford the luxury of holidays at the beach after that."

Sherlock fixed his gaze on John then, scrutinizing every line of his face as if seeing him for the first time.

"If memory serves, I won a blue stuffed dog at the boardwalk, and gave it to you that last day. I thought he should be called Gladstone, but you picked Jean-Henri..."

"After Fabre, the French entomologist." Eyes wide in wonder, Sherlock barely managed a whisper. "John..."

"You went by William back then, and you must have tried to delete me when you were older because you thought I abandoned you." John slid his foot out of his ratty old slipper, scooted down in his chair, and propped his heel on Sherlock's knee. A thin silver line ran across the arch of his foot. "And it was only twelve stitches."

They sat in silent introspection for several moments, both in awe of this serendipitous revelation.

"John?"

"Yeah, Sherlock?"

"I believe you mentioned something about needing a bit of a holiday..."