"Sherlock," Molly called. No answer. She sighed and looked in either direction. The small girl put her hands on her hips and stood defiantly. "Hide-and-seek is over," she yelled, cupping her hands to her mouth.
A small head of curly hair poked out from behind a thick tree trunk. Its owner had a fierce gaze, even at nine. "Molly, the next round will begin soon. Let me stay hidden."
Without taking her hands from her hips, the girl in stripe, polka dot, and cherry print clothes marched up to her friend. "Scoot. Both of us can fit here."
Sherlock obliged, but argued, "There's a higher probability we'll be found in pairs, Molly."
"Shhh. Math will also tell you it's more likely if you keep talking."
He had to agree. After what felt like an eternity to the two children, they sat down under the shade of the old tree. Their restrained breathing grew louder as they became more comfortable in their hiding place.
"Molls," a little voice called out.
"Graham," Sherlock whispered fiercely, pulling his coat closer to himself with one hand and dragging Molly nearer with his other. "He'll be looking for you."
"And you, git. We're both playing." She folded her arms and pouted. "His name's Greg, too."
"Sure, okay, Greg." He rolled his eyes. "Nobody ever looks for me," Sherlock frowned. "He's definitely here for you."
Molly's pout grew more pronounced. Her breath hitched as she heard Greg's footsteps in the dying leaves of autumn.
"There you are!" Greg smiled, reaching out for Molly.
Sherlock's eyes grew wide and he latched onto Molly's arm, dragging her through the forest at breakneck pace.
"Sherlock," she drawled, "what're you doing?"
He turned his head around to look at her, eyes wild, never slowing down all the while. "Winning."
"Can we win slower? It hurts to breathe," Molly whined.
Sherlock slowed down until the two of then were quite some distance from any child they knew. His eyes scanned his friend and squinted when he realized she was having difficulty breathing. "Molly, what's wrong?"
"My chest hurts," she frowned, grasping at her cherry printed shirt. Soon, a coughing fit overtook her small frame and she shook in pain.
The boy's eyes grew wide. She was having an asthma attack. He leapt into action, grabbing the inhaler she kept in her jacket pocket and thrusting it into her hands.
She nodded her head in thanks. Soon after the albuterol entered her system, she quieted down.
Sherlock, however, twitched with worry. His hands helped her to sit down and he offered her his coat. When she accepted, he struggled to keep from pacing the forest floor in complete confusion of how to help further.
"Sit by me," she offered, reading his scared eyes.
He obliged.
Hours later, much after school had ended, an older brother discovered two nine year olds sleeping on each other's shoulders. He sighed, shook his head, and called out to the two sets of parents who had tore the forest apart looking for their children.
Mycroft swore off caring for most of the population, but if this Hooper girl was so important to Sherlock that she would wake up with an arm around her shoulder- as well as Sherlock's coat- then maybe he could learn to like her, too.
A/N: Some kid!lock fluff never did no harm. Seriously, sherlollians, come and annoy me on tumblr. Also, review, so I can know how terrible at Britpicking I am. Or, conversely, tell me how much older than Sherlock Mycroft is. There's a little Holmes Brothers two-shot in it for you!