Note: I do not own any of the characters in this story. I have changed some of their personalities and ages for my purposes.

Please also note that while I did the majority of the writing, I have had many supporters in the making of this story. Among them are –JW, -Consulting Otter, and –John's Mustache of the Facebook page Ships Ahoy: A page on shipping Sherlock. Another notable person is my very close friend Tim, who has been so excited to read the first draft of very chapter and give helpful suggestions. You will never know how much your enthusiasm has worked itself into this story. And thank you, the reader, for taking the time to read this.

Chapter 1: Nightmares and Dissections

John (& Sherlock)

The soft cadence of rain interjected by the loud exclamation of thunder woke John up at midnight. His bed creaked and groaned as he sat up and looked around. No one else was awake. Except for Sherlock. John slowly, sleepily got himself up and out of bed and tip-toed down the line of beds to the other end of the sleeping room. "Sherlock," John whispered at the mop of dark curls bent over on the floor, "what are you doing?" The mop turned slightly toward John to reveal a glimpse of a pale, angular face.

"Who are you? Never mind, don't answer that question. I already know that you are an orphan, probably six, or are you seven? No, you're definitely six. And you are worried about someone, possibly a brother or a sister. You are new here, judging by the state of your clothes and the fact that you are worried about your sibling. Parents killed in an accident, one so terrible that it still haunts your eyes and makes you feel hollow. How am I doing? Wait…don't answer that, I know that I am doing fabulously. Now, on to your question. What am I doing? Well, many of the insects I am trying to study are nocturnal, so I was trying to dissect a particularly fascinating species of Drassodes lapidosus1 before you came up here and distracted me…and now ants are already taking parts of the corpse. Now I shall have to restart."

John couldn't do anything but stare at this most remarkable boy with his mouth agape. "H-how…how did you know all of that? I have never told anyone most of those things, except of the headmistress," he said, completely flabbergasted. "Did Harry tell you?" he demanded furiously.

"Who is Harry? Your brother, I presume. No, he didn't tell me. How did I know? Simple deduction, that's all," Sherlock said shortly as he stood up. Kneeling, Sherlock was about a foot and a half shorter than John was standing, but when he was a little less than a foot taller than John. Or so John felt.

"Ok, I guess that makes sense," John said softly, a little unsure of himself, "But what about me told you that?"

"Well, the major clue for everything is that a thunderstorm, not even a bad thunderstorm at that, woke you up in the middle of the night when it didn't wake up any of the other boys. That sort of clued me in that you were having nightmares, perhaps about your parents dying in some terrible accident, further confirmed by the sadness the sadness that haunts your eyes, the surprise that you couldn't conceal when I said that your parents had died horribly, and even the fact that you are here at Saint Dymphna Orphanage2. Being here also gave me enough evidence that your parents' deaths were horrible, as the authorities thought that you would be traumatized. You being up also tells me that you are worried about something or someone, most likely your brother Harry. I can tell you are six by your bone structure and the way you carry yourself. And I already addressed how I know that you are new here. Now that I have answered all of your questions, it is time for you to answer mine. What is your name and how did you know mine? Also, did I deduce you correctly?"

John just stood in front of Sherlock for a few minutes, still taking in everything he said, as Sherlock had been talking very quickly. After he had taken it all in, he replied in a slow, deliberate manner so that every word was as sparkling as the stars on a clear night in the middle of nowhere, "My name is John Watson. I knew your name, Sherlock Holmes, because before…before the accident, as you put it (Sherlock winced at this, as he realized that most six-year-olds didn't have just as high of a vocabulary as he did3, because he would have said so eloquently put it instead of just put it), there were rumors at my school that there was a strange boy, 'pale as milk, whose name was Sherlock Holmes.' They said that 'he was extremely smart, so smart that his parents didn't know what to do with him or his older brother, Mycroft, who was rumored to be even smarter than Sherlock. So they sent both of their sons off to Saint Dymphna Orphanage, because they had the best education in London since they catered to all sorts of mentally challenged children, from the extremely dumb to the extremely smart, no matter if they were orphaned or they were too difficult to deal with at home,'" he said, ending his length of quotes, "And you are the only person here that I can think of to fit the description. My friend Mike told me that your face was as pale as a ghost and as sharp as a rock and your hair was almost like that of a girl, long and curly and dark.4 He also told me you were really tall. He wasn't lying." John thought for a few seconds before continuing. "I don't understand your second question."

Now it was Sherlock's turn to look surprised. He had never thought that he was well-known for his intelligence. He mulled over John's words, trying to find a way to rephrase his question now that he knew the full capability of John's comprehension. When he finally compiled his response (it took him a total of 51.3 seconds and was steadily decreasing) he explained with the tone of a mother asking her child where on his body it hurt after falling off a bike, "I meant, are all of the things I said about you; your parents dying a tragic death, your brother, your age, et cetera, et cetera; true?"

John took a moment to review all that Sherlock had, in his words, "deduced" about him. Having fully reviewed himself, he said, "Yes, you got everything about me correct (Sherlock smiled, exuberant because this was his first completely correct deduction. He would have to go tell Mycroft at breakfast, he thought, so that he would stop flaunting at him that his completely-competent deduction skills without Sherlock flaunting his right back.)...except (Sherlock's smile was already starting to fall) for Harry. Harry. Short for Harriet."

By the time that John stopped talking, Sherlock's smile had fallen into a frown. "Always. There is always...something," he growled. Then, moving to sit heavily on his bed, ignoring the creaks and moans, he muttered to himself, "Mycroft will not let me forget this. Ever." John just looked at him strangely. "Oh, go to bed, John. I promise to talk to you in the morning. If you want, you can help me find my next experimental subject."

John thought this over. "Sure, that way when I see Mike I can tell him what I have learned from you," he said with a yawn and plodded heavily back to his bed next to the window. As he was drifting off to sleep, he had the feeling that he was about to embark on the biggest journey of his life.

Notes:

1: Drassodes lapidosus, also known as the stone spider, can be found in London, but is fairly uncommon to find and even harder to identify.

2: Saint Dymphna is the patron saint of mental illness (among other things), which is why I choose her name as the name of the orphanage.

3: I realize that Sherlock and John are actually different ages, but for the sake of the story I am making them both six.

4: Can you guess who Mike is? Hint: he always brings them together.

So...what did you think? What would you like to see in the future? Please give me feedback!