So this is in response to a tumblr post by eliosu.
This is my first attempt at writing Fawnlock, so you know, it's not perfect, but I tried. Enjoy.
Sherlock had always been alone. Well, not technically. He had a mum and a dad, and his older brother Mycroft. And they were nice and all, but Sherlock hadn't seen them in months. Not by choice exactly, more because of Sherlock's distinct disregard for the herd's rules. I should clarify. Sherlock is a faun. And his family generally traveled in a nomadic group with many other fauns, it was easier to survive in the vast forests when you're in a group. Especially with all the hunters and other predators roaming about. But Sherlock never much liked the herd, none of the other young fauns liked him much, and he didn't like them either. Which suited him just fine. He was alright roaming about on his own, sure it could be dangerous, but Sherlock was a clever little creature, unlike the vast majority of predators and hunters roaming about.
Sherlock had never actually seen a hunter before, he'd just heard stories from the older members of the herd. Stories of terrible brutish men with guns and knives who would hunt down the fauns and other animals for sport. Naturally, the descriptions of these men got very exaggerated over time, to the point where they were said to have glowing red eyes, among other monstrous features. It was likely for this reason that Sherlock did not immediately recognize the boy leaning against the tree as a hunter, seeing as he was neither armed nor particularly brutish. Sherlock was fascinated by him, he was unlike anything the young faun had ever seen. He was stocky and blond and he didn't have any horns or hooves that Sherlock could see, so he was definitely human. The boy was sleeping soundly against the tree, a duffle bag lying on the ground beside him. Now, while most fauns would have been terrified at the sight of such an ambiguous stranger, Sherlock was not. Sherlock was instead very, very curious. So, still somewhat cautiously, the little faun took a few steps closer. His hooves silently sinking into the cold damp grass. He clutched a small satchel, one he had filled with berries he'd gathered for eating, and slowly continued moving closer. Then he came to stand right in front of the sleeping boy, one of the boy's legs pulled loosely up to his chest, the other stretched out. Sherlock sniffed him, taking in a wide range of strange smells, and leaned in as close as he could, studying the strange boy's tired face. Sherlock jumped suddenly as the boy groaned slightly and shifted position. Sherlock crouched a little ways away, his heart pounding in his chest. He waited for a few moments, the cool fall breeze drifting through the forest and ruffling Sherlock's black curly hair. A few leaves dropped from the trees and fluttered down around the faun and the boy. Satisfied that he was still asleep, Sherlock walked over again, this time his attention focused on the bag lying on the ground. Cautiously and very quietly, to avoid disturbing the boy, Sherlock settled his own little bag on the ground, and quietly unzipped the hunters bag. He began shuffling through it, pulling out the top objects to reveal the rest hidden underneath. There was a big sweater, a notebook and pen, a flask; which when opened appeared to be tea. (There used to be an elderly faun who lived in a cave, she frequently made tea, especially when the herd came over to socialize.) In the bag there was also some food, or what Sherlock observed to be some sort of food. It certainly wasn't anything fauns were accustomed to eating, it was human food, and it looked far less natural, not to say that fauns didn't occasionally branch out in their diets, but human food had a very distinct look. Well that's not entirely true, there was something he was familiar with. A fruit, an apple to be specific, although Sherlock had never had the pleasure of eating one quite so big and red. Most of the apples he'd come across were small green crabapples, and the other fauns usually hogged most of them. After glancing nervously at the sleeping boy, Sherlock picked up the large fruit, and took a hesitant bite. It made a lot more noise than he'd initially anticipated. Enough noise that the boy started to wake up. Frightened, and unwilling to be caught, Sherlock dropped the apple grabbed his bag and ran into the safety of the bushes.
"What the hell?" The boy slurred slightly as he tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes, staring at the little mess Sherlock had made. "That's what I get for falling asleep." He grumbled picking up the apple with a chunk missing.
"Well I hope you enjoyed it!" He shouted, throwing the apple off into the bushes, before turning back to his bag. Sherlock crouched in the safety of the thick red and orange foliage, careful not to move lest the leaves drop from the bushes. His heart was pounding in his chest. Although the the words the boy spoke should have been indicative of anger, the tone of his voice implied mild irritation at most. In fact, after throwing the apple, he just picked up his canister of tea and drank some of it before continuing to reorganize his belongings calmly. Sherlock was careful to make as little noise as possible as he crawled over to where the apple had landed and picked up the fruit. He brushed off the dirt that had gotten on it, and smiled happily, placing it in his little bag. Sherlock found he quite liked this type of apple. He glanced back over to where the boy was standing, having finished putting everything back into his bag, he lifted it up on his shoulder, and started walking off in the other direction. It wasn't very hard for Sherlock to come to the decision to follow the boy, it was only logical after all. Winter was fast approaching, and this boy had food, and also a very warm sweater, which Sherlock could make very good use of in the colder months. Besides, the boy didn't seem all that dangerous, he certainly hadn't gotten very mad at having his belongings rummaged through.
Sherlock followed the boy for almost an hour, the faun was careful to keep his distance. The boy wasn't walking very fast anyway, he actually was walking with a slight limp, and seemed to enjoy a more leisurely stroll. Eventually, the boy and his stalker arrived at a log cabin. It looked old, but a well-used old not an abandoned old. The boy walked up to the door and was welcomed into the house by a woman. Sherlock meanwhile stayed in the safety of the brush, finding instead a nice cozy place tucked into the large roots of a tree. He lay there on his belly and pulled out the remainder of his apple, and began eating thoughtfully, pondering the boy he'd found.
Sherlock followed this boy for several weeks, always keeping his distance, except when the boy left his bag unattended for a little while. Mostly, the boy just wandered around on his own, he had a notebook which Sherlock often saw him writing in. Occasionally he would leave with a group of other bigger men, but Sherlock usually opted to stay hidden at the cabin during those excursions. Although the short blond boy was not frightening, the big men were, and Sherlock was immediately suspicious of them. Over these weeks Sherlock obtained a nice variety of food which kept him better fed than he'd been since he left his herd. Which was a good thing, since the snow had come early this year. The boy, overall, seemed quite nice, he did talk to himself a lot though. In fact, it seemed as though he had entire conversations with someone who was not actually there. Sherlock found he didn't mind it though, in fact, he rather enjoyed the sound of the boy's voice, rumbling in the forest. Sherlock was quite content being the boy's shadow, but it could not last forever. Because sooner or later, the boy would find out, and find out he did.
Sherlock sneezed.
The boy, who had been napping lightly against a tree (as was his habit) spun around and caught sight of the little faun, who -do to the barrenness of the winter plants- was quite visible. Sherlock didn't have enough time to get his bearings and run before the boy had appeared before the snivelling faun. Sherlock stared in terror up at the big brown eyes of the blond boy.
"Hello." He said with a smile. "So…You must be the one who's been stealing my stuff." He said. Gently he picked up the very distressed Sherlock and lifted him up into the air.
"I must be dreaming!" The boy said with a grin. "You look exactly like my imaginary friend!" He said.
"You've got to be kidding me." Sherlock grumbled. The boy smiled.
"I'm John." He said, as he set Sherlock back on the ground. "Looks like you've got yourself a cold." He said with a smile, noting how Sherlock was sniffling slightly.
"I'm fine." Sherlock grumbled irritably, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Right." John replied, obviously not believing the faun.
"So what are you going to do to me?" Sherlock asked, he'd heard stories of what happened to fauns who were captured by humans, none of them ended well.
"Why would you think I was going to do anything?" John asked.
"Because I was stalking you, and stealing your food." Sherlock replied uncomfortably.
"Oh, that. I don't mind really." John said with a small smile. "I'm happy I could help you out." He walked over to his bag, Sherlock stood uncomfortably, contemplating whether he really wanted to try and run away or not, he was shivering and not really in the mood for running. The snow had started to fall in big poofy flakes, and the temperature had dropped somewhat. John came back with a dark blue scarf, he smiled slightly.
"Here." He said wrapping it around Sherlock's neck. It was warm, much warmer than Sherlock had expected.
"Thank you." Sherlock said quietly.
"No problem." John replied. "What's your name?"
"Sherlock." The faun replied nervously.
"It's a pleasure to meet you." John said with another small smile. He shivered and started rubbing his arms to generate heat. "It's awfully cold out, isn't it." He said. Sherlock didn't reply, just glanced nervously at the boy.
"You can come over to my place if you like, I have a fireplace, it keeps the house pretty warm. And mum won't mind, dad probably would, but he won't be back until tomorrow night." John said, as he grabbed his bag and lifted it onto his shoulder.
"Really?" Sherlock asked, very much surprised.
"Yeah, sure." John said. Sherlock, excited at the prospect of having somewhere warm to spend the night, and very curious about what the inside of a human's cabin would look like, grabbed his little bag and followed John back through the woods and towards the cabin.
Sherlock followed John into the cabin. It was warm, very warm actually. The woman, presumably John's mother, was in the kitchen area, cooking something.
"Hey, mum, I'm home." John said, as he dropped his bag on the floor. "And I brought a friend." He added as he was over to hug his mother.
"Really?" His mother said, her excitement obvious. Sherlock stood awkwardly in the doorway, fidgeting with his scarf.
"Aw, hello." The woman said with a smile as she walked over to Sherlock.
"This is Sherlock, mum. He's got a bit of a cold." John said.
"Hello." Sherlock said quietly, before sneezing loudly.
"Oh, you poor thing. Come on inside and I'll get you some nice warm tea." She said as she walked over to the stove and prepared the kettle.
"You can just leave your bag by the door." John said. "Make yourself comfortable."
"Thanks, I guess." Sherlock said. The two boys walked over to the couch, and sat next to each other awkwardly.
"So…Is your family nearby?" John asked.
"Dunno, probably not." Sherlock said. "Haven't seen them in a while, but they usually spend the winter in temporary camps on the other side of the forest."
"Oh, sorry." John replied.
"Nah, I like being on my own. It just gets a bit tough in the winter, you know." Sherlock said.
"Yeah. So, you're a faun right. Are there a lot of you out here?" John asked.
"I don't know. I guess there are quite a few." Sherlock said with a shrug, as he nervously ran his fingers over the scarf.
"You're dad, he's not big on faun's?" Sherlock asked. At this John seemed very uncomfortable.
"Well, he's not big on any animals really. He's kind of a dick to be honest." John said.
"John Hamish Watson! You watch your language." John's mother said as she walked over with two cups of tea.
"Sorry mum." John said sheepishly.
"I've never had tea." Sherlock said after Mrs. Watson had walked back over to the kitchen.
"It's good stuff, you'll like it." John said.
"There is no possible way for you to know what I would or wouldn't like." Sherlock grumbled as he gingerly picked up the hot cup.
"Right, well, be careful, it's really hot." John said as he picked up his own cup. Sherlock did like the tea, which he begrudgingly admitted to John. Afterwards, Sherlock and John went into the laters bedroom, which was small and pretty empty. It just had the one bed and a dresser.
"It's not much." John said quietly. "But I can set up some blankets on the floor, if you want." He said. Sherlock was quiet for a moment, keenly looking around the room.
"Sure, that's fine." He said distantly. "I noticed you write in a notebook a lot. What about?" Sherlock asked. John seemed surprised at the question, but he just went and sat on the edge of his bed.
"Well, mostly I write about what happens around me, since not much actually happens to me." John said.
"Oh." Sherlock replied. "That's…Interesting."
"Yeah, I guess." John said.
"You mentioned I look like your imaginary friend." Sherlock stated.
"Yeah, I know it's lame. But my family spends a lot of time out here in the forest, so I don't really have many friends. Gets kind of lonely, you know, so I made up a friend."
"I suppose." Sherlock replied, although he really had no idea. He'd always been fine on his own, although he did understand the appeal of imaginary friends, sort of.
"I had a friend skull for a while." Sherlock said. John glanced at him in disbelief.
"A skull."
"Yeah, I think it was a squirrel skull, I'm not really sure. I used to talk to it and stuff." Sherlock said.
"You don't have him anymore?" John asked.
"Nah, my mom thought it was creepy, and made my dad get rid of it." Sherlock said.
"Oh…sorry, I guess." John said. Sherlock just shrugged in response.
They continued to talk for a little while, and they had a slightly uncomfortable dinner. But, despite his preference for solitude, Sherlock found that he actually enjoyed talking with John. And, as he lay on the floor of John's bedroom, wrapped in a quilt, he pondered a very serious question.
"Hey, John! Are you awake?" Sherlock called out quietly, so as not to wake Mrs. Watson.
"Yeah." John replied.
"Can I ask you something?" Sherlock asked.
"Sure." John said.
"Are we friends, or, do you want to be friends?" Sherlock asked, nervously. He waited in the darkness for a few moments, waiting anxiously for John's answer.
"I'd like that. Being friends I mean." John said. Sherlock smiled into the darkness, despite his solitude, and convincing himself that he liked it that way, Sherlock had been very, very lonely.
"I'd like that too." Sherlock replied, before snuggling up into the blanket. "Goodnight John."
"Goodnight Sherlock." The boy replied.
John and Sherlock did a great many things together over the coming weeks, although they were always careful to avoid Mr. Watson at all times. John would let Sherlock read his notebook, and the two would wander around the forest, talking and doing all the things that friends can do in a forest. They were friends for several weeks before Sherlock worked up the courage to show John his special place. John, of course, was very interested. Sherlock had never really shown anyone his favourite places before. There was little pond, surrounded by weeping willows, but during the winter that place wasn't nearly as impressive, although John quite liked it. And there was also the great tree, which was a massive old log that lay in the forest. The two boys spent quite a while huddled up in the hollowed out log, laughing and enjoying each others company. But Sherlock's absolute favourite place was the bluff.
Sherlock led the way up the through the forest, the ground already becoming steep and difficult to trek up, especially with all the snow. But it was a very nice day outside, the sun was shining warmly, which helped with the cold. John was all bundled up, while Sherlock was just wearing the scarf John had given him. Faun's tended to be a bit better at handling the cold than humans.
"How much farther Sherlock? My legs starting to ache." John complained.
"Oh, stop complaining John. We're almost there." Sherlock called back over his shoulder. John snorted irritably, but continued to follow his friend through the snow. And he was very glad that he did. When they arrived at the top of the bluff, the two boys stood side by side, staring out over the vast expanse of the forest. The sun reflecting off of the snow making the whole landscape shimmer.
"Whoa." John said. Sherlock smiled slightly.
"Yeah." He said.
"Nice view." John said. "How'd you find this place?"
"I was just wandering around the forest when I was younger, found it, thought it was pretty cool. I like that I can see this whole side of the forest from here."
"It's awesome." John agreed. They stood for several minutes, just staring out over the forest. Then the silence was broken by the sound of three gunshots, one after the other, ringing out over the forest. Sherlock's pointy ears leaped to alert.
"Hunters." He said. Quickly, without thinking, he reached up and grabbed John's hand, then took off at high speed dragging the boy behind him. Sherlock could hear the hunters talking, they weren't far off.
"No," John tried to say, "Sherlock wait!" He said, pulling Sherlock to a stop. The faun looked panicky, his eyes flicking around, looking for any signs of danger.
"Common John! There are hunters around! It's too dangerous, they're monsters who kill fauns and hang them up on walls like trophy's!" Sherlock panted, his breathing heavy.
"It's alright Sherlock, I won't let them hurt you." John said, gripping his best friends hand tighter in his own.
"Ha, no offence John, but from what I've heard, you wouldn't stand a chance against a hunter." Sherlock said, still nervously glancing around.
"Oh really? And what have you heard about them." John asked.
"Well, not that he's a reliable source, but Anderson said that he and his mum saw a hunter once. Said it was a huge beast with red eyes and a gun, and a bunch of knives. He said the one they saw had fists like boulders, and could crush straight through bone." Sherlock finished dramatically. John started laughing, he laughed so hard that with the cold air he found it hard to breathe.
"Shut up John! Do you want to attract them to us?" Sherlock asked, dismayed by his friends behaviour.
"Please tell me you don't actually believe that Anderson's story?" John asked, once he'd gotten his breath.
"Well, it sounds a little unbelievable, but I've never seen a hunter. And they have killed hundreds of fauns. So regardless of what they look like, they are monsters and they are to be seriously feared." Sherlock said, exasperated. "Now come ON!" He said, trying to tug John foreword again.
"John?" Came a mans shout from a little ways away.
"Shit." John grumbled, pulling Sherlock to hide behind him.
"John, what are you doing out here son?" The man asked, walking closer. From his place hidden behind John, Sherlock couldn't see much, but he could see the rifle the man was holding.
"Hey, dad." John said hesitantly. Sherlock felt his stomach clench, then flip, then somehow end up metaphorically in his throat. "I was just…uh…wandering around." John said.
"You shouldn't be out this far, John, we're hunting out here you know, wouldn't want to shoot you again." The man said. Again, Sherlock thought. John had never mentioned being shot before. His leg, Sherlock realized, silently chastising himself for not catching on.
"Right. Sorry dad." John said.
"Head back home to mum, right now." Mr. Watson said.
"Yes sir." John replied. Carefully walking off while still managing to keep Sherlock's smaller body hidden from view. Once they were far enough away, Sherlock yanked his hand out of John's spun around and back himself up against a tree, staring at his friend in horror.
"You're a hunter." Sherlock said, his voice trembling.
"What? No, I mean, not really." John said. "I've just killed geese and things, never anything, you know, sentient."
"You're a hunter." Sherlock repeated, his voice quieter. "How did I not see it earlier. Stupid, stupid, stupid." He growled to himself.
"Look, my dad's a hunter, not me. Sometimes he makes me go out with him and the guys, but I almost never kill anything. I don't like killing things!" John exclaimed. Sherlock didn't answer, he'd sunk down into a seated position, his head in his hands.
"Are you gonna kill me?" Sherlock asked after a minute.
"What?" John said.
"Are you gonna kill me? Are you gonna kill the other fauns too, is that why you're in the forest?" Sherlock asked.
"No! Jesus, Sherlock, no. You're my friend I don't want to hurt you or the other fauns." John said as he fell to his knees in front of Sherlock.
"You're my best friend." John said quietly. "And I didn't want to lie to you about my dad, but I was afraid that if you knew you wouldn't want to be friends with me anymore."
Sherlock didn't reply. He just sat there, his mind reeling.
"Has your father ever killed a faun?" Sherlock asked.
"I don't know." John replied honestly.
"Will he kill me if he finds out about me?" Sherlock asked.
"He'd have to go through me first." John replied, his voice determined. Sherlock smiled a little bit.
"Are their any other secrets I should know about?" Sherlock asked. John grinned.
"No, that was the only one, well, and that my dad accidentally shot me a few years back. But that doesn't really count." John replied. Sherlock smiled and reached over to wrap his arms around his friends neck. John smiled as well and wrapped his arms tightly around Sherlock's midriff, his nose pressing into the side of Sherlock's neck.
"Best friends forever?" John asked quietly.
"Yeah." Sherlock replied with a smile. "Best friends forever."
Feel free to review, I love hearing your opinions, makes writing worth while.