Another Johnlock idea of mine, sort of based on the idea of One Day by David Nicholls (which I do not own, obviously, nor do I own Sherlock) but not the same storyline idea, and the years will go in sequence (although I might miss out a couple of years, but it won't bounce around like the novel does). Essentially this will follow John & Sherlock from childhood into "present day" (say late 30s, although I might change that depending on how the story goes). It won't always be one chapter per year, there might be more than one year in each chapter (there certainly will be in the beginning).
This fanfic is AU due to the boys meeting at a young age, and John & Sherlock being the same age (John still a bit older, but in the same school year).
For those of you following/waiting for an update for "Reading John", I think I am going to write an epilogue for it but I need to get it right. So I'm writing this to keep my inspiration flowing.
Sorry for the essay, and happy reading! Remember, reviews/favourites/etc keep me happy :)
September 14th, 1981
A ball landed at his feet, shaking him out of his trance. He glanced up in the direction that it had clearly come from, and noted the small, shy looking boy gazing at him from a few feet away. There was a group of boys behind him, huddled together and watching him, clearly waiting to get the ball back.
"Want to play?" the sandy-haired child asked, nodding at the ball currently resting in between his feet.
He shook his head slightly, his dark curls waving into his face, before passing the ball back to him surprisingly accurately with a kick of his left foot. "No thanks." Always be polite, that's what Mummy had said. You'll make friends if you're polite.
Not that he wanted friends.
"What are you doing?" asked the insistent child. He noticed that this boy had passed the ball back to his group of friends and wasn't leaving him alone.
He sighed and fixed him with a stare, too serious for his very young age. Those eyes belonged to a weary mother, or a wise old man, not a privileged five year old.
"Just sitting here."
The boy nodded, then nervously began to approach him. "Looks like fun. Can I play?"
"I'm not playing," he retorted. "I'm... just sitting here. Thinking." He briefly wondered how long was left of lunch time before the bell would ring and he could get away from this mind-numbing conversation.
The boy had reached the bench and cautiously sat beside him, but there was a small smile on his face, as if he'd achieved some monumentous victory. He'd braved the wolf and not been bitten. He hadn't even been barked at. Not really.
"I'm John," he said, staring out in front of him, mimicking his vacant gaze. "What's your name?"
Another sigh. The boy must know his name. He knew they were in the same class, he recognised him. An attempt to make friends, quite clearly, get him to talk. But for some reason, he deigned to respond to John. He knew that the other kids had avoided him. Something about him made them nervous, and he felt almost grateful that this boy seemed to be making a genuine effort, however pointless in the long run.
"Sherlock Holmes."
September 14th, 1982
Sherlock stared at him blankly.
"No, I've never played 'Hide'n'Seek' before," he reiterated. John looked at him as if he had grown a third ear.
"But it's... how can you not have played it before? It's an amazing game!" John exclaimed. "Don't you play games at your house with your parents? Or with Mycroft?"
Sherlock snorted. "My parents are always busy. My Nanny doesn't do games. She normally tells me to go and read something or do a jigsaw. Mycroft..." Sherlock paused, feeling suddenly somewhat sad. "Mycroft is busy too."
John's eyes opened wide, and then that grin appeared readily on his lips. "It's okay Sherlock. I'll show you how."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I might never have played it, but I think I understand, John. Someone hides, the other one seeks?"
"Well... yeah," John admitted. "You have to count, to give me time to hide."
"But I want to hide," said Sherlock, sticking out his bottom lip, suddenly in a petulant mood. He knew, too, that John would give in immediately and let him hide. Especially as he was, for once, showing a vague keenness to actually do something that John wanted to do, to indulge him in playing a game.
He wasn't wrong.
"Okay, okay. You hide. But nowhere too hard," John pleaded. "And Mum says not to leave the house. So don't hide in the garden or out on the street."
Sherlock nodded, and waited until John turned to start counting, before peeling off his coat and dumping it, along with his school book bag, on the armchair in John's living room. He quietly and carefully snuck out of the room, checking first that John wasn't peeping, and then disappeared into the kitchen. He could smell the lasagne that John's mum was preparing, and couldn't help the little smile that bubbled up. This house was a proper family home, somewhere where kids could happily play, that smelled of lovely homely smells like baking bread and soft motherly perfume, and Sherlock would get more cuddles here, from John's mum, than he ever did in his own, cold house. He came here as often as he could, pretending that the warmth and jollity sickened him, but even John knew the truth. John's parents were fond of the strange little dark-haired boy that John had become devoted to over the past year, and, having met Sherlock's parents several times and sometimes seeing them when Sherlock was picked up or dropped off (though it was normally the Nanny who did such tasks), they had realised how much the boy needed a little love in his life. They were more than willing to provide it.
John's mother appeared from the back garden, and smiled kindly at Sherlock. "Looking for a place to hide, love?" she asked. "I can always secrete you in a cupboard if you want."
Sherlock shook his head, muttering a thanks. It was too obvious, especially if John's mother had to act completely innocent when John appeared, looking for him. He liked her, but he didn't put much faith in her skills as a master of deceit. He quickly nipped back into the hall and padded up the stairs, noticing that John's bedroom door was slightly ajar. Creeping in, he glanced up at the large window, complete with a deep windowsill and dark curtains. He bit his lip, weighing up his options, knowing that John would have finished counting by now and be on the prowl. He didn't have many other choices, so slipped behind the curtain, crouched down low, hoping the darkness of the curtain wouldn't give away his outline when John inevitably came in, and waited, as silent as a mouse.
Eventually he heard John's footsteps rattling up the staircase. He didn't come into the room immediately, first apparently checking the bathroom. Sherlock could hear him move around, checking in the shower, in the bath, and then eventually coming through to his own room. He could sense him moving around, checking under the bed and looking in his wardrobes, before exhaling.
"Sheeerllooooock! Where are you? I give up," he exclaimed, flopping on his bed that was situated right next to the windowsill where Sherlock was hiding. Grinning to himself, Sherlock flung open the curtain and, before John had time to react, leapt on his friend and squealed in rare delight.
John's mum came rushing to the bottom of the stairs when she heard the commotion, then stopped and smiled to herself as she heard the peals of laughter ringing across the upstairs landing. It was a sound she could never tire of hearing from her son, and she was delighted to hear the same breathy laugh from his friend. That boy definitely needed more fun in his life.
September 14th, 1986
"They're always holding hands," Eric Watson mused to his wife, the pair of them sitting on the park bench, watching John and Sherlock walking towards the swings hand in hand, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Have you noticed?"
Jane turned to her husband and pulled a face. "Eric, they're ten," she said, chiding him. "It's sweet, and it doesn't mean anything at all. I've never seen two children so close. Such good friends."
Eric nodded, agreeing with his wife, but a slight worry niggled in his head. "You don't suppose they'll still be like that when they start secondary school next year, do you?" he asked.
There was a silence. Jane looked up from her book to gaze at the boys, who had now reached the park and each had a swing, kicking the dirt beneath their feet and chatting animatedly to each other. Sherlock was still quiet around most people, quiet to the point that most people construed it as rudeness, but when he was with John, it was like looking at a completely different kid. His eyes shone, he was radiant, and the innocent friendship between them was breathtaking to witness. Jane knew that John had helped Sherlock in more ways than either boy realised yet.
"It's just... I don't want them to be teased... you know how cruel kids can be."
Jane nodded, then turned slightly away from him, staring towards another group of kids playing football. A group of kids who she hadn't been able to help but notice had sniggered as the two boys had wandered past them. Luckily, John and Sherlock hadn't noticed anything as far as she could tell.
"Isn't it a shame that the ones we think should change are the ones that aren't doing anything wrong?" she asked quietly. "They pose no harm to anyone, they're the best of friends. They're both so good for each other. And yet we-" she then coughed a little, and said "-well, in this case, you, think that the answer is to stop them from being happy and doing what comes naturally, to tell them it's wrong and won't be accepted. And the bullies, and the kids who don't understand... they just continue in their ignorance," she said sadly, glancing back at the boys. Her boys. She had grown to love Sherlock almost as much as one of her own. The thought of having to tell them that other people might not approve of their ways, acts that wouldn't even be looked at twice if they happened to be two female best friends, made her feel slightly sick.
"Mum! Can we get an ice-cream Mum? Please?"
The boys were suddenly back in front of her and Eric. She pretended to roll her eyes, before producing some pennies for them both and smiling at them. John grinned and moved away, but Sherlock remained, staring between the two adults. Jane felt a small shiver down her back. It unnerved her when he did that, and she had noticed him doing it often. It was as if he could read her every thought. Telling herself he was just a ten-year old child with an unhappy family life didn't do anything to help her unease.
"Do you not want an ice-cream, love?" she asked, turning her smile to him. He hesitated, eyes flickering between herself and her husband, and then turned to follow John, who was waiting for him a few feet ahead. She saw the boys smile fondly at each other, John grabbing Sherlock's hand again, before heading over to the ice-cream van parked along the pavement next to the park.
She glanced at Eric, who was giving her a questioning look. "I don't want to destroy their innocence," she said. "But I'm scared that the wider world won't get them, Eric."
So what did you think? Please review if you can, I would appreciate it :) the next chapter will start to deal with the teenage years. There's going to be angst, I'm afraid. But it won't last forever. Promise...?
