Disclaimer? This is public domain, baby!
Just have fun with this, like I did!
Sherlock Holmes watched as Gregory Lestrade swaggered up to the sandbox, approaching Mary Morstan and Irene Adler, who were making shapes in the sand. His group of bullies, who fancied themselves constables, followed dutifully behind him. Sherlock shrugged and returned his attention to the mud ball he was making. He was far too busy (trying to produce a ball that might retain its shape for more than five minutes) to pay much attention to Gregory's playacting antics.
"Hey! My cakes!" Mary cried out as one of the "policemen" apparently trampled her sand shapes.
"Never mind your stupid sand cakes. This is police business, miss!" The smallest and loudest of Gregory's followers snapped.
"But, but I was m-m-making them for I-Ireeeene!"
"Well Irene's in trouble!" Gregory proclaimed to the entire schoolyard. "You see, I've been doing some detecting and I now know it was you, Irene Adler, who stole the cookies!"
Sherlock looked up from the mud ball in his hands at this, wanting to see how Gregory made a fool of himself this time.
"Gregory, you are a fathead and you are trampling my diamonds. You and your fathead brigade can tell Mary you're sorry then go away and leave us alone."
"Don't call me Gregory!" Little Lestrade hated his name because it sounded too much like Toby Gregson's surname. "You will call me Inspector!"
Irene just snorted and moved to pat a crying Mary on the back.
"Anyway, the point is, you stole the cookies from the cookie jar! I know you love chocolate. And you said your mum never bakes. And you were missing for five minutes after lunch! Motive and oppa... oppo... CHANCE! We're gonna take you to jail."
Sherlock could not hold in his laughter anymore and it burst out, full-bellied.
"Something funny, Sherlock?" Gregory liked to tease him with his name, but Sherlock thought it was at least better than Mycroft. His big brother didn't seem to mind, though.
"Just you and your silly attempts at deduction, Rat-face." It was beneath him to be name-calling, but if anyone deserved it, it was Gregory Lestrade.
"Think you can do better, Squid-fingers!" Sherlock's eyes almost crossed as he held back his laughter this time. Was that supposed to be some kind of insult about the ink on his hands?
"Oh, I'm sorry, Inspector Rat-face. But even a real rodent could do a better job solving this case! Look at Samuel's hands, Greg." There were chocolate stains here and there on the hands of one of Gregory's "men." "And observe," Sherlock drawled out his new word, "the crumbs on his collar. Any fool can see that it was Sam who stole the cookies." He stood up so that he could look Gregory in the eyes while he smiled his victory.
"Why you- you- bastard!" The surrounding children gasped at the dirty word. "I'll show you what happens when you make a fool out of me!"
"You hardly needed my help."
"Why, I oughta..."
"Ought to what, Gregory?" Sherlock moved his mud ball into ready position for lobbing. The other boy froze. "And Marcus," he turned to the small, loud boy, "what will John say when he finds out you made Mary cry?"
"Let's just go, Lestrade!" Marcus urged, pale.
Gregory ignored him. "And what makes you think Johnny Watson's gonna listen to you?"
"He's my best friend," Sherlock replied, logically.
"Hah! Maybe he played with you a few times 'cause he felt sorry for you all by yourself. But Johnny says he can't stand you!"
"You're a liar!"
"No. We heard him talking to Jimmy and Seb, didn't we Mark?" The other boy nodded vigorously. "Johnny hates your guts and doesn't wanna be your friend no more! And he thinks your treehouse is stupid and he's never going to play there again! So there!"
"You're a big, fat liar!" Sherlock cried, dropping his mud ball and running away. He was supposed to wait for Mycroft to pick him up, but he didn't care about that now.
John is my friend! My best friend... My only friend... John was the only one who didn't think Sherlock was a freak for being clever. He even wrote stories about their "adventures" together! He was...
He was too good to be true. Sherlock could feel his eyes heating up, so he ran faster, desperate to reach his treehouse behind the bakery before the tears started falling.
He only just managed. As he pushed closed and locked the door reading "221B Baker Street," the tears poured from his eyes.
"Waaah!" he cried aloud before collapsing down onto the pile of pillows and blankets on the floor and muffling his sobs in his arms.
"Sherlock?" a voice called from the doorway. "What's all that racket?" It was the baker, the owner of this tree.
"Nothing!" Sherlock answered. "Go away, Mrs. Hudson!"
"Suit yourself," she huffed and he heard her move away.
"Stupid nanny," he sniffed. "Can't mind her own business. So what if I don't have any friends. I don't need any!" But the tears came back anyway as his eyes caught John's afghan - his lucky blanket - laying atop the biggest pillow.
"I perceive that your afghan is tan," Sherlock had said when John Watson had first come to their school and their teacher, Mr. Stamford, had sat him next to Sherlock.
John had blinked at him, surprised. "How do you...? What do you mean?"
"Well, I know you have an afghan, and that it is a light brown color. You have little wool fuzzies that color on your school clothes. I'm guessing it is your "lucky blanket," since you also have fuzzies in your hair. You were hugging it until just before school, weren't you?"
"That's... that's amazing!" John had said, smiling and shaking his hand. That time, Sherlock had blinked. Kids usually called him "scary" or a "freak" at that point.
They had been friends, ever since. Or, at least, so Sherlock had thought...
"Sherlock?" Another voice called him. Sherlock's lips quivered and his eyes squeezed shut against more tears. It was John. "Sherlock, why is the door locked?"
"Because!"
"Because why?"
"Just because! Now go away and leave me alone! That's what you want to do anyway!"
"What?" There was a rattling sound and then a crash as the door burst open. "Sherlock! You tell me what's the matter right now, or I'll... I'll..."
"Stop being my friend? Go ahead! I don't care!"
"You don't ca- Wait... Have you been crying?"
Sherlock rubbed furiously at his eyes. "No."
"You have. Why?"
"Because."
"BECAUSE WHY!"
"BECAUSE YOU HATE ME!"
"I what?"
"You hate me and you don't want to stay here in the treehouse anymore! Greg Lestrade told me."
"Why, that no good, rat-faced piece of poop! Sherlock, I don't hate you!"
"Yes, you do. I'm a freak and you can't stand me."
"That's not true!"
Sherlock just shook his head, still fighting tears. John crouched down next to him and threw his arms around his shoulders.
"I'm your friend, Sherlock."
"Truly?"
"Do I let anyone else touch my tan afghan?" Sherlock shook his head. "Do I let any of the other kids play with my bullpup?" Again. "Would I ever let anyone else get me into trouble with Mrs. Hudson and your brother?"
"No."
"Who do I write stories about?"
"Me."
"Who's the first person I talk to every day?"
"Me."
"Who's my bestest friend in the whole world?"
"Me?"
"Yes, you silly!"
"I'm not silly! I'm gonna be the world's first consulting detective."
"I don't know what 'console tang' means, but I'll be there!" John leaned closer and puckered his lips against Sherlock's cheek. "I love you, Sherlock."
He wasn't too sure what "love" or that thing with the lips meant, but Sherlock thought it was very nice, somehow. "I love you, too, John," he replied before pressing his lips to John's cheek. "You're my best friend!"
He wondered why John turned quite red after that, but he decided that there were more important things to think about.
Like what they should do to Gregory Lestrade at school tomorrow...
OK. I am seriously disturbed by a few of the comments I have gotten on this fic here. More than one person has reviewed saying they were disturbed or grossed out by this story's content. One person also commented "They're just kids."
Um, what the he**! Let me clarify: there is nothing here that is intended to be sexual. I cannot even wrap my mind around a sexual interpretation of this and it makes me ill to even try. If you consider platonic love (which they are actually allowed to admit to because they are children) and a quick peck on the cheek between friends as gross or as inappropriate for childen, then it is not me that has the problem.
I may remove this story if I get any more reviews of the kind.