Sorry for such a late update, I've had some serious writers block for this one. Also, sorry for how short it is too, but I hope you like what I've got so far

A fifteen year old Sherlock was hunched over his desk, a frown on his face as he gave his full attention to studying the life that was magnified on a plate, when he heard the voice of a young girl singing. Sherlock wasn't one to listen to music other than classical (he didn't need that sort of top of the pops rubbish taking up precious space in his mind palace) but he knew the song. His grandmother used to sing it whilst she would potter about in the garden. It drove him half mad, but after a few years, the song grew on him. He sighed and looked out the window to see a girl of twelve, maybe thirteen years old strolling down the country road with a rough collie calmly trotting next to her. Her hands in her pockets, she ambled absent mindedly through the front gate a stopped in front of the door. Noticing the boy at the window, the girl gave a cheery smile and waved. Sherlock groaned, his parents weren't home yet and it looked as if he had no choice but to answer the door. Stomping down the stairs, he yanked the door open. The girl beamed again, does she ever stop smiling?, Sherlock wondered. Her long, mousy hair was in a single braid down her back and friendly brown eyes. She held out her hand,

"Hello," she grinned, flashing chunky braces at him, "I'm Margaret."/p
Sherlock looked at her outstretched hand for a moment before briefly shaking it reluctantly, "Sherlock Holmes."
Margret stopped smiling for a moment, slightly taken aback at the hostility, "I'm thirteen-" she began as she tried to diffuse the awkward tension, but Sherlock interrupted her before she could carry on.
"I know." he replied monotonously,"You're also an only child judging by your keenness to make friends and have someone other than your dog and parents to keep you company, you've just moved next door, you're naively optimistic about life, therefore clearly you have had a very sheltered one, you have a pet cat judging from the ginger hairs on your cardigan, you bite your nails when you're nervous, which to be honest, is a rather horrid habit as underneath fingernails is a bacterial breeding ground-" Sherlock stopped as he felt a wet lick on his hand. Sherlock grimaced and Margret laughed,
"She likes you!"
"He felt a pang in his heart as he looked down at the dog, "I used to have a dog." he said quietly, "He died a while ago."
Margret opened her mouth to speak but then abruptly shut it. They were silent for a spell before Margret said quietly, "I'm sorry. What was his name?"
"He was called Redbeard." he said mournfully. Sherlock frowned, Pull yourself together, he thought. Composing himself, he said rather coldly, "Don't you have other things to do?"
Margret shrugged, "Not really. Why?"
Sherlock folded his arms, "I'm busy. I don't have time for company, which you were clearly searching for. Go walk your dog or something, I have to get back to something. No one else is home so there's no point in staying any longer."
Margret looked crestfallen, "Oh, okay then. Maybe I'll see you around sometime."
"Most likely," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Goodbye." he said as he closed the door. Margret had only just enough time to say goodbye when the door shut in her face.
"Come on then Lassie," she said to her dog, "We'd best be on our way." she strolled out the gate and back towards her own home, "What a strange boy, don't you think?" she commented

Mr and Mrs Holmes returned later than Sherlock had expected. Not that he had minded at all, it had given him extra time of peace and quiet without his mother coddling him. As they sat around the dinner table having their tea, Mrs Holmes commented,
"That Hooper family are so lovely."
Sherlock's father nodded in agreement, "Delightful people, and their daughter, what is her name again?"
"Margret." Sherlock replied, "I met her earlier today."
His parents looked at each other and laughed, "We should have guessed that you were the weird boy she was talking about to her cat." his mother chuckled. She grew serious, "Sherlock," she began cautiously, she hadn't breached the subject of making friends for quite a long time, she had not spoken about him making friends since, well, you know what happened.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I don't need friends." he huffed, "I am perfectly fine on my own."
His parents glanced at each other and dropped the subject. There was silence at the table for the rest of their meal.