okay. not really sure where this chapter came from, just felt like writing. sorry if its crap D': just for the record, i absolutely love Molly; youll see why im saying this. and i dont know the age gap between Harry and John, Sherlock and Mycroft, or Sherlock and John, so if you know, please tell me and ill fix it :) erm. thanks for reading :D

"Sherlock, honey! Youre gonna be late for-"

"Babe, he left an hour ago."

Sherlock Holmes' mother sighed and smiled, shaking her head a bit as she poured coffee into two cups. Her husband stood behind her with a hand on her hip. He kissed her cheek then moved to sit at the table. "He's seven today," she said, sliding a cup of coffee cross the table to her husband before sitting down across from him. He sighed heavily and nodded. "He's going to want to know soon."

The man across from her nodded slowly setting his coffee down and wrapping his hands around the cup. He wished Sherlock was good with people, or at least a little social. It was hard telling children what the countdown on the wrist was. They usually didnt understand what a "soul mate" was. It had been easier to tell Mycroft when he was Sherlock's age, because he had a few friends. But not Sherlock. Sherlock sat in the library or in detention all day for correcting teachers. He was a brilliant child, but sometimes his father wished he could just be normal, more like Mycroft.

"And theres no way hes just going to find out, huh?" he asked with a small smile, looking up at his wife. She shook her head and smiled back. "Okay. First thing after school."

xxx

"Sherlock! Hey, Sherlock, come 'ere!" Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, turning around. A girl, no older than he was, stood in front of him, her blonde hair in pigtails and her grey eyes shining bright. She was bouncing on her toes slightly and rubbing her wrist absently. Sherlock thought she looked like a complete idiot. "Happy birthday, Sherlock!" She stepped forward and threw her arms around his neck. He stumbled a bit before pushing her back and stepping away from her. He straightened his coat out and fixed his hair before shoving his hands into his pockets.

"What is it that you want, Molly?" he asked irritated.

"I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday!" she said with a smile. He could see the gap where she had recently lost a tooth. He absently felt over the space where he was growing a new tooth.

"Okay. Goodbye, Molly." He didnt feel the need to talk to her any longer; she had said what she intended to say and that was all. He turned to walk away but a small hand grabbed his arm.

"Wait, Sherlock! Arent you excited?" Sherlock shook her arm off and rolled his eyes, sighing before turning around. She held her wrist out to him and he took a step back; she was far too close for comfort.

"Excited for what, Molly?" he asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

Her mouth dropped open with a pop and she shook her head. "Silly, Sherlock!" she giggled. "Excited to find your soul mate! Yanno, the person youre gonna spend the rest of your life with?"

His dark eyebrows went together and he looked at her as if she had just dropped out of the sky. "Excuse me? What?" he asked, confused. She looked at him a moment before grabbing his hand and pulling his sleeve up, pointing to the small white 'paneling' on his wrist.

"This. Its a countdown. When it hits zero, youve met your soul mate," she explained with a big smile. Sherlock looked down and examined her wrist. It had nine years and some odd months and so on. Then he turned and looked at his own wrist; it had over thirty years on it. He frowned and looked back up at her, confused.

"Im going to find my soul mate in thirty years?" he asked.

She looked down at his wrist before laughing. "Thirty years? Youre gonna be alone forever!" she laughed before walking away.

Sherlock Holmes stood in the middle of the hallway, staring down at his wrist. Alone forever? That couldnt be true. Molly was lying! She was a mean person and Sherlock didnt like her. With that thought in mind, he walked to the nearest person - a boy a few years older than him - and grabbed his wrist; six years. Then he walked up to another person, a girl in his class, and grabbed her wrist; twelve years. It seemed nobody he checked had over twenty years. He was the only one.

And Sherlock Holmes, for the first time in his life, felt sadness. And anger. Why didnt his parents tell him? Is that why he was teased so much? Was he really going to be alone forever? He went to his cubby and grabbed his book bag, slinging it over his shoulder before walking outside. He stood on the front step of his school for a minute before stepping down, turning, and running home.

When he finally got home, it was nearly noon, and his parents were sitting on the couch drinking tea. Mycroft was sitting on a chair beside them, watching television and laughing. Sherlock ran to them and threw his bookbag down, much to his parents and brothers surprise. Mycroft rose and watched him, as did his parents. He looked absolutely outrage; something they had never seen on him before. It was frightening.

"Why didnt you tell me?" he asked, thrusting his wrist out to his parents. "That im going to be alone forever?" There were tears in his eyes but he refused to let them fall. If he had known, he could have hid it and avoided the teasing. Or at least thats what he was thinking as he stood in front of his parents.

"Oh, honey. We were going to tell you today. We didnt think you were old enough. And what do you mean alone forever? Thirty years isnt that long," his mother said, stepping forward with a smile. His father was behind her, smiling as well, and Mycroft was back on the couch, laughing silently. He loved his brother, of course he did, but he was fourteen and couldnt be nice to his baby brother, of course not. Somewhere, deep inside of him, he felt horrible for the boy. Because his counter was over thirty years and he knew how he was feeling.

Sherlock backed away from his parents and ran to the stairs. "Its not fair! Everybody is going to have someone but me! Im going to die alone!" he shouted angrily. His parents and brother were shocked. They had never heard the boy even raise his voice before, and there he was, screaming his lungs out at them.

"Sherlock Holmes, you watch your tone!" his father said, pointing up the stairs. "Room. Now." With one last scream, the youngest Holmes threw his bookbag down and ran up the stairs, locking his bedroom door behind him, then going to sit in his closet, closing the door and sitting in the corner.

"Im alone," he murmured. "But thats okay. Alone is good. Alone protects me."

He wiped his eyes and leaned against the wall, vowing to never ever think about his countdown, not to let it bother him. At least for another thirty years, that is.

John Watson sat up in his bed and stretched, popping his back as he did so. He glanced down at his wrist - it was the same as yesterday; thirty years. The nine year old groaned and rolled out of bed, rubbing his wrist as he did so. It had been stinging lately. Sometimes it hurt like no pain he could ever imagine. He liked to imagine that his future wife was somewhere thinking about him and thats what happened when she did. He was a romantic, even for a young boy, and he couldnt wait until the counter hit zero. He wished he could skip thirty years and meet her right then and there.

"John! Breakfast!" He looked toward the sound of his sisters' voice and groaned. It was early and all he wanted to do was think about his future. He wanted the whole wife and two kids, picket fence, puppy future. In his head, it was perfect.

"Good morning, Harry," he mumbled as he stepped out of his door, scratching the back of his neck. She grabbed his hand and dragged him downstairs, pulling him to the table and pushing him down in a seat. His parents were sitting at the table, too, and Harriet took the seat beside him.

"Mom, dad, John. I have good news," Harry said, smiling and rubbing her wrist. They all looked over at her. John was the only one who seemed to notice the shimmer in her eye or the bounce in her step. He was surely the only one who noticed the way she was rubbing her wrist.

"What is it, Harry?" their mother asked with a smile.

The eleven year old smiled before holding her wrist out toward them. "I met my soul mate this morning on my run!" she said excitedly. Everyones mouth dropped and they stared at the counter. Harry was proud; her counter now matched her parents. That was one thing every kid longed for. But not John. John was just jealous. He had known his sister would find her soul mate long before he did, but he couldnt help but feel extremely jealous of her. She wasnt a romantic like him. She had never really cared for her soul mate before, not like he had.

"Congratulations, Harry!" their father said with a smile. "When do we get to meet the lucky man?"

Harriet's smile dropped and she looked down, rubbing her wrist. "Oh, well, you see, thats the thing. Its... Um, its not a he. Its a she.." She looked up and met her fathers eyes. They were completely void of all emotions and so were their mothers'. "Her name is Clara and shes really nice, please just give her a chance," she pleaded.

Their father stood up and pushed his chair in. "Ill be in my study, if anyone needs me," he said with a nod before walking off. Harry turned toward her mother.

"Mom?" she said quietly. The older woman stood up and walked out of the room, pushing in her chair on the way. Harriet turned to John. "You going to leave, too?"

John shook his head. "Im happy for you, Harry," he said truthfully. "Id love to meet Clara."

And that was the first time John Watson could ever remember his sister smiling at him. They had never really gotten on to well, and it was a miracle that they were getting along then. John silently thanked god, or whoever was listening, for their parents being jerks, because he really did love his big sister and wished they got along better.

That night before John went to sleep, he glanced down at his wrist and rubbed it thoughtfully. "I love you. Whoever you are," he whispered to it. "Goodnight."