AN: If you haven't read The Hobbit and are planning to watch the movie series instead (why), I should warn you that there's a spoiler in this chapter for the end of the book/movies. Like, the very end of The Hobbit. There's a non spoilery edition of this chapter, which you can find here:
wheretheworldscollide dot tumblr dot com slash private slash 70544657153 slash tumblr_my326q7arE1struf7

2. Childhood Memories

Sherlock was minding his own business, gently swaying from side to side on the park swing, when a shadow fell over the page of the book he was reading. He squinted up to the figure that had approached him, readjusting his eyes to the direct sunlight. A pair of wide brown eyes was level with his, its owner a light brown haired girl in a navy blue pinafore.

"You're on my swing," she said.

She seemed nervous, one of her small fists curling around the end of her braided pigtails. Her mary-jane clad feet were turned inwards, something that Sherlock noted the maids at home tended do when they asked Mummy a question during breakfast.

He glanced around the park. For a warm and sunny day, there weren't very many people. A few young parents were carefully keeping watch on the toddlers sitting in the sandpit, and a couple other nannies were fussing over the other toddlers running and screaming around the jungle gym. His own nanny was sitting on a bench beneath a tree to the left of the sandy toddlers. Apart from the girl standing in front of him, there were no other kids that seemed to be his age. And there were two other swings on the swing set that this girl could choose from. Honestly, didn't her parents teach her any sort of manners?

The girl stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to get up. Well he was not going to, thank you very much.

"I got here first and you can take any of those swings. How old are you anyways?" He asked haughtily.

The little girl's chin lifted in defiance, her hands on her hips.

"Seven."

"Hah! I'm ten. So I say you pick another swing," Sherlock said with a smug grin. "And what's your name? You should be in school. It's noon."

The girl jabbed his shoulder, almost knocking him backwards off the swing if it weren't for the fact that he had a hand gripping the chain.

"Just because you're bigger than me doesn't mean you can boss me around. And I had a doctor's appointment in the morning so I didn't have to go. That's my swing. I always sit in it," she replied, her brows furrowed and eyes stormy. "And my name is Molly. Why aren't you in school?"

"I have tutors," he countered.

He looked down and began to read again. Mycroft said that he was getting to the good part of the book – "Bilbo's about to meet the dragon under the mountain! Who reminds me a lot of Father, but don't tell him I said that." – and Sherlock was lucky that Mr. O'Brien had let him have the rest of the day off.

"Now go bother someone else," he waved her off without looking up. "I'm busy and you're annoying me."

With a huff and a stomp of one of her feet, little Molly stormed away and sunk onto a swing two away from him.

Sherlock, 1. Annoying girl, 0.

The swing set creaked and groaned as she pushed herself up and off, tucking her feet in as she descended to propel herself forward. Sherlock resumed his leisurely sideways swinging as he turned the page. Less effort, same sort of thing.

All too soon, Molly was back.

"Please can I have this swing?" She asked again. "The seat on the other one is a little higher and the one on the end doesn't go as high as this one. You're just sitting there, anyways."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

"Please?"

"Fine."

"Really?"

"No."

Then the girl did the unthinkable. She had snatched his book from his hands and hopped away like a leprechaun, out of his reach. Holding the book behind her back, she scrunched up her nose and stuck out her tongue out at him.

"Hey!" Sherlock protested. "Give it here!"

"I'll trade you," she taunted. "Your book for your swing."

"But they're both mine – you can't trade me what's mine."

"I don't see you with a book. So I guess this is mine now." She slowly began to walk backwards away from the swing set, flipping through the pages of his book.

There was no other way. Mycroft would be very upset with him if he lost his limited edition copy of The Hobbit, so it was with a heavy heart that Sherlock stood up, one hand holding the chain of the swing out towards her as an offering. Not fair.

"Fine, you can have the stupid swing. Just give me my book back."

Her mouth opened, scandalized at his use of the s- word, but she quickly closed it shut with a satisfied smirk. She ran and grabbed the swing before the boy could change his mind or trick her out of their trade.

"Thank you," she said sweetly.

Sherlock grumbled under his breath and took the adjacent swing.

Sherlock, 1. Really annoying girl, 1.

"By the way, that's a really good book you're reading," Molly said with a smile and a tilt of her pig-tailed head. "My daddy used to read it to me before bedtime and we finished last week."

"How cute," Sherlock answered with a drawl. "It's very kind of your father to read to you when you don't know how to read, yourself."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the girl bristle with contempt. He knew she could read, of course. He saw how her eyes flicked from side to side as she scanned through the novel. But still, she was being irritating and he didn't feel like being nice anymore.

"Yeah, it really is isn't it?" She said icily, the toe of her shoe making circles in the sand. "I was really sad when Thorin died though."

The book dropped with a thud.

"Oh," she twirled her swing to face him with a look of mock surprise. "You didn't get to that part yet, did you?"

Sherlock picked up his book angrily and jumped out of his swing, marching towards his nanny. He would not stay here and be pushed around by a seven year-old, book spoiling, nuisance of a girl.

"Bye!" she called out to him with a laugh. "Thanks for the swing!"

Sherlock, 1. Extremely aggravating girl, 2.

Not fair.

Years and years later, when Molly suggested they watch The Hobbit on one of their many lazy nights in 221B, Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her.

"It's a fantastic book! They made it into a movie series and the first one came out a couple years ago."

"I know it's a great book, or I would have if someone hadn't ruined it for me," Sherlock grumbled.

"Well, that wasn't very nice of them. Only poopy-heads ruin books for people."

"Yes, I believe at the time, she most definitely was a... poopy-head."

Molly popped the disc into the DVD player and settled into the sofa next to him. With a contented sigh, she tucked her head against his chest, pulling his arm around her like a blanket.

She never did know that she was the poopy-head.

AN: A much more lighthearted chapter than the last. Read and review?

-Skye