It was another two years before he could visit the forest again.

His father had been home from the army the following summer and they'd all gone for vacation in France. It was fun, but John never could stop himself from thinking about Sherlock, especially on nights when the moon was big and round and fat.

And now he was finally here. He was ten years old and it was pure luck that his room at his aunt and uncle's house was on the ground floor and with a huge window. So the moment the sun set, he was off. For two weeks, he visited the forest every night looking for the strange boy he'd met, calling out his name and sitting on their boulder for hours, until he was starting to think that it must have just been his imagination the whole time.

Finally, he heard a familiar crack of twigs behind him.

"You've been stalking me," said a familiar voice, and Sherlock emerged from behind a tree two seconds later with a smirk on his face.

"I wasn't stalking!" John replied automatically.

"Yes you were. Your footsteps are all over the forest, even though it rained just three nights ago, so you've been coming here that often. You've been wearing the same boots too, and I can tell how old the mud on them is," Sherlock said smugly.

"You can't possibly tell that much," John said, trying not to sound too interested.

Sherlock just raised his eyebrows at him and pointed at the boots again. "I only observe. That caked mud is clearly several days old."

"You're brilliant, you know that," John said with a smile, despite himself.

"I know," and then more softly, he added, "Besides… I cheated. I've been watching you."

"Wait, have you been hiding from me all this time?" John asked, a little angry. But John's anger died in his throat when he saw Sherlock avoiding his gaze. "What is it?" he asked this time.

"I… I only got back two nights ago," he said awkwardly, "I was a bit worried that maybe you were just a figment of my imagination."

"Got back?"

If it were even possible, Sherlock looked even more uncomfortable. "I was in the hospital. One of the maids forgot to close a curtain… long story short, I got a few minor burns. It's nothing."

"Let me see," said John automatically, not without the sense of command he'd learned from living with a military man.

Sherlock obliged and slowly rolled up his sleeves to show him part of his bicep. To say that John was alarmed would be an understatement. "Sherlock! This was a second degree burn at least. How long were you in the sun exactly?"

"A couple of minutes maybe," Sherlock mumbled, slightly annoyed and slightly embarrassed. "It's not a big deal. Can we talk about something else? I haven't seen you in two years, this isn't exactly how I pictured our first real conversation to be."

John tried to show his genuine concern on his face as much as possible. "I'm sorry Sherlock, I know that you must hate talking about this… but I'm worried. Of course I'm worried. Imagine I came back with a broken leg; wouldn't you want to know what happened? Assuming, that you don't guess right away." That made Sherlock smile and relax a little. So John added, "And what do you mean the maid just forgot? Please talk to me."

"It's not her fault," Sherlock frowned. "I fell asleep under the dining table. She didn't know I was there, so she just opened the curtains as usual. Then I guess I just moved around in my sleep and part of my arm was in the sun. It only got so bad because I didn't wake up right away." Shyly he added, "I'm a heavy sleeper."

John tried to be angry at that… but couldn't find it in him. "And why exactly were you sleeping under the dining room table?"

Sherlock blushed a fierce shade of red, "Iwuzbulinafot" he blurted.

John raised an eyebrow, "What?"

With a very low voice, Sherlock said, "I was building a fort."

John smiled. "Next time, we build it together, okay?"

Sherlock smiled in return and they continued down the familiar path to the flat boulder and its giant tree companion. It was going to be a long walk, but Sherlock led them through the foliage with expert ease.

"Hey, I was wondering…" John began, "If XP is genetic then you must have had it all your life. So how come the people in town don't know who you are when they see you? Don't the kids know you from school?"

"XP, huh? You've been researching." Sherlock looked back at him long enough to reveal a proud smirk. "And you've given this a lot of thought. Good deductions, and you're asking the right questions."

"Deductions?"

"Yes. Deductions. Facts gathered from observation. Facts, mind you, not theories." Sherlock turned around to face him, his eyes glinting. He had a look that was so excited, it made John nervous. Sherlock was looking him up and down like he was a showpiece. "For example!" he announced, "Your family's run into a bit of money problems. Your shoes and trousers are a bit too old, from the discoloration and the wear. Your shoes are also a little bit small on you, because you're a bit uncomfortable while you walk; you try to walk on the soles of your feet so that your toe doesn't hurt at the front. And you wiggle your toes whenever we stop for a bit. Most likely, your parents can't afford a new pair and you're admirably trying to hide it. The recent money strain is your older sister's university fees. The school bag you're carrying is obviously a hand-me-down. The name 'Harry' is still written inside the handle. I'd say it's your brother, but the bag's color choice and decorative pins scream 'lesbian' not boy."

Sherlock wasn't even stopping for breath, and John had to stop himself from unconsciously wiggling his toes.

"And now there's the matter of the small wristband you're wearing. It's a tourist trinket, from France, most likely, given the colors. But it's been worn. You've been wearing it regularly all year. I'd say you even took it into the shower a couple of times, given the water stains. So it's obviously important to you. Not the thing itself, but the person who gave it to you. Someone special… And it was given to you while you were together on vacation. So age probability says family not friends. Add to that the way you hold yourself and your change in haircut and you've got a father in the military, away on duty."

Sherlock stopped finally, with a look of complete triumph on his face. John still had his eyebrows raised, surprised. Sherlock's smile faltered.

The longer the silence, the more panicked he looked. "Um… I'm sorry. I've been told it's not good to―"

"No, no, it's fine. Brilliant actually. You're completely brilliant!"

"Really?"

"Yeah. I was going to tell you all that stuff anyway. Saves time. Now it's your turn!"

Sherlock took a moment, shaking his head; he looked like he was trying to rearrange his thoughts. "Um… right…yes. The people and the kids… Why don't they recognize me? Well, that's simple. They don't know I exist."

"What?"

"Actually all they do know is that the Holmes's have a sickly son who stays at home. Which I do. But they have no reason to suspect that the same 'sickly' son goes gallivanting around the forest at night."

"So you don't go to school?"

"No." Sherlock said slowly but firmly, with a look of complete disgust on his face. "Not my cup of tea."

John took a moment to try and catch Sherlock's eye… but the boy was looking down and away. "There's something you're not telling me. You don't have to tell me, just know that you can."

But Sherlock didn't respond, nor did he look up. So John added, "Are you home schooled?"

"Yes. My mother and Mycroft – my brother – did most of the teaching until last year." Sherlock looked up finally, a hint of excitement back in his eyes. "Now they've finally allowed me to do my own research."

"How come?"

"Well I hardly need any more formal education past year 11, at least not for now. So I'm branching out!"

John tried not to show his surprise too much. He knew Sherlock was smart but… John coughed and shook his head. "What do you do exactly?"

This question was met with such a diabolical look of pure excitement that john had to take a step back. "Experiments!" Sherlock announced. "Come, I'll show you."

And thus, John was thrust into the most adventure-filled summer vacation conceivable.

They jumped into the forest's pond with goggles on, "Why?" John asked.

"I introduced a foreign chemical to the pond; I must assess the wildlife's reaction." John narrowed his eyes at that response. "Fine, fine! I dropped a can of coke in the water, happy?"

They climbed every type of tree at least twice, "I'm assessing tree sap's reaction to varying degrees of UV exposure."

After John explained the situation to his family, they had to begrudgingly allow him to spend his nights out. They surely didn't know that most of that time was spent in a dark and dangerous forest, but John had a feeling that his aunt, who knew all about the stories of the ghost child, at least suspected what the kids were up to. She didn't stop them though. Nothing could really.

It was lucky that the woods weren't big enough to attract large predators, though the boys could swear that they'd heard a wolf once.

They also spent hours at Sherlock's home when the weather wasn't too great. The mansion was huge. Sherlock had a whole wing to himself with tinted windows and heavy curtains, complete with an indoor playground, swimming pool, garden and a mini football pitch. They tried the football pitch only once and Sherlock got too frustrated with all the running, so John spared him any future torture. They did discover that the football pitch was a great place to conduct more physical experiments, "So you want me to run around with sunscreen and then without it, and measure my sweat levels?" – "Exactly!"

Most of the experiments took place in Sherlock's lab, which could have easily been the biggest lab John had ever seen. It was filled with all sorts of equipment and gadgets, microscopes of different sizes, and beakers… lots and lot of beakers of every single size and shape imaginable. There were also a lot of specialized lighting equipment. He asked Sherlock if it was safe for him to be around the lights… but Sherlock just shrugged it off saying that the lights were crucial to his experiments on UV radiation, obviously he couldn't study UV radiation without UV lights! But then John caught him without his gloves while one of the lights was turned on. Sherlock had been so completely absorbed in monitoring something in the microscope that he hadn't been aware of his skin starting to blister.

"Sherlock!"

"Oh, this is nothing, it's okay."

"No it's not! You're hurt and it could have been worse." John spoke delicately, his voice heavy with worry as he took Sherlock's blistered hand into his own.

He deftly pulled out a small first aid kit from his school bag, which at this point was mostly filled with experiment notations and various samples Sherlock had asked him to keep from their various treks. John led them to the living room sofa and sat Sherlock down so he could take care the injury with as much care as possible, disinfecting the area, applying some cold water and lotion, then wrapping it in a thin gauze once it was cooled down.

"When did you learn first aid?"

"Right after I met you. You said you injure easily, so… yeah."

Sherlock was blushing when John looked up. He felt his own faced get warmer and dropped Sherlock's hand gently onto the sofa.

John coughed and asked, "So how come you've got all that UV equipment? And a lab, for that matter…?"

"It was my mother's," Sherlock explained "But she's off in Switzerland for more heavy duty research. It's been her obsession to find a cure ever since father died."

John didn't ask the obvious question and let Sherlock continue. "Mycroft got a job with the government this year too, so he's been in London most of the time," and then he turned and gave John a most sincere smile, "Honestly John, if you hadn't shown up, I might've just died from boredom!"

"Don't even joke about that!" John snapped. But the sincere look in Sherlock's eyes held him for a moment too long and he found himself looking away. Just to have something to say, he asked, "Why don't you go to school? Must be slightly more entertaining."

"Oh please, you've seen the place. Dreary and nauseating," Sherlock scoffed, "Can't see any real knowledge being passed down in such ridiculous confines, where everyone's more worried about the people than the actual books."

John took a deep breath before asking softly, "So you have been to school?"

Sherlock's looked like he was trying very hard to appear casual, but there was a strain to his voice as he spoke. "I attended for about two years… then there was an incident and we all decided home schooling was the better option."

John placed a reassuring hand on Sherlock's own burned one. "What happened?" he asked softly.

"I was six and we were living in France, near one of my mum's labs." Sherlock took a deep breath and leaned his head back against the sofa edge, looking up at the ceiling with a faraway gaze. His voice was barely over a whisper. "A bunch of kids thought it would be funny to steal my hat and coat. They kept throwing them back and forth to each other out in the playground. By the time I gave up trying to get them back, the damage had been done. I'd also missed the bus, so I had to walk halfway home too. I was so angry I didn't even notice the burns, because I have thick hair… I only noticed when I tried to scratch my head and it came back bloody. I had severe scalp burns and…" Sherlock looked at John now with a lopsided smile and announced, "Basically, school gave me cancer!"

John felt like crying, but he forced himself to laugh. He smiled with all his heart when Sherlock joined him.

He never asked Sherlock about school again, but he did complain about his own school. Sherlock helped him out with some of his summer homework. John even managed to conduct a really interesting experiment involving bacteria cultures from the forest for his science project.

All in all, it was the best summer of his life and he couldn't wait for the next year.

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A/N: Thank you for reading, your feedback would be wonderful. Also, I'm wondering if they sound young enough or OC in any way...? Have a great day :)