I'm debating how often I should update this. I could update every two or three days if you guys would like that. I'm a fast writer and can crank out this story as easily as I can eat a biscuit, but I would like to have more stuff happen to the boys. So... if any of you have requests, I might write them in.

But for now... Chapter 3!


Sherlock and John's friendship developed quickly over the next few weeks. Soon they felt as though they had known each other their entire lives. They were both the same age, both a few months from turning fourteen. Sherlock was slightly older though.

They spent most of their free time together in the shed. Thousands of adventures took place there, from the time that they ran aground and were forced to eat Basil (much to the parrot's annoyance when they mimed stabbing him with forks) to the time when John was thrown overboard and devoured by sharks, leaving him on the hot summer grass, tongue sticking out the side of his mouth, limbs twitching dramatically. The sight made Sherlock split his sides from laughter before he decided that John was in a perfect position for a good tickling. The First Mate didn't stand a chance against the Captain's long fingers, which found all of John's ticklish spots quite quickly. They ended up both sprawled on the ground, gasping for breath and feeling quite childish.

They lay side by side on the grass for a bit, before John decided to ask Sherlock a few questions. Sherlock was his only friend, and he wanted to know a bit more about this mysterious pirate of the shed.

"What other family do you have besides Mycroft?" John asked looking sideways at his friend.

Sherlock's eyes were closed and the light from the summer sun made his long eyelashes cast shadows on his pale cheeks. John thought he looked oddly handsome.

"There's mummy and dad," Sherlock replied, his low voice quiet, "But dad doesn't come around much anymore. He and mummy split up a while ago. He lives in his own private estate. Comes round for holidays sometimes."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I'm not bothered by it." Sherlock turned on his side and looked at John, "What about you?"

"Well, there's me, and Harry, and mum and dad, and my uncle and aunt, but they live in London."

They were both silent for a bit, just enjoying the summer day. Then John had a thought.

"Have you ever seen Pirates of the Caribbean?" John asked Sherlock.

"No. Is it a movie?" Sherlock replied.

John nodded. "It's really cool. I think you'd like it. We should watch it together sometime."

"Wait, is it the one with that one actor? Johnny Deep?"

"Depp. And yeah. So you've seen it?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. But I think I own it."

"How can you own a movie you haven't even watched?"

"Mummy buys Mycroft and me all sorts of things. She bought Mycroft that movie when he was twelve. He said he would much rather make love to the cake in the fridge than watch it."

John laughed. "That sounds like Mycroft. But we should really watch it together sometime."

"How bout right now?"

"Uh, sure."

"Good."

Sherlock got up and offered a hand to John, who grabbed it and hauled himself up. They readjusted their belts, and then they raced back to Sherlock's house.

Sherlock had a very large television and very comfy chairs. He and John were each seated in two large armchairs that faced the flat screen telly. Sherlock had popped in the DVD and they were now watching a young girl singing "A Pirate's Life for Me."

John loved this movie, and he had to all but bite his tongue to keep from giving away plot points. Sherlock, however, seemed unamused. He sat with one long leg draped over an arm, his arms crossed, watching the movie through half lidded eyes.

"If you're not enjoying it, we can turn it off," John suggested.

"Are you enjoying it?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah," John said softly.

"Then we leave it on."

"Okay then."

John sat back in his seat, still conscious of the fact that Sherlock was quite bored with the film.

Sherlock was interesting. John had never met anyone so smart. He was some sort of genius in John's opinion. And John rather liked him. As a friend that is… mostly. You're not gay. You just like him because he's the first friend, first real friend that you've had in a long time. Now just watch the movie and stop thinking about the fact that his chair looks comfier than yours.

Sherlock sighed heavily as Jack Sparrow whacked William Turner in the back of the head with an oar. John could hear the sigh through his laughter.

"Do you want me to turn it off?" John asked Sherlock, reaching for the changer.

Sherlock swatted John's hand away from the changer, saying, "No. You watch. You like it." He got up and stretched. "I'm going to make some popcorn. Keep watching." He sauntered off in the direction of the kitchen.

John pulled his knees up to his chest and watched the pirates gathering around the treasure of the Isla de Muerta. He sighed. Sherlock was defiantly bored and John didn't like seeing his friend not enjoying himself.

Sherlock came back with a heaping bowl of hot popcorn, which he placed directly in John's lap, before sitting back in his chair.

"Don't you want any?" John said offering Sherlock a piece of popcorn.

Sherlock shook his head. "Eating is boring."

"Well, you should eat something. You're thin as a rake."

Sherlock snorted, but he reluctantly grabbed a handful of popcorn, which he ate slowly, kernel by kernel, chewing as though it hurt him.

John rolled his eyes. Pausing the movie he turned to Sherlock.

"What's wrong?"

Sherlock looked over at him. "What do you mean?"

"There's obviously something bothering you. What is it?"

Sherlock eyed John. Then he said, "I get bored easily, John. It's not your fault."

"Well, is there anything you want to do so that you won't be bored?"

Sherlock thought for a moment and said, "Actually, are you any good at building things?"

"I once built a dog house with my dad."

"That'll do. Follow me."

Sherlock got up from his chair and led John outside into his backyard, where he stood looking up at the tree with the dilapidated tree house perched in its thick branches.

"Fancy rebuilding a tree house, John?" Sherlock asked, grinning at his friend.

"Sure, as long as you won't get bored and accidentally drop a hammer on my head." John gave Sherlock a smirk.


Three hours later the boys were sitting side by side on the grass, staring up at a very fine looking tree house. John's dad had helped a bit… okay, a lot. He was now getting lemonade for the two boys.

"I think it looks great," John said to Sherlock.

"It's acceptable," Sherlock replied.

"It's bloody brilliant. That's what it is. And I'll race you to it." John pushed Sherlock down and ran over to the tree, climbing the pieces of wood that were nailed to the trunk.

Sherlock was a lot quicker than John had anticipated. He began climbing the wood like a monkey, and when he reached John he grabbed the back of his friend's jumper in one hand and hooked his long fingers over a piece of wood above John's head. Then he placed his legs around John and proceeded to climb over John until John got a very nice view of Sherlock's backside.

"Not your best look," John yelled to Sherlock's rear. Then he blushed.

Sherlock scrambled up into the tree house and yelled down to John.

"But I still won. And I think you rather enjoyed that show." He winked.

"You're unbelievable."

John came to sit beside Sherlock in the tree house. It was a large rectangular structure, that sat in the middle of a huge 'v' in the old tree. It had a slanting roof, and two windows, one that faced Sherlock's house, and one looking toward the road in front of the house. There was even a small porch like extension on the front of the tree house.

Sherlock swung his legs back and forth over the edge of the porch and leaned back against the wall of the house. John sat on the other side of the hole which served as the door, so that he and Sherlock were separated slightly, a bit to his disappointment.

John's dad appeared beneath the tree house.

"You boys want me to send up the lemonade?" he yelled up to the two pairs of shoes dangling from the porch.

A bucket dropped down beside John's father, who deposited the lemonade in it, glad that he had put lids on the cups. The bucket was then hauled up to the tree house by means of a rope, which Sherlock pulled on, bringing the bucket to a place where John could reach out and grab the drinks.

"Thanks dad!" John yelled.

"Anything else you boys need, just let me know."

"We will!"

As soon as John's dad was out of earshot, Sherlock turned to John and said loudly, "This be a welcome rest from the ship, eh?"

John nodded. "Twas a fine idea to come here, Cap'n. We be able to see farther than the crow's nest from here."

"That we can." Sherlock mimed looking through a spyglass and then he cried out, "Whale off the port bow!" He pointed to a rather chubby young man who had come to stand beneath the tree house.

"Playing pretend again are we, dear brother?" Mycroft sneered, crossing his arms over his slightly protruding stomach.

"Been expanding your already impressive girth, brother dearest?" Sherlock retorted.

Mycroft gave Sherlock an evil glare then he looked up at the tree house, squinting at it with his beady eyes.

"I see you've built another spot of seclusion for you and John. Lord knows what you two are up two." He smiled knowingly.

"We're doing unspeakable things with our lemonade straws!" Sherlock yelled down at Mycroft, grinning like a madman.

Mycroft wrinkled his nose. "You two are disgusting. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to do something wholesome and not perverted with my time." He gave rolled his eyes and walked into the house.

"Do leave some cake for the rest of us!" Sherlock cried to Mycroft's back. John could hear the older Holmes mutter something quite offensive about where he could put the rest of the cake. John giggled.