Hi guys. Been a while. Like, six days. Wow. I'm super tired. I wanted the next chapter written before I published this one.
You guys can have some nice, Christmas love. I'd like to remind you that the story isn't steamy, and isn't meant to be. I suck at writing steamy scenes. And I'd like to tell you that writing this story is one of the most enjoyable stories to write, up till now.
As for my reviewers - TheHolmesSister is the coolest, she's been reading everything I write. Give her a high five.
Alonzo Anonymouse, I hope I don't disappoint. I really do, because I'm super nervous about writing Sherlock as a kid.
wholockianraptor and Crossing the Galaxy 22 are very cool too *thumbs up*
Before either Molly or Sherlock had a grip on their friendship, the summer was slowing to an end. Sherlock was forced to go school shopping with his brother, and finished all his homework. Molly was going to be new in the school and in Sherlock's grade. He wasn't particularly irritated by it, but he did realize something – Sherlock didn't have friends of his own. If Molly spent time with him, she most certainly won't have friends either.
He considered talking to her and telling her not to spend time with him, but Molly had that moral compass. She'd never accept.
Sherlock frowned, but said nothing. She had her own choices to make, after all.
Their summer could be summed in the many journals they had worked on. They had that diary full of wingspans, and plenty of encyclopedias which they had pored over, studying together. Sherlock had done psychology with Molly and she had been able to help him explain concepts, thus grasping them better. And now, it was the end of the idyll – school was starting.
Sherlock, Mycroft and Molly waited at the bus stop for the school. Molly was very nervous. "Who is our class teacher?" she asked him.
"Miss Walters. She's like all other people – very boring," said Sherlock.
"Oh." Molly fiddled with her dress. "Alright, I guess."
Mycroft was simply reading a book and lifted an eye to look at Molly briefly.
The bus came and Molly and Sherlock sat together, somewhere in the front of the bus. Molly was nervously playing with the hem of her dress. She looked very much like a six year old in it.
The classroom was very typical – there were many large and useless posters, a big blackboard and a lot of desks. Molly was smiling at the posters. "I like it," she whispered to him.
Molly got a seat and went for it. Sherlock decided to sit at the back. Molly threw him a confused look. He simply shook his head. "Don't we sit together?" she asked.
"I like sitting at the back," said Sherlock. "You can sit in front, you know."
Molly bit her lip. "Alright," she said. "In a bit then?"
Sherlock smiled. "Yeah."
Molly grinned. "Honey, honey, how he thrills me!" she sang under her breath. Sherlock gave her a rare toothy grin.
She scooted to the front, while the teacher sailed in. "Good morning class, I'm Miss Walters."
"Good morning Miss Walters," chanted the class in characteristic childish enthusiasm.
"Let's introduce ourselves?" she said brightly. Molly looked back and wrinkled her nose. Sherlock smothered a laugh.
"Let's begin with you," said the teacher, looking at Molly. "Give us your name, age and what you enjoy doing."
Molly blushed to the roots of her hair again. "Hi. I'm Molly Hooper," she said with a smile. "I'm six years old, and I'm going to be seven this Christmas. I like birds and their wingspans."
"Birds and their wingspans?" asked the teacher curiously.
"Well," said Molly, briefly glancing at Sherlock. "Sherlock and I like seeing how birds fly."
"Sherlock?" she questioned.
"He's um – that one," said Molly, looking at Sherlock. Sherlock stared stolidly at the teacher while her lips became thin and eyes hard. "Oh," she said.
The rest of the class continued with the introductions. There was Martha and Talia, and all sorts of odd named children. Sherlock paid little attention until it was his turn.
"My name is Sherlock Holmes," said Sherlock. "I like people who aren't stupid."
The teacher glared at him. "Sherlock," she reprimanded. "You can't say things like that."
"Yes I can," said Sherlock dismissively. "It's not like I hate everyone."
"I fear you are going on that path, young man," said Miss Walters, harshly.
"Of course not," said Sherlock. "I don't hate Molly. I like Molly."
The teacher's eyes went wide as saucers. "You do?" she questioned.
"Yeah," nodded Sherlock. "I like Molly."
She looked extremely surprised by this, and Molly flashed him a bright grin. Sherlock smiled briefly back.
Miss Walters gave him a long stare. "Very well."
Sherlock and Molly remained friends, despite having school. Molly had this tendency to stick to him, even if he wasn't the nicest to her around other people. Sherlock could be extremely short tempered when others irritated him.
She bore it with patience, though. Molly made him feel better when the others called him a freak and when they tried to bully him. Sherlock wasn't weak, but he was one child, and couldn't fight multiple people. Sherlock sometimes felt discomfort over the fact that Molly didn't have friends because of him, but she never said anything about it.
Besides, Molly did manage to make some friends. She was friends with a group of girls Sherlock didn't particularly like, possibly because they had a tendency to make Molly feel less about herself.
They made her uncomfortable, and like all children who were a lot smarter than their peers, Sherlock and Molly were a little segregated from the other children. However, Molly would manage, as she was a little lower on the scales of extremely smart – Sherlock, on the other hand...
Sherlock had read the studies that had explained that gifted children often had a very hard time adjusting; almost as much as the ones who were mentally challenged. Sherlock accepted that this was the case with himself and Molly.
Sherlock only truly realized the extent to which Molly got bullied when he found her crying during recess one day.
"Oh – s-sorry Sherlock," she muttered, hiding behind some bushes. "I'm – um – coming."
"What happened?" asked Sherlock, kneeling down beside her, his voice rippling with anger.
"Nothing – those girls – they just tore apart that doll of mine. Said something about being a freak."
Sherlock squirmed uncomfortably. "Molly… maybe we shouldn't be friends in school. You're going to be bullied because of me."
Molly's lip wobbled. "No!" she said angrily. "I like being friends with you! It's dumb if they want me to not be friends with you because of that!"
"Come on Molly," he said coaxingly. "We'd still play at home…"
"No," said Molly stubbornly.
Sherlock left it at that. He was too selfish of her company to argue further.
October came, and with it the rains. The field which Sherlock and Molly used as a second home, along with the woods and the streams in them were invaded by a never ending army of showers. The grass and weed field flooded with water, making everything squishy and muddy, with frogs erupting from every crevice. When it stopped raining, they could wade into the mud and capture the frogs, but that was rare.
The trees acquired a permanently washed down effect, and the world began to look like a painting which had been sloshed into far too much water – where the paintbrush had been haplessly dipped into the bowl of water and brushed all across, giving everything a mildly blurred feeling of wetness, along with a clean sharpness of colours.
Molly and Sherlock spent their afternoons and evenings in the attic of Sherlock's home, where none disturbed them. Molly always insisted on getting homework done before anything else, which was why their games had slowed down in the past few months. They began to do their homework together in the afternoons in the attic – and after that, they played more pretend.
They'd pretend they were children in a haunted attic (a game Sherlock thoroughly despised), and they'd pretend they were explorers in a cave. They'd pretend they were trapped in a room by creatures of five dimensions (Sherlock invented that one. He had recently taken a liking to physics).
While they played pretend, they also began to study other things. It was then that Molly began to read books.
Sherlock never realized how slowly it just developed into something like that – one day, they were reading some Enid Blyton's together (Sherlock had been bored out of his mind) and within a few months, they were dissecting Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland.
It began with Chronicles of Narnia.
Sherlock knew because Molly had asked shyly, if he would like to read it with her. She didn't know some of the big words. It was most certainly a tactic.
However, when Molly began reading, her lilting voice filling the musty attic, he began to frankly enjoy the ridiculous books on animals who talked and other such antics. Sherlock got his own copy, and they began reading together. It was deeply enjoyable.
When they had finished with the Chronicles of Narnia, they moved on, deciding to read a set of children's books by Roahl Dahl. Matilda was Sherlock's favourite, as she seemed like an extremely smart girl. Molly, on the other hand, favoured Charlie and the Chocolate Factory because "It has so much of interesting chocolate!"
After that, their appetites for books became insatiable. While they did play together in the attics, and they dissected frogs, they coordinated their reading activities. Sherlock forgot about psychology and all about physics – he began to divulge deeply into the realm of literature. While he left Molly far behind, swallowing book after book, he made sure to coordinate his book reading with her. He was the faster reader, but Molly was a lot more patient, and derived a lot more from the book itself.
At least the October rains did some good to them.
They read Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, The Wind in the Willows, Nancy Drew, and Hardy Boys. They went deep into the childish stories of the boys in William and they enjoyed children's fantasy fiction even further.
Sherlock's interests were most peaked when he read the detective novels. Molly was always guessing, and she refused to accept a common stand until everything was over, but Sherlock guessed almost immediately, and was almost always right.
"You should be a detective," said Molly once, admiringly. She was doodling in her notebook – Sherlock didn't know if it was through her association with her, or if she was simply like that – but Molly had begun to draw a lot of small, dead animals. But there were also a few little doodles of the sun – the trees, and so on. Her attention to detail was becoming fascinatingly strong.
"I'm going to be a pirate," said Sherlock.
Molly giggled. "That's not a real thing anymore, Sherlock."
"Of course it is! Just you wait!"
Christmas was fast approaching, and Molly and Sherlock had by this time decided, they were, in fact, best friends. Sherlock knew the theory had been clear in Molly's head since the summer they spent together, but now, Sherlock also accepted it. However, with friendship came obligations. Sherlock was at a loss to know what to give Molly for Christmas.
"We're friends, right, Sherlock?" asked Molly once.
"Yeah," said Sherlock. "I thought it was fairly obvious."
"I suppose," said Molly. "Would you mind if I got you a Christmas present then?" she asked.
Sherlock frowned. "Isn't that what best friends do?" he asked.
"I guess," said Molly. "I just saw it and thought of you – so you know."
"Are we best friends?" he asked her, demandingly.
Molly blushed. "If you wish it," she said.
Sherlock looked at her scrutinizingly. The attic was quiet.
"Yeah, I think I do," he said finally. "We're best friends."
Molly went red with pleasure. "Really?" she asked.
"Yeah, I think it makes it easier, right?" said Sherlock. "Now we can tell everyone in school and people will just ignore us spending so much time together. And now we get the benefits of being best friends – I can have bits of your lunch, you can buy me presents. It works."
Molly grinned. "You can't have my turkey sandwiches!" she declared.
"That's not fair!" said Sherlock hotly. "Best friends share!"
Molly jumped up and danced about. "Shall not!" she sang loudly, while Sherlock chased her.
Christmas was coming, and with it Molly's excitement peaked to the point of no return. Sherlock couldn't help rolling his eyes.
Molly thrived in this weather – where the winter was there freezing the fingers off. Her brightness got very exasperating, especially when they were continuously playing games. Her birthday was coming, and Sherlock knew Molly's parents wanted her to have a party.
Molly wasn't particularly partial to it herself, but she wouldn't have minded it, he knew. Molly enjoyed cakes and presents like any other child her age. Therefore, she said yes. She sent him an invite as well.
"Molly, I'm not going to come," said Sherlock.
"But it's my birthday, Sherlock!" she pleaded.
"It's not what I do best, Molly," he said. "People don't like me."
"I like you," said Molly. "Mycroft likes you, even though he pretends otherwise. Your parents like you."
"But they are supposed to," said Sherlock, exasperated. "I'm bad at friends."
"I'm your friend!" said Molly. "And I don't have to like you. In fact, I very much dislike you sometimes!"
Sherlock laughed.
Molly bit her lip. "Well, if you don't want to come, don't," said Molly. "I really don't mind. I understand. But um – can we at least play together?"
Sherlock brightened. "Yeah, absolutely."
Sherlock watched the birthday from his room. Molly looked very nice, in a new dress. He felt a prick of jealousy, for just a second. She seemed, however, supremely uncomfortable. Their schoolmates, who disliked Molly almost all through the year had come for food and goodie bags. Sherlock snorted. Molly opened the door, to let more classmates in – and as she ushered them in shyly, she briefly looked up at Sherlock's window.
Even though his room was dark and it should have been impossible for her to see him, she grinned at him, as if she knew exactly where he was. Sherlock found himself smiling back.
The wrapped present given by Molly was staring at him.
Sherlock had never engaged in the childish custom of waking early to see his presents on Christmas morning. In any case, he knew what his parents had gotten. A chemistry set was something he desperately wanted, along with a collection of book. Mycroft had got him a particular book called The Origin of Life by Charles Darwin.
But Molly's present eluded him. It was a small, inconsequential box which was lying there.
He woke up early to see what it was. Himself, he bought Molly a new set of stationary. He knew she liked that. Besides, he hadn't saved up for more.
Christmas morning revealed exactly what Molly had brought. Sherlock ignored all his other presents – his curiosity needed to be satisfied.
It was a small magnifying glass – quite unlike the normal ones. It slid open and out.
The other thing inside it, however, was an eyepatch. The note said in childish handwriting – For your future jobs.
Sherlock smiled wolfishly.
It caused Molly physical pain when he used that magnifying glass.
It actually hurt all over her chest. She couldn't help it. She felt like crying as soon as she saw it. The magnifying glass was the only proof that maybe Sherlock had known her for years before they 'met.'
And right now – after the Moriarty episode. She felt like a stupid, desperate slag. Flirting with any other guy simply to get Sherlock jealous. And Moriarty – had been a bad deal altogether. She remembered when he had asked her all about Sherlock in the middle of kissing. The sex had been… brutal. He did make her reach her climax, but at the cost of so many – bruises. Some which were still not gone. Molly had cried after that, for ages, and ages.
"Something wrong, Molly?" asked Sherlock, staring intently at the body.
"Nothing," said Molly. She pulled out one of her books, reading. John wasn't here today, so there was no one, really, to speak to.
"Don't you have work?" asked Sherlock, frowning.
Molly put her book down and said quietly. "No. I've done all my paperwork."
"Hmm," said Sherlock. He looked at her as she lifted the book to her eyes.
Molly didn't see Sherlock blanch visibly. "What are you reading, Miss Hooper?" he asked neutrally.
"It's – um – To Kill a Mockingbird," said Molly. "It's my fav-"
She noticed how Sherlock was looking at the book.
"Oh," said Molly. Her face flushed with pleasure. "Molly, don't," said Sherlock warningly.
It was the first indication she had received in three years of 'knowing' Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, that he may once have been Sherlock, the boy who played with her day in day out. An intense feeling of warmth seeped in – she hadn't felt as free in years – Sherlock was someone real. He had come into her life and left, like all people. And now he was back. Inspiration struck her.
"Alright," said Molly. She grinned slyly. "Hey Sherlock?" she said on an impulse.
"What?" he bit out, noticing a grin that echoed of stuff pressed between hide and seek games and fields of rains and ice creams.
"I like your magnifying glass," she said, still grinning brightly. "But I think the eyepatch was pretty cool too."
Sherlock didn't have anything to say, and that was so new to Molly that she burst into laughter.
And that's that. I'm going to write the fourth chapter now, hopefully the third chapter will be up in a week. Reviews are nice :)