A/N: Hey readers! I'm so sorry this chapter is a week behind...and it's so short, there just wasn't more I wanted to add to it. But never fear this doesn't put the rest of it behind! So yes, chapter ten will be out tomorrow. Think of it as a present, two chapters back to back. And thank you, all of you, for reading, commenting, likening, following, that stuff. Means a lot :) I hope you continue to enjoy it.
The weekend passed, and the first few days of the next week. But Sherlock still had not returned to the forest. He was still trying to figure out the conversation he and Mycroft had shared. The eight-year-old wasn't quite sure what to think of Mycrofts opinion towards the other boy across the field.
On Monday, Mr. Richards had started the Holmes boys' lessons. They hadnt done much yet, but the tutor had started explaining to the boys newer and modern concepts of observation and using what you see in different subjects of study. Sherlock, being only eight, didnt fully understand it. But Mycroft did, and the younger Holmes resented him for it.
Mr. Richards said not to worry, Sherlock would get it eventually. And as they went on with this unit, as the tutor liked to call it, everything would come more easily to the boys.
Just as his mum had said, they were tutored in the mornings and afternoons. Mr. Richards came promptly at nine, and left close to four. It was on Friday that Sherlock discovered how much he liked the end of the week. On mondays through thursdays Mr. Richards taught late afternoon and evening classes at the university. But it was on fridays he had the earlier classes to teach, meaning he left between twelve-thirty and one. That also meant that Sherlock and Mycroft had the remainder of the afternoon off.
It was soon after Mr Richards left that Sherlock decided he would go back into the forest. His mum gave him permission. She had gotten used to the idea that he wanted to go outside often, usually playing in the field on his own with his wooden sword. But sometimes he might go in the forest, not too far, staying just within the edge. But Sherlock was bored from that now, after a week of doing so.
And really, he wouldnt stay away from that area across the forest forever. No one could stop him. His parents didnt even know about the boy in the jumper, and hopefully they never would as long as Mycroft kept it secret. Seeing how the older boy had reacted when Sherlock told him, and how he had told the younger boy to keep it just between them, the eight-year-old trusted his brother to keep it safe.
That meant Sherlock was free to go back. And once again, no one would know. So it was decided, even though Mycrofts had told him not to, that Sherlock would go back to the far field. It was the boys one chance at contact with someone his own age and outside of his family that he wouldnt pass it up.
He left his bedroom, bringing his small blue ball with him and bouncing it along in front of him as he walked along the side of the house. Then, coming to the more uneven ground of the grass field, he stuck the ball in his pocket, and headed off into the forest at a light jog.
This time when he was about halfway through the forest, Sherlock decided to take a different route. When he had entered the forest for the first time a couple weeks ago, he had noticed the quiet sound of rushing water. Not too distinctly, but upon finding it again, Sherlock found a small creek with a little bank. At the start it seemed to head of in the same direction as the house he was headed towards, and he decided to follow it this time.
He started getting bored, and bounced his rubber ball here and there, careful not to let it hit a stick and bounce away. He could almost see the edge of the forest where he knew the trees broke away into the field.
As Sherlock looked up, he lost control of the ball, the small blue sphere bouncing away from under his small hands and moving in a mixture of rolling and bouncing down the creek bank through the dirt and sticks.
Sherlock chased the rubber ball down the slope to the creek edge, getting to it just in time before it fell into the water, and careful not to get his own shoes or clothes wet. He picked it up, then looked to where it had brought him. Through the bushes he could see the small house. Sherlock crossed the creek using some large stones, and crept behind a bush, watching for the occupants. He hoped maybe he'd catch a glimpse of the boy with the jumper again.
He hadn't been paying attention to anything else, when a twig snapped from behind him and Sherlock turned his head, startled, not realizing he hadn't been alone.
He practically froze in his crouch behind the bush, staring nearly wide-eyed at what he saw across the creek bed from him. It was the boy in the jumper. He had another one on today, different colour, this one a dark green. But definitely the same boy, even though Sherlock had only seen him twice before, from a long distance away.
And now the eight-year-old got a closer look, able to make out the boy's features. He was short than most boys, though about the same height as Sherlock. He wasn't chubby, but wasnt extremely skinny either, sort of in the middle. He had a short crop of blond hair, and his eyes were a brilliant blue.
But here they were now, eyeing each other suspiciously. Sherlock suddenly stood up from his crouch, the other boy taking a few short steps back.
"Hello," Sherlock greeted softly. He stepped forwards and hopped back over across the creek to get closer.
"Hello..." The other boy returned quizzically. "Who are you?" He inquired, his voice even more soft and sweet than Sherlock.
"I'm Sherlock. I live over across the field, in the house wayyyyy over there. We moved in a couple weeks ago," Sherlock lifted his hand up as best he could, pointing over beyond the woods. "And your name?" He returned.
"John." John shifted awkwardly on his feet. "What kind of name is Sherlock? I've never heard of someone named that before." Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows in response to that.
"Well, what's wrong with it?" He demanded.
"Nothing's wrong with it," John insisted. "It's just...different," he concluded.
"How old are you?" Sherlock asked. Even though now, standing in front of him, Sherlock could see how close in height him and John were.
"I'm ten," John stood up a little straighter, his shoulders bearing proudness with his response.
"Oh, I'm only eight." Sherlock replied softer. "But I'll be nine in january,"
"That's not too far away," John encouraged, giving a small smile. There was a pause of awkward tension between the two. Then Sherlock started up the conversation once more.
"You live there, don't you?" He asked, pointing off between the trees to the house. John nodded.
"I think I know the house you're talking about, where you live," The older boy told Sherlock. The eight-year-old nodded.
"Have you always lived here?" Sherlock asked. Again he received a nod.
"When did you move in?" John returned.
"On Monday before last," Sherlock replied. John shifted on his feet awkwardly. He took a glance to his house then looked down at the ground.
"I, er, I should be getting home. Mum'll be calling me in for supper," he told Sherlock quietly.
"Oh, alright," Sherlock responded, dejected. "See you around though, right?"
"Yeah maybe. I'll come back here tomorrow," he promised. And with that John headed off into the bushes, slipping out in the field before running across to his house.
"Nice meeting you," Sherlock called after the other boy quietly, watching him go. The eight-year-old turned to head back through the forest to his own house. He couldn't help but think about how early it was for John to go in for supper.
Sherlock was fidgety all evening throughout dinner. He did his best to keep it from his family, eating quickly, and letting his legs swing back and forth against the chair legs quietly to keep himself from shifting around on the seat anymore. Tomorrow was saturday. That meant he could spend the whole day outside. His father was going to be gone again all day for work. His mother might spend the day inside, or go to town again. Either way, she wouldnt care how Sherlock spent his day. As long as he was home for supper, didnt get his clothes too dirty, and also didnt get hurt or in trouble.
When he was done eating, and his parents let him be excused (his mother had made him wait a bit and engage in conversation, or atleast sit and listen since he had eaten so quickly), Sherlock rushed upstairs to his room. He would bring his pirate sword tomorrow to show to John, and maybe they could play pirates in the forest. Or should he bring his slingshot and they could play with that. He supposed maybe they could also use John's football Sherlock had seen him play with the very first time he had gone to the house. Or maybe they could also climb trees. Sherlock was getting way too excited over this. It had been a while since he had anyone his age to play with. And this was his one opportunity to do so, and also do so at this new house where no one else was around for miles.
Sherlock set his pirate sword out on his desk. He would leave his hat here, which was nicely positioned ontop of his dresser for safekeeping. Then the boy rushed over to his bedroom window, looking out into the already growing night sky. If he looked hard enough, he could maybe make out the edge of the trees but he wasnt sure. He doubted it, but there was also a good chance that it was, and that meant thats where John's house was. It wasnt actually as far as Sherlock thought. And he couldn't wait to go back.