CHAPTER 2:

Fortunately or unfortunately however you look at it, unfortunately in Sherlock's case, they hadn't actually encountered any danger on the way back. They had talked comfortably, with Sherlock telling John about the animal prints that he saw, which direction it was most likely going and whether it was male or female and occasionally stopping so that he could inspect a rather interesting leaf or bug, telling John all that he could deduce about the object; all the while John praising him with, "brilliant" or "amazing" and asking questions, wanting to know the answers. John at some point started helping Sherlock find things to stuff in his pockets so he could take them home and examine them further.

"So what do you do with all these things once you get them home?" John had asked with curiosity ringing in his voice.

Sherlock lifted a rotting acorn to his nose and sniffed it, "Sometimes I do experiments with them. But I also keep them in different collections." He started to bring the acorn to his mouth, sticking out his tiny tongue to lick it. John smacked his hand away, the acorn flying to the ground.

"Don't do that! It could make you sick!"

"Really John that wasn't necessary. It wouldn't have caused me any harm. How am I supposed to know what an acorn at the early stages of decay tastes like?"

"Why would you even need to know that?!" John shouted in exasperation.

Sherlock glared at John and bent over to pick up the acorn then stuffed it into his pocket, stomping off. "Don't be an idiot John" he called b

John rolled his eyes and took off after him.

Once they reached the trail and were in sight of John's home, Sherlock stopped in his tracks and pushed his hands into his pockets, touching each of the objects with his fingertips. John halted as well, looking over at Sherlock, "Would you like to come up? I'm sure my mom has got something on."

"No, I do not think that is wise." Sherlock said to the tree to his right, refusing to look at John.

"Oh, well, would you like to meet again? I'm not sure if I could find that tree you were in but there has to be somewhere. Maybe in town?" John was trying his best not to sound eager. Most kids from town wouldn't even speak to him anymore and the ones that did, either it was in secret or in spite.

Once again John had surprised Sherlock. He had thought that John would not want to spend time with him again, believing John had been kind just so that he would have help finding his way back. Sherlock turned his head towards John but spoke to his feet, "There is an abandoned cottage in the woods. We could meet there."

John's face lit up at this, blue eyes shining. "Yes I know where that is. I used to play there with the other kids, until, well….you know."

Sherlock didn't feel the need to respond to that, since he did in fact know. He just nodded and whirled abruptly around, stalking off back where they had come from.

"Hey! Wait! You never said when you wanted to meet!" John called after him.

Sherlock stopped, looked over his shoulder at John, "In two days at noon" and then walked on.

"Okay! See you then." John said back, then turned and ran up towards his house, the chimney piping smoke. John was correct; his mother did have something on.

Much later Sherlock stood behind a tree that was much larger than him peering around to stare at the twelve foot stone wall, waiting for the guard to make his rounds. He knew that the man should be passing this particular section of wall any minute, and then Sherlock would have five minutes before the second guard came. So he waited, drumming his fingers against the bark. It had not been easy getting back but he had been in such a hurry; helping John find his way had taken longer than he had allotted himself time for. And now he was going to be late. Sherlock was not supposed to be in the forest and was most definitely not supposed to be late for supper. As long as he wasn't late no one would question what he had done with himself during the day, they were just glad that he was out of the way.

He abhorred waiting but here he was. Waiting for the insufferable guard to come by; luckily for him this guard whistles so he hears him first before actually seeing him. He ducks behind the tree listening as the tune gets closer, then right next to the part of the wall that Sherlock needs to climb over, then slowly fading away. Peering around the side of his tree, he could still hear the tune, but the guard was no longer in sight, he dashed towards the wall, reaching to feel for a specific stone. Usually he could tell it just from looking but the sun was setting and this particular area was covered in shade, making it much harder for him to locate the first in a set of ten stones. His small fingers were perfect for finding it though, the barely visible indentation between the top of one stone and the bottom of another, just enough room to fit his fingers and then, once pushed off the ground, his toes.

He had spent a lot of time chipping away at these stones so that they were just right. He had always found ways to escape the grounds; it was getting back in that was the difficult part, until he discovered this section of wall. Situated all the way in the back, not only was it closer to the forest, but wasn't maintained as well as the front so the stones were easy to chip at with small rocks, the mortar coming away easily but not crumbling. It also had a giant vine that scaled the inside of the wall, extremely easy to climb up and down, making it a perfect spot for him to get in and out of. It takes him about 60 seconds to be up, over and down. In his haste to get over the wall, he failed to notice a figure standing at the base. As his feet hit the ground and his hands went up to brush themselves off on the front of his grass-stained purple shirt, he saw the glint off a pair of black, recently polished, leather shoes. The smile that had been playing on his lips with the rush of adrenaline that he got from climbing the wall quickly dissipated. He finished brushing his hands off and turned away, walking towards the back door of the kitchen.

"It's best if you not go that way, Sherlock."

"And why not, Mycroft?" Sherlock said, turning towards his brother and crossing his arms.

Mycroft's perfectly manicured finger pointed at Sherlock's side, "Cookie may not observe how thoroughly disgusting you are when you come back from your little escapadesbut she will most undoubtedly notice that rather large cut."

Sherlock looked at himself for the first time since he got dressed this morning. He knew he came back dirty but never noticeably injured. He hadn't even felt it happen, actually he did remember now, looking down at it. He had been running full speed hoping to make it back before the sun set. John had warned him to look out for the bramble that sprung up in some of the bushes, but on his way back all thoughts about such things were lost. He had pushed through a rather large bush and gotten caught for a minute or so, his shirt had torn wide and he had a felt a sharp stinging but had pushed on regardless then, forgetting until Mycroft pointed it out.

It had already started to heal and now the blood was drying on his skin, mixing with the mud making an interesting pattern along his pale skin. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to do anything about it, he'd like to wear it for all times, showing others the proof that on one very ordinary day he had met a not so ordinary little soldier.

"You should get yourself cleaned up before entering the house or you might not get to see your friendagain."

Sherlock pursed his lips and placed his hands on his hips, "I don't have friends."

Straightening up and with his hands behind his back, Mycroft stood to all the height the thirteen year old boy had. He raised his eyebrow at Sherlock, "Hmmm."

Sherlock stared back refusing to continue this conversation. "How had he found out so fast?"Sherlock thought to himself. He had only met John this afternoon and he wasn't quite sure they were friends. He resented that Mycroft was seven years his senior. Seven more years to observe means seven years of knowledge that Sherlock didn't have and he hated thinking Mycroft might be more clever.

"I see you've gotten into the cakes again."

Mycroft sighed and looked to the sky, "Come this way, Sherlock. We will get you fixed up and off to dinner before Mummy and Father start to wonder where you are." He walked towards the far right corner of the grounds that was still bathed in sunlight, with Sherlock following behind him. Sherlock watched as Mycroft took off his suit jacket and hung it on the post that stood next to the water pump. As Mycroft unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his shirt sleeves, he looked over at Sherlock, who was starting to shiver. The sun was starting to set quickly, the heat of the day going along with it. Mycroft had always thought that Sherlock was too thin for his age and it made the winters much tougher for him than others but as always Sherlock didn't listen and went days without eating before someone finally forced him to. Now his thin body was feeling the cold night air creeping in and wasn't handling it well. "Best to do this as quickly as possible before you catch your death." Mycroft said and grabbed the handle of the old water pump and began to prime it.

"I am FINE." Sherlock said defiantly, but then added quickly, "But, do hurry up."

Mycroft picked up the pace. Finally the water came up splashing out of the spigot. Mycroft pointed at the spot right in front of the water pump, "Stand there Sherlock and we will get some of that mud off your feet."

Sherlock moved to stick his feet under the water but he quickly jumped back, "It's too cold!"

"Well what do you expect me to do about it?" There were beads of sweat on Mycroft's forehead, even with the cool air coming in; he wasn't dressed for manual labor. "Just get in the water! I want this over with just as much as you do!"

Sherlock stuck one big toe into the water but refused to get closer.

Mycroft was just about to shout something undignified when they both heard a loud shout ringing out towards them. They both turned to look at who the voice originated from. Mycroft stopped pumping the water and ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, making it stick up straight. He whispered to Sherlock, "Well there is no hope now."

"At least I don't have to stand in that ice water any longer."

"What on Earth are you boys doing?!" Mrs. Hudson shouted at them as she jogged toward them, holding up her large brown skirt, auburn hair piled high on her head starting to fall, tendrils brushing along her cheeks. Mrs. Hudson had been with the family since before Mycroft was born. She was the house keeper but had taken on nanny duties once Sherlock was born, even as a baby Sherlock had been a handful and Mycroft's nanny had quit after Sherlock had dumped sheep's blood on her bed; to this day they still didn't know why he did it and he can't be bothered to remember anymore. So, Mrs. Hudson had taken over, she was the only one that he seemed to listened to, not all the time, mind you, but most of it. Dropping her skirt and looking at the boys, then doing a double take at Sherlock's appearance, she narrowed her eyes at him, "hmmm, I see." Mrs. Hudson reached out her hand to pat Mycroft on the shoulder and then smooth his hair back down, "That was kind of you to try and get him cleaned up Mycroft, but it is far too cold out here for that. Come Sherlock I will get you cleaned up inside and then we can talk."

Mycroft looked at him and mouthed "Sorry", Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. He couldn't hide much from Mrs. Hudson; she had this nasty habit of making him feel guilty about lying to her. He would face whatever was to come. He followed her up to the door at the side of the house; she stopped and turned around to face him. "I'm going to carry you. I will not have those things making a mess of my nice clean wood floor." She pointed down at his feet, "but first we need to shake out that hair of yours. Lean forward, please." He bent over and she ran her fingers through his curls that were matted in places, shaking loose dirt, leaves and a few bugs that ran off as soon as they hit the ground. She patted his head lightly signaling that she was through and he turned to face her, holding up his arms. She bent down, scooped him up and shifted him so that he came to sit on her hip. Her body was warm from being in the house all day and feeling it made him acutely aware of how cold he really was. He wrapped his thin arms and legs around her and laid his cheek on her shoulder, and even though she grumbled at him for being so dirty, she squeezed him closer and rubbed circles into his back.

Carrying him in to the house, Mrs. Hudson called out, "Molly! Get the bath ready for Sherlock, will you?"

A small voice came back from around the corner, "Yes, Mrs. Hudson."

A young woman with mousy brown hair tied up in a loose bun came bustling around the corner and then hastened up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Mrs. Hudson followed shortly after, unable to go as fast as Molly with the load she was carrying. Sherlock just snuggled closer to her, closing his eyes feeling the day grow long in his mind, wearing him down, a bath sounded heavenly to him. They had taken the back stairs so he didn't worry about being seen by Mummy or Father but he did start to worry what Mrs. Hudson would say to them. He felt her ascend the last step and turn towards his washroom, the door creaked opened and he could feel the steam already filling up the room, could hear the splashing of water as Molly filled up the tub, heard her humming as she poured in the soap, the floral scent drifting up his nostrils. But, Mrs. Hudson didn't stop she kept going and he opened his eyes to see as she pushed open his dressing room door, his bedroom door across from them was still open so he could see part of his grey duvet and feel the colder air coming in, steam was sneaking in through the washroom door, he pictured them as two opposing forces ready to do battle right in the middle of his dressing room. He quickly wiggled in Mrs. Hudson arms, shocking her into dumping him on the floor, "What in the world?!" she exclaimed but he landed on his feet and ran towards the bedroom door slamming it shut, he already felt like he had been in a battle and didn't want to deal with another. She gave him a questioning look but when he didn't answer she ignored the outburst. She walked over to him and patted his cheek, "Okay, now you undress and I will be in the other room, when you are done let me know and then you get right in the bath. Understand?"

He nodded at her and waited till she exited the dressing room. He took off his ruined shirt, throwing it on the floor; there was no use in putting it in the hamper, it was beyond repair. Before he removed his trousers he stuck his left hand in his pocket to get the items he had collected from his day in the woods, but it was empty. He pushed his hand further in until three of his fingers were sticking out the bottom of a hole in his pocket. He had lost all the sticks and leaves that were in there, he stomped his foot in anger. There had been some really interesting leaves he had found and one particular dead bug that he really wanted to pin to his wall. Panic hit him as he shoved his right hand into the other one, feeling around desperately for the one item he most certainly did not want to lose. There at the bottom, pushed tightly in the corner, was the acorn. He pulled it out quickly, spilling the rest of the contents on the floor, not caring about them as he looked at the acorn. Such a small thing with no real meaning to anyone else that would see it; probably throw it out if they did. He twirled it around in his hand, remembering John, with his blue eyes shining at him, the tips of his blonde hair shifting with the wind, a friendly smile on his face. Sherlock had never had a friend before and still wasn't sure if that is what he would call John, they had only just met today, but John had wanted to spend more time with him and Sherlock was finding he liked the idea of spending time with John as well. He curled the acorn into his fist and went to his bedroom door. He twisted the knob and slowly opened the door not wanting Mrs. Hudson or Molly to hear him and crept silently to his bed. He lifted up his pillow and placed the acorn gingerly underneath, wanting to keep it close, so he could look at it and remember how a boy that he had just met cared enough to stop him from eating it. Sherlock smiled thinking about how absurd that was and went back to the dressing room.