Epilogue

Begin Again

It didn't take long for the acceptance of summer to sink in. The leaves on the trees grew to a brilliant lime color, and white fluffy clouds dotted the skyline above all the birds. Days grew hot and nights sank back down to cool, and the sky was so clear you could see every star lining the galaxy. The apple trees outside the Holmes' mansion had blossoming pink flowers on their branches, and the fruit itself was a dark scarlet shade of red. When Sherlock sank his teeth into the skin of one, the juice ran down his face and he licked his lips because of the sweet taste and freshness.

A family of doves had even built a nest right outside Sherlock's window, and sometimes his owl watched the members in its own family category with pleasing eyes. Grasshoppers sprang from one blade of grass to another, and crickets chirped a harmonious beat while he slept at night.

Mycroft had been disappearing day in and out for several days now, as business with the Ministry of Magic interested him and he was determined he was going to be offered a job as soon as he ended his seventh year at Hogwarts. The younger Holmes brother spent most of his days taking walks around his neighborhood, deducing more facts about all the houses on his street. He'd found a baseball bat in the yard where a young boy lived, a shovel where a local gardener planted seeds, and an empty lemonade glass that had been abandoned outside on the front porch of the home of an elderly couple.

There was no pool around or pond for the twelve‒year‒old detective to swim in, but it didn't matter because he never enjoy that kind of thing anyways. As a fun and different activity he baked chocolate chip cookies with his mum one afternoon and decided it would be nice to bring some to John. He munched on one as he sat and watched a boring movie play on the television and sent a text on his phone to his dear friend.

Meet me in the field tonight around 7:30, okay? ‒SH

John had responded back not a minute later, judging by the fact that he wanted to see Holmes as soon as possible. From the letters and words in his text back, he was super excited for some reason.

Sure. I'll come a little early. Want to do something first…And oh my god! Did you see the shooting star last night? Pretty epic! ‒JW

Sherlock laughed and swallowed a gulp of his milkshake, receiving a brain freeze as it went down his esophagus too quickly. It was incredible how many interests they shared between each other. Maybe that was how they got along so well without conflicts.

Because a shining star could never be neglected. Especially if his shooting star was his best friend.

An idea suddenly struck his mind as he stared off into space. His mother came into the living room and tidied up the place with a swift flick of her wand, and Sherlock rushed past her to leap upstairs, leaving footprints in the white carpet as he went.

The door of his sleeping quarters was thrown open and he scanned his bedroom to see where he'd left his school trunk. The luggage was in the far corner, lid open and clothes spilling out over the sides, located right next to his experiment table. He plunged into the pile, chucking things aside even though he knew he would have to clean it up later.

A pair of his school uniform pants was chucked onto his bed, and he slid some old shoes across the floor in the direction of his walk‒in closet. They skidded and tumbled over one another, thus not quite making it to the target spot.

He finally found his present after minutes of searching, hidden under his skull and Christmas scarf from John. He picked up the purple card and stared at his own smiling face. Whenever he smiled, so did the moving image of himself, like they were in synchronization. Just to complete the joy, he read the description engraved in gold under his Ravenclaw robes. When done, he focused only on two words, which then he narrowed down to one. What an outstanding combination of a name they made when forged together.

John Watson.

John. J‒O‒H‒N.

A smile crossed his lips as he sat back on his heels, kneeling on the scruffy carpet. And then he said something out loud and didn't care if anybody heard him. "Thanks little buddy."

The misty afternoon wind faded into dusk, and following a filling supper Sherlock bundled up in a light jacket to head over to the meadow. He wiggled his feet in his old dress shoes and closed the front door by the brass knocker, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep them warm in the chilly breeze.

He walked a little ways down the pale sidewalk before steering his course in the direction between two larger homes. He noticed as he passed by that it was the same house he'd walked by a year ago. The same bulldog was barking in the backyard, growling and chewing on a torn bone.

The grass flattened under his steps as he powered on, keeping his view on the horizon where the hill dumped off into a sloping lowland below. The lone oak tree looked like a puffy pillow; thick branches sprouted from its trunk and symmetrical leaves grew from all of the tiny stems. Sherlock couldn't see John from his distance away, and the closer he got he thought Watson wasn't there at all.

His mind was corrected when a blond boy's head was spotted above the tall grass. The shorter wizard had flattened a small circle around him so he could sit easily, and when Holmes got close enough he spied over his shoulder to see some sort of book lying in his lap.

"Alone much?" the brunette spoke, causing John to spin around slowly and face him.

"I guess…" he agreed, running his fingers over the smooth pages.

"What's that you've got?"

"Oh,it's a journal."

"What're you doing with a journal?" the detective asked, the thought seeming absurd.

"Well, I had this idea. Actually, my mum did, but I thought it would be cool too once she mentioned it. Since I've told her so much about my first year at Hogwarts, she thinks I should write all the events down. Kinda like a blog about my life, only the old fashion it down in words with a pencil."

"I see." Sherlock had reached John's side and crossed his legs, joining him in the shrinking sunlight. The younger boy was wearing his cream colored jumper and a pair of jeans, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to spread some heat on his clothes took in some of the light, giving them an orange glow.

Sherlock followed the setting sun with his eyes, taking in the blue, pink, orange, and black colors forming in the sky. The moon was just to the left in his peripheral vision, coming together so it was in the sky along with the sun. The great yellow ball pecked the tops of the hills far away, reflecting a light over the microscopic houses in the village below.

Sherlock picked at a fern by his side while John checked the time on his watch. "So," he broke the silence, peeling off small pieces of the plant at a time and throwing them aside, "are you planning to do this for all of our years at Hogwarts?"

"Depends," John mused, humming and closing the cover of his journal. The jacket was a specific shade of red, and gold initials in the bottom near the center read J.W.

"Ha." Sherlock checked out the book. "It looks like the journal Bilbo Baggins has."

"I know," John told him. "I don't think that's the reason why I chose it though. I probably did because —"

"It's Gryffindor colors." Holmes finished the sentence for him. The nod from the blond showed that the brunette wasn't mistaken. John didn't seem bothered that he was cut off. In fact, he'd gotten used to it and just went with it.

The smaller and younger boy rocked back and forth on his backside. Silence pressed between them as both of the kids said nothing, but Sherlock was getting curious and couldn't hold in his question any longer.

"Have you started it yet?"

"Yes," John said, positively. "But this is only the very first page," he continued, flipping the beginning few sections of paper over to find his own handwriting. A few fireflies fluttered their wings and flew around the two boys, leaping from different blades of grass and letting off tiny sparks of yellow flickers from under their wings.

"And it's definitely not where the story line ends," the Ravenclaw grinned, knowing the Gryffindor would no doubt write about all their adventures together. I can see John becoming a writer. Might not be a worldwide famous one, but he's a clever boy and can figure out how to word some things. "Can I hear it?" the brunette questioned, and John's mouth fell to remain open a smidge.

"I've only written one sentence!" he remarked.

"I thought you'd have more to say than that," the older said back, figuring his buddy had had this creative idea for some time already.

"It's hard to begin a book just right," the blond explained, recalling that he had written several different beginnings to his novel. "Besides, one line of words doesn't mean much."

"Of course they do. That's no excuse." The corners of John's mouth twitched, trying his best to avoid showing a smile.

"Please?"

"Fine," the Gryffindor gave in, smirking altogether. And then, clearing his throat, he smoothed out his reading page and spoke the words with confidence in his voice, concluding yet just setting up the first part of his tale of the adventures with his companion.

"A young boy stood staring out of his bedroom window, watching two siblings lying in a meadow not far away."