Young Sherlock Holmes: I want to become a detective, John.
It had been the wrong thing to say. Sherlock knew that as soon as the sentence had passed his lips.
John stared at Sherlock; his face clearly conveying the bruise his best friend succeeded in leaving on his heart with those four, little words.
“I don’t have friends!”
The tension in the air was thick amidst the sudden silence in the room.
John felt his eyelashing grow a bit damp when he blinked. He wasn’t crying, but he was close; his vision had already blurred slightly due to the obstructing moisture that lingered there. Their argument had been heated and both of them had gotten a bit riled up in the process.
Sherlock, however, was actually trembling. His fists were clenched in anger, and he was desperately trying to save face by keeping his petulant glare planted on his features. It was lacking its usual sting, mainly due to the fact that Sherlock was closer to crying than John was.
He had worked himself up into a little tantrum. He’d scaled the lattice-wall that bordered the side of John’s house like usual, slipped through the window John always left open for him - and expected his companion to follow along on their next adventure. There was a series of shop-robberies happening that had caught his interest.
But John had said no. It had something to do with homework, and the fact it was late… but Sherlock hadn’t really been paying attention. He had heard the word ‘no’ - and attacked John out of spite.
He knew deep down that John hadn’t done anything wrong. Not technically. He had no right to drag the boy out, yet again, into a dangerous situation. On the other hand, having a ‘partner-in-crime’ was still very new to Sherlock. He had expected John to drift away from him or call him a ‘freak’ like everyone else. But he had stayed… the ONLY person who had stayed. Which made his refusal to comply to Sherlock’s every whim confusing and infuriating.
“I wonder why…” John finally answered. There was the barest hint of resentment behind his tone, but he didn’t let his pain consume him. This was just typical Sherlock; John knew that. He had almost no filter, and was brutally honest about everything… John included.
It was the price of genius, apparently.
It didn’t make Sherlock’s words any less hurtful. After everything they had been through… John expected to be placed in the category of ‘friend’, at the very least, if not ‘best-friend’.
“Go home, Sherlock.”
Sherlock’s chest began to rise and fall more quickly; his breath shorter, his eyes still incredibly close to spilling over while his remained fists clenched, body trembling…
John turned to walk back toward his desk - but unexpectedly found himself latched onto. Sherlock had thrown himself at John’s back, and wrapped his arms tightly around John’s torso; pinning his arms to his side.
They fell quiet again. John kept very still, and listened to Sherlock’s ragged breathing and the occasional sniffle - accompanied by the tightening of his arms, or the feeling of Sherlock’s face burying into his back.
“John…” He said quietly. “I…” He stopped himself. “Y-You…” He stopped himself again.
Whatever it was that Sherlock was trying to say, was apparently, extremely difficult to get out. John had already recognized that his friend didn’t handle his emotions well, and preferred more to front a ‘poker-face’ to the world around him.
“John!” He choked out angrily, once more tightening; as if saying John’s name would get across his point.
“It’s fine, Sherlock.” John said. “It’s all fine.”
He meant it.
|| some moar childhood!angst
“Hey… uh, how’s it going?”
Greg winced. “No… no stupid.” He told himself.
“Hi Molly, I’m Greg!”
He groaned and stomped his foot.
“Hey, I’m Greg. Y-You… you’re in my class right?”
The boy stuck his lip out in a pout as he tried to get a hold of his nerves.
His eyes found Molly Hooper again. She was sitting on a distant bench with her mother, waiting patiently while her mother spoke to a friend.
Greg frequented this park often because it was so close to his house. He spent a lot of time here playing with friends or his parents. Sherlock and John had gone off somewhere, and as usual, Greg had been left behind.
But for once, he was ok with it.
Especially since it had given him the opportunity to see Molly.
“Hey, I’m Greg! I’m in your class!” He rehearsed to himself, trying to figure out the best way to approach the sweet girl.
“Hello. Hi. Hey Molly. Hey, Molly, what’s up?” He repeated.
Greg smacked himself on the forehead.
He didn’t know how to approach girls! Most guys in his class still didn’t really like girls, let alone want to speak to them… so what was wrong with him? Why did he feel nervous when he was close to Molly? When he saw her in the park? When she sat alone sometimes at lunch?
Taking a deep breath, Greg began to walk toward the bench - only to see Molly and her mother stand, and leave.
“Drat.” He grumbled, digging at the ground with the toe of his shoe.
|| filling request(s) for kid!Molly and kid!Lestrade
young sherlock&john | do you want to have an adventure?