Archive of Our Own ^beta

As chaotic as his family may be, Sherlock's parents still find the time for both their sons, this being a burden that he has to deal with because he'd rather spend the summer cooped up in his room with his books than going on a trip. His brother being there as well making it somewhat worse even though he's usually off doing whatever it is nowadays so now Sherlock has to deal with him as well.

Point being, the day Sherlock broke off for the summer holiday's, his parents told him to pack and this morning, they set off for their summer house in Cornwall which, to be quite honest, is something Sherlock should have realized they'd do instead of hoping that for once, they'd let them stay in the house and focus on their work and all that. No luck, he supposes. So now he's stuck in the car next to Mycroft for at least six hours, five and a half if the traffic decides to be reasonable and Sherlock doubts it will.

"I'm bored." Sherlock announces for maybe the tenth time in the few minutes they've been driving.

"Oh calm down, sweetheart, " his mother says, looking back at him over her seat "here.." she digs around in the big purse she took with her before finally pulling out a book- a random Agatha Christie one she hastily packed probably knowing Sherlock would be difficult obviously- and handing it to him "busy yourself with this."

Sherlock observes the cover, it says The Murder Of Roger Ackroyd and the author's name in big letters atop. He huffs. "Mummy this is a boring one, dad was telling me about it and I already know who the murderer is, " he states, sighing "it's obviously-"

"Zip it."

Sherlock glares at Mycroft. "Why?"

"Because I haven't read it yet and I don't want you spoiling it. Just like all of the other Christie's books."

"It's not my fault you're slow."

Mycroft doesn't grace that with a response, simply turns back to the sudoku puzzle on his lap and turns his nose up with a scoff, and Sherlock is glad.

"None of that now, Sherlock, apologize to your brother." His mummy scolds and Sherlock mutters out a 'sorry' that's not at all genuine but Mycroft doesn't seem too bothered about it so they leave it at that. Their mum sighs heavily as she settles back into her seat, most likely going to fall asleep any second if her heavier breathing says anything.

Begrudgingly, Sherlock opens the book and decides to read it anyway despite knowing the probable ending and the murderer because he has nothing better to do other than annoying Mycroft and while that would be pleasant, he'd rather not upset mummy.

The book is somewhat nicely written so he can forgive the obvious hints at the suspect and it distracts him from the six hours drive ahead of them.

--

Sherlock just vaguely remembers getting in the car because he was so very tired when they set off, must've fallen asleep at some point because he awakes to the car driving along a bumpy path and he can see their summer house just a few minutes from where they are.

"Good morning sleeping beauty." Mycroft says dryly, "More like a nightmare." and Sherlock pointedly ignores him, rubbing at his eyes sleepily.

"Sherlock, right on time, we're almost here." His father announces, still behind the wheel so Sherlock can assume his mother had her turn driving at some point when he was asleep.

"Yes, I can see that, dad." he grumbles, looking out of the window as his father parks the car in the spot they have infront of their house.

Another year at the hell that is the summer house.

Getting their things unpacked is easy enough, Mycroft and him don't have to share a room so at least he has that- and his room is the one with the balcony, parents let him have it on maybe their third year of coming here because his mother said they couldn't say no to him, how very tragic.

They're mostly done by the late part of the afternoon, having gotten here at around one, as they always do on a day like this.

First day of summer and he is already suffering. Maybe he should've joined a summer-camp or something along those lines, while he normally doesn't like dealing with people, it'd be better than repeating the same thing for the break year after year, and in the same place too.

Mummy is making them some bangers and mash, dad's favourite and also something she makes every time they come here- suppose it's a tradition by now, Mycroft's on his phone as always- buisness, he always says- and dad's attempting to help their mum.

"You know I heard there's a lovely little family that's rented the place just over the hedge for the summer from Ms Small, " mummy begins and Sherlock tries hard not to roll his eyes so hard they roll back in his head at the direction this seems to be going. "lovely little family. I hear the lady renting it has kids, one's about your age, Sherly, maybe you could make a friend."

"I don't think Sherlock's developed that skill yet, mother."

"Mike! Be nice to your brother, he's made plenty friends before."

"Sorry mummy."

Sherlock doesn't remind her that it was one friend and instead sticks to smugly grinning at Mycroft's face of displeasure because nothing is as pleasing than his brother getting told off. He hums in interest however as to what she was saying before, encouraging her to continue despite himself.

"Anyway, " she continues on "I've made more of these than usual so you boys can take them over for the new neighbours."

Now this, this makes Sherlock pause for just a second because he isn't sure whether or not his mother actually said that or not.

"I'm sorry, what?" Mycroft confirms his suspicion, apparentley, mummy did actually say that, Sherlock wasn't just imagining it.

"Oh come on, boys, you could both benefit from it." she says, taking out a container and putting a medium proportion of the bangers and mash in it carefully and Sherlock regrets deeply that he hadn't decided to stay in his room until he was called down for dinner.

"Mummy, we can always have it as leftovers for tommorow-" Sherlock begins but sees the look his father gives him and sighs, glancing over to Mycroft who seems to understand the look as well.

The only thing they agree on at times is their mothers feelings, they both don't want to see her upset.

"I think, " Mycroft says, standing up "it's a lovely idea, mother. Come now, brother dear, don't want to keep our neighbours waiting, do we now?"

So that's how Sherlock ends up at the front door of, as Mycroft has informed him, the Watson's rented house and knocks at the door, his brother behind him.

Now let it be known that Sherlock is a socially awkward teenager, which is not exactly surprising if you think about it, so for him to have to interact with stranger's and actually be talked back to is just a little bit overwhelming- it's probably why Mummy made Mycroft go with him and not just sent him on his way alone, this being something he is somewhat thankful for. Still just a bit nerve wracking even with the so-called 'support'.

A short boy anwers the door, if it weren't for his face, Sherlock probably would've thought him a bit younger than he actually is, he's shorter than him by at least half a head and has a head of sandy and messy hair, fair skinned and has blue eyes, average build for a boy his age- and Sherlock can tell that this is the one that his mummy was talking about earlier, the one who's around his age, maybe even a year older than him.

"Uh- hi?"

"Yes, hello. My mother's made more bangers and mash than needed for today's dinner and she's gotten us to take it over to the new neighbours- which is a rather odd thing to say because both of us are here just for the summer but no matter- as a 'welcome gift' I suppose and judging by your appearance currently, I'd say you've already eaten maybe not even ten minutes ago so we'll get going now. Goodbye-"

Before Sherlock can fully turn around and make his escape, Mycroft catches his elbow and shoots him a pointed look before his gaze shifts to the boy in the door who looks more than a bit stunned.

"You'll have to excuse my brother, he's not yet perfected his ability of talking to new people." he says, tight-lipped smile and all like every time he speaks to others. Goldfish he calls them. Other people, that is.

"Um- right, right yeah." says the boy, taking the container that Mycroft hands over to him with still somewhat of an astonished expression. "Yeah we have just finished off a light meal.. but we will take this, thanks."

Another not at all genuine smile is what he gets from Mycroft before his brother starts his way back to their house and Sherlock simply nods and is about to turn back once again before the boy stops him with a "How'd you know that?"

"Know what?"

"The fact that we've just finished eating."

"I have keen observation skills..?"

"John." the boy answers, holding his hand out "John Watson."

"John." Sherlock repeats before looking down at the hand and shakes it firmly with a "Sherlock Holmes. Goodbye now."

"Right- yeah, bye."

And Sherlock practically feels John still looking at him as he opens the gate to the smaller house and walks through it, most likely still shocked from that interaction.

"What took you so long?" Mycroft asks when Sherlock catches up to him, entering their own front garden. "Making friends, were you?"

"None of your buisness." Sherlock answers back, flashing his brother a half-hearted smile before taking longer steps to get to the house faster than him, immediately being greeted with his mother who kisses both his cheeks and then Mycroft's when he comes in too.

"How was that, boys?" she questions, stepping back so they can both get their coats off.

"Simply wonderful mummy." Mycroft responds with that dumb all too genuine-looking and actually not genuine at all smile. This, of course, gets him a sharp look from their mother so the smile falls and he sighs "Sherlock made a fool of himself, but we did deliver the house-warming gift."

Their mother sighs but she does smile, patting Sherlock's head of curls lovingly. "See? Not too bad then, did you meet that one your age, dear?"

Sherlock hums in agreement as a response and makes a bee-line for the stairs but his mother blocks the way and he can barely stiffle a groan of annoyance.

"Yes, mother." he corrects himself "May I go to my room now?"

She takes a step aside and as he makes his way up the stairs, she looks to him and says "You know Sherlock, it'd be a good idea for you to try and make a friend here. I don't want you staying in your room all summer or going around by yourself." with that look of hers and really, Sherlock finds it hard trying to argue with it. So he doesn't.

"I know."

"I wish you'd try. At least this once, Sherly."

"I will, mummy." he agrees.

"That's my boy, " she brightens instantly and Sherlock makes his way up the rest of the steps "dear!" his mum calls out once again "We're having dinner! You haven't eaten any!"

"I ate earlier today, I'm alright."

She doesn't believe him, obviously, by the pause in her response but she choses to drop it which Sherlock is thankful for. "Make sure to come and get yourself something when you get hungry, dear!" is all she says before Sherlock hears the sound of retreating footsteps back into the kitchen and he goes to his room, fishing out a pair of pyjamas for himself from his suitcase and changes into them even though he knows he won't be getting nowhere near the appropriate amount of sleep as he should tonight, but what's new.

He never does on the first night. Home-sick, he's thought it to be but just doesn't think about it too much.

Sherlock, used to this, simply takes a blanket and pillow outside on the balcony, watches the sky from one of the two small armchair's that've always been there, pillow underneath his head and the blanket tossed over him haphazardly for warmth.

It doesn't rain that night which Sherlock is glad for because he wouldn't want to deal with his hair getting all dampened and a possible cold on the first night- though it would let him stay in his house rather than having to actually go out and do the activities they normally do on a holiday like this one.

And then the 'promise' he made to his mother about making a friend- awful but he can't exactly go back on it so he's to find someone, prefferably his age, who'd be interested in talking to him and- hanging out with him or whatever it is aquaintances do.

He's screwed, he decides.

--

Sherlock, once again, doesn't remember falling asleep but that's become a normal thing for him lately, though he's not slept for a long time if he's to judge by the light outside- the sun was just about coming up is what he remembers very breifly and the sun is still only halfway to where it normally is so not long then. An hour or so maybe. And someone's tucked him in, he notes as he stretches on the chair, his mother perhaps.

Either way, he's woken up now and there's no way he's getting back to sleep, so he gathers his things and pads quietly back into his room where he throws the blanket and pillow onto the bed before making his way downstairs, feeling tempted to be extra loud near Mycroft's room but not wanting to disturb his parents so he decides against it and simply goes down the stairs where no one is. One glance at the fancy clock in the hallway tells him that it's far too early for any of them to be up, nine. He huffs, amateurs.

Sherlock settles on heating himself up the extra leftovers from last nights dinner that mummy put in the fridge, it's just enough for a party of one so practically perfect for now- he'll count it as his breakfast.

After heating the dinner from yesterday up in the microwave and eating it, Sherlock goes back up to his room, gets dressed more appropriately for the day and heads out of the house- normally, during summer he does one of two things: he either stays at the house in his room and experiments or goes outside to experiment himself. The latter option sounds great right now but he does have something to do, he always keeps promises, especially one's he makes to his mother and this one, is irreversable.

So that's how, once again, he finds himself under the Watson's rented house, cursing himself internally for even waking up in the morning because if he didn't, he wouldn't have to talk to someone he only met the other day.

He knocks and awaits his inevitable doom.

This time, someone else answers the door, it's a girl in her early twenties what with the way she's dressed and her facial features, same sandy-blond hair as the boy from yesterday. There's also something else but Sherlock can't quite pinpoint it.

"Who're you?" she asks and Sherlock almost immediately gets the answer to his internal question.

"Sherlock Holmes, I'm currently living next door- listen, is John in there by any chance?"

The girl Sherlock presumes to be the other sibling looks defensive already and he raises his hand breifly "I'm.. a friend of his, no harm intended." the word tastes odd on his lips, he'll have to say it more in order to get used to it.

She looks a lot less ready to say something rude, older sister then, Sherlock notes. She nods and calls John's name over her shoulder with a "it's a friend of yours!" and an additional look towards him before she smiles and leaves him waiting in the doorway of the house.

A few seconds later, John appears in her place, looking a bit ruffled- just woken up probably and his expression wavers just slightly when he sees Sherlock.

"Hi again." he says, sounding more than just a bit confused which Sherlock completely understands- why on earth would he be here again? John probably didn't expect to see him again for at least a few more days.

"Yes, hello." Sherlock greets him

"Got more leftovers, do you?" John asks, clearly amused and Sherlock huffs light-heartedly.

"Not today, no, " he starts, folding his hands behind his back and giving John a once over, definitely just woke up. "Would you like to go to the library with me?"

This seems to surprise John all the more because he looks at him for a bit longer than needed probably, and then after a moment, he asks a "What?"

"The library. It's just in town, few minutes away from here, lot's of fun books- I need one for an experiment I'll be doing."

"And you want me to go with you because..?"

"Because I don't know any other person my age here, so you're the one I thought of first and I promised my mother I'd make at least one friend. And I'm assuming you've not been here before so you'd probably benefit from a little tour around this place."

John blinks. "Right- but, we barely know each other."

"Oh I think I know plenty about you."

"Oh really, like what?"

With one more once over, Sherlock meets John's gaze. "I know you and your family have come from a not very sunny place what with your slightly pale complexion, I'd assume near the upper side of England, I know this is your first time here- this just being basic knowledge- I know your sister has just recently been drinking, quite a lot as well, possibly a beginner alcoholic, and that your mother is most likely sick or not prone to dealing with visitors well." he almost grins at the shocked expression on John's face. "That's enough to begin with, don't you think?"

John seems, quite honestly, speechless, just as he was yesterday.

"Do you want that tour, then?" Sherlock asks, trying to guess which of the responses people normally did that John would give him.

To his surprise, after a second or two, John is nodding and muttering out a "Give me a minute." before leaving the front door open and going quite quickly up the stairs, Sherlock hears muffled voices for a moment and then sees John going back down the stairs, his attire sorted out just a bit as he brushes a hand over his hair to make it seem less messy before he's stepping out of the house and closing the door behind him.

Now it really is Sherlock's turn for a second of shock.

"To the library?" John asks and it takes Sherlock a moment to answer but he nods and leads them out of the gates and on the pathway to town.

Sherlock had expected a lot of things when he said what he said, his mummy has always said that he should watch his tongue and think before speaking but he can't exactly not tell it like it is, but this, this was not one of them.

They walk alongside each other as Sherlock guides them through to the town just a few minutes from here, mostly silent because as much as Sherlock prides himself in being able to spout nonsense for hours, when someone else actually seems to want to talk to him- he loses it.

A few minutes in, Sherlock glances breifly to John who's already looking at him, quizically.

"You've got questions, I assume." he says, looking back to the path ahead of them.

"Uh- yeah, loads."

"Ask away."

"How did you know all of that?" John questions, "And yesterday- both those times, who told you that?"

Sherlock finds his lips quirking up ever so slightly at the question.

"No one told me, I saw." he says, catching one more glance over to John, yet again. "When I first saw you, you had a bit of sauce on your upper lip, that's how I knew you were just finished eating. How I know you come from a not sunny place from your complexion, as I've said before but also from the way you speak, different places, different accents- even if only minor. I saw that two times you and your sister answered the door while normally, the adults of the house answer the door so here comes the conclusion that your mother may be sick or not very good with people."

Still a bit dazed, John nods, then asks "And my sister, how'd you know about her?"

"The way she held herself when she opened the door today, clear signs of a hangover and her slightly half-lidded eyes. Now that can just be anything, yes? I thought it may have been a coincidance but the world is rarely so reckless, I made the conclusion when she spoke, her speech is slightly slurred, this giving me all the signs I needed."

John blinks a few times again, and Sherlock awaits the usual comments, but instead, he hears

"That... was amazing."

Sherlock pauses. "You think so?"

"Yeah of course I do, it was amazing."

"Well, that's not what people normally say."

"And what do people normally say?"

"Piss off."

Amused, John chuckles to himself, this causing a soft huff to pass Sherlock's lips, and they fall into a more comfortable silence on their way to the library.

A tour maybe isn't the best way to describe what Sherlock gives John- it's more of a here's the worst parts of this town and here are the better parts of it because the town is full of boring things that Sherlock would rather dismiss in order of getting to the library a bit quicker. At least the latter seems to find this funny enough to not point out the fact that the 'tour' doesn't really tell him anything important, to his standards anyways.

"So there are a lot of shops here."

"Yes. A lot of very unnecessary shops." Sherlock repeats, motioning to their right "Let's go now, library's just up ahead."

"So, what exactly is this experiment about, why do you need a book for it?" John asks as they manoover throughout the surprisingly small crowds that grace the streets- everyone must be getting ready to go to the beaches, those are also a nice part of this place, and rightfully so, the weather will be very nice.

"Plants." Sherlock replies simply, as if it explains anything- because in his mind, it does. It makes perfect sense.

"Plants?"

"Yes, plants."

John pauses for a minute, and for a second, Sherlock thinks the boot is going to drop but the latter sighs and instead says "Mind explaining that further?"

Oh.

Sherlock glances to the boy and feels his lips quirking up just a bit for some reason.

"The experiment I'm conducting, " he begins, now leading them into the library, holding the door open for John before actually stepping in after him "requires a book about plants from this library- see there is a forest just nearby and during the past few summers, I've taken it upon myself to find every one of the plants that grow in these parts."

For another second, John seems to not be able to respond, but when Sherlock looks at him again, he can see an amused little smile in the lines of the boy's face.

"Get bored easily then, do you?"

Sherlock grins. "Too often."

They find the book in under ten minutes which is ideal and Sherlock gets it stamped by the annoying librarian at the front desk who kept telling him to be more quiet when they were browsing for it and then get out of the library, side by side, chatting about something and it comes so easily Sherlock doesn't even have to think about what to say next- it's oddly nice. New, but nice.

Maybe this summer won't be too bad after all.

--

Perhaps it was unwise thinking that so early on.

It was going perfectly fine for them, really it was, Sherlock had found quite a few of the plants from his little book but it looks as though the forecast was wrong because as John picked a leaf off of a plant, it started raining, very lightly.

And Sherlock, of course, had thought nothing of it
"Oh come on, John, " he'd started, looking up to the latter with an incredulous kind of look that John will most likely have to get used to "it'll stop in a few minutes, it won't get worse."

It got worse, very worse.

"Bloody hell." John hisses as they make their way out of the forest, practically running by now because the rain isn't just some light one anymore, it's heavy and they're absolutely soaked.

"My place is closer, " Sherlock announces, seeing his house come into view, just a few feet from where they run out of the forest. He's not even sure why he feels the need to point something like this out because it's so very obvious.

"Yeah?"

"You- can come in until the rain calms down." he suggests and realizes just why he put the announcement out there.

Sherlock glances over to John and sees a flash of surprise in his features before he nods and they run for the front door of his house, this turning into a race for some reason.

A race that leaves them giggling under the small pergola at the front of the house, leaning against the wall.

"That was, ridiculous."

"Really? It's just a normal day for me."

"Yeah?"

"You want to have more of these?"

John grins at him "Oh god yes."

They look at each other for a moment or two before the front door opens and Sherlock's mother gasps

"Look at the state of you two!" she huffs, ushering them inside and shutting the door behind them "Oh you're soaked. Hold on, let me get you some towels."

As Sherlock's mum goes to the front room, John looks to Sherlock and then back at the space that she was standing in. "Your mum?" he asks.

"Yes."

Before John has the ability to respond, Sherlock's mother comes back, handing Sherlock a towel and then handing John one. "Hello, lovely." she says as he dries off his hair. "You must be the boy from the house next door, yes?"

"Yes, miss." John responds and Sherlock inwardly curses because he can tell his mother is very likely to question him about John later- but judging by the look on her face, she already likes him, manners and all. "John."

"Ah, how polite, it's good to meet you, dear." his mother says, giving John's hand a shake when he offers it before turning to her son. "Sherlock you could've told me you'll be having a friend over, especially in this weather, I would've made some tea!"

And she, not waiting for a response, goes to the kitchen, unmistakably to make some warm drinks for them.

John turns to him and smiles "She seems nice.. less, " he pauses, seemingly unsure of how to phrase it "less like you. Ordinary."

"A burden I have to suffer with." Sherlock muses with no real bite behind his words, nodding his head over to the living room "Is your mum okay with you staying here to wait out the rain?"

"Yeah, she's fine with it." John's words are all too quick to be fully true but Sherlock decides that he won't mention it, not yet- it's too early and for a second, he questions exactly why he does that because he doesn't usually stop himself from saying it like it is, not taking into consideration the other person in said conversation but he dismisses it quickly.

They sit themselves down on the big sofa and after a few moments of slightly awkard silence, Sherlock's mother comes back in, holding two cups and placing them on the coffee table in front of them.

"John, dear, I don't know how you like your tea, " she starts, taking out a little jar of sugar that she must've been carrying behind the cups and taking out a spoon out of one of them "this one likes his especially sweet so I'll give you the choice of how much sugar you put in."

John looks up at her, an apolagetic sort of expression on his face for some reason "I don't- uh, take sugar in tea." he says, and that just about explains it.

"Ah! Well, more for you then Sherly, hm?" she smiles sweetly at them and then looks outside the window "It really is pouring down there isn't it? Good thing you made it back before the storm."

Both of them turn to look at her, both questioning.

"The storm?" John asks finally, glancing sideways to Sherlock very breifly before focusing back on his mum.

"Oh, yes, " she starts once more, speaking more so to Sherlock than John "the forecast was changed- I was going to tell you, dear, but you went out before any of us were even awake."

"Ah." Of course, he'd checked the weather the day previously, assuming the announcements were right but he supposes now it was foolish to believe people and their ability to tell the weather. Foolish.

John's look at him is what one can describe as mildly entertained and partially incredulous- both at the same time if that's even posible. "Didn't double check the news did you?"

Sherlock's eyes narrow but he doesn't make any comment, just puffs out a breath of displeasure and mutters out a "Yes."

His mother's face softens for a split second before she breaks out into a bright smile "Well I'll leave you boy's alone, off to read one of those books you packed, be sure to say if you need anything, yes?"

"Alright, mummy." he agrees and watches with a raised brow as she exits the room with an odd gidiness to her step.

"Excited then, were you?" John asks with a slight grin "So excited you didn't realize there'd be a literal storm today."

"Shut up." Sherlock says but there's no real heat behind it.

They share a small smile and drink their tea, lovely as always mostly because Sherlock's mother made it, and talk idily, just waiting the storm out that will hopefully end soon.

To Sherlock's surprise, the rain eases up half an hour later, John must notice this too because he pauses drinking from his cup, now on their second bit of tea.

"I'd say now is a good time to attempt going outside, " Sherlock muses from behind his own cup. "mummy did say there'll be a storm today so you might as well take this time before it gets worse."

John nods thoughtfully, standing up but obviously hesitating, unsure of what to do with the cup- "Leave it on the table, I'll tidy it up later." he suggests, John flashing him a greatful sort of smile before Sherlock leads him back to the door.

"Thanks for today." he says, both of them stepping out of the house, and Sherlock simply nods back at him. "Maybe we can continue the experiment tomorrow, under better weather circumstances?"

Sherlock's taken back by this, yet again, John Watson just surprises him over and over, he'll probably have to get used to this for the summer. "..Yes, yes that'd be nice."

"Great." John slowly takes a few steps back, still facing Sherlock who finds this oddly amusing.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah- definitely. Uh- see you."

Sherlock smiles. "Good luck in the rain."

This makes John snort softly with a shake of his head before he waves and takes off to his house, jogging but still getting at least a bit wet no doubt, at least slightly less than they did before. Sherlock waves after him breifly.

"How cute."

The smile slips off of Sherlock's lips in an instant as he steps back in the house, Mycroft standing there in the hallway. "Shall I tell mummy the good news of your first ever infatuation or do you wish to do it yourself?"

Sherlock scowls deeply at his brother. "Piss off." he says, and Mycroft makes this annoyingly pleased expression before stepping back into the kitchen, bringing Sherlock's attention to his mummy standing where he was just a second ago.

"That John seems like a nice boy, dear." she says, bringing a hand up to comb through his hair "Thank you for keeping your promise."

"Of course." Sherlock murmurs "He's not half-bad."

His mummy gives his side a poke and an attempt at a cross look but it fails because of the light twitch up of her lips. "Come now, love, he's sweet- likes you as well, that's a good start." she starts as a matter of fact-ly. "Meeting him tomorrow?"

"I am, yes." Sherlock answers as they make their way back to the living room where his father and Mycroft sit on the sofa, his father reading a book and Mycroft on his phone, as always.

"Good, any plans for that, then?"

"Not really, no, John seemed to have an idea but he didn't share it."

"Perhaps he's planning your wedding." Mycroft offers, annoyingly, glancing up from whatever he's doing. Sherlock wants to throw that phone right at his head.

"Oh, Mikey stop that." their mum scolds gently, giving Sherlock's shoulder a sort of squeeze that is meant to be reassuring but is not helpful at all, he appreciates the gesture, he supposes. "Now, boys- you too dear- I'm going to start making some hot chocolate, pick out something to watch on the telly?"

"Alright, love." Sherlock's father says, reaching for the remote that Mycroft hands him, humming softly as he turns it on.

"No humming, you!" their mummy chides, looking to her boys from the kitchen "one of you, give him a poke."

Mycroft and Sherlock give each other a look and Sherlock sighs before poking his father in the arm.

"Boys, what do you want to watch?"

"Not the Brittish Bake-off, it's too frustrating." Sherlock says, sitting back in the comfortable sofa.

"Or anything from BBC, " Mycroft adds, and this time, it's somewhat not annoying "too much fiction."

"Dear, the're voting off all the fun programmes again." their dad chimes in over his shoulder.

"Boys, refrain from tormenting your father please." Sherlock hears his mother laugh from in the kitchen and he finds himself smiling lightly, not that bad a day after all.

--

"Sherly, your friend is here!" Sherlock's mum calls the next morning and Sherlock almost laughs at the idea before realising who she's talking about. "I'll send him up for you, dear."

John's come over, Sherlock finds himself smiling at the idea, and in the morning as well.

It's a few seconds later he realises also that he should probably at least attempt to make his room look a bit presentable-

currentlt, he's got a few books covering his bed, all open on odd pages, his pajamas sprawled over the floor since no one comes up here apart from himself.

So, in an attempt to look normal- for some reason- he throws himself off the bed and chucks his pajamas under his blankets, shutting some of the books just in time for there to be a knock at his door.

"Sherlock?"

"If you're going to ask, no I'm not in here."

An amused snort comes from behind the door before it opens, and there stands John, arms crossed over his chest.

"Warm today, is it?" he asks, eyeing John's outfit- the boy has plans for today, clearly.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Now put some thinner clothes on and let's go."

Sherlock sighs as he stands up. "I'm assuming you're not going to tell me where we're going until we get there- or I inevitably figure our location out."

John laughs with a nod. "Spot on. Hurry up, I'll be downstairs."

Sherlock doesn't think about the fact that John is going down and will be stuck with his mother till he comes down, and it's probably for the best that he only slightly worries about it when he comes down.

The sound of a muffled conversation concerns him for a very breif moment as he makes his way down the stairs, his mother and John are in the sitting room and his mum is positively losing it- she's laughing, he notes.

Catching a glimpse of him, his mum takes a breath and beckons him over "Oh, dear, your friend is lovely, no wonder you've taken a liking to him." she says and Sherlock can see John dip his head, humble obviously. She gets a better look at him though and frowns softly. "Sherly, that'll be far to warm on you."

Figures, Sherlock rolls up the sleeves on his button up as if that helps somehow, it earns him a deeper frown but more so a bewilderd type than anything, she had it every time he did something so very him.

"I"ll let you off this time, dear, " she says, "and do be careful boys." instead of walking off as she does however, she stands there expectantly.

"Yes, yes, we know." he dismisses quickly, leaning up to press a kiss to her cheek, per her request, hoping he and John will manage to slip away without encouraging her to tell some paticularly embarassing stories of him.

"Come along John." Sherlock stalks out of the house, even though it's John who has things planned for the day. He hears his friend say bye to his mum before following him out, managing to catch up to him after speed-walking after him.

"Sherly?"

Sherlock scowls, even more so when he sees John with a small teasing grin "Shut up." he says with no real bite behind it. It's, dare he say, somewhat fond, but he doesn't focus on that, simply follows John as they make their way.. wherever they're going.

"What are the plans for today then?" he asks after a few minutes, John snorts beside him as if he was just waiting for him to finally snap and ask that.

"Not telling you."

Sherlock makes a small offended noise. "There is absolutely no point for you to keep our destination from me. I don't like surprises."

"I can see that."

"So you'll tell me, will you?"

"Nope."

Sherlock looks to him and John smiles again, clearly pleased with his frustration.

"We're not going swimming are we?" he guesses "You could've told me and I would have brought my swimming shorts."

"Not swimming, no."

"Library again?"

"Not that either."

"Are we going to the woods to continue the experiment?"

"Think I would've told you to bring your little book then, hm?"

Sherlock sighs and instead of answering, he remains pouting for a few minutes, which amuses John.

He takes the time to take a note of where they seem to be heading.

Not to the little town, not to the woods, not to the little beach nearby that everyone seems so estatic to get to.

"We're going behind your house." he says as they pass by the hedge that separates the Holmes and Watson houses from each other.

"Close."

They're going to do that? Alright then, Sherlock can play this game.

"We're going to some sort of spot you found on the day you arrived, you're not exactly sure about its whereabouts by the looks of your slow measured steps and the way you look around every so often."

"Brilliant."

Sherlock pauses. "Are you aware that you do that outloud?"

John looks to him, almost self-concious. "Sorry. I can stop-"

"No, it's fine." Sherlock says just a bit too quickly after John suggests it. "Am I right then.. with the- the thing?"

"Yeah, spot on."

"Good. Almost there?"

"Almost." John nods, "Found it, like you said, the day we got here. Thought it could be our place to hang out, you know."

Sherlock doesn't point out how overly.. sentimental that is after only a few days of knowing each other, but it does prove him right that John Watson is very loyal. And gets attatched quite quickly, not that Sherlock can say anything because he feels mostly the same.

He also doesn't say anything because of the small lake a few minutes behind their houses with a few trees looming over it, perfect for climbing, he notes.

He looks to John and almst feels inclined to pout.

"Well now not telling me to bring swimming shorts seems cruel." he comments, this catching John off guard but pulling a small smile from him so Sherlock supposes he can let it go.

Sherlock smiles back and promptly stalks forward in order to get to the trees quicker, examining them and then dropping down, dipping a finger into the small lake, letting out a noise of triumph.

"Just the right temperature for bathing in it." he proclaims, standing up and brushing his trousers off. "It's decided, we'll be going in here at some point."

John chuckles but doesn't make any protests so Sherlock takes that as a sign of agreement.

"Was this all you wanted to show me?"

"Sort of, yeah. But, we can continue the experiment from yesterday, hm?"

Sherlock smiles briefly and nods, they head off into the woods and he doesn't take his book, they wander in them pretty much aimlessly and while he doesn't normally like aimless, he doesn't mind it with John.

Perhaps Mycroft was right on that one thing and that, Sherlock thinks, is not something he ever admits.

--

Over the next few days, Sherlock finds that John has become a regular person he thinks and talks about, he meets up with him almost every day.

Finally having to do something during the summer is good, not being bored all of the time is also a pro rather than a con. Being bored is so very tedious.

"I've never seen you happier, love." his mummy said during one point, and while at the time, Sherlock had huffed and dismissed it, he knew well that it was true. Still is.

And Sherlock can't help but let his mind breifly flash back to that as he splashes some of the water in their lake in John's vague direction.

It's early on in the second week of summer in Cornwall and they've been gathering some samples of rocks and mud from inside of the lake, both of them dressed in something they wouldn't mind getting at least a tiny bit damp and dirty so he does hope John won't be too mad with him for it.

"Oi!" John laughs and flicks some water back at Sherlock.

From that point on, it's war, which is obvious.

They splash water at each other mercilessly and laugh at their childish behaviour.

Then, John lunges forward and tackles Sherlock into the lake, making him land arse-first in the freezing water, it pulls an embarassingly high squeek from Sherlock's lips.

"That wasn't playing fair." he complains, looking up to John who still leans over him, panting with a few breathless chuckles thrown in there.

John meets his gaze and tilts his head to the side, looking oh-so amused. "You never play fair, do you? I had to even out the playing ground somehow."

They look at each other for a few seconds before Sherlock looks around and notices that they're still in the lake, John straddling his hips and they look at each other once more before they both break out into more hysterical giggles.

"Ridiculous." breathes John in between his giggles.

"I concur. But isn't that what we are?"

John makes a vague noise of agreement before snorting, this sending them into another fit of laughs.

--

Sherlock can't sleep.

Well, that's a normal re-occurrence but this time it has a clear subject, he can link his unability to sleep to a specific reason and that reason is making him unable to even close his eyes all the more.

John is his second actual friend- best friend, dare he say- something they've established on more than one ocassion because of the few times he was rambling nonsensical things, and Sherlock really should have known better than to let himself get so close, let his walls down. Foolish, foolish.

John, the second person who's shown him kindness other than his family, the second person who seems more amused at his deductions than offended, has managed to break the barriers that Sherlock so carefully built up at a very early age and that.. scares him, somewhat.

Sherlock doesn't believe in luck, but if he did, he's sure it would not be in his favour. He'd have bad luck, if he believed in it, but he does not and yet still he manages to get himself into the difficultest of situations whenever he actually wants things to go his way.

Irritated now, Sherlock throws the blankets off of him, taking a deep breath as if that will help calming him down.

No sleep tonight, he thinks.

An idea comes to mind, and he immediately files it in the very few times that he has a stupid idea. Though he supposes it could work.

He makes a mental list that goes as follows;

Pro's- good to take mind off of current problem, might turn out fun, won't need to go to sleep, not being left alone with thoughts

Con's- hanging out with the reason he can't sleep will only make him think about it more (perhaps even act on it), may annoy the other party, might disturb the other party, might make the other party be annoyed with him and-

That's enough of that, Sherlock decides with a firm shake of his head. Oh how he'd like to go back to the day's in which he didn't consider other people in his thought process, the times when he'd act on something regardless of whether or not he'd be seen as a freak or irritate people.

There are a lot more con's than pro's on his list, in fact, the con's go on and on but that may be just him projecting his anxieties on the list.

The next line of actions should be obvious to him, pull his blankets up and try to sleep or get out a book and pull an all-nighter. But that's not what happens.

Sherlock ends up getting dressed in something slightly warmer (that meaning his long coat he brought in case of cold weather- and because he likes it- and some shoes) before he ponders over whether he should risk waking his family up or risk twisting his ankle.

After a moment of debate, he decides he'd rather wake his mummy up than injure himself because in the long run, the latter would be much more annoying to deal with in the long-term process.

He doesn't worry about putting a pillow under his blanket to make it seem as though he's sleeping if his mummy calls him down or even enters his room, it would look more suspicious if he was still in bed by the time the rest of his family wake up.

Sherlock very breifly questions why on earth he's chosen to go to John's house- it's a ridiculous idea, obviously, but he still wants to do it.

In under five minutes, he manages to get out of his house, lock the door without causing a fuss and get to the front of the Watson's summer house.

Coincidentally enough, there's a tree branch leading right up to the window of John's room- or at least he think's it's John's room- all the time's they've hung out in a house, it was Sherlock's, for reasons that Sherlock is very sure of but needs a final bit of proof to actually be sure of.

It's on the second floor and the window is a big one, surely Ms Watson would've given her kids the bigger room, or maybe John raced into the house and picked the biggest one, yes, that seems likely.

Sherlock prides himself in his climbing skills, they've come in handy to him many a time, this being one of them.

With one look inside, he knows it's John's room- and the boy isn't sleeping, he notes, he has his desk-light on and is reading something on a small bean bag that sits next to the desk.

Sherlock reaches forward and knocks on the window as quietly as he can but still firm enough for John to notice him- and he does.

He watches as John startles, looking around the room before he looks to the window and Sherlock waves with a small smile that he hopes isn't too telling.

John looks shocked for a split second, but then that turns into that incredulous look Sherlock's familiar with and he stands, setting his book down on the surprisingly clean desk before going to the window and opening it up slowly.

"Sherlock." he whispers

"Hello. Not interupting an interesting book, am I?"

John huffs with a shake of his head. "Not interesting, no- what- get in here you mad bastard."

Sherlock grins and complies, he may or may not hit his knee on his way in and John may chuckle at it softly but he will not admit to it.

John closes the window behind him and Sherlock takes his time to take a look at the room- already getting some information he might have missed from these past few day's he's been friends with John.

"What on earth are you doing here?" John asks and it's still in that slightly hushed tone- his sister and mother must be asleep already.

"I was bored." Sherlock says, turning to look at him. "And I wanted to see you."

"You wanted to see me at.. " John turns around to look at the digital clock he has on his desk "eleven pm?"

Sherlock nods.

John pauses, as if surprised by the statement- he shouldn't be shocked about the fact that Sherlock wants to come and see him more than once a day. Even though they do technically spend the whole day together normally.

"Bit weird though, isn't it?" John hums and Sherlock raises his brow in question. "You, sneaking out of your house just to see me."

Sherlock smiles, "Climbing a tree, as well. I told you, I was bored."

John chuckles and it's a sound that makes Sherlock's stomach flutter- oh, none of that, not thinking about this little problem of his. "Must've been really bored if you climbed a tree. How's your knee by the way?"

Instead of responding, Sherlock makes a face, and it amuses John to no ends apparently.

They stand there for a moment or two before Sherlock decides to speak

"So you-"

"Did you want-"

They pause and Sherlock tries biting back a smile, but he meets John's gaze, John obviously trying to do the same, and they start laughing - quietly - almost immediately after. Sherlock doesn't remember laughing so much as he's done during these two (almost three now) weeks than in all of his summers combined.

"What did you want to say?" Sherlock asks after they've managed to calm down, John's shoulders still shaking as he leans against the wall to support himself.

"Do you want a snack?"

Sherlock raises his brow, that was unexpected and as if understanding the expression on his face, John smiles and continues. "I doubt you've had supper or any kind of dinner."

This has Sherlock huffing. "I don't need to eat. Not hungry."

"Yeah, I've heard that every time I've asked you about food." John says with a shake of his head, quietly walking towards the door, "Come on, at least have an apple." and he doesn't wait for him to answer before opening the door up and making his way down the stairs, Sherlock following him soon after.

Lightly furnished, Sherlock notes as he looks around, walking down the stairs with John and into the kitchen, John digging his phone out and putting the flash on rather than turning the lights on- curious- no reason other than they've clearly not got a lot of things. If they did, the house would be far more decorated.

No dishes in the sink, either John or his sister's doing, Sherlock is sure of it, not their mother- no, if it had been their mother who did the dishes, there wouldn't be half as many splashes around the counter and the floor as there are now.

An ashtray sits atop of the window sill, uncleaned and still full of ash from a cigarette- maybe two.

"Right, we have, " John says and his voice is a lot quieter than when they had been in his room, afraid of getting caught, clearly. John opens up the fridge and Sherlock can hear his little noise of excitement even as a whisper, found something, then.

When John pulls it out and presents it to him, Sherlock can barely manage not to roll his eyes.

John chuckles softly and stuffs the leftover plate of pizza back into the fridge, closing it and instead going for the cabinet.

"Bingo." John murmurs and Sherlock watches as he pulls out two packets of crisps (both being walkers) and an unopened pack of jaffa cakes. "Which is it going to be, hm?" he makes small circles with the things in his hands, Sherlock unimpressed as he keeps on going.

It's clear he isn't going to stop until Sherlock answers so he does, scoffing with a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself, he points to the jaffa cakes, John ceasing his ridiculous movement in order to put the crisps back into the cabinet, quietly, and grinning.

They make their way back up the stairs, John not saying a thing and Sherlock getting the jist, also deciding to keep his mouth shut for once.

Once they're back, Sherlock- very gracefully in his opinion- flops back onto the blue bean bag and sinks comfortably in, leaving John to feign a look of offense as he shuts the door and goes to laying down on the bed.

Sherlock shifts a bit so he can easily reach the now opened pack of jaffa cakes, and to face John who hands him one and takes one for himself.

"Oh I can't remember the last time I've had these." John mumbles with a large bite of the snack already in his mouth.

"Not very healthy as an almost midnight snack though, hm?"

"Oh shut up Mr I don't need food, it's a waste of time."

Sherlock finds himself chuckling, tilting his head as he looks at John, taking a smaller bite of the treat. "I don't talk like that." he's, of course, reffering to the terrible robotic-like voice John gives him with the silliest accent.

"Yes you do!" John accuses, going back to his 'impression' after clearing his throat. "I'm Sherlock Holmes and I collect different samples of mud from each city."

"You sound like you're doing an awful attempt at a cockney accent."

John sticks his tongue out at him. "My mummy calls me Sherly." he announces.

Sherlock pouts and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Sherlock." John says after a moment, dropping the accent, sounding almost worried. Unsure. "Sherlock, was that too far?"

Sherlock almost breaks character but he manages to keep the somewhat hurt expression on his face, not meeting John's now actually worried gaze.

John climbs off the bed and sits infront of him, brows furrowed together. "Sherlock." he repeats and Sherlock finally meets his gaze "I'm really-"

The hurt slips off of Sherlock's face, being replaced with a smile that slowly spreads and realization seeps into John's. "Oh you arse." he mutters, sitting back on the heels of his feet. "Oh you absolute arsehole."

Sherlock laughs to himself, shaking his head, his shoulders shaking violently as he tries to not make too much noise. "Your face- oh-" he snorts and takes a deep breath, looking at John with a soft look.

John sighs and looks back at him. "I didn't cross the line then?"

"You could never cross a line, John."

It takes Sherlock a moment but his brain finally catches up to him and he panics for a breif second before he feels John's hand on his knee and he looks there breifly before his gaze is back on John.

"Yeah?" John asks, no doubt reffering to what Sherlock had embarassingly said.

"Yeah." Sherlock confirms with a small nod, swallowing and parting his lips to say something more but then John's hand is off his knee and he's looking around his shoulder.

The sound of a door being opened from in the hallway.

"That's my mum." John says quietly, panicked "Sherlock, you have to-"

Sherlock nods, understanding- there's not enough time for him to climb out of the window but there is time for him to dive under the bed, this being just tall enough for him to slip under with little effort. Just in time for the door to John's room to open.

"John." Sherlock hears John's mother say, her voice is annoying- he doesn't like it. It holds the clear signs of a frequent smoker. "Thought I heard something in 'ere. You talking to yourself?"

"Yes, mum. Sorry." John answers quickly, nodding his head, no doubt.

"All right?"

"All right."

"Get to sleep soon, yeah? Don't want you walking around like a zombie tomorrow." she requests and John chuckles, padding over to John and pressing a kiss to his forehead or somewhere- Sherlock can't really see them from under the bed, just the lower part of their legs.

"Yes, mum."

John's mum hesitates and Sherlock can just imagine her looking around John's room, in search for something before she gives up and goes to the door. "Night, John."

"Night, mum."

The sounds of a door carefully shutting closed followed by a similar noise a few seconds later, muffled.

Sherlock waits a few seconds more before he crawls out from under the bed, bumping his head as he does so and he hears John snicker, this time however, it's not forced.

"Sorry about that." John says as Sherlock sits himself back down on the bean bag.

"Nonsense. I don't think your mum would like to meet me in such conditions- I basically broke into her house, what would she think of me?" Sherlock relishes in the carefree smile John gives him, chuckling. They both know he doesn't give a damn what others think of him.

"She'd think you a deliquent." John declares and Sherlock laughs.

"Can't have that." he agrees, mocking a serious expression- which is rather hard when he's in the midst of a small laughing fit because of what John said.

"We'll go about introducing you to her in the morning." John picks the pack of jaffa cakes from the floor, patting the bed next to him invitingly. "Come on, let's finish these."

Sherlock grins and he pushes off the bean bag in order to flop down on the bed, taking up almost all of the space on it. This of course, causing John to poke his side "Hey, scoot over." and Sherlock does as John puts the pack between them, turning more so they face each other.

Sherlock blinks a few times and pauses as he's in the middle of taking another bite of the treat. "I can stay here?" he asks John who is currently shoving another jaffa cake in his mouth.

He's met with a nod as John chews the snack and swallows it down quickly. "Yeah 'course. Said you're bored right? Can't have you leaving because then you might do something dumb."

"Hey-"

"Oh shush, we both know you'd go to the woods in the middle of the night if you couldn't think of anything else to do."

Sherlock hums with a nod and leaves it at that.

They talk aimlessly into the early hours of the morning.

He'll have to ask his mummy if he'd be able to invite John over for a sleepover- they wouldn't sleep though, of course. They'd do everything but sleep, not sure what yet but they wouldn't sleep, that's for sure.

When he finally falls asleep, he sleeps peacfully.

--

Sherlock wakes up in a bed that's not his own.

He's uncomfortably sprawled out on the small bed and there's something like the edge of a box pressing against his side.

With a quick look down, he sees that it's the jaffa cakes pack he and John had opened up yesterday- of course. That's where he is.

Sherlock yawns breifly and looks to his side where John sleeps, face pressed into the pillow, one arm under it and the other laid out infront of him as if reaching for something. Sherlock has the odd urge to touch his hand.

While he knows that his choice of coming to the Watsons house was flawed yesterday, it did help him from thinking about his problem too much, even managed to get to sleep and that's more than he can say for the nights where he's forced to lay alone with thoughts rushing around his head.

With a quick look at the clock on John's desk, Sherlock can see that it's eight am and he decides that waking John up would be the best thing to do.

Sherlock takes a jaffa cake from the pack, maybe the second to last one and eats that before he scoots over to John and focuses on waking him up.

He pokes his cheek. "John." he says and poking John's cheek becomes a pattern to him for the next five or so minutes. "John, John, John, John-"

John startles and his eyes open, immediately locking onto Sherlock who stops his movement and looks right back at him.

After a few seconds, John murmurs a small "Hi."

"Hi." Sherlock says back and sits back on the bed as John stretches out and sits up too, going to ask a question. "It's eight."

John's brows knit together but he snorts and shakes his head. "How long were you doing that- that poking thing?"

Sherlock thinks "A few minutes." he says finally, this earning him another small laugh from John as he fishes out another one of the treats from the pack and takes a bite out of it.

"Healthy breakfast." John proclaims

"Very healthy." Sherlock provides and as if to prove their point, he takes John's jaffa cake and eats it.

"Oi! Could've gotten your own one, jeez." Sherlock watches John's displeased expression as John takes out another treat and holds it far away from him, taking a bite out of it while maintaining eyecontact.

Both of them giggle softly.

Sherlock laughs especially hard when John says to him, very seriously "I've got my eye on you. Don't even try that again."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Sherlock promises, giving John a look that the latter snorts at.

They eventually they finish the last of the jaffa cakes and have a chat as John gets changed into clothes that fit the weather for that day- sunny, which isn't a surprise during a summer in Cornwall- Sherlock of course looking around his room instead of focusing on what the latter is doing.

"And you plan on going back out of my window when you leave?" John asks as he pulls some knee-shorts on, Sherlock nods affirmative as he looks through his things.

"I'm then going to go to my house and change into something, assure my mummy I'm alright and then go around your house and knock on the front door, problem?"

John grins. "Not one. I'll see you in a few then."

"See you."

Sherlock isn't greeted with his mummy's face when the door to his house opens, he's instead forced to look at Mycroft who takes one look at him up and down befpore smirking, letting him in, being quiet in case their parents are downstairs.

"They're still asleep." Mycroft informs him as he shuts the door behind him, crossing his arms over his chest in a smug sort of manner and following him into the kitchen.

"How was your last nights visit? Must've been very important since you didn't come home till just now."

"I fail to see how that's any of your buisness, Mycroft." snaps Sherlock irritably, eyes narrowing as he grabs himself an apple- that should be an acceptable enough breakfast.

His brother chuckles, annoyingly amused as he leans on the counter. "I care about you, Sherlock, of course it's my buisness to ask you that." he answers. "Though I suppose I don't need to ask you where you've been, do I?"

"I don't know, do you?"

Mycroft gives him one of his shit-eating smiles. "I don't, no. How is John, by the way?"

Sherlock shrugs. "How's the diet?" he grins at the falter in Mycroft's expression and takes a bite out of the apple, intentionally loud just to make his brother grimace, which he does. Even leaves the room which is always a plus for Sherlock who finishes his apple, heads upstairs to get dressed and sneaks back out of the house without being noticed.

Today, he's meeting John's mum and they're going swimming in the lake near their part of the little forest behind their houses. Is it normal to be somewhat nervous before visiting one's friends mother? Sherlock just guesses it's a yes and knocks on the door.

Ms Watson opens the door this time and Sherlock is almost overwhelmed by the things her appearance whispers to him, by the way she holds herself tells him.

"Who're you?" That same voice that Sherlock heard last night asks, sounding a bit clearer- she must've been tired yesterday, no surprise there certainly. She doesn't beat around the bush as well, that's clear.

"Sherlock." he responds easily "I'm John's friend, is he in?"

Ms Watson's expression changes almost immediately, it brightens softly and she hums. "You're Sherlock? John's not told me much about you but he's mentioned the adventures you go on."

Sherlock offers her a small upturn of his lips despite the fact that he hasn't gotten an answer to his question- that's fine, he's sure she'll respond in a moment. It's not as if he even needs a response anyway, he know for a fact that John is in.

"Johnny, hun, Sherlock's come to see you!" she shouts over her shoulder, Sherlock sees the resembelance between her and her daughter as she does. Ms Watson turns back to look at him and she smiles, the toothy type of a smile. "You've been keeping my boy busy, haven't you? He's barely 'round the house these days, it's always food then going out to see you."

Something like a fluttering feeling fills Sherlock's stomach and he can't help but genuinely smile at that. The way Ms Watson speaks of her son sounds so very loving, also makes it seem like John can't think of anything but going out to see him and that makes Sherlock feel just a bit too much for his liking but he's sure it'll go away eventually. Maybe if he tries hard enough.

"Really?" he says and she nods

"Oh yeah, whenever he comes home, it's like he has this excited aura around him that doesn't fade 'till he goes to sleep."

"Alright, mum, thanks for that." John says and Sherlock sees him softly pushing past his mum so he can stand in the doorway. He waves. "Hey."

"Hi."

John's mum looks at them and breaks out into another toothy grin, ruffling her son's hair softly. "I'll leave you two boys alone then, John, careful out there and don't stay out too late, all right?"

"All right, mum."

She presses a kiss to his head and leaves them with a small wave to Sherlock. John steps out and sighs softly with a small laugh. "Well that was that." he says and begins to walk to the gate, Sherlock following after him.

"Your mother seems.. nice." he decides finally, this making John snort as they make their way out of the gate and down the grassy path between their houses.

"She's normally very chatty, you're lucky I came in when I did. She'd have talked your ears off."

"Oh I'd hate to see what would happen if our mother's were to meet."

John shudders at the thought and they share a light laugh, as they always do.

"What's on the agenda today, then?"

Sherlock grins. "Oh, something fun I assure you."

"Well now I'm just scared." John admits and they both giggle again.

"No need for that." Sherlock says, noting the way John's expression changes when they find themselves under the trees, few strides from the lake. "I do hope you don't mind getting those clothes wet."

John snorts, a noise Sherlock can't help but adore by this point in their friendship. "Do you think I tend to wear things that I wouldn't want to get dirty nowadays?" he asks "You've made me update my wardrobe choice."

Breifly, Sherlock thinks of how many things he's changed about the way he acts for John- not major things but simple little things, how many times he's kept his mouth shut when he normally would've made a very rude comment on something the other said.

"I think I've ammended your choice of clothing." he says. "Those sweaters you were always wearing. Awful."

"Oi."

John makes a face and Sherlock responds with his own grin before promptly taking his shirt off and throwing it over a low branch on the tree, surprising John apparently as he sputters out and blinks a few times.

"I've told you before we're going to go swimming in here one day." he says, counting that as a perfectly resonable explanation. Because it is.

"I thought me pushing you in here counted as that."

Sherlock snorts. "Nope." he shakes his head and toes off the shoes he has on. "Come on, John. Live a little."

Sherlock watches as John carefully eyes the water, joking of course. "I don't know about you, but living a little to me is not going in freezing water." but he does pull his shirt off and puts it on the branch next to Sherlock's.

"My definition is obviously the correct one." Sherlock announces proudly and takes his trousers off, throwing them on the branch as well, before stepping into the water, wiggling his toes in the rocks of the shallow end. "It's a good temperature, John, come on."

"Alright, alright. I'm coming."

"That's what I thought."

Sherlock takes a few steps back into the water, getting into the deeper bit, lake now at his hips. The nice temperature making him relax and he pushes himself backwards once again, stretching his arms out and tipping his head back as he sighs through his nose.

A noise from the edge of the lake catches his attention and Sherlock opens his eyes, looking back to where John now steps in and gives him a slow clap, sarcastic. "Not burning you, is it?" he asks cheekily and finds that John doesn't appreciate that comment when the latter splashes some water at him.

"I've gotta admit, it's not horrible." John says, begrudgingly.

Sherlock grins. "I was right. Once again." and John, instead of answering, splashes some water in Sherlock's direction again so Sherlock silently marks that down as yet another win for him as he lays back on his back and puts his arms out stretched, John joining him only a few seconds later, arms behind his head.

They float like that for what feels like hours but is merely just a few minutes when Sherlock thinks about it. Not talking, they don't really need to. They float in a comfortable sort of silence that falls easily over them. The only noises that surround them, apart from their breathing, is the quiet rustle of trees above them, birds chirping from the nests buried deep in those trees, and the thoughts racing through Sherlock's head.

Unwanted and persistent, trying to get his attention. He manages to pay them little to no mind, knowing that if he focuses on one, it'll just cause more to come flowing in.

He needs something to distract himself with. Something. Anything. Anything at all.

"Your mum's a smoker." Sherlock says, breaking the peacful silence they were in.

He hears John take a sharp intake of air beside him.

He swallows. "Bad one too. Started when you were still going to primary, no doubt. Multiple reasons come to mind as to why she started but I've narrowed it down to the fact that she lost someone close to her, extremely important to her."

"Sherlock." John warns but Sherlock can't seem to stop himself.

All the things that he'd seen back at the Watsons house when Ms Watson opened the door spilling out of him, unable to keep the knowledge to himself anymore.

"That could be anyone, really, but the mark on her ring finger tells me exactly who it was." he continues. "Not divorced, though. A person after a divorce moves on eventually no matter how long it takes them to do so. Widowed, then. She started smoking almost exactly after it happened, a small habit she never intended on persuing but after a while, I imagine the memories were too much to handle, and she took smoking up instead of drinking because of her two children. She cares for you but the habit she picked up has affected both of you more than she knows. More than you know, even."

Sherlock really didn't mean to say all of that.

One glance to the side tells him everything he needs to know and there's an unfamiliar twist in his gut.

Had this been anyone else, Sherlock wouldn't have give a damn about hurting their feelings. But this is John, he reminds himself immediately after he finishes speaking. This is John who he's always wanted to be liked by and who he's never had the intention of hurting with his bluntness, his harsh choice of words.

During his little deduction, John had stood up and is now looking at Sherlock with a frustratingly unreadable expression- well, Sherlock is sure other's could read that expression but he sure as hell can't, there are too many options as to what it can be.

Hurt. Anger. Betrayl. Pain.

There are too many possibilities.

Sherlock stands up as well and rushes for something to say. "John, I-"

"Don't."

"John-"

"I said don't."

Sherlock closes his mouth as requested and gulps, watching as John seems to struggle with what to do.

Apologize, Sherlock thinks, that's what he should do. But apologizing is something he's never been good at- especially the genuine kind so he simply stands there, unable to do anything but that.

John huffs and shakes his head but this time, there is no humour behind it. "I'm gonna head home, Sherlock." he informs him and Sherlock can tell he's trying extremely hard not to shout at him. Understandable.

"John, you're overreacting." Sherlock hears himself say, inwardly, he scolds himself because that is not what he meant to say.

John's eyes flash breifly but he takes a deep breath and steps out of the lake. "I'll come 'round yours tomorrow. Probably. Don't come over to my house, I don't want to talk to you right now."

Sherlock watches as John leaves, not calling after him. He knows that would be useless.

The feeling in his stomach doesn't go away, in fact, it gets worse when he gathers his clothes up and walks back to his house, knowing he won't be seeing John for the rest of that day.

Guilt.

--

John doesn't, in fact, come around Sherlock's house the next day.

Sherlock spends said day cooped up in his room, reading the rest of his Agatha Christie book. He throws it across the room when the murderer is revealed and then goes to pick it up and put it back on his suitcase because he knows his mummy wouldn't want him to mistreat his books.

--

The following day, Sherlock spends in the library because his mummy tells him to get out of the house, "Go and see John, hm?" she says and Sherlock gets dressed and leaves the house, unwilling to tell her that he isn't so sure if John will want to see him.

Sherlock deeply exhales as he watches the librarian circle around his table for maybe the third time since he's gotten here- four hours ago- normally, it would've been five or ten times so this, he supposes, is an improvement.

"Mrs Hudson, you're hovering." he snaps his book closed when she does this once again, doing a terrible job at hiding her concern for him.

The woman doesn't even hesitate as she drops the act and frowns, looking at him. "Oh, Sherlock, what happened?" she asks.

What happened? Sherlock scoffs, "Nothing happened. Why do you think something happened?"

Mrs Hudson raises an eyebrow at him and sits herself down opposite him at the table where he's stacked many books he'd like to get through today. No he is not doing this to avoid thinking about John.

"That lovely boy you've been coming here with, you two had a fight?"

"No. Even if we did, I wouldn't be upset over someone so irrelevant."

"Sherlock." Mrs Hudson chides and Sherlock crosses his arms over his chest. "Oh don't pull that with me, young man. Sulking won't help with anything." her expression softens as Sherlock meets her gaze. "Talk to him, "

Sherlock decides that he has had enough of this and so he stands up and picks the books up. "I'm going to put these back." he announces and takes off before Mrs Hudson can lecture him anymore.

"You don't normally put the books back, Sherlock. Something definitely happened!"

Sometimes, Sherlock thinks, Mrs Hudson is too smart for her own good. Or maybe he just doesn't like to admit that she's right. Either way.

He knows she is right, but he will not admit it out loud. Not ever.

--

"Not going over to your little crush, brother dear?"

"Shut up, Mycroft."

"You actually had clever remarks before you started hanging out with him. Has he rubbed off on you with his good manners?"

"Go away."

...

..

"He's good for you, Sherlock. Do yourself a favour and don't mess this one up for yourself."

--

Sherlock's had enough of this.

He decides to finally do something on maybe the third day of not hearing anything from John. And maybe it might be a rash decision that probably shouldn't be made at two in the morning of the fourth day, but at this time, it seems like a pretty good idea.

The plan he's come up with isn't exactly complete but he's sure that he'll manage to think of something as he grabs his coat and sneaks out of his house. Going in the familiar direction of the Watsons house. Climbing the tree.

There's no light coming from John's room but Sherlock is sure the boy isn't asleep, he couldn't possibly be asleep because Sherlock hasn't been able to sleep for the past four days properly- surely it must be the same for John.

Upon reaching the branch at height with the window to John's room, Sherlock finds that it's open, so he pushes it forward, hopping in skillfully and immediately getting a pillow lodged at his head, knocking him off balance with a foot still on the window sill and making him gracefully fall on his arse.

"Oof."

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock looks up at the sound of his name, this coming from John who sits on the bed, reaching for the lamp and flicking that on.

"Hi." Sherlock says, dumbly, and immediately curses at himself internally for such a response.

John looks awful, Sherlock realises, glancing him over once again, thoroughly this time.

Dark bags under his eyes that look a bit puffy, red-dish nose and sweat at the base of his neck. A bunch of tissues cover his bedside table.

"You look like hell." he points out.

John blinks at him a few times before huffing. "Yeah, thank you for that. I'm sick."

Now, once again, is Sherlock's turn to pause for a few seconds. Sick? John's sick?

"You're sick?"

"Caught a cold. Wasn't the best idea, putting my wet clothes back on when I went back home."

"Oh."

Oh.

John seems to understand exactly what's been going on in Sherlock's head for the past few days- it's a skill the boy's had after just a few days of their friendship.

"You thought I was avoiding you."

Sherlock's silence also says something to John.

"For being so smart all the time, you're really damn dense sometimes."

And however much Sherlock wants to protest, he knows well that John is completely right. He does pout a little though.

"In my defense, you did look quite upset at me." Sherlock murmurs, John chuckles and pats the space next to him on the bed invitingly, the noise being one Sherlock missed. He sits himself down on the bed, on the heels of his feet.

"I was upset at you. Very." John assures him, sniffling softly. "But I was going to talk to you the day after. Just got a cold."

"So you've forgiven me, then?"

John smiles. "Yeah 'course." and then lifts his arm up, a small invitation.

Sherlock, despite himself, tucks in against the latter, being suddenly engulfed in warmth simply with John laying his arm over his back.

"If I get a cold because of this, I'm blaming you." he warns him.

"Pfft- you should blame yourself."

"Not happening."

Sherlock feels John's chest rise and fall with a small laugh and he rests his head on it, letting his eyes close slowly.

Guilt still pools in his stomach and he decides to do something about it even though he's sure he'd rather do anything else. He wants that feeling to dissapear.

"I had a dog." he starts slowly.

"Sherlock- you don't have to-"

"Hush, John." When John doesn't talk for a few seconds, he continues. "His name was Redbeard."

"Redbeard? What kind of name is that for a dog?" John comments and Sherlock pokes him in the side, that shuts him up quite well.

"I was three when we got him, he was the first and only pet we had, already one year old at that time. My best friend. Not much to say really other than one day, when I was seven, playing a little too close to the road." Sherlock pauses for a moment. "Readbeard ran out to fetch a ball I threw for him. A car hit him."

"Christ, Sherlock." John says, his grip tightening around him.

Sherlock huffs out a heavy breath, "That- I've never exactly talked about this with someone.. feels odd." he admits quietly.

"I know. Thank you for telling me, Sherlock." John murmurs, his hand moving up and down Sherlock's back now in a motion that's all too soothing. Then, jokingly adds a "Now let me sleep you sodding idiot."

Sherlock doesn't protest, simply nuzzles into John's chest, an action he will deny doing while concious no doubt but one he does anyway.

The soft sound of the lamp being flickered off fills the room before only their breathing can be heard. That and John's heartbeat.

It lulls Sherlock to sleep.

--

Sherlock does in fact get a cold only a few days after John and he fully blames the latter from under his blankets whenever John comes over, keeping distance this time, so they can still hang out.

He gets better a few days later and they're back to their shenanigans in no time.

--

"What kind of name is Redbeard anyway?"

"John, I will throw this sample of mud at you, do not test me."

"As if, you like me too much. But Redbeard, seriously?- Oi!"

"I did warn you. John, what are you doing- no- no no no wait- Ah! Oh you arse- my hair!"

--

All too quickly, the end of summer starts coming up.

It catches Sherlock by surprise and that's something that doesn't normally happen.

He doesn't realize that it's only a few days before he and his family is due to leave until John mentions it casually one afternoon as they sit on a blanket on the balcony of Sherlock's room.

"We're going back to London soon." he says and Sherlock has to do a double take on his words.

"You're leaving?" he asks to which John responds with a nod. "When?"

"Next Monday."

Oh.

Sherlock swallows down a lump in his throat and looks back up at the sky, not responding for quite some time.

"Sherlock."

"Hm."

"You have my number, you can text me whenever you want. You know that, right?"

Sherlock scoffs. "Of course I know."

"Good. Can't say that I'll respond immediately but I will eventually."

"Yes, I get that- what exactly is your point to this?"

"I wanna text you outside of all this, you know?"

"I guess."

"I've also managed to convince my mum to go back here next summer."

And Sherlock won't admit it but his heart does an excited leap in his chest- making him think for a second that he might be having a heart-attack or something but he has no other symptoms which leads him to believe that it's just a dumb reaction he has to the possibility that he might see John next summer.

"That's.. good."

John laughs. "Just good? I was expecting something like great." he says. "You have someone to remind you to eat."

Sherlock laughs a little. "I suppose that's a plus."

John's become a part of his everyday life, Sherlock realizes for maybe the fourth time throughout this summer, it's become the norm for him to wake up and expect to see John and now that summer is almost over, he isn't sure how he'll cope with not having John there.

Just a few weeks and Sherlock's already gotten attatched to him.

As Sherlock looks to John who smiles warmly at him, he decides that he doesn't really mind it.

--

It happens on the day before John's last one in the summer house.

They lay, once again, on John's bed, Sherlock with his head by the headboard and John's by the foot of the bed.

This is a thing happens quite often now that Sherlock thinks about it. They simply sit or lay there and talk about everything and anything. It's nice.

But not entirely.

These past few days with John have made Sherlock all the more aware that they'll have to leave Cornwall- it's just summer after all, both of them have a life outside of these two months. These two short months in which Sherlock has somehow managed to get feelings for someone who showed him some kindness and who had become his friend without Mycroft paying him off. To his knowledge anyway.

"Sherlock."

"Hm?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

Sherlock pauses for just a moment to think about that, then comes to the conclusion that no, he did not in fact hear anything what John's been saying- for the past few minutes actually.

The pause is, somehow, telling for John and he smiles with a small sigh.

"Something on your mind?"

Oh a lot of things, Sherlock thinks but does not say, like for example the fact that he has to go back to London in just under a week and then it'll be another year before he comes back.

"Taking that as a yes." John says "Want to talk about it?"

Sherlock sends him a look and John snorts. "'course not." he murmurs, shifting a bit so he's facing Sherlock instead of the ceiling, looking at him with that soft look of his. Patient. Waiting for Sherlock to either talk about whatever is going through his head or change the subject, and Sherlock does want to change the subject, very much so.

But he doesn't say anything.

No, what he does instead is breathe in softly and leans in close, his lips meeting John's for the breifest of moments, a simple few seconds before he's pulling back in horror at his own actions.

"Sorry-" he breathes out "John, I'm sorry-"

John moves quickly as Sherlock starts shifting back, reaching one hand around Sherlock's head and pulling him forward so that their lips brush against each other again, fingers tangling in his hair, eyes closing, and Sherlock feels himself shutting his eyes as well and tilting his head to the side ever so softly.

"Oh." Sherlock breathes as they pull away for some air.

John gives him a cheeky smile and gives his shoulder a shove "What took you so bloody long?" he asks and Sherlock has to take a moment to figure out what he's talking about.

"You- too?" he manages.

John grins and nods with a little "Yeah."

"Oh, " Sherlock says again, eloquently, "oh."

"You stuck or something?"

"Shut up, John, I'm processing-"

"Yeah, okay." John takes his face into his hands and kisses him again. Sherlock can't say that he's complaining about John interrupting his train of thought.

--

Sherlock can't say the day John leaves is easy, that sounds pathetic, but not in the way someone would expect.

They spend the whole morning together, say bye normally, John unexpectedly gives Sherlock a hug that Sherlock returns after a second or two due to the surprise, then the car leaves.

Sherlock has two more days here and that's the hardest part of this, normally he would be just find something for himself to do but this summer he and John were practically glued to the hip, how is he supposed to go back to normal after the whole summer of being with John?

His answer comes the evening that John leaves, from John actually.

They text every hour they can about quite literally anything for the next two days, during Sherlock's ride home and after that.

Sometimes they text when Sherlock is supposed to be practicing his violin. Other times it happens when Sherlock is meant to be paying attention in school. Sometimes they even call. At breakfast, during the nights when he's meant to be sleeping, at lunch, during his detentions in school.

Sherlock feels like he's on cloud nine with every text he gets.

Then one day the texting stops.

The texting stops and Sherlock won't admit to it but he's dissapointed. Extremely, but not surprised.

His dissapointment fades when he sees John already standing in front of the summer house they've been driving to for hours upon end with no service and no way of texting him.

Sherlock proceeds to basically jump out of a technically still moving car (father's parking), ignoring the chide of his mother and shout of surprise from his dad, going straight to John who meets him halfway and they hug.

"You haven't texted me for five and a half hours." Sherlock says, offended.

"Bloody dramatic, you are."

Sherlock snorts. "You're right. How do you put up with me."

"I have no choice but to, that's how."

"Smartarse."

"I think that's you."

Maybe, Sherlock thinks as he promptly ditches his family to do the unpacking in order to drag John into the forest to get new moss samples, just maybe.

Summer break isn't so bad.