Hi everyone.

So, this is a little piece my sister and I wrote a while back, first in french (you can find a link on my profile) and then I translated it in english. I wanna say a big thank you to Shirekat, who kindly agreed to correct it and changed a few things to make it better. Thank you a thousand time Dear.

I hope y'all like it and can't wait to here from you.

Lots of love and cookies.


Sherlock Holmes was eight years old, extremely independent, and exceedingly clever. He loved to solve all the mysteries an eight-year-old encountered. Whenever lunches were stolen or pranks were played at school, he was always quick to find the culprit, and the little boy was never without the magnifying glass his older brother had given him for his eighth birthday. It helped him find the clues that were otherwise hard to see.

He was playing—or rather, looking for a case to solve—in a park full of happy, laughing children one afternoon, when he saw a little blonde boy sitting alone—the only other solitary child in the park. He was leaning against an old tree, curled up with his head pressed to his knees. Sherlock was determined to investigate. He put his magnifying glass in his pocket and approached the boy, watching him curiously. Feeling a presence, the other boy looked up at Sherlock.

"Who are you?" he asked in a small voice, unsure why Sherlock had fixed his attention on him.

"Why are you crying?" Sherlock asked, ignoring his question.

The boy bit his lip, obviously embarrassed.

"You'll make fun of me…" he said quietly.

"I never make fun of people," Sherlock declared. "Well…" he amended, "Yes, I do. But only the idiots. And you're not an idiot, right?"

"Harriet says so. She says I'm an idiot and a baby," the blonde boy told him, "But Mummy scolds her when she says that."

"Mmmmh…" said Sherlock contemplatively, before deciding, "Well, I don't think you're an idiot. You're just sad. Why?"

He looked at John, noticed that his pants were ripped at the knees and stained green, and made a deduction.

"You fell on the grass?" He asked before John could answer, gesturing towards John's dirty trousers.

"Yes," John told him, "I wasn't looking where I was going and I fell. But that's not why I'm sad. I fall all the time."

"Oh, so you're clumsy. Well… it doesn't matter. Why were you crying? Did someone hit you? Or call you an idiot?"

"No. Nothing like that," John said, "Who… Who are you? What's your name?" He was suddenly more curious than sad.

"Oh, that's right, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock answered, formally extending his hand for John to shake.

John looked at Sherlock's hand before he shook it just like he'd seen his dad do with his friends from work.

"John Watson."

Sherlock nodded and let go of John's hand.

"Why do you want to know why I was crying, anyway?" John asked suspiciously.

"Because I'm curious," Sherlock said, "And… and you seem nice. I don't like seeing nice people cry." Sherlock admitted, a blush coating his cheeks.

"You seem nice, too." John smiled at him. "And… I… I lost my bunny," the little boy confessed, face falling again, "That's why I was crying." He hung his head, expecting Sherlock to make fun of him.

"Oh, that's a bother," Sherlock said, "Do you want me to help you find it? I am really good at finding things. I helped Mycroft find his umbrella this morning!"

"Who's Mycroft?" John asked, squinting in confusion. Who- and what-ever he was, he didn't sound pleasant.

"My older brother. He's 21," Sherlock said shortly, "So, tell me: what does your bunny look like? I need to know everything! The shape, the color, the height, and anything else you can think of." He was much more interested in solving this new mystery than talking about Mycroft.

"He's red. He's this big." John said, holding his hands about ten centimeters apart. "He's only got one ear, and he's sort of dirty. But your favorite… you can't wash it, right? That's what my sister says, anyway. But she also says that we should make an expec… an exception for mine."

"Your sister doesn't sound nice." Sherlock observed, standing up and holding out a hand for John. "Come on, let's go find your bunny."

"She's my big sister," John explained, letting Sherlock help him up, "And Mummy says that siblings are basically made to annoy us."

"Mycroft doesn't bother me. Actually, he takes care of me when Mummy's busy and doesn't have time for me. Which is all the time," Sherlock told him, "So, where did you last have your bunny?"

"By the slides. He was in my pocket, but when I got to the swings he was gone."

"Okay." Sherlock led the way to the slides with long, businesslike strides. John trotted behind him. He was both happy to have found a friend and optimistic that the dark-haired boy would find his bunny. He seemed to know what he was about.

The apprentice detective first examined the slides very thoroughly, looking for clues. He didn't find any there, even with his magnifying glass, only a few hairs and an old piece of gum.

"There's nothing here. Show me the path you took to the swing set," Sherlock directed, "Maybe I'll find something there."

"You sound like a real detective!" John shouted excitedly, obviously impressed. Sherlock smiled proudly.

"Come on. I went this way!" John grabbed Sherlock's hand and led him excitedly over to the swings, passing the carousel and the sandbox on the way,

The boys stopped in front of the swing set and Sherlock stooped to examine this area just as thoroughly as he had the last.

"Nothing," he said when he was finished, and had come up just as empty handed, "We'll have to find and question some witnesses. One of the other kids. Do you remember who was here at the same time you were?" Sherlock asked. He put his magnifying glass back in his pocket, the object proving useless in this case.

John thought hard for a while, looking around at the other children, trying to remember who had been with him.

"I remember a girl with red hair," he said finally, "She was playing with another girl who had black hair like you've got. But they're not there anymore. And there was another girl and two boys. Wait! That's the red-haired girl!" John pointed excitedly toward a lone girl playing on the carousel. "But I still don't see the boys. I guess they've gone."

"All right, let's go interrogate the girl!" said Sherlock, enjoying the importance of sounding like a real detective. "And describe the boys to me," he added as an afterthought, "If this girl doesn't know anything, we'll look for them."

Sherlock and John crossed the playground to the carousel, John describing the boys to Sherlock as precisely as he could. Sherlock listened, silently memorizing the boys' description. When they got to the carousel, it was still spinning, so Sherlock stopped it with his foot. The girl turned to him angrily.

"Hey! I'm playing! Get off!"

John gasped and retreated back behind Sherlock, startled by the girl's outburst. Sherlock, as an apprentice detective, didn't even blink.

"I want to ask you a few questions," he said calmly, his foot still holding the carousel stationary.

"Leave me alone or I'll go get my dad to tell you off!" the girl screeched.

"But it's important!" Sherlock insisted, his expression changing from hardened apprentice detective back to little boy with a friend. "My friend John lost his bunny, and I need to help him find it," he told her, more softly.

"Oh." The girl stopped scowling and stepped off the carousel. "You must be sad," she said to John, spotting his hiding place behind the taller Sherlock.

He nodded bashfully.

"What does it look like?" she asked, smiling sweetly at him.

Sherlock, unhappy that John seemed to like the girl, who was smiling at him, described John's bunny in a loud voice to recapture her attention.

The girl's face lit up. "I saw it!" she said, "These two boys were playing with it. They were just by the playhouse a few minutes ago."

"Oh, thanks!" John exclaimed. Even before Sherlock could turn to lead the way, John had grabbed his hand and they both went sprinting toward the playhouse. The boys were still there, but John skidded to a halt in shock and horror when he saw what they were doing to his bunny. One of the boys had hold of the head by the one remaining ear. The other held on by the foot, and they were tugging the poor bunny apart.

As John and Sherlock watched, the toy ripped in two. The boy holding the head laughed, but the other boy threw his half onto the ground. He had clearly lost whatever game they had been playing.

John burst into tears, but Sherlock ran up to the playhouse, picking the bunny's body up off the ground on his way and holding it carefully while he approached the boy still holding its head.

"Give it back!" he ordered, "It's not yours. Give me the head back right now!"

"Aw, your fwiend wost his widdle bunny. Boo hoo," the little boy mocked, making faces and sticking his tongue out, "Well, I found it, so now it is mine, and I can do whatever I want with it. You give me back the rest. I'm not done tearing it apart!"

"No." Sherlock said calmly, undaunted, "Give me the head back right now or—"

"Or what?" the boy interrupted, "Or you'll cry like your friend?"

"Or I'll call my brother," Sherlock finished smugly, "He's a grown up. He's 21!"

The boy seemed to hesitate, so for good measure Sherlock added, "And his boyfriend is training to be a policeman!"

The bully decided that the bunny wasn't worth that much trouble. "Here, Baby," he sneered at John, throwing the bunny's head at him,"Take your stupid bunny."

John stooped to pick up the broken toy, still crying. Sherlock glared at the bully as he left, laughing, before turning back to John.

"It's broken…" John mumbled through his tears.

"Mycroft can fix it," Sherlock said, not worried in the slightest.

When John seemed unconvinced, Sherlock said, "No, he's brilliant at it! He fixes my teddy every time I use it for one of my experiments."

He held out his hand for John again. John nodded hopefully, so Sherlock led him toward the bench where Mycroft sat.

"Mycrof—oh!" said Sherlock, noticing the person sitting next to his brother, "Hello Greg."

"Hello you!" Greg said good-naturedly, "Who's this? A friend?"

"Yes," Sherlock told him proudly, "This is John."

"And why is John crying?" Mycroft asked.

"Because he lost his bunny. I helped him find it again, but two boys broke it. You can fix it, right?" Sherlock and John each held out their pieces of John's bunny to Mycroft, looking equally hopeful.

"I don't have my kit with me, Sherlock," Mycroft said gently, "Maybe John's mum can do it. That would be—"

"Mummy's not here," John broke in, "She's sick today. I came with Harry, my sister. And Harry can't sew. She's eleven." He began to wilt. Sherlock's brother must not really want to help him.

"Hang on, you came by yourself?" Greg asked, surprised.

"No, I came with Harry," John corrected, "But she's playing football, and I don't like football."

"And your dad, where is he?" the future detective inspector pressed.

"Working," John explained, "He's a doctor. But my house isn't that far. It's just over there." He pointed to a corner of the park.

Mycroft looked first at John, who was looking more woebegone by the minute, and then at his brother, who was silently pleading with his eyes. Mycroft extended a hand toward John and asked.

"Can I see your bunny, please, John?"

John nodded despondently and placed his toy's head in Mycroft's outstretched hand.

"Sherlock's got the body," he said.

Sherlock handed his half over. "So? You'll fix it?" he asked, "Mine's usually worse, and you always manage to fix it, so I figured this would be easy."

"Yes, I'll fix it," Mycroft gave in to the two hopeful boys, "But this bunny is missing an ear, and there's almost no stuffing left in the head."

"The ear broke off a while back," John said, "It's because of that the stuffing leaks. He's not new, but it doesn't matter. I still love Mr. Bunny."

Mycroft nodded. "Do you know what we're going to do?" he said, "We're going to put some stuffing back into this head, and sew the hole from the missing ear, so the stuffing won't fall out anymore. And then I'll sew the head back to the body and Mr. Bunny will be just like new. Minus an ear." Mycroft said with, quirking a smile. "But I still need to go home for my sewing kit, and I can't take you there with us unless your mom agrees."

"We can ask Dad if he can stay for dinner!" Sherlock said, warming to the idea, "And maybe he'll let John have a sleepover with me, so I can show him all of my experiments and my microscope!"

"Wow! That sounds brilliant!" John shouted, obviously pleased with the idea.

"Yes. I suppose we could," Mycroft agreed, "Will you go call your sister, John? I'll take you both back home so I can ask your mother in person. It's better than a phone a call, seeing as I've never met her before. Besides, if you're staying over you're going to need a change of clothes. And your toothbrush."

"Right." John agreed, smiling.

He ran off to where his sister was playing, Sherlock by his side, never dropping his hand. Mycroft and Greg were looking at them, smiling.

"They're adorable," Greg said. "It's nice for Sherlock to finally have a friend."

"Yes. He already seems happier."

Greg placed a kiss on Mycroft's cheek and squeezed his hand as Sherlock and John came sprinting back, Harry just a few steps behind.

"Can we go now?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"Go where?" Harry asked, obviously after multiple fruitless attempts to glean the information.

"Ask mom if I can have a sleepover at Sherlock's!" John declared, clearly excited.

Harry nodded but didn't say anything more. The young men got up, picked up their belongings and followed Harry and John home.

"Moooooooooooooooooom!" John yelled, just as he stepped in the house.

"Yes, Sweetie?" a quiet voice answered, coming from the left.

John went to the living room, where his mom was lying on the sofa.

"Mom! I've got a new friend! I lost Mr. Bunny and he helped me find it and now he wants me to have a sleepover at his house! Can I go? Please, Mummy?"

John's mother sat up from where she'd been napping on the couch and smiled.

"Will you introduce me to your new friend?" she asked.

John gestured towards Sherlock, who smiled shyly.

"His name is Sherlock and he is really nice. So… can I go? His brother's really neat, too. He's a grown up." John said, pointing back at Mycroft.

"Hello Ma'am." Mycroft said, stepping forward, "I'm Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother. I can promise you we'll take care of your son if you allow him to stay over with us. I'll give you the address and phone number, and if you'd be willing to give me yours in case of emergencies?"

"I won't want to come back home at all, Mummy! Sherlock is going to show me his microscope and we're going to do experiments! Please, Mummy?"

Encouraged by John's excitement, his mother agreed, and Mycroft promised to bring John back before six the next evening. Mycroft stayed in the living room, exchanging contact information with Mrs. Watson while the boys ran up to John's room to pack a bag for the night.

"Wow, you've got loads of books!" Sherlock exclaimed upon entering John's room.

"Yeah. I love to read. And I don't have any friends at school, so books are all I've got most of the time." John trailed off, a little embarrassed, as he stuffed a pair of pyjamas into his bag.

"Oh," said Sherlock, understanding perfectly, "Kids at school are mean to you, too."

"Yeah... They make fun of my jumpers," John said, indicating the homemade knit of the jumper he was wearing.

For once, Sherlock knew just what to say. He smiled. "I like your jumpers."

John blushed and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. "You're nice," he said, "I like you."

It was Sherlock's turn to blush. "You… You're ready?" he asked, slightly flustered, "Mycroft and Greg must be waiting for us."

John closed his bag and took Sherlock's hand. He led him back down to the living room and let go only to kiss his mother goodbye.

"Be good, Johnny."

"I will, Mum," he promised, "Don't worry."

The woman smiled. "I love you."

"Love you too, Mummy."

He took Sherlock's hand again, and they waved goodbye together as they left.

When they got to Sherlock's house, John was taken on a tour, ending with Sherlock's bedroom, where Sherlock told John to leave his bag. Mycroft made them sandwiches for lunch, and the boys chatted over them as if they'd known each other their whole lives. Then Sherlock got his microscope and he and John spent the afternoon using it to examine things they found around the house—from a piece of cheese that Sherlock was keeping specifically for experiments to the cotton stuffing Mycroft was using to fix Mr. Bunny. Sherlock had looked at many of the objects under a microscope before, but he was quite content to tell John what he knew and what he'd found. The boys kept themselves busy, and after supper they settled on the large couch in front of the TV, chatting all the way. When Mycroft and Greg came out into the hall to say goodbye for the night, they were momentarily startled to hear the TV on without any childlike commentary. But the cause of the silence was soon determined—Sherlock and John had fallen asleep in each other's arms without turning the TV off. Mycroft and Greg looked at them both fondly for a moment, convinced that a great friendship was born.