Chapter One: We're Going to be Friends
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, but the plot is!
Once in the dream of a night I stood
Lone in the light of a magical wood,
Soul-deep in visions that poppy-like sprang;
And spirits of Truth were the birds that sang,
And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed,
And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowed
In that magical wood in the land of sleep.
John opens his eyes with a shudder, desperately hoping he wasn't awake just yet. He wasn't. Surrounding him were magnificent hedges, and in one corner was a large willow tree with a swing attached. It reminds him of the movie his mum loves. A young boy was crouched by the pond in the center of the garden.
"Please don't stare. It's….dis-disteracting," the boy says suddenly, stumbling a little over the last word. John looks away, huddling into himself. Why was he dreaming about him? The boy glances up. He has wild curls of dark chestnut and mercurial grey eyes.
"Oh. You're scared. Why?" he muses, rising slowly. The whip-thin boy creeps forward. John lifts his chin, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.
"Not scared," he returns mulishly. The boy cocks his head, and then gives a sharp nod.
"Your dad, then. He….hurts you." John lets out a little snarl, lashing out like a corned wild animal. Suddenly, there's a much older boy there. He has neatly trimmed auburn hair and cool grey eyes.
"Leggo of me," John flinches as the boy's grip is in his collar. The impish boy, the much younger one, glowers at the older boy.
"Let go of him Mycroft!" he snaps. Mycroft studies them, then releases John, who scuttles backwards.
"Have it your way, little brother." Then, "Please refrain from attacking him. I am Mycroft Holmes. This is Sherlock," Mycroft announces tonelessly, with just a hint of something…dangerous. It makes John nervous, and he tenses his muscles.
"I'm not little!" Sherlock protests petulantly. John stifles a laugh because of course Sherlock's little! They both are, especially compared to Mycroft. John decides that he thinks he likes the boys his brain's dreamed up.
"You're five, Sherlock. I'm twelve. At the least, you're little to me," Mycroft drawls dryly. John frowns. He doesn't want them fighting. So he pipes up,
"John Watson. I'm six." Sherlock beams, making John giggle. He tells them what he was thinking earlier about liking the dream. They both frown.
"This isn't a dream," Mycroft says, brow furrowed. John purses his lips.
"I'm sleeping," he tells them sternly, with no room for disagreement. Mycroft and Sherlock exchange glances. They all finally mutually agree that this entire encounter is a dream, though who's dreaming it isn't certain.
"You can help me with my 'peerments," Sherlock finally announces. Mycroft sighs, rolling his eyes.
"Experiments, little brother. Ex-peer-ih-ments," he pronounces slowly. Sherlock pouts, but John repeats the word, curious. Mycroft's lips twitch at him, eyes amused.
"Wonderful, John," he praises. Sherlock rolls his eyes and grabs John's arm.
"Come, John. No need for Mycroft to corrupt you," he huffs before dragging John off to do who knows what until John wakes up once more to his father crashing around the kitchen and Harry creeping into his room, sniffling.
Tonight I'll dream while I'm in bed, when silly thoughts go through my head, about the bugs and the alphabet, and when I wake tomorrow I'll bet that you and I will walk together again, 'cause I can tell that we're going to be friends.
A/N: I know it's short, and a lot of dialogue, but this is mostly just a prologue of sorts. Kinda getting used to the idea.
I welcome constructive criticisms, but no flames, please. Thanks, and hope you like it so far!