Sherlock sat up against the tree at the edge of the playground. He never understood why the other children wanted to spend an hour every school day running around, getting sand in their shoes and jumping off swings. Their classes were so slow and dull this was the only time he ever actually got to learn anything of relevance. Of course the other children thought it was strange an eight year old boy spent his lunch breaks reading scientific journals but he was soon learning not to care.

"I like your book" Came voice from above him, he looked up to see a girl, with long black hair and blue eyes staring at him from her place in the tree, "But the print is a little small for me to read, what's your name?"

He recognized her of course, he knew the faces of everybody at this school, she was in the year below him but he didn't know her name. He never really bothered with names.

"Sherlock Holmes, Why are you in the tree?" He asked tiredly, best he got rid of her quickly.

"Nice name, I'm Clara, I'm looking at the flowers" She replied with a smile, "I noticed that some flowers open and close when the sun comes up and down, I wan't to know why"

"You do?" Sherlock questioned, quickly snapping himself out of his surprise. This was a perfect way to get rid of her, "Different flowers open and close for different reasons, including pollination, temperature and sunlight. You see heat makes the petals grow slightly and the sunlight is how plants live due to photosynthesis, meaning they process sunlight and use it as nutrients. Insects, bees especially, land on flowers to spread the pollen and keep the surrounding plant life healthy. Since there is no sunlight or pollen spreading bugs at night the flowers close to conserve energy"

Sherlock had expected her to get annoyed at his response or at least get confused, what he hadn't expected was her climbing down from her place on the branch and sitting in front of him, hanging on his every word.

"That's so cool!" She exclaimed when he finished, "Do tree's and other plants eat sunlight too?"

"They don't eat it they process it into energy" Sherlock sighed

"Tell me about it" She grinned, a small smile tugged at Sherlock's lips but he squashed it down before taking a deep breath and telling her.


Sherlock wasn't sure if Clara was a friend or not, he'd never had any friends to use as a gauge. Every day for years she would sit under the tree with him and let him tell her all kinds of things, she was interested in everything and anything he could come up with. He taught her how to identify different kinds of birds, why clouds were certain shapes and shades, how cars work and how planes flew.

He also taught her how he knew that Bobby had been faking sick and how to tell what part of the playground people had been on by the mud on their shoes and dirt on their shirts. She wasn't very good at it but she understood his methods, that was something. Even when the other children teased and bullied her she didn't seem to care. That was also new, normal people always cared what others thought.

"They are not important, why should I care?" She laughed

It was the same through high school and college, she never got bored, ever. In fact she seemed fascinated by detective work. Mycroft always told him that running around London after criminals and other unsavory kinds were dangerous but they didn't care, it was fantastic. Key word, was.


The docks were eerie at night. Nothing but the sound of waves lapping the docks and the occasional clinking of chains holding the boats in place. Finally he made his way to the building Mycroft had specified, it was a good four stories tall, the door had been forced open. That was unlike Sherlock, if anything he'd pick the lock not just break it down. Pulling his jacket around his frame tighter to keep out the cool wind he stepped inside the musty store house. It was empty, obviously in disrepair, the only thing in sight was a rusted stair case, granted not much as in sight. The grime on the windows was thick and blocking most of the moonlight.

He continued up the stairs until he reached the roof. There, leaning against an old, long broken air conditioner was Sherlock Holmes, silver frame open in his hands, Emotionless face staring into the eyes of the past.


Sherlock burst through the metal door onto the roof of the storage wear house. Clara right behind him, slamming the door shut thought it wouldn't do them any good, the dealers were coming up the stairs, they'd reach them in just a few seconds. His homeless network had been wrong.

It was going to be simple enough, Clara and himself would film the meeting and get proof of the men splitting the city into territories for their business. They could easily take down the five dealers if push came to shove but there were ten. They couldn't do that, they had been caught. Taken down six but the remaining four were on their way up.

"Clara stay behind me for now" He warned, "Strike when you can"

Now that he thinks back the fight was a kind of blue, he took down two of them, Clara the third, he had turned to finish off the final one only to see him shove Clara toward the edge of the building, she stumbled on the old brickwork trying to get her footing, until there was no more roof for her to stand.

"Yes John?" Sherlock greeted staring up at him from his seat on the ground. It had been obvious who was checking on him.

"I came to find out what happened" He replied simply, "To her"

"Clara" Sherlock corrected he didn't want to talk about this, but he did, "She fell"

"From here I'm guessing?" John continued not coming any closer. His powers of deduction had improved.

Clara locked eyes with him for a split second before she fell out of eye line, even four floors up Sherlock could hear the audible crack or bones breaking on hard cement.

"Is that why your so cold to everybody?" John probed, Sherlock glared. He did care. He cared about John, but what happened after his last friend he had told himself never again, then John ruined it all by becoming his friend. He should be pushing John away, making himself not care.

Before he even knew what he was doing Sherlock had lunged at the remaining dealer and shoved him off the other side of the building, into the ally way, with the rest of the garbage. Somehow he had made it back down to the ground, taking the stairs three at a time until he was leaning over her, checking for some kind of miracle.

"You blame yourself" John deduced, sitting down next to him, of course he did.

"It was my fault" he replied dryly, "I dragged her into these things"

"From what Mycroft told me she loved this as much as you do"

That was true, it was obvious she was just as exited as he when they looked at unusual cases. Doing their best not to sound excited when somebody had been murdered in a mysterious way.

"She always went to the funerals" Sherlock started, looking at the sky, "Any time we had fun running all over the city chasing murders she'd go to the funeral of whoever it was who died. Too much empathy"

"Sounds perfect for you" John laughed, for some reason that made Sherlock feel better. He remembered when he first met John, he had said his deductions were amazing. He was the second person in history to ever think so.

"I don't have friends, I've just got one"

"Come on we had better go back" John urged.

"Not while that 'drug squad' is there" Sherlock growled

"I'll let you punch Anderson in the face"

"Come on, taxis are hard to land this time of night!"

I'm glad I got this character out of my system.

Do you think I should write another version of this with Sherlock having a daughter? That was the original idea with it seemed very OOC so I went with this. But if enough people like the idea I'll go for it.