Hi! Sorry if this seems a bit rushed, I'm writing this at night ;) Please enjoy
Review are welcomed
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock (unfortunately)
John groaned, massaging the back of his head gently. He opened his eyes slowly, looking around to see Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson crowding around him. "You alright, mate?" Donovan whispered, holding onto his hand.
John nodded, beginning to stand up. "Yeah, yeah…'m fine. What happened?" He muttered, his words slurring together slightly as he fought off unconsciousness.
"We're not sure, exactly," Lestrade explained. "Sherlock went out to get something, and right after he left, there was this light, and then…we woke up here."
"D'ya think he's drugged us or something? Making us part of his experiments, or-" Donovan started, but John quickly cut her off.
"No, no, Sherlock didn't do this. Definitely not. How could he, anyway? He went to the loo, I saw him go in." John argued, his headache getting worse every moment.
"So…where are we?" Anderson whispered after a moment of silence. "We're certainly not at the station."
For the first time, John examined his surroundings. They seemed to be in a basement of some sort, the walls made of concrete. The room was pitch-black, but there was a circle of light around them due to Donovan's flashlight. But John could see it growing dimmer by the second, so the sooner they got out of there and into a lighted area, the better.
Their calm was interrupted by a stream of light, and several thumping noises as someone walked down what they could now see were stairs by the other end of the room. The person seemed to be in a hurry, but as John inspected the shadow further, they seemed to be upset. A very childish rampage, he supposed.
The shadow flicked the lights, and they could see him in full detail. It was a small boy, maybe six or seven. He had curly brown hair and blue-green eyes, his face narrow, but still outlined with traces of baby fat. His eyes widened, and he backed into the wall, breathing heavily. "W-who are you?" he spoke softly.
"We're part of the police, we ended up here by mistake." Lestrade murmured, crouching down to meet the boy's eyes. He walked over to him, but the boy stood stock still in his corner, not making a move toward him.
"Where are your badges?" The boy asked warily, pushing his head against the wall as though to get as far away from Lestrade as he could.
"Right here, see?" Lestrade answered, pulling out his badge. He held it out to the boy, and he took his gently in his hands, examining it.
"Your friends, have they been working as long as you?" The boy asked softly, handing the badge back to Lestrade.
He froze, noting the boy had a tone similar to someone he knew. But that was completely impossible…completely impossible…
"What do you mean?" Lestrade murmured, stepping closer to the boy as though to examine him. His eyes…they were the same color as…
"Judging by your badge, you've been working for a large amount of time as a detective inspector. It's at least fifteen years old, I'd say. I reckon you've been working even longer than that. You work hard to polish it every now and then, I can see by the outer cover, but there are some deep scratches that'll never fade on there. So, your friends, have they been on the job as long as you?" The boy explained, repeating his question at the end.
Lestrade stood up, sure now that this boy was definitely the same person. But that was impossible…he was much too young, the man he thought he was must have been in his late twenties at least!
"Do I have to repeat the question?" The boy murmured warily. "I can easily call my brother down here. He can take care of you."
"How old is he, your brother?" John asked, having the same assumption as Lestrade.
"He's just turned fifteen." He said smugly. "And he's taken a self defense class, I'm certain he could take at least one of you down while I call the police."
"Don't you remember? We are the police." Donovan replied, anxious about this child's threat. They were in God knows where, and it was quite possible they weren't in the same time period, if that was even possible.
"Not from here, though." The boy remarked. "We're on the complete opposite side of London as your badge reads."
"Look, whoever you are, we've got to get out of here and contact someone to figure out where we are so we can get back to headquarters and work on our next case, so you'd better tell us where we are, or-" Anderson was cut off by another set of footsteps coming down the stairs.
"Sherlock, you've been down there for a while, are you alri-" an older boy started, but as soon as he saw Lestrade so close to his brother, he froze.
"Get away from him." The older boy growled.
"Sherlock…oh my God, did he just say your name was-" John murmured, stepping closer to the younger Sherlock, even farther than Anderson, and held onto his shoulders.
"I said get away from him!" the older boy shouted, and kicked John square in the back. John fell, his ankle twisting slightly underneath him as he fell. Sherlock raced over to his older brother and he embraced him as Sherlock buried his face into his chest.
Lestrade raced over to John, helping him onto the sofa quickly, elevating his ankle. The older boy didn't take his glare off of him the entire time.
Lestrade looked up at the older boy. "Who are you, then? His older brother?" he asked, still wary that the small child was Sherlock, must be Sherlock Holmes by the looks of him and his deductions.
He nodded stiffly. "I'm Mycroft." He murmured. "This is Sherlock, my little brother. He's seven."
Sherlock poked his head out from Mycroft's shirt. "I'm seven and three quarters!" He protested, and Mycroft laughing, ruffling his head.
"Sure, sure…" Mycroft murmured. But suddenly his face turned hard again as he turned to face the rest of the team. "Who are you? And why are you in our basement?"
"Look, we just got lost, alright? We live on the other side of London and we got knocked out. We woke up here. We don't know how." Lestrade said, wording everything carefully while eyeing Sherlock. If he made one mistake, one influence on him, they could end up never meeting. He could change the future right now.
Mycroft frowned, and then murmured, "Our parents are out for the weekend. But don't think you can trick us just because we're kids. I'm assuming Sherlock did some sort of deduction of you already?"
Lestrade nodded. "Look, we can't go anywhere right now until we figure out what's going on, and I think you busted our friend's ankle," he said, gesturing to John. "So I was wondering if we could stay here until your parents come back."
Mycroft looked at the rest of them, and then down at Sherlock. "What do you think?" he asked. "D'you think they're good, or…"
Sherlock looked around, and finally set his eyes on John. John stared at him, remembering his own Sherlock back at home and wondering how much had really changed in that time.
"You're going to decide whether or not we can stay based on a seven year old's deductions?" Anderson protested. "That's complete rubbish!"
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I thought you said you'd heard his deductions." He muttered.
Sherlock looked up at Mycroft, and nodded once. "They're good," he murmured. "All of them. I think…"
Sherlock looked back at John as he finished. "I think they should stay."