Well here you are dear readers. Another story by yours truly. This was originally going to be just a one shot, but as I was writing this first chapter I found it was going to be way too long for a one shot, so here you are, a full chapter mini story. I have no clue how long this is going to be.

As always, reviews are blood. I mean. I would greatly appreciate it if you could please comment, that would be great... yeah... *coughs*

Anyways, a few disclaimers. First of all, I am American. I apologize for any of my stupid american mistakes, especially regarding anything to do with the schooling system. I did my best to try to do some research to get it remotely right. Also, this story is mine, but sadly, the characters are not, they belong to BBC and Mofftiss all that. Thank you all! You are all very lovely.

John: 7 Years Old

School was a scary place, especially when you're only seven years old and you have just moved to a new school halfway through the year. But as shy as he was, John Watson was determined to make new friends. He had promised Harry after all that he would 'not be a whimp. He would be a big boy.'

As blue eyes scanned the playground, John pulled his jacket closer. He hadn't realized that would be so hard to make new friends when everybody already had somebody. Even for his age he was always a polite little child and always hated to interrupt or intervene. Nobody seemed to notice the nervous boy on the edge of the playground, but the boy did notice someone. A curly haired boy off by the fence, crouched alone by the trunk of a large tree. Curious, John headed over.

"Are you new too?" John asked as he came to a stop beside the boy.

The boy didn't respond, didn't even move and he kept his focus on whatever was fascinating him with the trunk of the tree.

John shifted his weight nervously, letting out a breath. Maybe he just hadn't heard him. He decided to try again.

"What are you doing?" his voice was a little louder this time, but again he got no response.

John wasn't quite sure what to do at this point. Should he leave? Was he bothering the boy? Was there something wrong with him? What if he needed help?

John shook his head as if to shake out all the questions and worries. He watched the boy for a moment longer before crouching down next to the boy and following his gaze to a line of ants carrying food to their nest nestled at the base of the tree. John was captured by the tiny creatures just as much as the boy seemed to be, but he couldn't help but glance over at the boy next to him.

He was pale with dark black curls and blue eyes. He seemed a couple years younger than John, but only a couple. John turned back to the ants and found himself content to just sit beside the boy and watch them until the end of recess, even if it did make his legs tired.

The next few weeks passed much the same. Every day, John would come out to recess and find the boy alone, watching insects or just staring at nothing at all. Some days he would bring a book that was even beyond John's level. This was how John knew that the boy was smart and the blonde headed boy guessed that this was why his silent friend didn't seem to have any friends. He knew that kids didn't like it when someone was better than them, especially someone so young. It didn't matter to John, he thought the boy needed a friend and so he took it upon himself to become just that.

After the first week he gave up on asking questions every day and just narrowed it down to once a week when it became clear that the boy wasn't going to answer. Of course John had heard the rumors, been asked snide questions about why he hung out with the weird kid who didn't talk. Nobody knew his name, nobody bothered to learn it and John felt bad for the boy. He gave short answers that showed he didn't care that the boy was weird or different and always made sure to include the phrase, "he's my friend."

Often times, John wondered if the boy even knew he was there. He never gave any sign of noticing John's presence, but that didn't really bother the 7 year old. He would give him time. Much like his sister, he could be very persistent and determined. The one thing he had that his sister seemed to lack was patience.

One day, about a month after their first encounter, John noticed the boy after school, leaving the grounds with an older boy. He ran to catch up with them.

"Are you his big brother?" John asked, standing in front of the two boys, forcing them to momentarily stop.

The older boy blinked in surprise. "I am, as a matter of fact, and you are?"

"My name is John," John declared with a smile.

The older boy gave John a half smile that he would have recognized, if he was older, as a 'I'm being polite but you're really annoying me' smile. "Nice to meet you John, but we are trying to get home so if you could—"

"Why doesn't he talk?" John interrupted, unable to help himself. Even now the boy was staring at his feet with his brother's arm resting across the back of his shoulders.

"There is simply no need," the older boy explained with a roll of his eyes. "There is nothing that needs to be said to people like… you."

John frowned. "Like me? What kind of people am I?" he asked

The older boy sneered slightly. "Stupid." And he left John standing there, hurt as he led the boy away.

The next day John didn't go straight to the boy's side. He didn't go to see him at all as the dark haired boy sat reading on a bench. Instead, John chose to go sit under the tree where he had first met the boy and pull his knees up to his chest as he stared at the boy from across the school yard. Did he really think that John was stupid? It had come from the boy's older brother, but it was clear that he was speaking for the both of them. John knew he wasn't smart, at least not as smart as the boy, but did that really mean that he didn't want to be friends? Was John the reason that the boy wouldn't talk to him?

He wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face in them, sniffling as he tried not to cry, tried not to be hurt by the words and by the circumstances.

"Sherlock."

The voice startled him as his head shot up and he sniffed, his eyes glistening with tears that threatened to spill.

The dark curly haired boy stood there, his frame, which was a little tall for his age, towered over John. His hand was tucked into his black coat and his book tucked under the other arm. They stared at each other and there was an understanding that only friends could have between each other. There were no more words spoken as the boy, Sherlock, sat down next to John and opened his book back up to read.

John watched him in awe, rubbing his eyes free of tears as a smile drifted across his face. He gave one last sniffle and turned his attention to the school yard, content to just watch the kids play with his friend reading by his side.