Watson_Holmes here! I normally post my stories on AO3, so you'll see them there too.

I don't own Sherlock; it belongs to BBC Worldwide Limited, Hartswood Films, Moffatiss and ACD.

Revised: Part 1, 2 & 3 (5/16/17) & 4, 5 (6/5/17), (1/15/18) Edit(5/16/17): How the Frack did I NOT NOTICE that a WHOLE SECTION (2) WAS MISSING for how may years now?

Chapter One: Good Bye

"That's brilliant, Sherlock!"

The young boy glowed at the compliment.

Sherlock Holmes was smiling, aged five and brilliant as ever.

"It was very obvious John," the boy sniffed loudly, puffing his chest out at his best friend in pride. John grinned back, his ocean blue eyes twinkled. Sherlock suddenly held his breath and stared at them. No, eyes aren't supposed to sparkle...

But John's would.

Sherlock had known John since forever. Whenever someone asked the boy to describe John, he would proudly list off all of the blond's qualities.

Short, caring, impulsive, smart, and the list would go on for kilometres upon kilometres until the brunet's had enough of the elbow jabs John gives telling him to hush up. (Sherlock decided there and then to change John's file into a cabinet.)

But there was one thing that puzzled the young Holmes most: John didn't age. In fact, no one but himself could see the ash-blond, which puzzled him because he was positive that John was as real as any other person.

So by Sherlock's absolute diction, John was Unordinary.

He was Sherlock's very first mystery.

Going to the antique store to buy something wasn't hard if you were Sherlock and six. Even the most expensive things came easily to the little mastermind.

"This is for you, John," Sherlock handed the blond a bracelet that day.

It was a small trinket, its silver chained beads were covered with small defined jewels and each hardly a millimetre wide.

The small blond stared at him with wide-eyes.

"Sherlock, how much did this cost?" John lifted the trinket into the air, admiring how easily the light caught onto the gems.

"I bought it with my whole allowance," Sherlock felt his face heat up when John actually froze in front of him.

The cost was ridiculous. £381.52. But it was worth it because John was worth it, Sherlock decided. And Sherlock needed him.

"Isn't that about- £400? Sherlock, are you crazy?" John exclaimed as he gingerly set the bracelet down on the table next to them, then reached an arm out to feel the brunet's forehead. The taller child swatted away the offending hand.

Sherlock glared at John, "Fine, I'll throw it in the trash."

"Please don't let me", Sherlock prayed silently while keeping his fingers crossed behind his back. He saw John's eyes soften immediately as if he had just read his mind.

"No! I mean, it's crazy, Sherlock. You don't need to buy me anything," the blond bumbled out. Sherlock's eyes lit up with hope when he saw a hint of red rise up to the tips of John's ears.

"Will you keep it with you forever, then? Stay with me forever?" Sherlock grinned as he eagerly tugged at John's woolly jumper(sweater).

John's smile melted even more, and he swiftly wrapped the bracelet several times around his wrist, "Of course I'll keep it with me forever. I promise."

He didn't notice that John never answered the last question.

Mummy took them out to a friend's private mansion one day, and they stayed overnight for his birthday party. Sherlock was seven years old and still close to John as ever.

"I'll come back later, Sherlock behave yourself," Violet Holmes ordered sharply. She checked her watch, it was near midnight.

"Of course Mummy. John's here," Sherlock rolled his eyes. Mrs. Holmes grimaced and sighed, she didn't know what to do with her youngest son's .

"Sooner or later he'll realise it", Violet assured herself as she watched her child scurry away holding onto thin air.

He'll realise it one day. John's not real.

Sherlock ran up to the next glass display and stared at the encapsulated complex puzzle, fascinated by its art. He had been running around with John all day, so the fatigue had finally caught up a few minutes later as he stood up slowly. Sherlock paused midway when he noticed John's fidgeting in the glass reflection.

"John?" Sherlock turned around slowly.

"I- I..."

John's lips quivered and his eyebrows furrowed; Sherlock knew that was not good. It was never good.

"Sherlock, do you know that I don't exist? I'm just part of your im-imagination," John spoke softly but his voice broke at the end.

"John, what are you saying?" Young Sherlock stood nimrod straight, there had to be telltale signs. Of lying. But John's eyes stayed sorrowful, he wasn't lying.

"Stop it!" Young Sherlock realised he had covered his ears because John never lies, and Sherlock trusts him. And This Was Not Funny.

"Please. Sherlock, listen to me. There's very little time left, I want to talk you. Look at me," John pried Sherlock's hands away. The blond grabbed the sides of his head, forcing the brunet to look at him in the eyes.

"Once midnight passes, you will never see me again. You'll eventually forget me, Sherlock, you won't even remember me."

"I'll lose you, you're my best friend. Please don't go," Sherlock was on the verge of tears.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, please- Sherlock please forgive me," John choked out the words, "I have to. It's the rules. All imaginary friends disappear on their eighth birthday, at midnight."

John licked his lips as Sherlock tugged desperately on his thin bracelet. It was their sign, their bond.

"You have been doing this forever? Leaving people, like you will leave me?" Sherlock defeatedly seethed out. He felt the tears clinging to his face as John flinched at his words, he hated it.

"Yes. But you're Different. I'll never forget you, ever," John murmured as he pulled away from young Sherlock, "I have to go."

He felt the trinket go away first.

Sherlock tried to grab the blond, but John was too far away.

"No!"

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I am sorry," John climbed into the lift(elevator), and Sherlock knew that he only had a few seconds left. He felt like he was trapped in a time loop as his body sluggishly responded to his commands. Sherlock's mind was racing with a new desperation, "Get to John, reach for him, don't leave me."

Anything, he could've said anything. The brunet could feel more tears blur his vision as his he parted his lips.

"I hate you!" And it closed.

Sherlock ran to the elevator doors and banged on the buttons. The doors opened.

Nothing.

Sherlock Holmes fell down on his knees in shock and stopped crying.

Violet Holmes came back to find her child leaning on the wall, broken down. She quickly ran toward Sherlock and embraced him, feeling his small frame shutter with each breath against her touch.

"Mummy he's gone."

"Who's gone?"

"I don't know, I can't remember," Sherlock muttered.

He started crying again, "I want to remember! I WANT TO REMEMBER!"

Holmes brought back a broken boy.

He stayed broken for the rest of his time in that house, a completely different person. He wouldn't speak, eat, or communicate for weeks on end, doing nothing all day. The once happy face was now solemn, bleak-full of hate and annoyance. In that moment, on the midnight of January sixth, something was born.

A Sociopath.