Disclaimer: I own no part of Sherlock or its characters.
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Molly Hooper, Sally Donovan, Sebastian (Wilkes? Moran?), Jim Moriarty, mentions of others.
Genre: AU, humor, crack (probably), kid!fic.
Rating: PG/K+ (language).
Word Count: 621
Summary: Wherein Sherlock Holmes is a kindergarten/pre-school teacher, John Watson is his aide, and Jim Moriarty is still a creepy fuck, but in miniature. Obviously, it was a bad idea to let Sherlock re-write Hansel and Gretel.
Notes: Written for yet another prompt on the kinkmeme, asking for Sherlockian fairy tales. Yyyyup.

"Nibble, nibble, like a mouse,
Who is nibbling at my house?"
—Hansel and Gretel
(The Brothers Grimm)

In retrospect, John thinks that perhaps allowing Sherlock Holmes to tweak timeless fairy tales for story time may not have been his best idea ever, but in his own defence, he'd had very, very good reasons. Reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with Sherlock being constantly insufferable about the week's fairy tale theme. Nothing at all. John had simply been doing his job as the Baker Street School's most beloved, encouraging, nurturing teacher's aide.

That, of course, had been before he'd heard Sherlock completely and utterly massacre "Hansel and Gretel"—which had apparently been re-entitled "Mycroft and Sherlock".

"...The End." The teacher sends one of his rare smiles around the circle. "Now, children," he says seriously, his strict mask snapping back into place again. His aide has a distinctly bad feeling about this. "What was the moral of the story? Sally."

"Miss Adler is a witch who eats people."

John tries not to wince. There is no way Irene isn't going to hear about this, and she is going to kill them both. At the very least, she's never going to lend them glue pots and glitter ever again.

Sherlock, of course, is entirely unperturbed.

"Do you have your listening ears on, Sally? That isn't a moral." Sally slumps in her seat, glaring until Sherlock continues, calmly, "It is, however, an excellent detail to have remembered. No more time-out during recess for you. Anyone else? What was the moral of the story? ...Yes?"

"Don't eat another peopleses house?"

Sherlock sighs. "Grammar, Sebastian. I believe you mean Don't eat another person's house. At any rate, most people don't have houses constructed from edible materials. We've already established that they're highly unstable, particularly in wet environs, and wholly impractical. Do keep up. Molly?"

"Um. Um. Never let, um, Mr Mycroft near a house made of sweets? Or anything made of sweets? 'Cause he'll eat the whole thing and even witches don't like being homeless 'cause it's cold and—and stuff? And she might, um, make his life really bad?"

Sherlock actually smirks at that. It's not a good look on an educator of young minds.

"Quite. Excellent work, Molly; you'll get the first turn at the dissection station. We have earthworms today, isn't that exciting? Anyone else? Anyone? No?" John can see the minute wince that crosses Sherlock's face just before he nods at the frantically waving hand from beside him and says, "...Very well, James."

Oh, god, John thinks faintly, eyeballing Jimmy's disturbing grin with vague unease. Here we go.

" 'S okay to bake a witch if she was trying to kill you and also 'cause she might have, like, treasure and stuff. I got that right, didn't I? So I can do the die-sek-shun station too, right? 'Cause this time I wanna die-sekt you, Mr Holmes."

"Ah..." Sherlock shoots John a nonplussed glance. "Um, no. It is never all right to bake another person. Well. Not unless th—"

"Never all right," John cuts in meaningfully, drowning out whatever corollary Sherlock has been attempting to add. "It's never okay to bake anyone. Or dissect them. Ever. Even if they're a witch. Ever." John begins to stand, easing himself up from the floor as he shoots an overly-bright, obviously fake smile at his teacher. "Well, that's the end of story time, isn't it, Mr Holmes."

"Quite. Yes," Sherlock blinks. "Time for recess, students. Line up neatly and Mr Watson and I will help you with your coats."

Never again, thinks John as he zips Jennifer Wilson's lurid pink parka for her. That will never happen again. I don't care how much he bitches about it.

Notes: Also posted on AO3 and LJ. Thanks for reading!