Disclaimer: Still not mine. No matter how hard I wish. Darn it! Sherlock's three years old in this one and soooooo cute. Why can't I have him?

A/N: Most of this story is a flashback. Just thought I'd warn you. And it doesn't really have a plot. It's just a bit of fluff that came to me one day. Leave me a review if you like it or even if you don't.

The Word

"The answer is obvious, Lestrade." Sherlock told the Detective Inspector. "Don't you see?"

"No," Lestrade growled out. "The answer is not obvious to me, Sherlock. Would you just tell us already?"

"But," Sherlock stared at him aghast. "It's so obvious. It's right there in front of you. Even Anderson should see it."

"Well, he doesn't. Explain it." Lestrade ordered.

"How could you all miss something so obvious?"

"Sherlock," John said with strained patience. "Just explain it would you?"

"Fine," Sherlock huffed. And he was off, talking at the speed of sound so that everyone only caught one word in five but it was enough to have the forensics team collecting the evidence they needed.

"I swear," Lestrade growled as Sherlock oversaw the collection of the evidence. "I'm going to find the person that taught him that word and hit them over the head."

John swallowed hard. "That would be me," he said softly. Lestrade shot him an incredulous look. "It was funny when he was three," John defended. "'Obvious, Mycoff.'" He imitated Sherlock's three year old voice.

Lestrade couldn't stop the snicker. "I'll bet it was. Not so funny now though."

"No, it's not."

SH/JW SH/JW SH/JW

"No!" Sherlock's shrill voice rang through the entrance hall of Holmes Manor. "John no leave!"

Eight year old John Watson knelt down in front of his best friend and took him by the shoulders. "Sherlock," he said gently. "I have to go to school. You know this. It's only been a few weeks that I've been home every day." Truthfully, though, he well remembered the tears and tantrums from before the Christmas break that Sherlock had shed every single morning. Sherlock hated when he left and he hated leaving Sherlock. John had no idea how they were going to manage the next ten years. School was a nuisance.

Sherlock crossed his little arms over his chest and stomped his foot. "John. NO. GO." He screamed.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft said sharply. "You'll be three years old in a few days. You are able to speak better than that."

Sherlock scowled but didn't take his eyes off John. "Do not leave me, John." He said quietly.

"I'm not leaving you," John told him softly. "I'm only going to school. I'll be back this afternoon and I'll teach you a new word if you like."

Sherlock's scowl fell from his face and his eyes filled with tears. "I don't want to learn a new word. I want you to stay home with me. Mycroft stays home. He has tutors. Next year I'll have tutors. Why can't you have tutors too?"

"Johnny! We don't have time for this. We're going to miss the bus." Harry growled. "Stop being a baby, Sherlock. John's not going to stay home with you when he could be at school having fun instead of watching you."

"Harriet!" Three different voices rang out.

"That was very rude, Harriet," Mycroft scolded. "There's no need to be rude about it."

"Harriet Watson!" Mrs. Cecelia Watson said. "Apologize to Sherlock. That was uncalled for."

"Why did you have to say that, Harriet?" John glared as he held a now sobbing Sherlock against his chest. "I do not have fun at school without Sherlock. Tell him you're sorry."

Harry sniffed and ran out the door before anyone could stop her. "I'm not covering for you if you miss the bus, Johnny!" The words floated back to them through the open door from her running form.

"Don't cry, Sherlock, please," John begged the boy sobbing in his arms. He knew that Sherlock was manipulating him but he didn't really care. He didn't want to go to school anyway.

"What seems to be the problem here?" Viola Holmes glided in on a breath of lilac scented air. "Why is Sherlock crying like someone broke his heart?"

"He doesn't want John to go to school," Cecelia explained.

Viola lifted one elegant brow. "There is a simple solution to this situation, Cece, as I have told you on many occasions. Simply allow us to have John and Harriet tutored with Mycroft and Sherlock."

"Vi," Cecelia sighed. "You already do so much for us."

"And you do so much for us." Viola countered. "Please, Cece let John stay home. His education will be much better than what he could receive in public school. We would ensure it."

Cecelia thought for a long moment, very aware of the pleading eyes on her. "Oh, very well," she finally sighed. "I'll discuss it with Hamish this evening and John may take today off."

Sherlock dragged John off to the library and Mycroft wandered to the school room to wait for his tutor to arrive while Viola and Cecelia both shook their heads in fond exasperation.

"What's my new word, John?" Sherlock demanded as soon as they'd entered the library.

"I have to find one. I didn't go to school to learn a new one today. Be patient, Sherlock." John pulled down a large dictionary and paged threw it. "How about this one: obvious?"

"What's it mean?"

"Easily seen, recognized, or understood; open to view or knowledge; evident. That's a good word."

"Obvious," Sherlock said slowly. "I like it."

"Sherlock, you aren't eating your broccoli," Mycroft said at lunch.

"Obvious, Mycoff," Sherlock retorted. "Broccoli is repulsive. Grown-ups force it upon unsuspecting children in order to torture them."

Mycroft's fork clattered to the floor even as John and Sherlock dissolved into giggles.

SH/JW SH/JW SH/JW

"Obviously, Anderson, you have the intelligence of a slug. And you're nearly as repulsive as one."

"Did you teach him that one too?" Greg asked in a whisper.

John chuckled and shook his head. "That was Harry. She called him that one day and he had to know what it meant. He decided he liked the way it sounded and then used it on her."

Greg chuckled too.

"It's right in front of your nose, Anderson. Obvious. Look. Blue fibers. Not green. Blue. Obvious."

"Still think I might kill you but as long as he's not berating me for the fibers being obvious, I'll let you live."

"If he says it's obvious one more time I may just kill myself. What in God's name was I thinking?"

"John! Stop giggling with Lestrade over my childhood antics and come help me." It was a demand and they all knew it.

"How did you—never mind, we know, it's—" John started.

"Obvious," John and Lestrade chimed in together.

"Of course it is," Sherlock nodded giving them a queer look as they snickered.