I do not own these characters, nor do I own the legend. The characters belong to BBC Sherlock and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The legend is from Disney's Frozen. Queen Elsa and the song 'Do You Wanna Build A Snowman?' belong to Disney.

'Do You Wanna Build A Snowman?' is the only song from Frozen I am using, and it is split into three chapters.

There won't be any relationship in this one, but I may write a sequel for it where they do act on love.

The seven year old prince, John Watson, wandered the halls of the palace at the heart of London. He stopped at the dark wood door that had delicate snowflakes carved into the grain. His eyes lit up at the thought of who was on the other side, and threw the door open, making sure the door didn't hit the wall behind it. John ran towards the small, curly haired figure sleeping under the pale blue sheets and flopped onto the bed next to him.

"Sherlock? Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"

He bounced on the bed a bit and pulled the covers off of the other boy. Sherlock mumbled something under his breath and opened his eyes. John watched the pale grey and blue eyes light up.

"John!"

A smile crept onto John's face, as Sherlock lept from the bed and closed the bedroom door.

"Sherlock, can we go out and play? The sun is up and I'm up and it's so lovely outside! C'mon c'mon!"

He hopped off the bed, grabbing Sherlock's arm and pulling him out into the hallway. Both boys stalked the halls in fits of held in giggles, trying their best not to make enough noise to wake both their parents and siblings. John pulled Sherlock into the secret hiding place between the wood panels of the great dining room and the guest living quarters when one of the staff rounded the corner. The smallish room was hidden well, only they and their parents knew of the spot. He pulled out the box of toys stowed in the shadows of the palace and spilled its contents onto the floor.

"You get to pick, Sherlock. I went first last time."

The other boy looked him up and down briefly before nodding and smiling, concentration etching the edges of his face. John watched as Sherlock glanced at each figure, no doubt going over the strengths and weaknesses of each. After a few minutes of careful speculation and awkward shifting from John, the other boy finally picked his figure, choosing the eighteen inch tall figure that was made in tribute to a local fairy tale. John put on a frown and did his best attempt at a mock Sherlock pout. "I wanted Queen Elsa."

Sherlock glanced at John and his smile faltered slightly. He took in a deep breath and met John's pout with a glare, showing him the icy blue shade his eyes had taken on. "John, you don't know the first thing about Elsa, other than she has ice powers."

Aghast, John shook his head and furthered his pout. "That's not true! I know more about Elsa than you think!"

Sherlock wrinkled up his face, and John sensed the challenge on the tip of the other boy's tongue. "Oh yeah?"

He stared into Sherlock's eyes, slightly mesmerized as the light eyes began shifting and taking on shades of turquoise and light blues.

"Fine. I will. Elsa lived with her sister, Anna, in a great palace. She was locked in her room because she couldn't control her powers and injured Anna when they were our age. In great fear, her parents locked her in her room to try and control her ice powers."

The air in the space took on a frosty bite, but John thought nothing of it and continued on.

"She was forced into isolation and didn't come out because she didn't want to hurt anyone around her. In her life, she showed the town her powers by accident and fled into the mountains, causing an eternal winter."

He glanced slightly at Sherlock across from him before continuing, holding back his shivers from the supremely cold air and snow swirling around him.

"The town believed it was witchcraft, and she always thought of her powers as a curse. They called her a monster because she had to power to destroy the town. A monster that controlled ice, if I remember the tale correctly." John concluded.

"I am not a monster!" Sherlock cried, balling his fists into his hair. The wind picked up and the floor was covered in snow. John saw the other boy shaking from fear as he let out a sob that caused icicles to form on the roof above them. He watched in terror as Sherlock's sobs got greater and the icicles above them began to shake. One was too loose and was going to impale the small, fearful boy below it.

"Sherlock!" John screamed as he threw himself towards the other boy to move him away from the impending icicle. Sherlock's sobbed ceased and he met the gaze of the boy on top of him.

"I'm sorry, John. I didn't mean for-I-I didn't-I didn't want to hurt you." The other boy stammered but John shook his head. He gazed around at the smallish space that'd been transformed into a winter paradise, clad in snow, ice, and icicles. "Sherlock, did you do all of this?"

"I think so."

John looked back at the curly haired boy below him. "This is amazing! Let's build some snowmen, or have a snowball fight!" He scrambled off of Sherlock and hopped around in the powdered white before flopping onto the soft pile and spreading his arms to make a snow angel. The other boy drifted into his view and chuckled when John pulled himself off the floor.

"What?"

Sherlock's smile returned once more before he giggling. "You have a lot of snow in your hair and you look silly."

John mirrored the smile, before dropping down to the floor and scooping up some snow in his hands. He rounded the snow into a rounded ball and saw the confusion etch Sherlock's small features.

"John, what are you-" John threw his snowball at Sherlock's face, knocking him back a bit. The other boy stared at him in shock, before the realization hit his face. He watched as Sherlock stooped down to pick up snow in his hands.

"Snowball fight!" John yelled, and grabbed handfuls of more snow to throw at his opponent. Their laughter filled the room as snow was launched from one side of the room to the other, some hitting their target and some failing miserably. John could see the concentration and frustration marking Sherlock's face. He threw a snowball at the other boy that hit him in the dead centre of his face. Sherlock reeled his arm back and threw with fury. John watched as the snow ball coming at him began reflecting the room around him. It was changing into ice. Panic grew in his stomach and the ice hit his head before he could move, flinging him backwards into the snow bank.

Sherlock's fury dissipated as he ran towards his motionless friend and began shaking him. Tears streaked his face again and the wind picked up once more. Panic arose in Sherlock know as he continued to shake his friend, the wind whipping his face and the snow falling heavily again.

"Mummy! Mummy! Help!"

The doors of the room flew open and Sherlock's mum and John's papa followed through the doors and crouched near the still boy. John's mum entered and scooped him up into her arms before carrying him out the doors. Sherlock's mother turned toward him.

"Sherlock, what happened? I need you to tell me everything."

"I made it snow and we had a snowball fight. I threw a snowball at him and my anger must've turned it into ice and it struck him in the head. He'll be all right, won't he mummy?" His words were tainted with tears and he collapsed into his mother's arms crying.

"He'll be fine dear. We're going to take him to get help, so you be good for Mycroft." She gave Sherlock a final squeeze and exited the room. The door closed slowly, and by then, the wind had died along with Sherlock's sobs.

John returned home within the next morning expecting to see a bright eyed Sherlock waiting for him to go and play again. He flew up the stairs and knocked thrice on the familiar carved door to the other boy's room. "Sherlock! C'mon! The suns up and we can play again!" John stood, waiting for the him to throw the door open, but was met with empty silence. He knocked on the door again.

He heard a small sob on the other side of the door. "Go away, John. I don't want to play anymore."

John shook his head and tried to open the locked door.

"Sherlock! Open the door!"

"No!"

"Stop being mean, Sherlock! I want to play!"

"Go away, John!"

The last statement was said with such malice, that John immediately let go of the handle to Sherlock's door. He stared solemnly at the door that stood between him and his best friend before sighing and walking away from the hall. John left the corridor and walked through the palace, settling on watching Mycroft chat with Harry. He tried making up what they were saying and making jokes about it, but it just wasn't the same without Sherlock there. He slumped against the wall and silently cried. In the end, it was Mycroft who found him passed out against the wall in peaceful slumber.

John returned to Sherlock's room the next morning and was shot down once again. He continued to press on and coax his friend out but was met with a new malice at each attempt.

Week after week, the same pattern went on. June brought a surge of depression, as Sherlock remained locked in his room for the duration of his birthday party. That night John cried himself to sleep, the fear of losing his only friend hanging low in his chest. July was just as depressing. Clear skies ment a happy John, but no Sherlock meant no one to play in the rolling green hills with, so he stayed indoors and drew little doodles of the happy times they spent in the fresh grass. August brought the start of school again and he was eager to begin his schooling once more. The work took his mind off the friend who was hiding himself. John was under the impression that maybe he could make new friends at his school, but no one was as amazing as Sherlock, and he found himself just as lonely. September arrived with a new friend named Greg. John spent his time with him, but always held the feeling of Sherlock's isolation within. October brought Halloween, where he and Greg dressed up like pirates. He even used the costume he was supposed to use with Sherlock. November was nothing spectacular. December came round, and with the promise of fresh snow, John covered himself in his favorite winter jumper that Sherlock had picked out for him just last year and knocked on the door once more.

"Sherlock? Do you wanna build a snowman? C'mon let's go and play! I never see you anymore. Come out the door. It's like you've gone away!"

An annoyed huff was the only response from the other side and John continued on, dancing slightly around the outside of the room. "We used to be best buddies, and now we're not. I wish you would tell me why! Do you wanna build a snowman?"

He peered into the small key hole before sticking his mouth near it for the other boy to hear him better. "It doesn't have to be a snowman."

John was met by Sherlock's soft reply from the other side of the carefully carved door. "Go away, John."

The familiar response struck him the hardest this time. Even at age eight, he could tell Sherlock had finally decided to cut John out of his life for good. He hung his head low and let a few tears stream down his face before moving away from the door and walking to his room just down the long corridor.

"Ok, bye."