#child!lock

It was the day after Sherlock’s 18th birthday and nothing had gone as planned.

The third fic in my crazy plan, hope you enjoy it !

Quote of the title – “Just One More Hit” – A line from Nicotine by Panic! At The Disco.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sherlock (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Sherlock’s parents, John Watson’s Parents, Mycroft Holmes, Harry Watson Additional Tags: Kidlock, Fluff, a hint of angst, Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, John and Sherlock grow up together, And take care of each other, And sneak in to each other’s rooms, Marriage Proposal, First Kiss Summary:

At the ages of 5 and 8, Sherlock’s family moves in next door to John’s. This follows them through some key events from that moment until the beginning of A Study in Pink.

“They spend most nights talking to each other about everything and nothing, and often times will get so caught up in their conversation that they forget to sleep. Sometimes John is distracting Sherlock’s brain because it tends to move too fast for him to sleep, and sometimes Sherlock is distracting John from his parents’ fighting downstairs. But just about every night they fall asleep cradling the plastic gently in their fists, as though it was the other’s hand.”

———–

Its short and sweet, nothing more can be said about it.

It made me cry just a little and now i want to read a lot more child!lock to adult!lock.

John and Sherlock had both recovered from their colds, but Sherlock had begged Mummy to let John stay over just one more night. They had an idea for a prank on Mycroft that Sherlock really wanted to try, but he couldn’t tell Mummy that. Instead he said he wanted someone his own age to play with because Mycroft was boring. It was sort of true, close enough that John didn’t give it away as a lie.

Now it was nearly midnight and the entire house was asleep except the two boys. They sat up in Sherlock’s room, giggling quietly and waiting. Once the grandfather clock down the hall started to chime Sherlock gave a nod, signaling John to start moving. John reached under the bed and pulled out a pot of cold tea while Sherlock grabbed some rope and a bucket from his bookshelf. The pair scampered down the hall to Mycroft’s room. Sherlock could hear his brother snoring through the slightly open door. Perfect.

John gave a devious grin. “I’ll grab a stepstool,” he whispered, handing Sherlock the pot of tea. While John went to find the stool, Sherlock poured the tea meticulously into the bucket, making sure not to spill any. He didn’t have to worry about noise much, Mycroft slept like a rock. John reappeared by his side a second later with a chair dragging quietly behind him.

Sherlock tried not to giggle as he climbed up on top of the chair. “Pass it,” he hissed impatiently. John made him wait while he fastened the rope first to the doorknob and then to the bucket’s handle. Then he finally handed up the bucket. Sherlock balanced it carefully so when Mycroft got up the next morning it would pour all over him but the bucket itself would catch before hitting his brother in the head. John insisted on that, he’d accidentally his sister doing the same thing, and he’d been in trouble for ages.

Once the bucket was up, John tugged Sherlock down and pulled the stool away. Mycroft’s breathing changed, he snorted in his sleep, and the boys gave each other a startled look before sprinting back to Sherlock’s room.

They collapsed on Sherlock’s bed in fits of silent laughter, imagining Mycroft’s face the next day. After the laughter had died away, John’s stomach made a loud grumbling sound. Sherlock grinned at it. “Here, I’ve got a surprise,” he said proudly, making John cover his eyes. Then Sherlock reached over behind a pile of books and pulled out a plate.

“S’mores!” John whispered. Sherlock gave him a scolding look.

“You peeked!” Sherlock pouted. He’d wanted to surprise him. John only smiled in response, snatching a s’more off of the plate.

“Don’t be grumpy, it’s a great surprise!” John said through a mouthful of graham crackers and chocolate, marshmallow gumming up his words. Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh at that, and then he took a bite of his s’more. John was hard to really surprise, but he was going to manage it someday.

I just find Child!lock adorable. Forgive me.

The only bad part of winter, Sherlock decided, was colds. After their romp in the snow the day before, he and John had both gotten sick. Mummy blamed it on being outside too much, but Sherlock didn’t think that was quite how it worked. But Mummy had agreed that as long as they were both sick, John might as well stay with Sherlock, so they could keep each other entertained.

“Ah-CHOO!” Sherlock sneezed loudly, then sniffled. “That’s not how a knight moves, John,” he explained through a clogged nose. He’d been trying to teach John chess for almost an hour, and he still wasn’t catching on.

“But he’s –achoo!- on a horse, why can’t he just go anywhere?” John asked, sneezing in response. Sherlock shook his head.

“Because, that’s not how it works,” Sherlock insisted. When the maid came up ten minutes later with their medicine they were still arguing, only now it was over a jigsaw puzzle. “No, Mary, we don’t need any medicine,” Sherlock tried to order. She ignored him, and dosed them both with awful cough syrup and made sure they swallowed it. She gave them each a cup of chamomile tea, which Mummy insisted was good for them, but Sherlock only liked it with lots of honey, something John always made a face at.

I can't stop writing Child!lock for the wintertime activities ones. So have some little John and little Sherlock along with grown-up-ish Mycroft, and little Sally, Greg and Anderson.

“Come on, Sherlock! Greg wanted us there ages ago!” John shouted, tugging his friend towards the park.

“I don’t even like them, John, why do I have to go?” Sherlock demanded, giving up the ghost and plodding along next to John. The older boy only shook his head at his friend’s silliness.

“’Cause, Sherlock, it’ll be fun! Don’t you wanna see Sally’s face when I nail her with a slushball?” John asked his voice excited. Sherlock smiled a bit at the thought. She’d be livid but couldn’t do a thing over it.  He picked up his feet a bit and soon he and John were racing down the park. Mycroft waved vaguely at them from the car, already buried in a book. Sherlock rolled his eyes but slowed down so John could keep up –his legs were shorter than Sherlock’s after all, the younger boy thought smugly.

A few minutes later they ran into Greg, who showed them where Sally and Anderson were preparing to do battle. They’d figured that Greg and John could have Sherlock since he didn’t know how to have a snowball fight. While Greg built up a fort around them of packed snow, John showed his friend how to pack the perfect snowball, just firm enough that it stung but loose enough that it would dribble down inside the victim’s coat and soak them through.  Sherlock learned quickly, and soon Greg gave Sally the signal that they were ready to start.

“Ready, Sherlock?” John asked lowly, handing over a snowball. Sherlock nodded gamely. John beamed, already excited, and then he burst out from behind the snow wall and began scooping and throwing towards the opposing side. Sherlock followed him, throwing and reforming and throwing again. The first few pitches he missed Sally and Anderson completely, but he got closer and closer until finally-

“Did you see that, John!” Sherlock crowed victoriously as one of his snowballs caught Sally right in the face. She reeled backwards and John hooted with laughter, high fiving Sherlock in shared euphoria.

“Guys, get Anderson!” Greg ordered from behind the fort. He’d clearly decided they were doing fine enough on their own. Sherlock and John grinned at each other and immediately dove for more snow to throw at Anderson, who tried to duck and hide behind his own fort.

The pair of friends circled around and nailed him with a few well-placed snowballs. It was John who declared a cease-fire, so long as Sally and Anderson would concede defeat. They both nodded sourly, hating to admit that Sherlock had beaten them, but they couldn’t argue or they’d be soaked through with snow in a matter of minutes.

Pardon my sudden foray into child!lock, this was just too cute to pass up.

“John, you’re doing it wrong!” Sherlock exclaimed, shoving his friend out of the way so he could round the snow better.

“Am not!” John shot back, blowing out an angry cloud of steam into the frosty air.

Sherlock only rolled his eyes; of course John was doing it wrong, anybody could see that. But he allowed his friend to elbow back in front of the partial snowman with the next ball, making the chest.

“When’s Mycroft coming to get us?” John asked, batting Sherlock’s hands away and fixing the second ball himself so that it sat straight. Sherlock shrugged.

“I don’t know, Mummy said to be home by dark, though,” Sherlock said. He didn’t really care where Mycroft was, he wasn’t any fun since he started going away to school. All he wanted to do was read his boring books, books that weren’t even interesting; politics and government and all sorts of boring things. No, Sherlock would much rather spend his time out in the snow with John, even if John was a little silly.

“Good. Mycroft’s lame,” John said seriously, bending down to form the snowman’s head. Sherlock laughed a bit and bent over to help the struggling John push the head on top of the snowman. John took a step back, and frowned. “He needs a face.”

Sherlock reached into his coat pockets. The coat had been Mycroft’s before he got boring, so it swam on Sherlock’s tiny body, but the pockets were big and deep and useful.

“You’re smart,” John said, taking the coal and carrot Sherlock had just pulled out and sticking them into the snowman. Sherlock grinned and pulled off his own scarf to put it around the snowman’s neck. “And my hat!” John insisted, trying to put it on top. He couldn’t reach. Sherlock took it from him, a little smug that even though John was older, Sherlock was still taller.

The kids stood back for a second, grinning at the snowman. He looked silly, with John’s hat with the bobble and Sherlock’s dark scarf and no arms, but Sherlock liked him.

“Hey, freak!” Sherlock turned, knowing who it was before he saw her. Sally came charging across the snow, her crony Anderson right behind her. Sherlock frowned.

“What do you want, Sally?” Sherlock asked, turning to straighten the scarf on the snowman so Sally couldn’t see his face.

“Just wanted to see what the freak was doing,” Sally said, putting her hands on her hips, showing off for Anderson’s sake.

“I told you not to call him that,” John cut in angrily. Sherlock tried to shake his head; it’d only make things worse if John tried to defend him.

“What’re you gonna do about it then?” Sally demanded, turning on John. He stood there a moment, angry, but Sherlock knew he wouldn’t do anything. John wouldn’t hit a girl, no matter how mean she was to either of them. He was too nice.

“I’ll tell Greg!” John threatened. Sally turned white. Greg was the oldest by two years and he was the only one in the neighborhood that could scare Sally into listening. Sally turned away angrily, muttering under her breath.

“Oops,” she said as she walked away, shoving out a hand and knocking Sherlock into the snowman so that they both fell down. His eyes closed automatically and when he opened them again, it was to John, bending over Sherlock and the remains of their snowman.

John’s hand was stuck out for Sherlock to grab; he hauled his friend up to his feet and helped dust the snow away from his coat.

“Sally’s a jerk,” John decided, picking up his hat and Sherlock’s scarf. Sherlock nodded, allowing John to fix the scarf around his neck, even if it was a little wet from the snow.

“Yeah,” Sherlock agreed, jamming John’s hat onto the boy’s head. “She really is.”