Hi! This is my first fanfiction so please be nice. But I would still love some feedback on any mistakes or comments that you have.

Obviously I don't own Sherlock or any of the characters. (Though I do wish I owned Benedict Cumberbatch)

Chapter One

"BORED!" Leaping off the couch, Sherlock straightened his robe and started to pace. He had done everything he could possibly think of, and now there was literally nothing he could do.

"It has only been three days." John said, not even bothering to look up from his book.

"Exactly! That is two days too long without a case!" Sherlock whined, throwing himself on the floor and staring at the the ceiling.

"Well, why don't you find something to do?"

Smiling, Sherlock jumped up and started to run around the flat. "Genius idea! Where is your gun?"

Eyes widening, John got up and blocked Sherlock. "Anything but that."

"But I'm bored, and shooting the wall is stimulating." Sherlock whined again.

"Do an experiment"

"Don't have any."

"Go over cold cases."

"Did them all."

"Read the blog."

"Did that as well, used your laptop by the way."

"Of course you did." Sighing, John sat back down. Rubbing his face, John asked, "Why don't you call Lestrade and ask if he has anything?"

"If he had anything interesting, he would have called me!" Frustrated, Sherlock stood still for a few moments, then turned to the door and ran up the stairs.

John had a feeling that he knew what Sherlock was doing, but he really hoped he was wrong. Getting up, he started to walk toward the stairs.

"What are you doing in my room?" He started going up. but then Sherlock came bounding down, carrying his gun.

"Really? Under your mattress? You need to find a better place for this." Pushing past John, Sherlock breezed into the living room and immediately aimed at the wall.

"Sherlock!" John walked in, thinking that he would have to wrestle the gun from him. But at that moment, maybe because someone wanted John to have a good day, Sherlock's phone started to ring.

"Yes!" Jumping to the phone, John grabbed it and thrust it at Sherlock. "Please, for the love of God, answer the phone!"

Sherlock looked at the still ringing phone, and calmly took it. "I'm taking it, but not for some fictitious being." Smirking at John's eye roll, he answered the phone.

"Lestrade. Yeah, Uh huh. Scale? Really? Are you sure? Cause if I go down there and it's really a six…. Yeah, I'm coming." Hanging up, Sherlock started to jump up and down with glee. "Yes, yes, YES!"

By now, John was a little more than curious, and wanted to know what was going on. "Good case?"

"A TEN!" Running towards his room, Sherlock began to change. "He has NEVER claimed that a case is a ten! This case must be amazing!

As John watched Sherlock fly around the apartment, he couldn't help but feel… something stir in his stomach.

Come on, John. You should not be thinking this way. He is your roommate! But he had been having these thoughts for a while now: when Sherlock was deducing something, or when he was chasing after a criminal, or when he was simply working on an experiment, John would find himself staring at Sherlock. At first he thought that it was just that he was amazed by him. But it has been three years since they had moved in together. And John could tell that the feeling had morphed into something else. As of late, whenever someone assumed that Sherlock and he were in a relationship, he wouldn't feel angry. In fact, he began to think about all the ways that they were like a couple: they spent all their time together, went out to dinner, John basically took care of Sherlock, and they have slept in the same bed (but that had been one time; Sherlock had set fire to his own bed). Shaking himself out of these thoughts, John decided that he would need to really think about what this all meant. But it would have to be later, because Sherlock calling his name and running out the door. So grabbing his coat, John chased after him.

This case definitely deserved a ten. People all around London had been kidnapped in the middle of the night, then returned to their homes a day later, only as children. Not replaced with a child; they had been turned into their child selves. The age differed for each person; a 50 year old man turned into a four year old, while a 30 year old women turned into a acne covered teen. And the the culprit showed no sign of stopping. Sherlock had deduced that the culprit was taking people from towns in alphabetical order who had names similar to the towns: so far he had gone all the way through to Camden and Cameron. The most likely name for Croydon is Troy, and there were only three registered so they had cops stationed at each house. Sherlock had decided that John, Sherlock, and Lestrade should be at different houses. So John ended up at Troy J.'s house, while Sherlock was at Troy A.'s. And right now, nothing was happening from John's point of view. He had been sitting in the cruiser for two hours, and was tired of staring at the same house. Then he started to think about Sherlock.

Do I have… feelings for Sherlock? John really didn't want to believe it. He realized that he had stopped going on dates. And he had been thinking about Sherlock a lot. But I'M NOT GAY… am I? He couldn't figure this out. The feeling he had when he was with Sherlock could only be compared with when he had really liked a girl. Maybe I'm bisexual? But I have never liked a man before. After going through this cycle for fifteen minutes, John decided that he would have to have a conversation with Sherlock. It was the only way that he could think to figure out what was going on with him. But just as he starting thinking that that would be a horrible idea, his phone rang. Seeing Lestrade name, John assumed that he could finally go home.

"Hey Lestrade, he went after Troy P.?"

"John."

Lestrade voice made everything around John stopped. John felt as if someone had punched in the stomach. Lestrade sounded stressed.

John had to lick his lips in order to speak. "What happened?"

"He tried to get Sherlock's Troy. Of course Sherlock saw him and immediately gave chase without waiting for backup. The cop that was with him tried to catch up, but lost them. And when they found him…"

John's heart stopped. No no no no nonononono...

"Oh, John, I'm so sorry, that sounded bad. He's alive. Apparently, he was screaming bloody murder."

John let out a breath that he didn't realize he was holding. He put his head between his knees to try to ease the dizziness. "Jesus, Lestrade, why didn't you start with that?"

"I'm sorry, but I was focused on what happened after."

Now John was confused. "What happened afterward?"

"When the cop got to Sherlock, he was… shrinking.

Again, John's world stopped. Oh god.

"How old is he?"

"John…"

"How. old?

John could hear Lestrade rubbing his face over the phone. " Five."

John groaned. "No no no NO! How does he always get himself into these situations?"

"Apparently, the guy turned the corner, waited for him, stunned him with a lead pipe, and injected him with whatever he has been using on the others."

John could not believe it. Sherlock is a child. Literally. It didn't seem real. "Where is he?"

"St. Barts."

"I'm on my way." Hanging up, John took a few moments to just breath. Once he was calm, he turned to the cop next to him. "We need to go to St. Barts."

He had a feeling he and Sherlock wouldn't be able to have that conversation for a while.

A/N: Please review! I will try to update regularly, but I am a junior in high school, sooo yeah. Also, if someone has a better title, please let me know!