Anote: I have suddenly become obsessed with Sherlock and John kid fiction ever since readingstarrysummernights' work, so I dashed this off as an experiment. John and Sherlock are about four. I took the story image off the internet.

Chapter 1- I don't usually cry

John opened the door a crack and peeked out with one bright blue eye; wincing again as the little dark haired boy screamed over and over at the top his lungs.

'I want Mama! I want Mama! MAMA! MAMA!'

John's small chin trembled in sympathy, and his vision blurred at the awful sound. Why didn't someone come and help the boy who sat all alone in the corridor?

Fearfully, John stuck his head out and searched all around for grown-ups, but the hospital corridor remained cold and silent except for the sobs.

John was a little boy torn, as he had promised his mum faithfully to stay out of sight and not to leave the nurses' room. He wasn't suppose to be in the hospital, and she could get in trouble.

John didn't mind sitting alone at her small desk, of course. He would do anything to be nearer his mum and away from his big sister, who would always run off in the middle of baby sitting, without making the toast she promised. His mum had been furious when she came home from her late shift at the hospital last night, only to find him sitting on the cold floor, powering through a bag of stale sugar biscuits because he was so hungry.

So John could understand wanting your mama so bad that it hurt in every part of your body. It was the worse feeling in the world and his little heart beat in compassion for the distraught boy.

Screwing up his courage, he decided to venture out in the empty corridor and help the stranger. He would get sick if he didn't stop screaming like that!

Course of action decided, John ducked back into the room for a moment, and stuffed all his precious tin soldiers into one pocket. Then, he picked up a big roll of toilet paper in both hands and peeked out again.

The coast was clear.

With a little shiver; knowing his mama was going to be so mad, John ran across the space till he was right next to the boy.

John had the impression that the other boy was bigger than he was, even though he was laying curled up on his side, with his face buried in his hands crying.

He had never seen such curly, long hair on a boy though. It looked really soft.

Gingerly, John reached out one hand to pat his head and with a gasp, the other boy looked up, and put up his hands as if expecting a blow.

Silently they stared at each other, and John began to cry in sympathy at the misery infront of him.

'I want my mama!' the little boy wailed to him in greeting.

John sniffed and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. 'You can have some of my toilet paper. You look like a fright.'

'Okay,' the other responded as he took the whole roll and broke off a piece. 'Why are you crying?'

'I don't know,' John replied as he tried to crawl up on the seat which was a bit too high for him.

'I don't usually cry, just so you know,' the dark haired stranger scowled down at him, as he reached out a hand to pull on the back of the boy's bright orange shirt.

A little tugging and pulling was required before John made it up on the seat.

Companionably, John swung his little legs that hung a considerable distance off the ground, 'I use to cry all the time when mama left me at the school, but not so much now.'

John's eyes grew as big as saucers. 'Aren't you afraid you will get in trouble with the grown ups?'

'For what?'

John pointed a finger at the wad of used tissue paper that the youth had flung on to the floor.

'A maid will pick it up,' the young man said with a snort, 'that's what they do. Here, you try it.'

John nibbled on his lip as the other boy held out a piece of tissue for him.

Not wanting to look like a baby, John took the paper, blew his nose and then with a great deal of trepidation dropped it on the floor. With a big smile, he looked up for the other's approval, only to find that the strange boy had lost interest and was searching around the lonely corridor again.

'Where's your mama?' John piped up.

The boy pointed to the room that they were sitting in front of.

John crawled up on his plastic seat, but still had to stand on tip toe to see through the glass. There was a lady lying in the bed surrounded by a flurry of nurses, doctors and scary looking contraptions. His new acquaintance also stood up next to him and John had been right, because the boy didn't need to stand on tip toe to see through the glass.

'She's sick,' the dark haired boy said in a trembling voice; sounding like he was ready to burst into tears again given the slightest provocation.

'It's going to be alright,' John said confidently, as he took his hand.

'How do you know?' the other sniffed in disdain, but with a hopeful look as the sandy hair boy squeezed his hand comfortingly.

John pointed at one of the nurses and announced proudly, 'That's my mama! If your mum's sick, my mum will take care of her.'

The tall boy squinted at the lady which his companion had pointed out, 'that is your mother? Are you sure?'

'Yes,' John said, looking again to check.

'You must take after your father.'

'Take what?'

'You know; genetics and stuff. You don't look like your mom at all.'

'I do too look like her!' John yelled in anguish, wondering if he had made a mistake by coming over here.

'It was just an observation,' the other murmured quietly, as he sat back down, 'I wish they would let me in.'

'We is not allowed,' John said disconsolately as he stared through the glass, wanting very much to go in too. He liked to watch his mum bandage and doctor up folk. He could sit all day and look at her.

'We are...' the strange boy absently corrected him in a sober little voice.

John sat down and dutifully parroted the, 'We are'.

After a while, as they sat in their dark corner and watched everyone coming in and out of the room, John decided to introduce himself.

'I am John Watson and I can count to twenty!'

His new mate gaped at him for a moment, seeming at a lost as to how to respond to this important information.

'Pleased to meet you,' he said in a funny grown up way, 'I am called Sherlock Holmes.'

Anote: is this good? Should I do more? If you write kidlock, please let me know so I can take a look at it.

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