Disclaimer: Not mine. John belongs to Sherlock. Sherlock belongs to John. Mycroft belongs to himself. Not Anthea belongs to Mycroft. Lestrade belongs to someone that isn't me. Donovan and Anderson…well, who would want them anyway?

A/N: This is an AU as will become obvious as soon as you start reading. It is the first story in a series that will chronicle the lives of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes (obvious). I have dubbed it the Honey 'Verse (if you have a better idea for a name, I am open to suggestions). I don't know how many stories there will be. I'm going to continue until the Sherlock in my head shuts up.

I am not from the U.K. so any Americanisms that bleed into the story are an accident and if I get any British terms wrong please tell me about them so that I can fix them. Matter of fact; please let me know about any errors.

I know that Mycroft is seven years older than Sherlock in canon but for the purposes of this story he needs to be older than Harry, just so he's the oldest and the de facto leader. Enjoy the story and let me know what you think.

Sherlock's Smiles

The first time John Watson met Sherlock Holmes he was five years old. He had never known any home besides Holmes Manor. His parents had worked for the Holmes' since before he was born, though the Watson's had become more a part of the family than hired help over the years. His father was Mr. Holmes' driver and assistant and his mother was Mrs. Holmes' companion.

John liked living in the manor and he liked Mr. and Mrs. Holmes and even Mycroft when he wasn't being nosy anyway. However, he was tired of being the baby. Mycroft was twelve and Harry was ten. They both thought that just because they were older than him that they could boss him around.

When Mrs. Holmes had told him that she was going to have another baby John was ecstatic. Finally an actual baby and now Harry and Mycroft couldn't say he was the baby. He waited impatiently for the baby to come and whispered everything he could think of to Sherlock while he grew in his mummy's tummy. His conversations with Sherlock always seemed to amuse his own mummy and Mrs. Holmes.

Harry was completely uninterested in Sherlock after she learned that he was a boy and Mycroft kept trying to tell John that Sherlock couldn't understand anything he was saying. John just scowled at him and continued. He knew that Sherlock could hear and understand him. Mrs. Holmes said that Sherlock always settled down when John talked to him.

Finally the day of Sherlock's arrival came and John beamed. His smile faded when his father told him that he'd have to wait for Sherlock and Mrs. Holmes to come home from the hospital. His father assured him that they'd be home the next day and so John went outside and threw snowballs at the barn to relieve some of his frustration.

The next morning he rushed through brushing his teeth, combing his hair and dressing so that he could go wait for Sherlock on the front steps. His mother smiled at him gently and shooed him out the door. John waited patiently for hours. The butler, Jenkins, brought him hot chocolate and warmed blankets every once in a while so that he wouldn't catch cold. Finally the long black car made its way up the drive and he jumped to his feet, blanket falling forgotten on the steps.

"They're here! They're here!" He screamed. Finally! Jenkins, Mycroft, Harry and Mrs. Watson all came out to the porch and waited as the car rolled to a stop. John took a step to run down the stairs to see Sherlock but his mother grabbed his collar.

"Let us get Viola and Sherlock settled in her room, Johnny." She admonished. "You don't want him to catch cold do you?"

"But that'll take forever," John whined.

"Just half an hour, Johnny and then you can hold Sherlock."

John stopped his struggling at this idea. He had never considered that they'd let him hold Sherlock. "Really?"

"Yes, John."

If he got to hold Sherlock then he could whisper all the secrets and knowledge of the world right into his ear and no one else would ever be able to hear him. He could wait the half hour for a chance to hold Sherlock and whisper to him.

Mycroft got to hold him first but Sherlock spit up on him and Mycroft hurriedly gave him back to Mrs. Holmes. Harry said she didn't want to hold him and then after so much waiting it was finally John's turn. His mother waved him into an armchair near the bed and then handed him the tiny two day old baby.

"He's going to drop my brother, Mummy." Mycroft objected from his superior age of twelve years. "He's only a baby himself. He can't possibly keep Sherlock safe."

"I will not drop Sherlock, Mycroft." John said hotly. "I'm not a baby either. I'm five. I can protect him just fine." John tuned out the older boy, his sister and the adults in the room, his entire attention now on the baby resting on his lap. Though to be safe, he did hold Sherlock a little tighter so that he wouldn't prove Mycroft right.

The tighter grip woke Sherlock up. The baby scrunched his face in a yawn and then sleepy blue eyes opened and peered up straight at John. John fell in love for the first and last time in his life the moment those blue eyes caught his and that mouth curved in a smile.

"You're going to be my best friend, Sherlock," John whispered his first and most important secret into the tiny ear and kissed Sherlock's forehead. "No matter what, I'll always protect you from anyone and I'll always be there when you need me."

Those blue eyes blinked and the smile widened. Sherlock reached one uncoordinated hand out and tried to grab John's hair. He missed and hit his cheek instead.

John giggled. "That's the cheekbone, Sherlock."

"The zygomatic bone, John," Mycroft corrected him.

"Hear that, Sherlock. It's the zy…sy…zygo…matic bone. Mycroft knows lots of stuff, you know. You'll like having him as an older brother, though sometimes he's kinda nosy." John gave Mycroft a sweet smile when the older boy huffed. John shifted his attention to the two mothers. "I like Sherlock, Mrs. Holmes. He's sweet. Thank you for letting me hold him. He likes me, too."

"How can you possibly tell that?" Harry scoffed. She didn't understand why she had to be here. She was ten and had no business in the lady's bedroom. Her family was working class and the Holmes' weren't. Her friends at school had made sure to point that fact out to her all the time. Besides, Harriet Watson didn't see what was so interesting about a baby, especially a boy baby.

"Harriet!" Mrs. Watson gasped, appalled at her daughter's sneering tone.

"She does have a point though," Mycroft informed everyone, while still glaring at Harriet. "How do you know that Sherlock likes you, John?"

John rolled his eyes at how dense everyone was and shared a secret smile with Sherlock. "He smiled at me, of course."

"Babies don't smile, Johnny," Harry scoffed. "It's gas."

"Sherlock did," John insisted.

"Harriet is correct, John." Mycroft said. "Babies can't smile. They don't have the muscle control."

John glared at them. "Sherlock did smile. Sherlock can do anything. He's specialer than other babies."

"I'm absolutely positive that you are correct, John," Mrs. Holmes interrupted the brewing argument. "Sherlock can smile." She gave John a smile of her own and that was the end of the matter.

Sherlock did eventually learn to smile at other people but Sherlock's real, true, delighted smiles were never seen by anyone except for Sherlock's mother and Sherlock's John.