A certain kindergarten was even rowdier than usual on a certain afternoon in the 1980s.

Amidst the usual sea of complaints, arguments and grievances that is common amongst 4 year olds, there was one child whose shrieks of anger and worry were extreme, even for him. This child's name was Peter Anderson, and he wasn't a very nice child at the best of times. He was whiny, petulant and generally irritating, usually without good cause. On this occasion, however, he had a reason for his annoyingness.

"I WANT MY TEDDY!" he howled.

He had lost his teddy bear.

The child-minder, Morag, was at her wits end. She had instructed her helpers to "look everywhere until you find the bloody thing!", but it was no good. Teddy (this was what Peter, not being a particularly creative child, had named his toy) did not wish to be found.

One small boy sat quietly on a chair at the edge of the room, waiting for Morag to turn her attention to him. He had been wanting her to find him some paint long before Peter had started wailing for attention, but he was a patient boy who didn't want to put himself forwards. His name was John Watson, and he was getting a bit bored.

He now slipped off his chair and walked over to a boy who had caught his attention previously. This boy was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room with his eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to the hurrying feet around him.

"Hello," said John, feeling he might as well start a conversation while he was waiting for his paint.

The boy did not respond.

"Are you alright?" asked John, feeling a bit miffed that his advances had been greeted in this manner.

The boy opened one of his eyes, looking annoyed. "What do you want?" he muttered.

John was feeling definitely annoyed now. This stranger was being very rude. However, he was determined to talk to him now, if only to annoy him.

"Why are you sitting in the middle of the room with your eyes closed?" he inquired curiously.

"I'm thinking," the boy replied irritably. "Now face the other direction, you're putting me off."

Feeling slightly mutinous about this boy's rudeness, but not wanting to end the conversation, John did as he was told. "What's your name?" he asked, as he shuffled around.

"Sherlock. Shut up, I'm trying to solve a mystery."

John's ears metaphorically pricked up at the word. Swivelling around again, he ignored Sherlock's glares.

"Mystery? That's like a puzzle, isn't it? What sort of mystery?"

Sherlock sighed, and finally opened both of his eyes.

"Peter's lost his bear and no one can find it. I'm trying to work out where it is."

John, being of an inquisitive frame of mind, immediately started to consider the issue. "Maybe someone took it?" he suggested.

Sherlock gave him a slightly contemptuous glance. "Obviously, otherwise someone would have found it. But who would take it? It's not a very nice teddy bear."

John nodded in agreement. Whoever took Teddy definitely did not do so for its aesthetic qualities.

"Well, does anyone not like Peter?" he asked.

Sherlock smiled. "Good," he observed. "You're finally starting to ask the right questions."

John grinned, happy at this sign of approval. Then he frowned, as his mind returned to the problem. "No one likes Peter," he said gloomily. "He's mean. One time he knocked down the castle I made in the block room."

Sherlock nodded in sympathy. Everyone in the kindergarten was well acquainted with Peter's tantrums.

"Yes, it's a shame that no one likes him. It doesn't narrow down the list of suspects."

John gazed at him wide-eyed. "Wow," he said. "How do you know all the proper words?"

Sherlock blushed slightly with the praise. "I've read some detective stories," he replied shyly, in a contrast to his earlier, ruder manner.

John's admiration for this strange boy was increasing. He didn't know anyone else at the kindergarten who could read.

"Anyway," said Sherlock hurriedly. "Who do you think did it?"

He considered the matter for a couple of seconds.

"I think it was Becky," he eventually decided.

"Why?" asked Sherlock interestedly.

John looked confused. He hadn't realised that he would have to justify his suspicions.

"Well… because I don't like her. She messes up my paintings."

Sherlock's irritated manner returned. "You can't just say that she did it because you don't like her! Use your brain. Who could have done it?"

There was silence for a few minutes. Eventually, John broke it.

"I'm hungry," he said.

"Go and get some food then!" snapped Sherlock.

John walked off, soon returning with a couple of jam sandwiches. He offered one to Sherlock, but it was refused. He had suddenly become very excited.

"I know who it was!"

"Who?" asked John, through a mouthful of jam and bread.

"The only time Peter left Teddy anywhere today was when he went to the toilet. He left Teddy in the block room, where only four other people were. They were Becky, Vicky, Ben, and you. Becky and Vicky are best friends, if they took it, they were working together. And Vicky can't lie; remember that time when she tried to convince Morag that she hadn't taken an extra biscuit at morning tea time? It couldn't have been her or Becky.

"That meant it was you or Ben. First I thought it had to be Ben, but then I remembered. Ben's been scared of Teddy ever since Peter convinced him that if anyone except Peter touched him, they would turn into a spider. Ben would never hide Teddy.

"So that means it was you. You have motive: Peter knocked over your block castle, and he uses Teddy to scare people. You probably thought you were doing a good thing. But you'll get into trouble if you don't give Teddy back, so where did you hide him?"

John gazed at Sherlock, mouth open, with little globs of sandwich falling out. "Wow," he said at last. "You're really good at this mystery stuff. I put Teddy in my bag, coz I thought people would just think Peter lost him. I'll go and get him now."

John trotted off, and soon returned holding a spectacularly ugly teddy bear. Sherlock took it.

"We can put it in with the blocks. Morag will think that Peter lost it there."

They did so, and that was the end of the matter, and of John Watson's life of crime.

A couple of days later, John passed Sherlock in the corridor where the bags were kept.

"Here," he said to Sherlock, holding out a bit of paper. "I painted it. See, there's Peter screaming, and there's me stealing Teddy, and there's you working out who did it."

Sherlock took John's word for what the oddly shaped splotches of colour were meant to be.

"It's nice," he said slowly. "But you didn't put how I solved the problem. You haven't got Ben being scared or Vicky being a bad liar or anything. You've just got the superficial points in it." He brought out the big word with effort.

John looked hurt. "It would be boring if I had all that stuff," he complained.

Sherlock looked like he was about to argue, then changed his mind. "Thanks, anyway," he said. "You won't be seeing me again. I'm going to school tomorrow."

"Oh," John frowned sadly. "Well, bye. Keep on doing the mystery stuff; you're really good at it!"

And with that, he ran off.

When John Watson and Sherlock Holmes finally met each other again, it is doubtful that they remembered each other. However, one time when John was trying to clear out the flat after Sherlock 'jumped off' St Bart's Hospital, he found a very old picture that looked like it had been done by a four year old. For a moment, he felt as though a memory at the back of his head was trying to make itself know. After a minute though, it disappeared. John didn't contemplate this missing memory too much. After all, memories of Sherlock were always painful, and this was probably nothing. He threw the painting into the rubbish bin.

Sherlock and John's first case was destined to be forgotten.