One shots (johnlock fluff mostly)

Traumatized (mostly fluff)

Authors note- this was my creative writing story in class, character deaths. (Victor and James) also stories been adapted!! Angsty but ends in pure fluffiness

Four boys, James, Victor John, and Sherlock. Victor was the shortest of the four with brown hair, brown eyes and usually wearing a lopsided grin, he was the most childlike of the three, aged only seven.

Then there was James, his eyes were a deep brown, barely standing against the blackness of his pupil, a narrow pinprick in his gaze. He was taller than Victor by about a head, he was thin with a husky Irish drawl, he was eleven years old, the eldest of he three, still wearing his school uniform including a grey Westwood blazer and grey slacks with black patent shoes, over his brown slick hair he wore a pirate hat with gold trimming.

Then stood Sherlock, aged eight, he was the tallest of the three, thin and lanky, but with a surprising amount of strength, he rarely ever lost a fight. Sherlock had chocolate hair that hung all over in unruly untamed curls. He wore a coat over his usual shirt and jeans, the coat was long and black with blue trimming and large buttons. It was a pirate cosplay coat but it was Sherlocks favorite, collar turned up protecting his pale skin from the wind.

Leaving John, Sherlocks best friend aged 10, he was shorter than Sherlock and James but taller that Victor, an eye patch pulled over his eye, blue warm eyes. He had dirty blonde hair that was cut very neatly to shape his head.

Darkness had closed in, creeping from the corners of the sky, capturing the suns light like flies in a web. The moonlight reflected off his skin, emphasizing his cheekbones and eyes that glinted in the night, green, blue and gold.

It had been raining so the pavement reflected the orange glow from the street lights, they were playing hide and seek, all carrying wooden swords they'd made them self, varying in sharpness.

James was seeking, Sherlock, John and Victor hidden in the shadows, waiting to be caught, who would win this game, who would seek next. Victor was Sherlocks best friend besides John, and James was just the kid who had decided to join in, the kid who being eldest thought he controlled them.

He had an air of power wherever he went, and it emanated from him as he crept through the dark, feet slapping the cold wet pavement. He could hear breathing, slight rustles from the bush ahead and he brandished out his wooden sword. Victor screamed as James threw his sword forwards, sinking through his flesh and organs, blood trickling down the handle.

Sherlock heard the scream, it was normal to experience fright when captured, because it always came unexpected but his sounded pained, Sherlock jumped down from the tree, coat snagging slightly on a branch and tearing. John watched from the tree keeping an eye on his friend.

James watched the light leave victors eyes, the skin pale and blood bubble at his mouth, he relished in the death, he loved how it made him feel. He needed to kill again. James left victors body twitching and crept back into the darkness, hidden in the shadows.

Sherlock made it to where Victor should have been to discover his body, Sherlock froze, his blood running cold as it pounded in his ears, screaming at him to turn around.

"Victor--?" Sherlock whispered, his best friend lay dead on the floor at his feet, a puddle of his own blood pooling out of the wound in his chest.

He didn't register the sound of steps behind him, the sound of leaves rustling, twigs snapping. The blood thirsty soul of James sneaking up on him, a predator over prey.