Winter Breaks (Johnlock/Teenlock)

1

There once was a boy named Sherlock. He was fifteen years old, and very much enjoyed walking his dog, Redbeard. He had gotten Redbeard on a Christmas when he was ten. He loved Redbeard. People didn't like Sherlock. Sherlock didn't like people. That's why he liked Redbeard, Redbeard wasn't a person, Redbeard liked Sherlock.

Sherlock had been walking Redbeard almost everyday for the past five years. At first he walked with his parents. When he was twelve he was told he could walk  the dog without his parents but still had to walk the dog his brother, Mycroft. Mycroft didn't like Sherlock much. Finally when Sherlock turned thirteen he was told he could walk the dog on his own.

Sherlock walked Redbeard so much that he even knew his neighbors' names. When a new neighbor moved in, Sherlock immediately took Redbeard on a walk.

Sherlock walked on the right side of the road. He'd walked on the right side of the road for as long as he could remember. He always was on the right side of the road. Luckily the new neighbor was moving in on the right side of the road.

"Come on, Redbeard," Sherlock tugged at the leash. "We should meet the new neighbors."

Sherlock continued walking all the way to the new neighbor's house.

"Hullo!" A man carrying some boxes smiled at Sherlock. "Are you one of the neighbors? We're new."

"Hi," Sherlock nodded. "Alcoholic, homophobic, divorced three times, had moved fifty times, cares about car, just got married to a women with two children."

"What was that?" The man asked. He seemed confused and a little mad.

"You're an alcoholic, homophobic, divorced three times, car loving, husband," Sherlock explained.

"How'd you know?" The man asked.

"I didn't know in a way I just knew," Sherlock shrugged, "Frankly, it's obvious."

The man shook his head, "Freak." The man walked away.

Great, Sherlock thought, another person who hates me and thinks I'm a weirdo.

Sherlock started to continue walking when he heard a voice calling for him, "Hey, hey, you! Yeah, you with the dog!"

Sherlock turned around. "And who are you?"

"I'm the-guy-you-just-talked-to's son," the boy said. He was wearing blue jeans and a sweater. He seemed to have a limp, and walked with one crutch under him, but he didn't seem to have a cast or a boot or anything for his leg. "John."

"Hi," Sherlock said flatly, he held out a gloved hand, "Sherlock."

John pointed to Redbeard. "Cute dog."

"His name is Redbeard," Sherlock said. "And he's mine."

"Yeah well, I thought so much," John said.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"What?" John asked.

"Afghanistan or Iraq? Your dad had to have died somewhere," Sherlock asked again.

"Oh uh," John looked down. His eyes were welling up.

"Sorry if I said something that uh...upset you...I didn't..." Sherlock stuttered awkwardly.

What am I doing?! Sherlock asked himself, I don't usually apologize to people it must be something about John....

"No, it's fine, I honestly don't know," John shook the tears away. "I was to young when it happened. All I was told was that he was going off to a war, and that he died there."

"John, I...." Sherlock couldn't think of something to say to his new friend. Friend? No, sociopaths don't have friends, and that included Sherlock.

"It's...It's fine," John said. John's watch started beeping, "Oh, that's my timer, got to go."

John ran off adjusting his digital watch and waving bye to Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't say anything as he walked back home. When he got home he saw Mycroft coming home at the same time, Sherlock turned around and walked a little longer.

When he got inside his mum told him to go say hi to Mycroft. "He's come back from school for winter break, go welcome him home."

Sherlock sighed and climbed the stairs strolled down the hallway. He still had Redbeard on leash. The walls of the hallway were covered in pictures from when Sherlock and Mycroft were little and some school art projects.

Sherlock knocked on the closed door to Mycroft's room. "Mycroft, mum said I had to say hi." He paused. "Hi."

Mycroft opened the door and said, "Hi, Sherlock." And closed the door again.

"You have to actually talk to him, Sherlock," Sherlock's mum called.

Damn these thin walls, Sherlock thought, mum can hear everything.

Sherlock opened the door without knocking.

Mycroft was at his desk, talking on the phone to... A friend? A boyfriend? A girlfriend? An enemy? Sherlock honestly didn't care.

Mycroft mumbled into the phone, "Got to go." And hung up. "What do you want?"

"Mum's forcing me to say hi," Sherlock crossed his arms.

"You did."

"Now she wants us to talk," Sherlock explained.

"Fine," Mycroft sighed.

Sherlock plopped onto Mycroft's bed and pulled out his phone.

"Aren't we going to talk?" Mycroft asked.

"No, we're going to hang out in your room and fool mum into thinking we're talking by playing the audio recording of us talking," Sherlock explained, "Like last time."

"Oh, right," Mycroft said, and turned back to his desk, pulling his phone out again to talk to his friend/boyfriend/girlfriend/enemy.

Sherlock went to contacts.

"What're you doing?" Mycroft asked.

"None of your business," Sherlock spat.

He created a new contact.

John Watson.

He typed in as the name. He put in John's number. He sent a message.

Sherlock: hello

John: hello? Who is this?

Sherlock: Sherlock. Your neighbor

John: oh. Hi. How did you get me number?

Sherlock: I looked at you

John: ?

Sherlock:  I can look at people and just sort of know things about them. That's how I knew your number

John: ooookay?

"Sherlock, seriously, what are you doing?" Mycroft asked. "Who's John Watson?"

"Did you hack my phone again?!" Sherlock asked. He jumped up and chased Mycroft down the stairs, "Mycroft, I'm going to kill you!"

"Sherlock!" Sherlock's mum scolded. "We do not joke about homicide in this household!"