Sherlock Oneshots (Mystrade/Johnlock/Mormor)

The Tree - Mystrade

Kiddos because this is a flashback in my novel, so I changed the names and pronouns

It's cute and trans and anyway it's not too long but whatever I'm busy and tired 

I changed the ending because in my book, these two characters are childhood friends and don't have crushes on each other

Mycroft's P.O.V

"Could you run ANY slower?"

"I'm going as fast I can!"

We were running through the woods by his house. Greg was always faster than me. He was nibble and bony. He weighed almost nothing. I, on the other hand, was an exceptionally chubby child. And not in the way most toddlers ae chubby. I was chubby until my biggest growth spurt at 14. I finally grew into myself. It was like I'd been stretched out, consistently over time, and it had finally caught up with me.

"C'mon, Mike!"

He was the first person I ever allowed to call me that.

"I'm coming!"

I turned the corner at the biggest tree in the wood and saw Greg attempting to climb the tree. He had his little hiking boots on, and he'd taken off his coat. He'd climbed The Tree countless times before. I never had. I never tried. I was scared I'd fall and break something – a bone or my glasses – and I didn't have shoes with a strong enough grip. If I ripped my clothes, or even got grass strains on them, I would've been in big trouble with Mother. I knew that, so I didn't ever do anything too risky. I was covered in a safety blanket that had been threaded by Mother's protective words and my own fears.

"Will you try today?"

"No. I shouldn't. Mum would... she wouldn't be happy if I hurt myself or wrecked my clothes."

"Mikey! You're 12 now! You have to do something fun eery now and again!" He was hanging off a branch about a metre off the ground. His arms were wrapped around it, and he was pushing his feet hard against the branch, securing himself the best he could. When we were about 8 – when he first tried to climb The Tree – he had very quickly found the best path to climb it. We made a map too just in case he ever forgot. He had a different name back then. But that was years ago.

"It's not a good idea, Greg." We had this conversation whenever we visited The Tree. I always used Mother as an excuse. Yes, she would've been mad at me, but truthfully, I was terrified to scale The Tree. It wasn't because I had a phobia of heights – which I didn't – but I did have an intense fear of injuring myself. It wasn't rational. I would go so far as to not leave the house when it was raining in case I slipped. Because I grew up in England, that meant that I barely ever went outside. I would stay indoors for lunch breaks, and would tiptoe down the steps to my bus, anxious of falling.

"You're just a chicken!" He was heckling me, which he always did.

"Am not!"

"Climb The Tree with me, then!"

"No! I can't!" I could feel my knees shaking at even the thought of climbing The Tree. My hands got even sweatier, and I could feel my breathing quicken. I couldn't do it. I really couldn't. I couldn't move, let alone climb a huge oak tree. It was at least forty metres tall, and towered over me like The Empire State Building. Or at least, that's how it felt for 12-year-old me. I was abnormally short, and would be for another two years.

Gregory jumped down from the branch and ran over to me. He crossed his arms and leant over me. He was quite a bit taller than me, but he was also one of the only person that I didn't fear.

"What are you going to do about it?" I stepped closer to her. He pushed me backwards, almost too hard, and I trod on a stick. I heard it snap. I heard the frogs croaking in the nearby pond. I looked into Greg's eyes and grinned. I pushed him back. He stood his ground and laughed at my weakness.

"Your push is shit." He gave me a snarky, closed-mouth smile before pushing me again. He pushed me by both of my shoulders that time, and I stumbled. I lost my footing and fell on the ground.

"Hey!" I wobbled as I stood back up. I pushed both his shoulders. He fell over too. His response was to kick my ankle.

"Weakling!" Greg grabbed my arm and yanked me downward. I fell on top of him, and his kneecap hit my nose. I took my glasses off and put them on a tree root. We rolled around in the leaves, careful not to hit each other in the face. I accidently elbowed him in the chest, and he let me know about it. "I'm a man now! You can't hit me there!"

"Why not?" I replied. I forgot for a moment. His binders worked well.

"It hurts!"

"So does getting kicked in the bollocks!"

He laughed heartily and punched me lightly in the stomach. I rolled over onto the ground and cried out in mock pain.

"We're really stupid, huh?" He laid down beside me and passed me my glasses. I put them back on and laughed.

"Yeah. We are." I looked over at his. His beautiful, tanned skin shone in the late afternoon sun. His recently chopped hair was out of his face and almost touched the ground. It was uneven and messy, but he loved it. We stared at each other for a while, completely silent, and I questioned what he was thinking about. Never asked.

"You're not hurt, are you?" He ran his fingers through his hair and waited for my answer. I thought for a moment.

"No. I don't think so. I might feel bad tomorrow. But I feel okay now."

"Me too."

"Good."

"Good."

We continued to stare at each other.

"I like your eyes." He smiled, rubbing his eye, trying to remove a lose eyelash.

"I like yours, too." They were big and brown. The most expression and happy eyes I'd ever seen. Especially when he smiled.

He looked up at the sky, through the trees, and I suddenly understood what movies meant when they talked about love. Wanting to be around someone all the time, caring deeply about them, wanting to know the ins and outs of their day (whether boring or exciting), feeling warmth radiating off them constantly, etc. I didn't know, because I was 12, whether or not I was falling in love with him, or if I loved him in a friend way. I wasn't sure. Because I was 12. Some 12-year-olds can understand their feelings.

I wasn't one of those kids.