Childhood Heroes {Sherlock Fanfiction}

Sherlock and John

Third Person POV
Baker Street

The first thing, or person rather, that John saw when he entered their flat was the sleeping figure of the little girl he knew who now needed their help. She curled up on the couch, her light brown hair cascading down on her face and on the edge of the sofa. For time being, she slept peacefully with no troubles.

John cleared his throat. "Good morning."

Sherlock turned his head at the sound of John's voice but didn't answer.

John gestured to sleeping Lillian, asking Sherlock for an explanation.

"Woke up when I played the violin last night. Then decided to sleep on the couch while I continued playing."

John nodded. He walked to the kitchen to make his usual cup of tea. He searched for bread in the cupboards after making his drink.

"Here." Sherlock pushes to the side the pastry Lillian brought yesterday.

"Thanks." John placed his mug on the table, near Sherlock's. He opened the bag and grabbed one cookie.

"You were playing again last night," John started, "Got any sleep?"

Sherlock glanced from his phone to John. He wasn't wearing his usual robe in the morning, just in button up shirt and pyjamas. His dirty blond hair still in a mess and there was stubble growing from not shaving for weeks. Nonetheless, those were the things that made John himself and the things that Sherlock admired.

Sherlock turned away before he stared any longer and cleared his throat. "I was thinking back to Lillian's case. There's some points that show interest lately."

"That's why we took it in the first place." John sipped from his tea.

"You took it in the first place. I was still on a case so I had to think."

"But you still took it," John made a point. "Poor girl, never got the feeling of home."

Alone. Sherlock remembered when he read Lillian last night. She has fear written all over her face. He read the fear of being alone, left out and the fear of never getting loved. There were a lot of things he read when Lillian poured her emotions.

"So how did you meet her?" John asks, snapping Sherlock out of his thoughts.

"Lillian? I ran across her and helped her out of trouble. How did you meet her?"

Of course, Sherlock is a curious fellow who doesn't like not knowing and unanswered questions. He's a detective after all, but he's inquiry about something in John's past, which can be also Lillian's, quickly caught the attention of the ex-soldier.

The memory holds a strong bond that John cherished. It's personal, per se, he likes to replay in his mind sometimes just to feel good and hopeful for the world again. He and Sherlock seldom talked about personal things, but since Sherlock's asking a question he himself firstly answered, it might be better to know from both sides.

"Well," John started, "she was a lost child in the crowd and I helped her get back to her... home, I guess. She was six years old by then if I recall correctly. I visited her many times after that and we talked for hours until she and her playmates got called by their headmistress. The orphanage was the fourth one that kept her. And to be honest—" John took a deep breath, "—I once planned to adopt her."

John doesn't know why he said that. It just leaped out of his mouth from being burrowed in his mind for too long. A plan he has given countless thoughts before but he only hid it away. Maybe because it was the strong bond he felt.

Sherlock blinked and furrowed his eyebrows at John. He was tapping the cookie against his mug, staring blankly at it.

"But she's only six though—full of life ahead of her. I got enlisted in the army, waiting for my three month holiday to pass. That was years ago, and now she's here, all grown up. Coincidence."

Sherlock laughed. "Coincidence. The universe is barely that lazy."

"Fate then?"

"I don't believe in such things. Every event in a person's life has a connection to another," Sherlock stated in a-matter-of-fact.

Mrs. Hudson comes in to the kitchen door with worry etched in her face. "Have you seen Lillian?"

The two men pointed at Lillian. Mrs. Hudson peeked then let out a sigh.

"How did she get there?" she asked.

"Apparently Sherlock has been playing the violin and Lillian wanted to listen to it," answered John.

"That's good. She hasn't been sleeping well for nights."

"Hasn't been sleeping well?" John repeated, turning to Mrs. Hudson.

"Told me she has nightmares," whispered Mrs. Hudson as if Lillian would hear her sharing her secret.

"Good morning to both of you. I still have a kettle to watch downstairs." Mrs. Hudson left the flat.

John leaned back on his chair, a couple of questions in his mind. "So your violin kind of helped with the bad dreams?"

"Maybe," Sherlock replied. His playing always helped with bad dreams, purposely for John but Lillian seemed to have taken a benefit for it as well.

Sherlock rose from his chair and walked to his beloved instrument, carefully picking it up.

John admired him as he played, he always did. These were one of the times that Sherlock was calm, both in mental state and body energy. His long fingers switched through the chords while his other hand smoothly worked with gliding the bow.

The sun shone behind the curtains, giving Sherlock a golden aura. He always looked like that in John's eyes.

"You're not going to wake her up, are you?" John asked Sherlock.

But he only played softly and melodious, nothing that could alarm anyone. It sounded like a lullaby, and he doesn't play lullabies.

John had his eyes on the violin player, not seeing he grabbed Sherlock's mug and drank from it. Only when he tasted the tea he knew he drank from the wrong drink.

Sherlock continued on playing, though he paused for a bit when he saw John's mistake. He turned around so John couldn't see the forming smile on his face.

Lillian laid fast asleep as the usual morning happenings in the flat occurred. She was calm, her mind was placid. She felt safe in the midst of danger of 221B cases.