Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/840823.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_Holmes_(Downey_films), Sherlock_Holmes_&_Related_Fandoms, The
      Avengers_(Marvel_Movies)
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/Tony_Stark
  Character:
      Sherlock_Holmes, Tony_Stark
  Additional Tags:
      RDJ/RDJ, Time_Travel, Young_Tony_Stark, Young_Sherlock_Holmes_-_Freeform,
      Kid_Tony_Stark, Kid_Sherlock, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence,
      Friendship/Love, Fluff, Sharing_a_Bed, Angst, Emotional_Hurt/Comfort,
      Masturbation, Little_smut
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-06-15 Updated: 2013-06-30 Chapters: 2/? Words: 10955
****** All the rules of logic don't apply... ******
by ArieHolmesJr
Summary
     Tony Stark was pretty sure life held a grudge against him. He just
     couldn't recall what he had done to deserve such punishments. All he
     wanted was his father's approval, his attention, his love...
     But sometimes, life doesn't give you something you want, not because
     you don't deserve it, but because you deserve more...
***** Chapter 1 *****
Tony Stark rolled on his side once again and pulled the blanket over his head
with a little sigh. Not more than two minutes later, he pushed the covers for
the tenth time and sat up in his bed, brown hair disheveled. He gently rubbed
his eyes and sighed again, casting a glance at his alarm clock. Eight in the
morning. He was up since six o'clock, but he had figured it would be better to
wait a little bit. Now he couldn't wait anymore. He just couldn't.
Tony slowly got out of the bed and, in his Captain America pyjama, he walked to
the door. The floor was cold under his feet, the house incredibly quiet, as if
it was completely empty. It was not a feeling he liked and he found himself
wishing for someone to be downstairs. For his mother, in the kitchen, making
waffles. For his father, even locked in his workshop, working on something and
not paying attention to his son at all. At least Tony wouldn't be completely
alone. Especially today. No, today he wouldn't be alone. He couldn't be,
because that would be totally heartless from his parents. His heart filled with
hope, the young boy sneaked in the kitchen on tiptoes, but was welcomed by the
silence and an empty room. No smell in the air, not even coffee. Alright. No
breakfast. Fine ... Yeah, he wasn't very fond of breakfasts anyway ....
Maybe the lab then. His father would be working, he always was. He would
probably just kick his son out, but Tony just needed someone to be in the
house, someone to talk to him a little bit, even if the words were "Not now,
Tony". And of course, he wanted to hear two particular words... So he went, not
giving up, to Howard's workshop. The door was closed, it often was, but this
time, no light was coming from under the door. Usually, Tony would sit, his
back to the wall, in that little light and lull himself in his own arms, hoping
that his father would come out and take care of him. Notice him, at least. Now
there was nothing. It was dark and colder than usual and when Tony softly
knocked on the door, no one ever came. After two minutes, Tony gave up and went
back in the living room. Also empty. Great, he was all alone. Fine ... Yeah, he
was used to being alone anyway ....
He sat on the floor in the middle of the living room for what felt like hours.
He could probably make himself a bowl of cereals or at least find something to
do, but he really didn't feel like it. He would wait, he could totally do that.
It was like when playing hide-and-seek. Counting is long and boring and you
have to wait... But after, it's fun! Well. Probably. He didn't really play
hide-and-seek. Jarvis, the good butler, was usually willing to play with him,
but only two players isn't really fun and Tony had nobody else to play with...
But he knew a lot about waiting, without the nice part following it. Today
would be different, right? Surely. Because today was a special day! His parents
were probably organizing a party for him, a surprise party and that was why
they weren't there. Yes! Of course! For a moment, a little smile spread the
child's lips. However, Tony Stark was more brilliant than that. He knew, even
if he was young and sometimes credulous, a little naive like all children his
age, that there was very little chance that his parents really were organizing
something. He still clung to these slight hopes and refused to let dark
thoughts cloud his day. Tony finally stood up and, his hands on his hips, he
looked around him with big, curious brown eyes. His curiosity aroused, he took
a few tentative steps towards the corridor, looked around him again as if
scared of being caught, then walked a little faster. His parents' room was a
place where he never had the authorisation to go. He had always wondered what
was hidden there that he didn't have the right to see, and now that he was all
alone, he wanted to explore.
"Mommy...?" Tony still asked once in front of the door, a hand on the handle.
When he got no answer, he gently opened the door and peeked inside. The room
was spacious, bright, clean. Nothing like his own room or like his father's
workshop. It smelled good, just like his mother, but there was something in
that smell that he couldn't recognize and that sent a shiver along his spine.
Something stronger, not quite comforting. Something he smelled on his father
from time to time. That didn't stop the little boy and in a matter of seconds,
he was in the room, the door closed behind him. There was nothing special in
this room, really. Why keeping him away from here? It was just a normal
bedroom, boring and all too clean and cold. He didn't like it at all. After a
minute, standing there in his pyjama, he decided that he had had enough. He
turned to walk away and leave the room, but a bookcase suddenly caught his
attention. Books. There were huge books. Nothing like the small picture books
Tony's mother would sometimes read to him. They looked far more interesting, in
fact, and just like that, Tony decided that he wanted one. Gosh, he was Tony
Stark, he could read a huge book like that at eight years old, why not? Or
maybe he couldn't, but wouldn't he look cool with it anyway? Definitely. And he
wanted to look cool. With that thought in mind, Tony went for the bookcase and
grabbed the first book he could reach, then slipped it awkwardly under his
pyjama and left the room in no time.
 
Sitting in the closet, the door shut and the lights off, the book opened on his
thighs, Tony was ready. Or at least, trying really hard. In the light of his
flashlight, his finger following the words on the page, he was doing his best,
but with only few results. He could recognize some words, but not all of them
and there were a lot of pages, way too many! He was still trying because it was
a way to occupy his mind and soul and stop focusing on the fact that his own
parents weren't there for him on this important day.
When Tony heard the front door open and close, he raised his head and, his eyes
bright, a smile on his lips, he stood up and got out of the closet. Judging by
the footsteps, it was his father. The little boy ran to the living room and met
his father who was pouring himself a glass of dark, brown liquid. Without
losing a second, Tony walked to him, the large book in his arms. 
"Daddy!"
"Hey little boy..."
He watched his father knock back his drink and pour himself another one.
Whatever it was, it didn't smell so good to Tony and he wrinkled his nose,
frowning with a little bit of disgust. Adults really drink weird stuff
sometimes...
"What day is it, daddy? .... Daddy! I'm talking to you! What day is it!?"
"Mmm I don't know Tony, what's with that question...?"
"March third, dad, that's today's date."
He smiled, looking at Howard with so much hope.
"Sure, fine, Tony. Why don't you go play in your room?"
The boy's smile faded and he grabbed his father's sleeve with the tip of his
fingers, tugging a little bit. Howard's eyes met his and the man looked at his
son with confusion, trying to figure out why Tony suddenly seemed so sad. With
a sigh, he ran a hand through his son's hair a little roughly. Tony waited a
little bit, waited for him to realise, to remember, to say something. Nothing
happened. He swallowed hard and, fighting back his tears, he darted his big,
tears filled brown eyes on his father.
"Today's my birthday, daddy! It's my birthday and you don't even care!!" he
screamed and quickly escaped his father's touch on his head, running to his own
room and slamming the door shut behind him. 
 
~~~
 
Tony was used to being alone. He had turned eight years old last week and even
though his parents hadn't done anything for him, no real birthday party or
anything, he still was glad he was a year older. He was a big boy. He could
take care of himself and didn't need their help! He could take a bath, brush
his teeth and put himself to bed. He would read himself a story, mainly one of
his comic books. Tonight, however, Tony wanted to read something else. He
wanted to try again and read that huge book he had taken in his parents' room.
After a few pages, read during the week after great efforts, he could tell a
little bit who the man telling the story was. A doctor who had been in the
army, or something like that. Since he could not understand nor read all the
words, he just skipped them and tried to understand the story anyway. It wasn't
that hard. He already liked the other character, the one named Sherlock Holmes.
Every night, Tony would read as much as he could before going to bed. Tonight,
he was about to do the same thing when someone gently knocked on his door. He
raised his head, pulling he sheets over the book just in time. His mother
entered the room and walked to the bed, smiling at his son and gently petting
his head. The boy leaned into the touch, sighing softly. 
"What were you doing?" Maria asked and Tony didn't have the will to lie to
her. 
He gently pushed the sheets and showed her the book.
"Reading."
"Oh. That big book? Looks like my little boy is now a big one, then, if he can
read big books like that."
Tony smiled and shook his head.
"I'm not good. It's hard, mommy."
"Do you want me to read it to you?"
The expression of joy on Tony's face was worth all the gold in the world. He
nodded and gave her the book. Once he told her at what page he was, she started
reading for him. It was easier that way and he could really enjoy the story
without having to rack his brain too much. He fell asleep to his mother's
voice recounting of fantastic adventures mixed with a strong and deep
friendship between a doctor and an amazing detective.
 
His mother actually put him to bed for two consecutive weeks after that special
night. She would read the book for him, and once they finished the first one,
they started the second. They both enjoyed those little moments of peace and
calm, where they could just dive into the story they were reading and escape
from reality, just for fifteen minutes, or half an hour, often the time it took
Tony to fall asleep. Sherlock Holmes was Tony's hero. He was completely,
utterly crazy about him. Brilliant and strong and clever, everything Tony
wanted to be when he'd grow up. A little messy, a little hyperactive, but
totally cool and intelligent. When Tony was sleeping, he was dreaming about his
idol, dreaming about meeting him, about leaving with him far far away, away
from his father, away from the pain, the sadness, the emptiness. When he was
awake, he was trying to act exactly like him. Trying to be strong enough not to
let the insults and reprimands reach him. It was hard. It was hard, but during
the worst parts, he sat in the dark in a closet, he closed his eyes and
imagined a warm, slightly cocky smile and a helping hand, while Howard was
screaming and drinking way too much of that amber liquid that made him go mad
and wild. 
 
~~~
 
"Daddy? What you working on?"
"Nothing that you could understand, Tony."
"But--"
"I said no, Tony. I don't have time for that."
The little boy wrinkled his nose. He knew very well that it meant in fact 'I
have no time for you'. It hurt, even though he was kind of used to it. With a
sigh, he retreated to a corner of the lab and sat, his back to the wall,
circling his knees with his arms. Tony could already consider himself lucky
that his father accepted him in the workshop. He wasn't usually allowed here so
he wasn't complaining too much. He just had that sad feeling that, whatever his
father was doing, it was always more important than his own son. He had heard
him, of course he had, talking about that Captain America, that super soldier
that Tony had thought was only a legend or a story for little boys like him. It
seemed that it wasn't, since Howard was always talking about him since a few
days, talking about how nice and fantastic he was, as if he had known him very
well. Tony didn't know what had happened. He just knew that somehow, his father
had lost that man, and now he seemed excited about a way of "going back and
save him". All of this made very little sense for Tony, but still managed to
hurt him really bad. Watching Howard work his ass out for a man while his own
son only managed to get severe reprimands and despairing looks from him was
heartbreaking. 
"Daddy...?"
Howard clearly rolled his eyes and Tony was pretty sure he was wondering why he
had allowed his son in the workshop in the first place.
"Where do you wanna go back?"
"This is none of your business. Tony, listen. All of this is adult stuff.
Nothing for a little eight-year-old boy like you. You should go back upstairs."
"I'm not stupid! I can understand! You give me all those equations and I solve
them and I work really hard! And I did build that small plane and it's not my
fault if it crashed because you had forgotten to tell me something important to
program it! I can understand, just tell me!"
"Now that's enough! You go back upstairs."
"No."
"Tony..."
The boy didn't move and only stick his tongue out. Such a bad idea. He saw
Howard's expression change in a matter of seconds and the man quickly walked to
his son, lifting him with almost no effort and carrying him on his shoulder,
out of the workshop and up the stairs. He was angry, Tony knew it, he
could feel it, but that didn't stop him from screaming and twisting to try to
escape his father's grip. Nothing to do. Howard dropped him on the couch in the
living room and pointed a threatening finger at him.
"You don't move or you'll regret it. I've had enough of your little childish
crisis. You're eight, start acting like your age and not like a baby."
He clearly hadn't expected his son to react like that. With a heartbreaking
sob, Tony jumped on his feet and ran away, screaming:
"I HATE YOU!"
He ran past his father who, too shocked, didn't even move, then downstairs and
straight to the workshop. There was that machine his father had been working on
while talking about 'going back'. Without thinking, the little boy ran towards
it, opened what looked like a door and sat in the machine, closing the door to
be in the dark. The cool metal against his skin, Tony curled into a ball and
cried, cried again and again, sobbing like the child he still was because all
of this was just too much to handle. You can't pretend to be alright when your
own daddy doesn't give a fuck about you. You can't. He had no idea how long he
stayed in there. 
But when Howard finally went to the workshop, thinking that maybe his son might
be there, he never found him. Not in the machine, and not anywhere else.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Tony had no idea where he was. He could hear some noises, but nothing like what
he was used to. He could swear he was not in his house even though it was too
dark for him to see anything. He could only tell that it was raining and that
he was probably outside, but where? He didn't know. He could not even recall
how he had ended up here; he didn't remember standing up and walking at all.
Blinking a few times and waiting to let his eyes adjust to the darkness, he
tried to define his environment by touch. There was a brick wall behind him,
cold and wet. Definitely outside. There must be something above him blocking
both rain and light. In the silence, his own breath seemed more erratic and
messy and for a moment, his lower lip trembling, he really felt like crying
again. He could notice dark forms now. Shadows and contours that only gave him
goosebumps, and he wished he could just go back to the total blindness where,
at least, harmless objects couldn't scare him that much. 
He gently tried to stand up, using the wall to do so, then risked a tentative
step towards a faint source of light, barely noticeable, not so far away. The
moment later, he bumped directly into something, something that immediately
spun to face him without warning, hands outstretched in his direction in a way
to try and figure out by touch who or what had run into him. The only sight of
that gave Tony a full body shiver and without thinking further, he started to
scream at the top of his lungs. Soon enough, the creature was screaming too
with a young, masculine voice similar to his. They kept going like that for a
few seconds before they abruptly stopped, both noticing pretty much at the same
time that the other wasn't some bloodthirsty creature. Tony stood there,
panting, shaking, his own arms closed around him, looking at the form of a
little boy standing in front of him with that same look of faint terror on his
face. The other boy quickly regained composure, however, and soon Tony felt
cold fingers brushing against his arm.
"You're not supposed to be here!" a voice murmured.
That wasn't American accent, Tony noticed. He gulped and shook his head,
replying with sarcasm:
"Oh wow, I didn't know that, thanks for the information!"
The other boy snorted, frowning. 
"Rude."
Tony rolled his eyes, not very pleased with that young stranger. He wasn't in
good mood, and it wasn't his fault if he had the tendency to be a jerk when he
was pissed off.
"Where are--"
"Shhh!"
"But whe--"
"Sweet Jesus, SHHH!"
The boy had his hand over Tony's mouth in a split second, forcing him to remain
silent, and thereby stay still. Tony had no idea what they were doing, but soon
enough he felt the other drag him towards the light and after a minute they
were outside. I was indeed raining, but everything was also completely
different. The streets, the buildings, the cars ... Everything was completely
strange and looked so old, as if it was a city that hadn't followed the
evolution and the industrialization. Where were the Audis and the Roadsters and
why the hell were those people using horses and carriages? Tony didn't have
time to wonder about that any longer because the boy was already dragging him
again, and Tony focused on that brown-haired head running in from of him,
trying to follow the rhythm as good as he could. The other's hand was clasping
his with a warm and strong grip and, strangely, it felt good. Really good...
The child didn't stop before a good five minutes. When he finally slowed down,
it was to hastily open a door and hurry Tony inside. Once the door was closed,
he allowed himself to stop a few seconds to catch his breath, then without
looking at Tony, he ran upstairs and disappeared before Tony could react. The
little boy couldn't tell why, but he was reluctant at following that young man,
for whatever reason. He glanced around the small entrance, taking in the sight
of old furniture. Suddenly, a voice came from the adjacent room.
"Sherlock, is that you?"
Before he could answer anything, a woman appeared in the door frame and glanced
at him with a warm smile.
"Hiding from your brother again?"
Tony's eyebrows shot up and he cast a quick glance behind him to see if there
was anybody else there, but he was all alone in front of that woman and she
clearly seemed to be talking to him. Was she mad? She just looked as if she
knew him pretty well, which was impossible, for he was seeing her for the first
time in his life.
"Sherlock, what are you wearing my poor child?! You shouldn't wander around
dressed like that, I have never seen something that foolish! Oh, and you're all
wet, you should go and change before you catch a cold!"
And with that, she went back to what Tony identified as the kitchen, leaving
him alone again, alone and a little bemused. Shaking his head, he slowly took a
step towards the stairs, then climbed them as fast as he could to catch up with
that weird little boy before the mad woman could change her mind and come back
for him. Maybe he was just dreaming... She had called him Sherlock. I had felt
good, just like in his best dreams. Only, they weren't actually that strange.
No weird boy, no weird house and no weird woman. Just him, saving the world and
fighting against jerks like his father. Maybe it still was a very peculiar
dream. However, he was wet from the outside and that feeling was strangely real
enough! 
He soon noticed that he wasn't the only one uncomfortable in his wet clothes.
Tony found the other boy in a matter of seconds and the first thing he saw was
that he had taken his shirt off and was wandering around in black pants. Even
if he had his back turned to Tony, the boy could still see that he was wearing
straps, black ones, and that made him chuckle.
"Nobody wears straps anymore!" he mocked him with a broad smile. 
That was enough to make the other go still. Tony could see his body tense, then
he spun around to give him the dirtiest look ... but froze as his eyes went
wide. Tony's jaw actually dropped as he sported the same expression, eyes
growing bigger with shock. 
 
It was like looking at himself in the mirror. From the brown hair to the big
brown eyes gleaming with that sparkle of intelligence, everything in the face
of the boy was almost exactly the same as the features Tony saw in the back of
his spoon when eating his cereals in the morning, or in the mirror at night
when he was brushing his teeth. This boy looked just like him. The resemblance
was stunning. 
"Wow ..." was the only answer he managed. The other, however, seemed to again
regain composure faster than him.
"Who are you?"
"Tony."
"Tony?"
"... Tony Stark."
There was a moment of silence. Then:
"Who are you, really?"
"I said my name was Tony, you stupid--"
"Rude. Again."
"Stop it!"
What a good start ... Tony sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
"Anthony Edward Stark. That's my name."
"And you prefer Tony."
The other boy quirked an eyebrow at him, his piercing gaze studying
him thoroughly. After a moment, he took a few steps towards Tony until he was
close enough to touch him if he extended his arm. He seemed reluctant, but at
least he looked like he finally trusted him. Sweet Jesus, Tony didn't know that
telling his name to someone would one day be that hard!
"And you are ...?" He finally asked.
"Sherlock."
Ah. AH! That all made sense then. That woman, calling him Sherlock, mistaking
him for someone else. He now understood why... They looked practically
identical. 
"Sherlock. I love it! Sherlock, as in Sherlock Holmes... That's a nice name to
have."
The boy went still again, except for his hand that had grabbed Tony's wrist.
Fingers were tightening their hold with every second, but Sherlock didn't seem
to notice and stared right at Tony.
"What did you just say?"
"What? That I love your name? Or ... Oh. Sherlock Holmes? Oh, it's okay if you
don't know about him, they're very big books and even I can't read them alone.
My mother does it for me."
Tony pressed his thumb between the boy's eyes, gently rubbing at the skin.
"Stop frowning like that. I have no idea where I am right now, but when I find
my way back home, I can grab one of the books for you to read," he willingly
offered. It was great to have human contact like that, especially with a boy
his age.
Sherlock barely nodded and didn't ask any more question. He simply released
Tony's wrist, his face flushing when he noticed just how hard he had held it,
by the slightly red marks his fingers had left. They stopped talking for a
long, long moment. Tony didn't know exactly how much time had passed, but the
room was getting darker and he was starting to shiver in his still damp
clothes. That's when he walked to Sherlock, who had been sitting in an armchair
for the past hour. They hadn't asked any questions even though they both had a
lot. Tony was still wondering where he was and why everything in the street had
seemed so old and strange. As for Sherlock, we all believe that it must be
awkward to hear a pure stranger say your full name randomly, but without
seeming to know you. Only, neither of them found the strength to ask. The boy
raised his head to look at Tony when he stopped right beside the chair.
"Are you gonna stay here?"
"For a few days probably. Why?"
"It doesn't disturb the woman downstairs?"
"Mrs. Hudson? She doesn't mind. It's not the first time."
If he noticed the way Tony reacted to that name, he didn't mention it. Tony
then shook his head:
"What about your mommy and daddy?"
"They don't care."
Thee was a silence, then Tony shrugged
"My dad probably doesn't care either. Can I.... Can I stay with you? For the
night?"
Sherlock looked at him, then at his clothes, then back to his face and he
frowned. Standing up, he gestured towards Tony as if to tell him to strip, and
started to do the same thing. He was unfastening his trousers right there, in
front of Tony, with apparently no shame. The boy found himself watching maybe a
little too closely and once he noticed, he quickly turned away and started
taking off his clothes, face flushed. The idea of being half-naked with another
boy felt strange, and he didn't even understand what was to point, but he was
doing it anyway. Once he was only in his underwear, he turned slowly to face
Sherlock. They both stood there, only slightly covered by their underwear,
awkwardly looking at each other. Then, Tony felt the other boy take his hand
and followed him towards a bedroom. He climbed on the bed when Sherlock did so
and tug himself under the warm, soft blankets, his back turned to the boy. They
lay like that for a couple of minutes, then Sherlock spoke:
"You're shivering."
"I'm cold."
It was a lie, but Sherlock didn't need to know. What Tony hadn't expected was
that the boy would then come closer to him to share some human warmth. He felt
Sherlock cuddle his back, put an arm around him, and just like that, they were
spooning, two little boys sharing body heat in the big bed, two lost souls who,
without saying it, were both enjoying this moment of closeness. They barely
knew each other, but they already felt at ease somehow, and in Sherlock's arms,
Tony felt at home.
~~~~~
 
"Are you okay Tony?"
It was the first time he used Tony's name and it only made the boy shudder more
violently. He didn't understand the question at first, then noticed that he no
longer had any control over his own body. He was shivered and tears were
running down his cheeks uncontrollably. Nevertheless, he tried his best to nod,
to tell Sherlock that he was fine. Except that he wasn't and that Sherlock was
all but stupid enough to believe him. Tony tried to resist when the other
gently grabbed him by the shoulders to turn him on his other side, but finally
gave up and faced the boy, his breath coming in little sobbing pants. 
"You okay?" Sherlock repeated, in his lovely accent that Tony loved so much-
- in secret, of course he would never admit it! 
The concern in the boy's voice was so raw and strong that Tony simply broke
down.
"I-I-I have no idea where I am ... and my daddy doesn't love me, and I told him
I hated him, and I just ran away and then I ended up here and now they'll be
angry at me and I don't want them to take my books away, or-or-or any of my
stuff, and I don't want them to lock me in my room and--"
"Shhhh..."
"--And my daddy will drink that thing again and he will scream, and my mom will
scream too and--"
He abruptly stopped when he felt warm fingers pressed against his lips. His
huge brown eyes filled with tears, he stared into Sherlock's ones, wanting
nothing else but to drown in their pools. With a strangled sob, he darted his
tongue out and licked at the boy's palm. Sherlock didn't push back, didn't
scream at him. He simply smiled, the first one since Tony had met him, and it
was warm and comforting. Tony let his new friend-- could he call him like that?
--gently wipe away the tears on his face and then moved closer to him. 
"It's gonna be alright. It's early now, we can sleep more and find your house
later."
"I-I don't wanna go back..." Tony murmured softly. 
He knew he looked pretty undecided, but he wasn't sure he could face his father
and endure more fighting. He couldn't bear it anymore. Sherlock did not comment
his attitude and shrugged slightly.
"You don't have too. I spend most of my own time away from home..."
"Could I say with you?"
 He hadn't meant to sound that hopeless, but it was too late now. If anything,
it only touched Sherlock and he patted Tony's cheek.
"I guess so. For a little while."
Tony didn't need more than that. A while, he had no idea exactly how much time
it meant, but he decided at that very moment that he would do everything to
show Sherlock that he was fun to be with and that he was worth it. He would
show him just how great he was and Sherlock would never want him to leave after
that. Oh yes. Just watch him. Maybe his dad didn't care about him, maybe he had
screwed everything up with his family somehow, but now he had another chance to
get close to someone, to make a friend, and he planned on making it count. As
if to show the boy some affection, he started to stroke his dark curls in a
little naive, tender way. Sherlock tensed at first, then melted into the touch
and a soft purr escaped his lips. It made Tony chuckle and he kept petting the
boy's head until Sherlock's eyes closed by themselves and he buried his face in
Tony's neck. He only stopped when he finally fell asleep again.
~~~~~
 
 When he woke up, he was all alone in the bed. He gently rubbed his eyes and
looked around him, sitting in the bed. He repressed a shudder and got out of
bed, suddenly noticing some music coming from the adjacent room. Attracted by
it, he walked on tiptoes towards the room and stopped in the door frame,
looking at a still half-naked Sherlock who was playing the violin. His attempt
to be discreet was not conclusive since Sherlock stopped playing immediately
and turned to him. His piercing gaze studied Tony's face for a moment before he
spoke:
"What's that thing in your right pocket?"
Tony's first reflex was to search for the said pocket, but being in his
underwear, of course he couldn't find one. Confusion could be read on his
sleepy face. Just give him a minute, he had just woken up and he needed some
time to be fully functional. Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently and gestured
towards Tony's discarded pants on the floor. The boy walked to them and fumbled
in his pocket, picking up his cell phone and looking at it a moment before
turning to Sherlock. His curious eyes were glued to the device as if he didn't
understand at all what it was supposed to be, but found it utterly interesting.
He had even left his violin on the armchair and had taken a few steps forward.
"That? It's my phone. Well, my daddy's one. He doesn't know I took it..."
"That isn't a phone."
"Yes it is."
"Not it's not. It can't be."
Tony frowned. He didn't like the little self-sufficient tone Sherlock could use
when he was certain of something, even though Tony knew that he wasn't right.
Just like now. It really was a cell phone, but Sherlock was arguing with him as
if he knew better, and that could only annoy Tony. With a frown, he took the
few steps left between them and held the device in front of the stunned boy's
face.
"You've never seen a cell phone before?! It's the brand new one! You stupid or
what?"
Sherlock grabbed his wrist, frowning too now.
"Don't call me stupid." His voice was low, threatening, but Tony simply
laughed, completely oblivious to the danger.
He should have known better than doing that. He didn't see it coming at all,
but suddenly Sherlock moved, and Tony barely had time to feel his feet leave
the ground before he violently fell on his back, Sherlock's body weight
crushing him hard. All the air escaped his lungs at once and he gasped as he
felt his eyes water, coughing and trying to breathe in some air. That boy was a
total freak! One does not simply hit people like that and crush them to the
ground! He struggled violently, trying to kick Holmes with his feet, but then
the boy was straddling him and Tony could not move anymore, his hands pinned
above his head, panting heavily. Sherlock leaned closer.
"Say you're sorry."
"Never!" spat Tony with arrogance.
They looked defiantly at each other, Sherlock's grip tightening on Tony's
wrists until the boy let out a pained mewl and threw his body forward,
unbalancing Sherlock who fell backwards, pulling the other boy with him because
he never let go of his wrists. They bumped their head and it's in a concert of
grunting that they noticed the phone that had fallen on the floor a little
further. They stopped fighting for a good five seconds where they just stared
at the device, then they both jumped and crawled on the floor, pushing each
other, trying to get on their knees and be the first to get to the cell phone.
It was Sherlock who finally grabbed it and Tony clung to him, whining with a
little pout.
"Don't break it! Or my daddy will kill me..."
"I won't! Stop pulling at my pants!"
"I do what I want! Give my phone back!"
When Sherlock didn't seem to be willing to give him the phone, Tony simply
pulled his pants down and heard him gaps with surprise. Taking advantage of the
moment when Sherlock tried to catch his pants and pull them up, he snatched the
phone from him and got on his feet, running to the corner of the room and
sitting there with his back to the wall. For a while, neither of them moved,
only glancing at each other with anger, then it faded away when they both
admitted to themselves that it was childish and stupid to be angry for that.
After a moment, Tony slowly stood up and walked to Sherlock. He sat next to him
in the middle of the room and gently leaned on his shoulder, showing him the
phone.
"Here. I'll show you."
He spent half an hour explaining the phone to a stunned yet amazed Sherlock,
whose eyes were big and curious and stared right at the device almost without
blinking. He seemed fascinated and kept saying he had never seen such a thing,
which Tony found weird because who has never seen a cell phone in his life?
When he was done, Sherlock gulped and murmured:
"When are you from, Tony?"
The question surprised the boy with its weird formulation.
"When?"
"Yes. When. The date."
"What was yesterday's date?"
Sherlock nodded, watching him curiously.
"Uh... April fourth?"
"Of what year?"
"2000."
 Sherlock's eyes grew bigger as he peered at Tony. He then shook his head.
"What were you talking about, the, uh, the books? What was it already?"
"Sherlock Holmes? Oh. They're great! My mommy reads them to me 'cause they're
too big and it's really hard for me, but I love them so much! There is that
detective, and he lives in 221B Baker Street and there is that woman, Mrs.
Hudson, and it's funny because your name is Sherlock and that woman downstairs,
you said she was named Mrs. Hudson and--"
"I'm Sherlock Holmes," the boy cut Tony off before he could keep babbling some
more.
There was a long pause, then Tony smiled.
"Sure..." he replied, clearly not believing him.
Sherlock didn't even crack a smile and kept looking intensely at Tony. The boy
gulped and stared a little more. Sherlock looked dead serious. It was
impossible, Sherlock Holmes was a book character, he wasn't even real, and even
if he were, he would now be dead! But then, Tony frowned and started thinking
about it. The horses and the carriages. The fact that he had no idea where he
was or how he had ended up there. The British accent. The woman downstairs. The
name itself... Sherlock Holmes ... 
"221B Baker Street you said? It's right here."
"It's impossible. You should be older."
"Well clearly, I should be dead... 2000 is pretty far from the year I was born,
I don't think I could live that long."
He could see that Tony was starting to freak out. There was that understanding
look in his eyes, as if he now knew exactly what was happening, but didn't want
to admit it. Sherlock sighed and got closer to him, pulling him into a hug.
"I think, Tony ... That you are from the future."
With a finger, he caressed Tony's trembling chin and the boy shivered. 
"In what year are we?"
"1862"
"Daddy will kill me..." Tony murmured, fighting back his tears.
"How did you end up here?"
"I-I-I don't know, I just ... There was that machine, and I sat in there
and...."
Tony stopped himself, his eyes going wide when he understood what had happened.
He had time traveled. His father's machine could make people travel in time.
And clearly, he was now in the past, with no idea what to do to go back home.
The simple thought made him want to cry. Worse than being neglected by your own
parents, there was being completely stuck all alone in another age, in another
country... 
"Sherlock ... What am I gonna do?"
"I don't know, Tony ... I don't know ..."
"You'll take care of me, right?"
"What? Me?"
"I love you! You're the best, you're strong and so brave and intelligent ..."
"But I'm only ten!!"
Tony looked at him and decided to leave him no chance. Giving it his best shot,
he gave Sherlock the cutest puppy eyes he could, with a little pout. Sherlock
barely gave him a look, biting at his lower lip with a slight annoyance,
knowing that he would give up, that he could not say no to that cute little
mess. A smile slowly stretched Tony's lips and he hugged Sherlock briefly
before standing up.
"I'm hungry."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up. He looked at Tony, then at the discarded
clothes on the floor, and shook his head.
"You can't wear them anymore. They're weird, people will stare at you. You can
borrow my clothes."
He took Tony's hand and went back into the bedroom with him. He always kept
some clothes here, for he was spending so much time in this flat with Mrs.
Hudson's consent that he needed them sometimes. He started to fumble for
trousers and a shirt. 
"Can I keep my underwear?"
Sherlock turned to cast a glance at Tony and his Captain America boxers. He
then shook his head and threw a pair of underwear along with a pair of trousers
to the little boy who frowned at the sight of braces. With a sight, Tony took
his own boxers off to put on Sherlock's ones. He soon shifted uncomfortably.
"I don't like it! It tickles my balls..."
Sherlock yelped at that word and shot Tony a weird, slightly shocked and
insulted glare. That only made the boy chuckled a little bit and he shoved his
hand in his underwear.
"It's true, no kidding! I hate it! Mine is smoother, it doesn't scratch my
weenie..."
Sherlock's eyes grew bigger.
"Stop saying that!"
"What? Weenie? Balls?"
Tony chuckled again when Sherlock just clapped his hands over his ears and gave
him a murderous glare. So bashful ... Tony just couldn't believe it. He didn't
see anything wrong with talking about his privates, but his new friend seemed
to think otherwise.
"Just put your trousers on," Sherlock growled as he turned to fumble for a
shirt. 
Tony shrugged and turned his back to the boy, his hand still rubbing at his
private parts because really, the fabric of the underwear itched a freaking
lot. Suddenly, his thumb brushed against a really sensitive part and he gasped
uncontrollably, his eyes instantly growing bigger. He turned to face Sherlock
with bright eyes.
"Woah! You should really try that! It feels funny!"
"Try what?" was the only answer he got.
Sherlock didn't even bother to turn and look at him. He kept looking for a
clean shirt to lend to Tony, barely listening to him and clearly not in the
mood for another comment about balls. Tony smiled innocently and stepped
forward. Instead of explaining with words, he decided just like that to show
him exactly what to do and let him see for himself what it felt like. Funny,
but good. With no ulterior motive, he shoved his hand in Sherlock's trousers
and the tip of his fingers wrapped around the head of his cock. Sherlock gasped
instantly and tried to push him away, his heartbeat increasing in a split
second to become frantic. 
"S-S-Stop it!" he snapped, and Tony looked at him with shock. 
He then pouted and walked to the middle of the room, where he sat on the floor
with his underwear at knee-level. 
"You're not fun! You're boring."
"Tony! This isn't about fun ... Just behave yourself, you don't show your
privates to people like that! Your mommy must have told you that, mine sure
did! Dear Lord, stop playing with your--"
"Weenie?"
"UGH! What is wrong with people in the future!?" 
Tony flashed him a sympathetic smile and patted the carpet beside him. With a
loud, deep sigh, Sherlock walked to him and sat beside Tony, not even knowing
why he had done it. He should have run away, or at least found that stupid
shirt so Tony could get dressed and they could go eat something. Instead, there
he was, sitting next to an almost completely naked boy, himself only wearing
pants and undergarments. 
"Lemme show you again, I tell you it's funny!"
"My mommy wouldn't want that."
"My parents wouldn't be happy either... But they won't know."
He kicked his underwear off and gently tugged at Sherlock's trousers with a
smile. Sherlock rolled his eyes and took them off, his movements excessively
slow. He let Tony pull his underwear down, but then grabbed his wrist and gave
him an uncertain look.
"This is not right..."
"Who cares? Nobody will tell my daddy, and nobody will tell yours. Nobody will
punish us for that..."
"Mrs. Hudson could walk on us."
"It won't be long, I promise! Just a little bit, please, Sherly..."
The nickname had its effect on Sherlock. He blushed slightly under Tony's warm
smile and slowly released his wrist. The younger boy started to rub his thumb
on the head of his own prick in small circular movements, but then frowned and
stopped a moment to put the said thumb into his mouth. He coated it with saliva
and started rubbing it again, slick and sloppy, the rub of skin against skin
made easier by the lubricating provided. He seemed initially focused, biting
the tip of his tongue under Sherlock's watchful eyes. Suddenly, a burst of
feelings took him by surprise and a strangled gasp escaped his lips. Soon, his
breath was coming in little pants and Sherlock realized his own breathing was
uneven. What was between his legs seemed to enjoy the view, as it was now hard
and pressed against his stomach. The feeling was strange and he didn't fully
understand it, but when Tony rolled on his back and closed his eyes with a
smile, he could only agree that it looked fun. They both ended up lying side by
side on the carpet, stroking themselves as best as they could for young first
timers. The pleasure was building at a quick pace and Tony was the first to
start to whimper, one of his hands clasping Sherlock's arm at the overwhelming
feeling. He looked almost frightened for a moment, then threw his head back
with a cry and stilled his hand, breathing heavy, eyes closed.
When he found the strength to open his eyes and look at Sherlock, he noticed
that the boy had stopped moving and was looking at him with his big brown eyes.
"Does it hurt?"
Tony simply laughed and shook his head.
"Keep going."
Sherlock nodded and did like he was told. It didn't take him much time to feel
it building in his stomach, the heat, the pleasure, incredible feeling that
made his whole body shiver. He bucked his hips uncontrollably and with a barely
stifled moan, he reached his orgasm. Tony's eyes were glued to him and his
eyebrows instantly shot up at the sight of that tiny white spurt that painted
Sherlock's stomach right after his cry. He knelt beside the boy and tried to
touch it with the tip of his forefinger. Hot and sticky. Weird. Where did that
come from? 
When Sherlock noticed, he looked at it with surprise and slowly spread it over
his stomach with a finger. They were both wondering why there was that sticky
mess on Sherlock and nothing on Tony, but neither of them said a word about it.
Finally, Tony was the first to speak:
"Well, that was fun, right?"
Sherlock growled and wiped the unknown substance off his stomach with his
fingers, then rubbed them on the carpet. He then stood up and got dressed,
threw a shirt towards a laughing Tony and declared:
"Get dressed. I'm hungry."
~~~~~~
 
OK, so Sherlock was mad at him. He had stopped talking to him since that
incident, but Tony wasn't giving up. He knew that somehow, Sherlock was just
too bashful, too prude to admit that he had done such a thing with another
little boy. Tony had understood that it was because of the time ... They were
not in 2000 and people were not as open as they were in Tony's time. He could
understand that, of course, so he had stopped talking about balls just for
Sherlock. The boy still wasn't talking to him after a few days, only
speaking when strictly necessary, but Tony knew it was just misplaced pride, he
could be exactly like that himself sometimes. Sometimes, Sherlock had left him
for a few hours to go and show a sign of life to his family, but always came
back at least for the night. It was OK with Tony, as long as he wasn't obliged
to sleep alone. It had been a few days now, he still was in the past, Sherlock
was still kind of angry at him and well ... To say frankly, Tony was a little
lost in all of this. That night, Tony tried to buy peace. Before they went to
bed, he went to sit beside Sherlock and simply put his arms around him in a
tight, warm hug. He didn't say anything, just held the boy against him until
Sherlock leaned into the touch and hugged him back. 
"I'm sorry..." Tony finally murmured.
Sherlock shook his head and didn't respond, but he didn't break the hug until
late, when they both decided that they had to go to bed.
They lay in the same bed as usual, their back turned to each other. Tony had
hoped they would cuddle; he could really use a warm, reassuring, protective
presence against him. He had a little trouble sleeping and could spend most of
the night awake, in the dark, lying still and silent and waiting for the
morning to come. Yes, he was scared. So scared that his daddy would find out,
that he would one day have to go back and that his parents would be awfully
angry at him. Tony had no idea what he was doing here right now and even
though, during the day, Sherlock was there with him ... At night he felt
alone. Forgotten, neglected and so lonely. He never told Sherlock. He was being
strong, because Sherlock was and he wanted to be just like him. In the darkness
of the room, however, he just couldn't. He had trouble falling asleep again,
that night. It was worse since Sherlock had stopped talking to him. Another
relationship that he had messed up. He was really bad at this ...
 
A few hours later, Sherlock woke up to a warm yet wet feeling under the
blankets. He frowned and turned slightly, listening to the ragged breathing
coming from behind him. After a sob or two coming from the little boy lying
beside him, Sherlock turned around and sat in the bed, leaning over Tony and
pressing a warm hand to the boy's hip. 
"Tony?"
He got no answer. Tony seemed to be asleep, but he was shivering and tears were
running down his cheeks. Sherlock soon understood where the warmth and the
dampness of the bed came from and he swallowed with difficulty, running his
hand in a comforting way on Tony's back.
"Tony ..." he repeated, trying to wake him up from what must be a really bad
nightmare.
It took him a good minute to wake Tony. As soon as the boy felt his wet
underwear, he started to cry even more and tried to escape Sherlock's grip. He
looked like a scared little animal. His brown eyes huge and filled with tears,
looking at the boy without seeing him, trying to scream even though he
couldn't, he couldn't because he was sobbing so hard he could barely catch his
breath. 
"Tony... Shhh Tony it's me, it's fine ... I'm here..."
Tony looked panicked and Sherlock had no idea what to do. He was bad at
relationships. There was something evolving between Tony and him, some kind of
fragile friendship, and Sherlock was finding out he actually cared about the
other boy and liked him a lot more than he intended to. It was the closer he
had ever become to someone and he still was so uncertain of what to do... He
didn't want to lose Tony, that was the only thing he knew. He wanted to take
care of him and protect him and keep him by his side forever, because it felt
right to have him there. It didn't feel wrong to have him around, to eat with
him, share a bed and also share his clothes with him. It should have, but it
didn't. And now, it was too late, and he could not bear the idea of Tony being
so scared and sad. 
Sherlock pushed the sheets and reacted fast enough to grab Tony's wrists when
the boy squirmed with a shriek and tried to pull them over himself again. Then,
summoning all his courage, he let his free hand brush between Tony's legs. With
a strangled cry, the boy stilled and his pupils dilated in an instant,
swallowing the gorgeous brown of his irises. He stared blankly at Sherlock when
he started to rub gently, his fingers cupping him through the fabric of the
underwear. Sherlock didn't seem to mind the wetness of the piece of clothing.
He had Tony calm down under his touch in a minute, the boy's mind too busy
focusing on the pleasure building in the pit of his stomach and the warmth
slowly becoming heat and invading his lower belly. However, Sherlock felt like
he couldn't stop right there, he couldn't leave Tony without finishing what he
had just started. So he kept going, moving his hand at a quick pace, and found
himself enjoying the little pants escaping Tony's mouth, the way his hips
involuntarily bucked up to meet his hand, which he pressed harder in response
to give even more friction. Soon enough, Tony squirmed under him, trying to
free his wrists from Sherlock's grip, but the boy wouldn't let go and Tony
ended up shaking and biting his lips to contain himself. It was too much. He
couldn't bear it anymore.
"Coming, Sherly, its ... I feel it, Sherly, I feel it..." he suddenly gasped
and Sherlock gave his clothed member a few last strokes before the boy arched a
little from the bed with a moan then fell back and lay there calmly, trying to
catch his breath. 
That's when Sherlock released him and got out of bed. He went to stand beside
Tony and slowly put his arms around him, trying to convince him to stand up and
come with him.
"We will clean you up, Tony, make an effort..." 
"I don't wannaaaa..." Tony growled softly, but Sherlock insisted and finally
the boy stood up and leaned on his friend, letting Sherlock drag him towards
the bathroom. 
Somehow, Sherlock managed to prepare a warm bath for Tony while holding him
with an arm around his waist the whole time. Tony's lack of real, good sleep
wasn't helping at all and he was almost falling asleep right there on Sherlock.
He still stepped into the bath after removing his underwear and sat in the hot
water with a sigh.
"I'm sorry ..." he murmured.
"You don't have to be. It happens to everybody."
"I'm sorry for everything," Tony repeated, his eyes fluttering open to glance
calmly at Sherlock.
The boy glared at him for a while, his eyes expressing unmatched tenderness. A
smile then slowly stretched his lips and he started to rub gently at Tony's
skin with a damp cloth, the soap lathering on the soft olive skin. Tony took it
as a sign that it was now forgotten. He smiled in turn and closed his eyes
again under Sherlock's touch. It felt nice...
"Stay with me Tony..." Sherlock warned after a moment, brushing his fingers
against his cheek to wake him up.
Tony forced his eyes open and sleepily stared at Sherlock for the rest of the
bath. Once Sherlock was done washing him, he helped him out of the now tepid
water and wrapped a towel around him. In the dim light, he hugged the younger
boy tightly and petted his wild brown hair. He wasn't exactly sure why Tony had
exploded like that, but he was inclined to believe that he had a few troubles
at home. With his father. Tony looked like he needed a whole lot of affection,
constant attention. He needed to feel alive, to have someone love him. And yet,
Sherlock, without thinking, had ignored him for a few days... It was a huge
mistake. He had been so stupid... 
They didn't change the bed; they were both too tired for that. Instead, they
went to cuddle on an armchair, pressed against each other. Tony had never slept
so well...
~~~~~~~
 
"Are you sure he went this way?"
Tony was getting tired of running after who knows what. Sherlock was way
too enthusiastic for his own good and kept mumbling to himself in a fast,
excited tone. And of course, he was running and guiding Tony all the way
through London. 
"Who?"
"The guy with the funny waistcoat."
"Oh. We stopped following him half an hour ago," Sherlock commented lightly as
he pressed his body to a wall.
Tony mimicked the movement even though his jaw had dropped and now he was
totally lost. What were they doing then?! That made no sense! He was sick of
it! Sherlock wasn't answering his questions most of the time, but was fast to
complain about the fact that he was too noisy, too slow, or not careful
enough... With a sigh, Tony stopped trying to understand what they were doing
and simply followed Sherlock again and again, until finally, by the end of the
day, Sherlock stopped and turned to him with a content smile.
"You did great today. Better than last week. I found what I needed, we can head
back home."
Tony rolled his eyes and didn't even bother to ask what it was exactly that
Sherlock was looking for. He didn't need to know, didn't want to hear about it
again. He was exhausted and it was more than what his little body could bear.
He just wanted to bath and sleep. At this point, he didn't even mind the mud
covering his clothes or the way his hair was extremely disheveled, even more
than usual. Sherlock looked just like him. If someone had paid attention, twins
could have been seen walking around London in stained clothes, one way happier
than the other, who looked grumpy and dragged his feet with displeasure.
"Hey, Tony!"
"Yup?"
Sherlock didn't even react at that. He was getting used to Tony's language just
as Tony was getting used to the eccentric habits of his new friend. Future
detective, he kept reminding himself. He knew a lot about the older Sherlock
and that helped him understand the sometimes odd behavior of the boy. 
"I'm glad you're here," Sherlock merely blurted out.
The boy raised his head and glanced at the older boy. He then smiled and
elbowed him playfully. Sherlock returned the blow and, to Tony's great
pleasure, he laughed. For the first time since Tony was there, he laughed. It
was cute and adorable and almost shy, and Tony started to chuckle as he took
Sherlock's hand and held it tight.
"And I'm glad to be here. I ... I never really had a friend like that before, I
mean, I don't really have friends at all you know, and ... And now you're
there, and I'm happy.
Sherlock squeezed his hand gently and smiled at him. Suddenly, this beautiful
smile faded away and he frowned slightly. There was a disconcerting sadness in
his brown eyes that made Tony's heart sink. 
"But you won't stay..."
He was right. Tony couldn't stay here, with Sherlock, forever. He wasn't sure
how exactly he could go back to his own time, he didn't know if the change was
permanent or not, but he felt like one day he would have to leave. He couldn't
possibly be stuck here forever. His father would probably find a way to bring
him back, or something like that would happen... They both knew that, they were
both brilliant after all. They just had no idea when it would happen, but it
would. Some day it would. And this mere idea left them both devastated. Tony
didn't reply and bit at his lower lip, squeezing back on Sherlock's hand. The
rest of the walk to Baker Street was in complete silence. 
Mrs. Hudson had prepared something for them when they arrived. They had told
her that Tony was Sherlock's cousin, invented a story about how he was in visit
for a while and yes it was amazing just how much they looked alike, they
already knew that. She had seemed to believe them without asking questions.
They ate with her that night, Sherlock talking about that day they had spent in
London while Tony listened carefully, finally understanding what they had been
doing. Which was totally pointless, and he could hardly believe that Sherlock
and he had spent a whole day running through London just for that. That'll
teach him not to believe Sherlock and follow him blindly again!
Sherlock played the violin for him that night, before they went to bed. When
they snuggled in the bed, later, Sherlock did something that sent a warm
feeling through Tony's whole body. He pressed his mouth to Tony's cheek, almost
at the corner of his lips, gentle and chaste peek, before burying his face in
his neck. He breathed in the smell of the young boy, declaring:
"I love you, Tony. Promise me that you'll never forget me, no matter what
happens."
It was as if he knew something that Tony wasn't aware of. Those were pretty sad
thoughts, but if Sherlock needed that to feel better... 
"I promise..." he whispered softly. "I love you too, Sherly."
Sherlock never let go of this strong hold. It was fine with Tony. He could
totally sleep like that. Pressing Sherlock's body closer to his, he closed his
eyes and drifted to sleep.
~~~~~~
 
When Sherlock woke up the next morning, he was all alone in bed, curled up in
an awkward position. He slowly stretched and looked around him. Tony's clothes
and shoes were still where he had left them last night and when he held his
breath, all he could hear was the silence. Sherlock stood up and walked around
in the flat, noticing that nothing had changed at all. Everything was exactly
at the same place as yesterday. The boy could already feel something tighten in
his chest as he fully realized what had happened. He would not cry, HE WOULD
NOT. He was better than that. He would not...
Hastily, he put on his clothes and ran down the stairs. He almost ran into Mrs.
Hudson who cast him a surprised look when she saw the hot tears running down
the boy's face.
"Sherlock? You're not with your cousin? Sherlock, what happened?"
"He's gone," Sherlock snapped a little harder that he wanted to and in a split
second he was outside, slamming the door behind him. 
 
~~~~~~
 
Dark.
It was all dark again. Only this time, there was a familiar light in all this
darkness. 
Tony was lying on the grass. He could hear the crickets and noises of cars and
low chatting. It wasn't like the first time. He had the feeling he knew where
he was, as everything seemed familiar. When he stood up to look around him, he
noticed with shock that he was in the backyard of his own house. The lights
were on and he could see a hint of the living room throught one of the windows.
At this very moment, he wasn't sure exactly if he was happy or sad, as he
understood that he was back home in his own time. 
He walked to the door and reached for the handle. The moment he opened it, he
heard voices coming from the living room.
"But what did you tell him!?" That was his mother.
"I just told him to stop disturbing me while I was working! I don't know why he
reacted like that!" And that was his father. Both talking loudly, on the verge
of screaming.
"It's been two days, Howard, two days!"
"We will find him, Maria... The police his looking for him too... We will find
him." His father's voice was now calmer, as if he was trying to reassure his
wife.
Tony couldn't bear it anymore. He didn't care that he was only wearing an
underwear or that his hair were all disheveled. He chose that moment to close
the door behind him and show up in the living room. It took a few seconds for
the two adults to notice his presence, but then his mother was on him and he
was being held and hugged and a hand was petting his hair and even his father's
rough hand was rubbing his back. He couldn't help but start crying as the
feeling he was so often craving for overwhelmed him completely : Love. For
once, he felt important. He felt as if his parents cared about him, as if even
his father had suffered from his absence. In between sobs, he threw an arm
around his mother and grinned through his tears:
"I met him, mommy... I met him."
Chapter End Notes
     I'm sorry, I know Tony was not eight years old in 2000, I know I kind
     of played with the time and changed the dates and stuff, but you
     don't mind, do you ? ^^
     I really hope you enjoy this chapter :)
     Thank you for reading! Feedback always appreciated!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
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