Work Text:
“Don’t, Sherlock.”
The rattle of a jar being taken from the shelf.
“Last time it spilled. Here.”
Metal top hitting the floor. Her little brother never did play carefully, but his toys were always put away perfectly.
“If you take too much I don’t know how to explain it. Just be careful. Where were you yesterday? I was worried.”
Harry listened while the one-sided conversation went on, stood outside her baby brother’s door, getting more worried.
“I know she’s listening. She won’t leave, though.” Harry thought her heart would stop at the strangely somber sound of her little brother calling her out but never addressing her. Usually the little seven year old would call out to her, even when she was mean to him. Her hand was shaking when she actually reached for the door, and she steadied herself against the wood for a moment.
Finally, she opened the door and looked in.
John was just sitting there, legs dangling over the side of his bed with his pajama bottoms rolled up to his knees like he was at a lake. His jar with the marbles he’d been collecting was sitting on the floor, the top screwed off and just tossed to the side like she’d known it would be, but none of the marbles were out of place.
“John? What are you up to? Who you talking to?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his feet swinging back and forth.
“Sherlock.” For one horrible moment, Harry couldn’t remember who or what a Sherlock was. Then, it hit her.
Nearly five months ago, before John’s birthday, he’d come to Harry too early on Sunday morning when she’d finally been off school and told her there was a monster under his bed. She’d thrown her stuffed bear at his head and told him off.
At the time, she hadn’t thought about it, because John hadn’t been scared. Little kids always had nightmares about creatures in the closet and in that dark space beneath their bed, there was nothing she’d call out of the ordinary about it, and he hadn’t spoken to her since. Harry tried to remember if she’d played any games for this long when she was her little brother’s age.
“You’re…talking to Sherlock?” John nodded, like he didn’t expect her to believe him.
“Yup. He came home today but mum wouldn’t let me come back to my room until I washed up and had dinner.”
Earlier that evening, John had gotten stroppy about eating with them. It hadn’t been odd to Harry, but she’d barely been paying attention because in her pocket was a note from Izzy and the box was checked ‘yes’ and what in the world would be more important than having lunch tomorrow with her first girlfriend?
“John, there’s nothing under your bed.” She tried to sound convincing, but the confused look John gave her was the one he used when he wondered why she was being mean to him, and for the first time she wondered if she should talk to mum and dad about this. “What? Monsters aren’t real, John. You shouldn’t even be up this late.”
Her chubby faced little brother looked down at his swaying feet. “You either. But you are. And Sherlock is real. Go away, Harry, we were playing.” But Harry didn’t budge. She was just staring at the darkness between John’s bed and the floor, a feeling in the pit of her stomach that something was wrong with what she was seeing, but she couldn’t quite place what.
Part of her wanted to run and get mum and dad. Part wanted to get John as far away from his bed as possible. Part wanted to just run and hide under her covers and hope that this just went away because there were other things that she wanted to be thinking about right now. “John, will you come sleep in my room?” She finally offered. The boy looked at her like she’d just given him her bike to play on after telling him he was too little since she got it for her thirteenth birthday the week before. “No.” He said quietly after a moment, and Harry’s eyes were drawn back to the darkness on the floor.
It had to be a trick of the light, she thought. The dark couldn’t be changing, it was just shadow where the light couldn’t reach.
When her stomach flipped over and she felt sick, Harry ran from the room. John didn’t seem afraid, he didn’t even seem worried—like he was more mad at her for interrupting him than anything.
It’s just a stupid little game by my stupid little brother, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers tight around her shoulders. I hope it eats him. Even though she was angry, Harry knew she was going to tell mum in the morning about what she’d seen.
There was no way this was normal.
_____
John giggled when he heard Harry’s door shut and slid down to the floor as quietly as he could. “I told you not to, Sherlock!”
The shadows shifted and pulled away from beneath his bed, slits of grey-blue shining as the head emerged from beneath the bedframe. “You wanted her to go away and you kept playing with my feet! It was really hard not to laugh.” The creature smiled, showing rows of teeth that were pale white. Sitting in front of John, towering over the little boy, the shadow crossed its legs and reached into the jar again, pulling out a small, green marble.
“You underestimate yourself, John. You were perfectly capable of keeping quiet.” Rolling the little glass marble between sharp fingers that were longer and less round than John’s, Sherlock leaned in and pressed their noses together. John giggled again. “You’re so weird, Sherlock.” The marble disappeared in Sherlock’s hand, and the creature reached out to run those long, dangerous fingers through John’s fluffy blond hair. “But you like me, don’t you, John?”
The boy beamed. “Of course!” The slits of the creature’s eyes widened in approval. “You’re my best friend, Sherlock.” With a curious head tilt, the creature pulled its hand away and smiled again when John offered his foot. The long, black fingers began at his toes and started up until they got to his knee, moving back down in slow sweeps. Sherlock had tried to explain to John before, that skin felt to him like a soft bear felt to John, so the little boy agreed to roll his pajama bottoms up and let Sherlock play with his legs. To John, the touches felt like little prickles, as if he had a bug on his skin, but it didn’t bother him, so he just let Sherlock touch. “We’re friends?” It asked, a deep chuckle that sounded almost like a big cat purring rising up from its chest when John squirmed as he was tickled.
“Yup! I like you a lot, Sherlock. I wish you could come with me to school instead of stupid Harry, she just ignores me all day. I tried telling Mike about you but he said I was making you up.” John frowned, and Sherlock stopped touching him, grip resting around the tiny ankle. “Why doesn’t anyone believe in you, Sherlock?” Troubled blue eyes met the creature’s, and for a moment, John felt like he would start to cry.
“People do not look anymore for the monsters under their beds when they become adults. They believe what they are told, that nothing is there and it is only their imagination. So we hide other places.” Now, tears were beginning to spill over John’s downy cheeks. “Why are you crying?”
“I don’t want to forget you, Sherlock. Don’t let them make me, promise?”
For only a moment, the creature was silent. It took another marble, this one was clear . John sniffled and watched as Sherlock turned it over and over, then set it down between them. It was utterly black, like Sherlock. It seemed to absorb what little light was in the room, and in his curiosity, John’s tears stopped.
“Do you trust me?” The little boy nodded without hesitation. “Do you want to…stay? With me?” John’s eyes lit up and he wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Yes!” Came the excited answer.
Sherlock looked down at the marble between them, but did not touch it again. “You can’t come back. Your family, your school, this house, it will all be gone. But you’ll stay with me, and I’ll keep you safe. Always.” John thought for a moment.
Mum had Harry, and even though they were always fighting, at least Harry was getting the attention. His sister didn’t like him, she’d said so a lot. The weird thing she had done that night was the most she’d spoken to him without calling him a git in forever. Dad was never home anyway, so he wouldn’t even notice. The only friends he had were Mike and Greg, but Greg ran away two weeks ago, and Mike really only talked with John at school during lunch.
Chewing at his bottom lip, John stared at the marble. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around it, finally, and looked up at Sherlock. “What do I do?” The creature was closer than he had been before, but he wasn’t touching John at all anymore. Its eyes were wide, and if Sherlock could breath, John thought he might have stopped for a moment. “Swallow it.” Came the low answer, the dark shape of the creature’s face seeming to change as John brought the marble up to his lips and thought one last time about his family.
It was cold in his mouth, and hard to swallow, but John managed.
The grin that Sherlock gave him showed that the pointy teeth were whiter now, and the blue was stronger in the creature’s eyes. The prickling feeling was on his face as it wrapped John up for the first time in its arms.
“ Oh, John. ”
The world went black.