When Sherlock was a child, he was convinced his toys were real. That they could move around and play together without him doing so. He was convinced they were alive. Of course, everyone thought he was being silly. Imagining things like little boys do. Little did they know that Sherlock was right. His toys were alive. All he had to do was believe.
Of course, after being told he was wrong many a time, Sherlock gave up on trying to prove it. Instead he grew up, and forgot about all his childish ramblings. That is until, the day John moved in.
He had brought a load of his childhood things to put in his room. “It doesn’t feel like home without them,” he said. Sherlock obviously rolled his eyes at him and went back too unpacking. Unknown to Sherlock, the reminder of toys had sparked his imagination from when he was a child and that night he dreamt. Oh he dreamt of the adventures he had with those toys. He dreamt of his old favourites: A sheriff named Woody and a space ranger named Buzz. He had such fun with those toys as a child. And for the first time since he was a child, Sherlock Holmes woke up with a smile on his face. This smile was mixed with alarm and fear however when he saw what had woken him up.
It was Woody and Buzz.
Moving and talking excitedly.
He had been right all along.
“Come on Sherlock, one last adventure,” said Woody, and without a second thought, Sherlock bounded out of bed and followed his childhood toys to the kitchen, where he made them some tea, and they talked until the sunrise.
It was the best night of Sherlocks life.
That is until the night Sherlock told John he loved him for the first time, but that story’s for another day.
Although, they were there for that too. And when Sherlock came back from the pool. And when Sherlock came back from Reichenbach.
He always came back. And they were always there. Until the day he died.