three-red-paragraphs:

It’s cold. Colder than it ought to be this close to Spring but Sherlock feels no inclination to make for warmer spaces, letting the tips of his toes drag idly along the ground as he sways lightly on the drab colored swing. He’s too involved to take note of the chill in the air, preoccupied with catching scents in the air; the kind of leaves dragging in the wind; the type of ants crawling about his shoes - altogether trying to acknowledge the world at large, spreading his awareness as far as he can reach.
Which is why it’s so humiliating that he doesn’t notice the other boy approaching from behind; startles when small gloved hands grasp the chains on either side of his head and begin to pull, then push, pull, then push, building up momentum so Sherlock can start rising in the air, legs kicking out instinctively to help propel the movement (wind whistling by his ears, air cold in his lungs). Charles is bit of an oddity to Sherlock, a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a paradox. There is a secret there, hidden behind those knowing blue eyes, one that Sherlock is desperate to solve, but finds the other boy’s company fair enough to withhold from pressuring for answers. Still, there are some secrets Sherlock is privy to - from watching, observing - secrets that he can feel in the weakness of his friend’s left hand as it pushes against his back as tries to swing Sherlock higher a full length story in the way his wrist buckles slightly with every forward thrust.
“Your Step Father is back from his business trip.”
He states, matter of fact - doesn’t need to ask because he’s already deduced the reply. Charles remains silent, just continues to push him to and fro at a leisurely pace - an answer in itself. Understanding, but unsure how express himself, Sherlock jumps swiftly off the swing - knobby knees buckling a little when he lands - and catches the chains before the seat hurls back into Charles’ stomach. Feeling suddenly shy, he gestures Charles to get on the swing with an indicative nod, the corner of his lips twitching as Charles scrambles aboard with a small, happy smile. When the boy is finally settled, Sherlock circles until he’s behind him - and pushes.

and BAM I’m back to 2000 and swinging in a park.
Thanks for that and as usual fantastic work Tiere!

three-red-paragraphs:

It’s cold. Colder than it ought to be this close to Spring but Sherlock feels no inclination to make for warmer spaces, letting the tips of his toes drag idly along the ground as he sways lightly on the drab colored swing. He’s too involved to take note of the chill in the air, preoccupied with catching scents in the air; the kind of leaves dragging in the wind; the type of ants crawling about his shoes - altogether trying to acknowledge the world at large, spreading his awareness as far as he can reach.

Which is why it’s so humiliating that he doesn’t notice the other boy approaching from behind; startles when small gloved hands grasp the chains on either side of his head and begin to pull, then push, pull, then push, building up momentum so Sherlock can start rising in the air, legs kicking out instinctively to help propel the movement (wind whistling by his ears, air cold in his lungs). Charles is bit of an oddity to Sherlock, a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a paradox. There is a secret there, hidden behind those knowing blue eyes, one that Sherlock is desperate to solve, but finds the other boy’s company fair enough to withhold from pressuring for answers. Still, there are some secrets Sherlock is privy to - from watching, observing - secrets that he can feel in the weakness of his friend’s left hand as it pushes against his back as tries to swing Sherlock higher a full length story in the way his wrist buckles slightly with every forward thrust.

“Your Step Father is back from his business trip.”

He states, matter of fact - doesn’t need to ask because he’s already deduced the reply. Charles remains silent, just continues to push him to and fro at a leisurely pace - an answer in itself. Understanding, but unsure how express himself, Sherlock jumps swiftly off the swing - knobby knees buckling a little when he lands - and catches the chains before the seat hurls back into Charles’ stomach. Feeling suddenly shy, he gestures Charles to get on the swing with an indicative nod, the corner of his lips twitching as Charles scrambles aboard with a small, happy smile. When the boy is finally settled, Sherlock circles until he’s behind him - and pushes.

and BAM I’m back to 2000 and swinging in a park.

Thanks for that and as usual fantastic work Tiere!