Sherlock’s eighteenth birthday came in went in a flurry of ceremony that Sherlock found frightening and boring all at the same time, for he would soon loose what little freedom he had, first as a soldier in the Tsar’s Imperial Army and the second after his engagement was announced to one of the Tsar’s daughters. “It didn’t matter which one, just as long as her blood was blue,” Sherlock thought bitterly as he and John ran alongside the Volga River.
John stopped to catch his breath and looked back at Sherlock’s pale face with a frown, “Sherlock, what is it? You’ve been quiet ever since your birthday ceremony.”
Sherlock smiled, not wanting to spoil their afternoon, “I’m fine just tired,” Sherlock said as he took in John’s face and the way the sun glinted off of his golden hair. “He looks like an angel,” Sherlock thought and it took everything within him not to reach out his hand to touch a strand of John’s blonde hair as it blew around his face. “I wonder if it is as soft as if looks,” Sherlock thought with a strange type of longing.
“Come on,” John said as they ran along the river to a secluded place where they could swim.
John was the first to strip off his clothes as he jumped shrieking into the water. Sherlock then threw off of his clothes with abandon and was soon splashing and swimming with John, by his side, each of his strokes through the water magically synchronized with John’s. “We are like dolphins,” Sherlock thought as he and John dove in and out of the water. “We are free and happy.” Then all too soon John was swimming towards the bank of the river and as he emerged from the river, Sherlock tread water watching John get dressed, rubbing his stomach as he did so, for he always got a tummy ache when he saw John without a shirt. Etc.
As Sherlock swam over, John was there to help him out and said mockingly, “Here, is your clothing your highness.”
Sherlock grinned as he shook the moisture from his curls, spraying John with rivulets of water.
“Hey, “John laughed as he swatted Sherlock on the butt with one of his socks.
Sherlock was laughing uncontrollably by this time and after a moment or two he and John sighed, got their breath back and lay down on the grass next to each other.
In silence they stared up at the sky, each lost in their own thoughts. “Sherlock, what is bothering you?” John asked quietly.
Sherlock didn’t meet John’s eyes and was relieved when he heard the music of a street performer. “Listen, I bet that’s the man that has the dancing bear.” Sherlock said excitedly.
John jumped up and looked around to see if he could pinpoint where the source of the music was located. “Come on, Sherlock, let’s go see. It could be the man with the dancing bear or gypsies.”
Sherlock held back, “I don’t like gypsies, for they said that Anastasia was going to die and that I am a demon with cursed dreams. As far as the man with the bear goes, I love the music but I hate how that poor creature is made to perform. He was once a great bear and now he is reduced to the role of a puppet. I begged my father to buy the bear and let him go, but my father said that even if we did buy the bear and release it that the bear would die for it could no longer care for itself and would starve.”
John nodded frowning as he did so, feeling that there was more to the conversation than gypsies and bears, anxious to re-capture the carefree atmosphere of the day John licked his lips and then started to dance to the music. Sherlock laughed and clapped his hands, “John that is wonderful, do you think you could teach me, for you know how I love to dance.”
John nodded and motioned for Sherlock to join him. After a few awkward attempts Sherlock soon had the steps down and was able to allow his body to get lost in the physical movements of the dance. “John’s hands in mine, John’s arms around my waist, John holding me touching my skin,” Sherlock thought as he dizzyingly fell to ground in a heap.
John was by his side in an instant, “Sherlock, are you okay?”
Sherlock looked into John’s dark blue eyes, his thin lips moving, however Sherlock could no longer hear the words, for he was caught up in a terrifying moment such as he could never remember in his young life, without speaking Sherlock pulled John into his arms and kissed him passionately on the lips, hesitant at first Sherlock kept his lips only slightly parted, until John’s tongue forced them open further and then Sherlock responded forcefully like a man and not a boy, desperately grabbing at John’s shirt.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what am I doing?” John said as he pushed Sherlock away.
Sherlock sat back and looked up at John with a stricken expression, his full lips red and moist, his eyes shinny with desire, and then they both looked down at the tightness in the front of Sherlock’s trousers, as Sherlock tried unsuccessfully to hide the bulge from John. Not knowing what to do Sherlock burst into tears, got up and ran and even though he could hear John calling after him Sherlock ran, thinking that as soon as he got home he would have his father buy the dancing bear and release it into the forest, for Sherlock was certain that the poor creature would rather be dead than to take place in actions contrary to its passionate nature.
“Sherlock, come back the bank is rocky, you are going to fall in,” John shouted frantically after Sherlock.
Sherlock ignored him and wasn’t surprised when he fell, a sharp rock slicing his ankle open, if Sherlock tried he could have righted himself, but he didn’t and as the dark waters of the Volga closed over his head, Sherlock breathed deeply, the last conscious thought he had was of the poor dancing bear.
