Where We Started

(Don't) Let Me Take a Selfie

The door opened, announcing Sherlock's arrival, and it was closed quickly, like he had to kick it shut because his hands were full.
"Do you need any help?" John asked.
"I'm good!" Sherlock assured, and John heard him coming up the ladder. When he was balancing a plate of assorted breads, cheeses, and meats, like a make your own sandwich kit.
"Sorry, it's all I had." He said, looking a bit embarrassed.
"It's better than anything I could get, thank you very much." John assured, smiling thankfully at Sherlock. "I made a little dining room here, the classiest around." He added, taking the large serving plate from Sherlock and setting it on the middle feed bag.
"I brought the book as well, the one Molly gave us." he added, it had been under his arm and John hadn't noticed, he set it on the hay and stared at it with a look of hate.
"Oh, good." John agreed, but he didn't want to focus on it, Sherlock needed a night where it was just he and John, no time travel, no leaving one another, nothing like that. John took a piece of bread, which was acting like the base of every meal anymore, and stacked some ham and cheese on it, eating it like an open faced sandwich.
"You've been awfully quiet, everything alright?" he asked as Sherlock started putting together his own dinner.
"I'm just upset, I know how much getting home means to you." He shrugged, but John knew that it was deeper than that.
"Like I said, if I had to stay here it wouldn't end my life." John pointed out.
"But it'll never be right, I'll never be Mike, the Hudsons will never be your parents, I don't want to sever you from them." Sherlock pointed out. There was a strange tugging in John's stomach, almost pulling him to Sherlock, he wanted to hug him, hold him close and promise that everything would be just fine, that they would never separate.
"Sherlock, don't say that, you're more than I could've asked for, in my whole life I've never had a friend as close as you." John pointed out.
"Because you have nowhere else to go." Sherlock pointed out; once again his positivity was overwhelming.
"There is nothing I can say or do to convince you that I sincerely appreciate everything you do is there?" John asked, trying to lighten up the mood with a smile. This whole plan about not leaving really wasn't working out was it? Sherlock just smiled back, small and forced, and went back to his dinner.
"So, what about Irene, she's coming Wednesday right?" John asked.
"Yes." Sherlock groaned. "I really hate that girl."
"What did she ever do to you?"
"Constantly flirting, constantly. And she's made of everything foul and evil."
"Why don't you give her a chance then?" John asked.
"Because I don't like her, I don't like Molly, or Irene, or any petty girl you point out on the streets, my crush will forever be nothing more, it's pointless and stupid and I know that I'll end up with some stupid girl that only likes me because of my looks." Sherlock groaned, plopping more cheese onto a piece of bread and scowling at it.
"Well you have a positive look at the future I see." John laughed. "Describe her then, I want to know about the one girl able to steal Sherlock Holmes's heart."
"I don't want to think about her right now, let's change the topic completely."
"It seems like you're extremely unwilling to share any information, do you even have a crush or are you making it up to make it seem that you don't want to be forever alone?"
"Forever alone doesn't seem too bad compared to half the town." Sherlock admitted. John just laughed, going back to his food.
"Tell me about your life; tell me what a normal day in the life of John Watson." Sherlock decided, looking at him with fascination. John thought about that for a second, trying to think of something in his life that was half interesting.
"Well, I wake up to the alarm clock, which is an annoying bell that comes on when the clock strikes six in the morning, I eat breakfast..."
"What do you eat for breakfast?" he asked.
"Usually I toast a waffle or two. Then I pack my bag, catch the bus, which is a big yellow car that fits like, forty kids or more, and then go to school, go through classes, eat lunch, more classes, come home, play video games or go swimming or biking or something with Mike, watch TV, go to bed, repeat." John shrugged. His life wasn't interesting at all, one of the more boring ones in the world, but Sherlock was on the edge of his seat, looking at John like he was the most amazing thing he had ever seen.
"Do you enjoy your life?" he asked.
"I guess so." John shrugged; he could always have it worse really.
"Good, you deserve it, everything you've been through, everything you're going to go through, you need to be happy." Sherlock decided.
"We can't have a conversation without deep talks can we?" John laughed.
"Apparently not, no." Sherlock agreed.
"Well, while we're on the topic, you need to be happy as well, what makes you happy?" John asked.
"Violin, books, knowledge, mysteries, murders, swimming in the creek, taking walks, looking at the stars, that stuff." Sherlock shrugged.
"Murders?" John asked, hoping he had misheard him.
"They are fascinating when there are masterminds behind them." Sherlock shrugged.
"Then I'll tell you what, tomorrow night you can bring the violin up here, and maybe you could play for me; teach me how to play even." John decided. Sherlock's blank face turned into a smile when he heard that, as if he were deciding whether or not to believe it.
"Really?" he asked.
"Yes, absolutely, I'd love to hear you play. And you were brilliant in the pub, totally brilliant." John assured.
"It's just a hobby."
"Obviously not. You could be famous one day, maybe when I get back something will change, maybe you'll be one of the most famous composers ever, Mozart, Bach, and Sherlock Holmes." John insisted with a dramatic sweep of his hand.
"Or I'll just be another name on the list of plague victims." Sherlock muttered.
"Oh stop it, we were actually in a happy mood there!" John pointed out with a small laugh.
"Doesn't last long around me, obviously." Sherlock muttered.
"Yet somehow every time I see you my mood lifts." John defended, making a slight blush appear in Sherlock's cheeks.
"That's your fault, not mine." He laughed.
"There's a smile, I saw one!" John pointed out, pretending to act surprised. To emphasize his point he grabbed the camera, which was sitting still in the hay, and quickly snapped a picture. It would be a nice thing to remember Sherlock by in the end, but for now it was just something to laugh at now.
"Look how pretty you look Sherlock, that's scrapbook worthy." John laughed, showing Sherlock the picture.
"I look awful." Sherlock decided, but he was smiling as he patted his hair down. His attempted hair care did nothing though; the curls just sprang back up as if attached to Slinkys. John quickly got to his feet, walking over to Sherlock's chair/feed bag, and sat down next to him.
"Let's take a selfie, that 2015 craze of the idiot teenagers." He decided, holding the camera lens towards them.
"I'm sorry, what?" Sherlock asked, sitting up very straight when John sat close to him.
"Stick your tongue out." John instructed, doing his best mimic of the idiotic duck lips and facing the camera.
"What!?" Sherlock demanded.
"Just do it, come on." John laughed, waiting a little while and then snapping the picture. "Get with it Sherlock, it's what all the cool kids do." He showed the screen to Sherlock, it was the most appalling picture John had ever seen to be honest. John looked normal, in 2015 standards of course, but Sherlock looked so confused and was sticking his tongue out like a snake sniffing the air, looking very scared and conflicted.
"That's pathetic." Sherlock decided, but he couldn't keep the smile from creeping over his lips.
"It's only pathetic because you're in it." John defended.
"Why do you look like you're trying to kiss the camera?" Sherlock asked.
"It's called duck lips, haven't the faintest why anyone would call it that...."
"It looks nothing like a duck." Sherlock pointed out.
"It looks really stupid, I know." John agreed with a little laugh. He suddenly became aware of the little space separating them, not three inches of air, John was staring right into his eyes, Sherlock's pale skin, illuminated by the small amount of lamp light, so close, it would only be too easy... John snapped out of it, getting to his feet and leaving the awkward situation, sitting back on his own bag of food and leaving Sherlock to blink rapidly, as if getting over some type of trance as well.
"If only we had a printer here." John decided
"What's a printer?" Sherlock asked.
"It takes this picture and prints it onto a piece of paper." John said, flipping through the pictures on the camera. There was the one from the bar, when they had first met, the ones from the house, but if he went farther he saw pictures of him and Mike. This wasn't even John's camera, it belonged to Mike, he was simply borrowing it, but there was a picture of the two of them, taken by Mrs. Watson, on the hiking trip they took together, not a month before. The two were decked out in modern clothes, with backpacks and water bottles, smiling goofily into the camera. John sighed deeply, wanting nothing more than to have Mike sitting next to him right now. It would be easier to get through this time jump if he had someone else from his time, someone that knew what TV and internet was.
"You look sad." Sherlock decided, and John just nodded.
"This is Mike and I." he said, holding up the camera for Sherlock to see. He just nodded, looking at the screen and looking sad as well.
"You'll see him again, I know you will." Sherlock assured.
"You can't be sure, what if I don't come back? They probably think I'm dead by now anyway." John mumbled.
"I know you'll get back, you have to."
"And if I do, what then? What are you going to do?" John asked.
"I'll live on, there's nothing else I can do than live on." Sherlock shrugged. John nodded, leaning on his elbows and sighing.
"I want to live on too." John agreed. Sherlock's green eyes were starting to fog over, with tears or just as he faded into thought John couldn't tell, but obviously he was upset. And John hated to see him upset, there was no one in this world that deserved happiness more than Sherlock, who would lay down his money, risk his job and life as he knew it, just to help a stranger in need. He shouldn't look sad.
"It's getting late, I should probably go." Sherlock decided after a little while. John didn't know the time but he wasn't going to protest, he was getting tired as well and the mood had sunken from silly selfies back to the usual depression they couldn't help but lead to.
"Good night Sherlock." John decided as Sherlock got to his feet, grabbing the now empty tray from the food bag and nodding his farewell, disappearing down the ladder without saying anything. John sighed, not knowing what to do now. So he just dragged the food bags back to their positions and lay down, noticing the book Molly had given them laying in the hay still. He picked it up and held it to the light, feeling like he should be laughing at some of the stuff that was displayed. There was everything from chairs to hats to socks that were supposed to send you forward and backward in time. It was stupid, so stupid that he actually had to depend on this book, one that everyone in their right mind would stick in the fiction section. Unfortunately John didn't see anything about angels, stone or not, being able to send someone back in time. But what could it be, a stature, machine, alien, even ghost? Nothing was right, nothing was possible, but somehow here he was, caught in this stupid world. John groaned, shutting the book and wanting to throw it as far away as he could. Why him, why John Watson, the nerd that deserved absolutely none of this, why did he deserve this slow torture? He lay down on the feed bag bed; somehow the things were starting to feel almost normal, like an actual bed and not animal food. He fell asleep with difficulty, his mind racing about everything going on here, there, and everywhere.