Where We Started

Her Majesty, the Moron

"It's me, you're good." He assured. John came out from his hiding place, happy to see Sherlock but thrilled to see that he had a plate of food in his hands.
"Oh thank god." John exclaimed, taking the food and barely looking at it, sitting on the hay and eating as fast as possible.
"I am suffering John, suffering. She's worse than before, an absolute nightmare." Sherlock groaned.
"Just hearing her makes me want to punch her." John agreed.
"Try having to see her while she talks. Always playing with her hair and strutting around and holding my arm, it's bloody disgusting." Sherlock decided, wiping off the sleeve of his black jacket as if to prove that point.
"I'm sorry you have to suffer through that, but I haven't eaten since breakfast." John pointed out.
"That was my fault; I forgot that I wouldn't be around to feed you." Sherlock sighed.
"What about you, don't they need food, don't they need water?" John asked.
"It's only the first day; once they stay longer I'll get to do my regular chores. I have Friday night off though, so that I can play at the pub." Sherlock pointed out.
"Oh ya, I forgot about that. I guess you've got something to look forward to after all." John decided.
"Well I guess the masquerade can't be all that bad. If I manage to disguise myself well maybe she won't recognize me."
"Are you going to dance with that crush of yours?" John asked jokingly.
"If available I suppose I could try." Sherlock shrugged.
"She'll be there then?" John asked, hoping to get a glimpse at this mystery girl.
"I don't know, maybe she will, maybe she won't."
"Well, if she is there you better point her out." John demanded, making Sherlock laugh a little, but nod his agreement.
"Whatever you say John." he sighed, sitting down on the feed bags and frowning at the wall.
"When does she leave?" John asked.
"Monday morning, can't come too soon." Sherlock decided. It was Wednesday night, so that gave them, what, four days? What fun that will be.
"Well if you ever need a break, just sneak up here, I can be a mediator in the art of annoying flirts." John said with a laugh.
"Apparently you're talking to one right now." Sherlock pointed out.
"Not this again, it was a first impression, it doesn't mean anything at all." John groaned.
"I know, but still, it's a bit funny when you think about it." Sherlock admitted with a small smile.
"Well, maybe a little bit. I'm sure Irene would find it hilarious." John decided.
"Irene would throw up." Sherlock protested.
"Ya, probably."
"But that's her fault, because I hate her and she should get the hint by now." Sherlock decided, twiddling a piece of hay between his two fingers.
"At first I thought you might have been exaggerating with her, but now I see you weren't, you definitely weren't, she's awful. I saw her at dinner, pushing her chair to sit so close to you, made me want to throw up." John admitted.
"Jealous?" Sherlock asked with a laugh.
"Of all that good food, yes. I had to watch all you eat a four course meal and I hadn't even eaten lunch." John pointed out.
"We'll remember that tomorrow." Sherlock decided.
"Do you have to spend the whole day inside tomorrow?" John asked with a groan.
"Probably not, today was more formal greeting really; I think we'll be back to our chores." Sherlock decided.
"If she's got you under constant radar then how will you sneak me in and out of town?" John asked, wanting to get out of this boring barn but not wanting to face the consequences.
"I could sneak you in on the wheelbarrow." Sherlock suggested, obviously jokingly, but if worse comes to worse that wouldn't kill them. "Or, of course, we can wait until everyone is inside, and we could just walk out."
"That could work as well." John agreed with a little laugh.
"So, John, there's also the matter of the dance, you'll need a suit to fit in." Sherlock pointed out.
"Absolutely not, I will not let you waste your money on me like that." John decided, putting his foot down with this whole charity thing.
"Not to worry, I was just going to say we could get some of my smaller slacks hemmed for you, they barely fit anymore, I'm not quite sure why I still have them. As with the shirts and jackets, there are smaller ones there too, but you could always roll the sleeves up and stuff." Sherlock shrugged.
"And masks?" John asked uncertainly. He doubted Sherlock had masquerade masks just lying around in his dresser.
"There's a little shop, but I want my entire outfit to be a surprise, it's no fun if you know what I'm wearing beforehand." Sherlock pointed out.
"You're serious?" John asked.
"Of course I'm sure, where is the fun in knowing beforehand?" Sherlock asked with a laugh.
"You're so weird, like a girl before prom." John decided.
"What's prom?" Sherlock asked, cocking his head like a confused dog, his curls obeying gravity and hanging down over his forehead. But of course John didn't notice that, how could he?
"It's for the oldest high school kids, they go to a big dance and you ask dates and all that rubbish." John shrugged.
"Have you been?" Sherlock asked.
"No, course not, next year. If I make it there in time." John muttered. How weird would it be to actually come back from 1665, dealing with plague and carrying water in buckets to jumping right into the school system and prom? From Irene to Sara, Sherlock to Mike, the Hudsons to his own parents.
"I don't want to hear that, it's quitter talk. You will make it to your prom, you will get back home, and I'll make sure of it personally." Sherlock assured, not so much jokingly. There was seriousness in his eyes; he was going to get John home even if it killed him.
"I'm not quitting, I'm just saying, there could be some complications." John muttered.
"Like what?" Sherlock asked.
"Like you people don't even have electric lights." John pointed out, rather annoyed, even though he was trying his best to be as optimistic as Sherlock was, or at least appeared to be.
"And we see just as well as you and your fancy electrikaky." Sherlock said with a frown.
"Electricity, but I'm just saying even if it was some type of creature, we've never seen it, we haven't time traveled and it's centuries from now. And what if these angels are only capable of sending people back, what if I end up in Roman times with your great great great ancestors?" John pointed out.
"Tell them hi from their awesome descendant." Sherlock decided with a laugh. John tried to keep a straight face, he really did, but when he looked up into Sherlock's joking eyes his barrier broke. John collapsed into a fit of childlike giggles, leaning over on the bag of food he was sitting on and almost dropping his plate. His laughter triggered Sherlock to start as well, and soon they were gasping for breath and clutching their sides, all of their negative and positive feeling letting loose in a train wreck of emotions that they simply couldn't explain.
"You...are such an idiot." John laughed as he got his breath back, sitting back up and laughing a little bit more.
"Of course I am, that's why we get along." Sherlock agreed, a grin stretching from ear to ear, wiping a stray tear from his green eyes. John shrugged, he wasn't wrong per say.
"I honestly don't know where that came from." He admitted. Sherlock nodded in agreement, the laughter fading once more into playful seriousness.
"I'm almost positive this is something I could never do with Irene, just sit and talk here, laugh like an idiot." Sherlock decided with a sad sigh.
"And smile." John added.
"That too." Sherlock agreed with a little laugh.
"We shouldn't be too positive she'll make you marry her, what if she loses her heart to someone else, like Greg or something?" John pointed out.
"Gosh no, Greg is so annoying, but she might be able to fall for some of the more attractive boys around here." Sherlock shrugged.
"And who would those be?" John asked with a accusing smile. Sherlock blushed a little bit, looking annoyed yet somewhat guilty.
"It's not like it's not obvious, I don't look for them of course, but you can't pass over an attractive person and not call them ugly because they're your gender." Sherlock pointed out.
"Are, you know, those type of relationships, allowed around here? I know they killed people for that sometime in history." John pointed out.
"Why are you asking?" Sherlock asked with a little joking smile.
"Oh because I was thinking about asking Greg out, I'm just curious." John defended.
"Greg would have no interest in you, sorry hon." Sherlock said with a little hand flick for good measure.
"Okay, you don't want to be serious, fine, that's fine and dandy." John decided, rolling his eyes and thinking quickly for a new topic.
"It's legal now, but they're not allowed to publicize it, the government doesn't make a fuss because there aren't many gay people around." Sherlock shrugged.
"And you've probably flirted with all of them at least twice right?" John laughed.
"Well they didn't pick up on it, you and your futuristic gaydar." Sherlock pointed out. He was joking though, totally joking, sarcasm at its finest, right?
"I'm not even going to bother asking where you learned that word." John decided with an uncertain laugh. He wasn't denying it, why wasn't he denying it? John craned his neck to see the clock on the wall, it was already eight thirty, approaching nine, but he wasn't tired from all the sitting around he had been doing. Sherlock, on the other hand, was yawning, his eyelids drooping slightly.
"You look tired." John observed.
"It's only eight thirty, my god time flies." Sherlock grumbled.
"You can go off to bed, it's not like you have to stay up with me until I go to sleep." John pointed out.
"I'm fine, really." But as he said it his sentence was cut off with a large yawn.
"Oh stop lying, you've had a long day, go off to bed." John decided, pushing Sherlock's shoulder slightly to start him moving. Sherlock groaned, but he obviously couldn't compete with John's pestering.
"Fine, but not because you told me to, just because I'm tired." He decided, pulling himself to his feet with a sigh.
"Good night Sherlock, don't let the bed bugs bite." John decided with a little smile.
"I'm going to nod and pretend I understand that, good night." Sherlock decided, nodding as he descended down the ladder. John just rolled his eyes, getting up to blow out the oil lamp before snuggling down on his bags of food, comfy home sweet home apparently. He made a mental note to get a blanket one of these days, there was always a chilly draft seeping in from outside. Never the less, John's eyelids closed and he fell into a sleep plagued with nightmares about Irene and Sherlock's could be wedding day.

To everyone's relief Sherlock was able to do his regular chores the next day, even though he'd have to return to the house afterwards it gave him and John time to spend together and John time to be out of the miserable barn. They snuck out to town early; the sun was just rising, so that no one would be awake to see the two figures sneaking out of the driveway. Sherlock read the list as they walked down the dirt road, only having to move over once as the dead body carriage rolled down the road, making John hold his nose as it passed. But the whole idea of dead bodies stacked on a cart didn't seem as morbid as it had previously, he didn't cringe at the thought for some reason. The old ways were becoming almost normal, something that worried John a little bit. Wonder if, when he got back home, he went with a bucket to the stream instead of simply turning on a tap? What if he walked everywhere instead of driving? He was torn between two different worlds, two different versions of reality; it was so abstract to actually be facing these problems. When they got into town the shops were just starting to open their doors, dumping water on the streets to wash away the blood of the stinking corpses, switching signs to open, normal everyday things.
"Where first?" John asked.
"Market." Sherlock shrugged.
"Don't tell me we have to get boat loads again?" John groaned.
"No actually, the list is quite short to be honest, Mrs. Hudson pre-makes everything so she can spend the free time showing off her home and outfits." Sherlock pointed out.
"Good, I'm not in the mood to be anyone's pack mule today." John decided with relief.
"You and your metaphors, having a creative day are we?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes, as usual, like the dark rainbows in my mind are flowing through my mouth and expressing my inner sadness." John said with a dramatic sweep of his hand.
"Over kill." Sherlock decided, holding the door of the market open for John to enter. They got the usual, flour, bread, milk, eggs, meat, produce, but compared to everything else they have had to get it felt close to nothing. When they went out of the shop Sherlock decided to stop somewhere for breakfast, having skipped it previously so they could sneak out early, and lead John to a diner type store on the corner. They walked in, John's stomach growling as he smelled the eggs, bacon, and sausages cooking in the back.
"Booth, if you don't mind." Sherlock said to the waiter who was seating them. The boy, somewhere in his teens, nodded excitedly and led them to a booth in the corner, placing menus down and shuffling off to the back. John followed him with his eyes for a while until he got bored and looked at the food selections once again.
"Hungry?" Sherlock asked with a half-smile as John scanned the entire menu, front to back.
"Starving." John agreed.
"Well sorry for making you wait, you should've said something, would've made you at least eggs or something." Sherlock shrugged.
"I'm just ready for some food; it's not your fault." John shrugged.
"But you could always eat some of the groceries, I'm sure Mrs. Hudson wouldn't mind if her cheese was half eaten." Sherlock suggested.
"It wasn't anyone, just really big mice." John decided, laughing at the thought of him and Sherlock running around in little mouse suits. It was a very odd thought to be honest. Sherlock started giggling too, making the restaurants only other costumers, some couples of people around sixty, look over in silent annoyance.
"Shush John, you're making a scene." Sherlock hissed, but he couldn't keep the smile off of his face until the waiter came to take their order. Once John ordered as much as he could without breaking Sherlock's entire bank he scampered off into the kitchen, nodding once more.
"He's a bit shy to be a waiter don't you think?" John asked.
"Just a job, I'm shy as well, but I'm a servant, probably forced to marry some loser as well." Sherlock grumbled.
"Does it always lead back to that?" John asked.
"It's what's eating away at my mind, the loss of all my freedom, it makes me shutter."
"Maybe you can grow to like her." John decided. Sherlock just glared at him with annoyance; obviously they both knew that would never happen in any of their wildest dreams. "Or you could just run away, that would probably cover it. Come with me to my home." John suggested.
"If presented with the opportunity I would surely take it, yes." Sherlock decided. But wouldn't it be a bit odd if you showed up in 2015 with some loser from here? They think you've been kidnapped, killed probably, if you just show up with me they'd probably have me arrested."
"And you'd be fascinated by the cop cars and handcuffs and radios, I think you might be a little suspicious but I'd clear it all up. Technically you helped me escape, I'll tell them that." John shrugged.
"I'm a saint, obviously." Sherlock agreed.
"In your own un-saint like way, yes." John shrugged. Sherlock smiled proudly; obviously he hadn't been compared to a saint before.