Where We Started

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"Where would I live?" Sherlock asked.
"I don't know; pull out bed in the living room maybe? We could probably rent you out a hotel room eventually."
"You're talking another language right now." Sherlock pointed out, waving his hand in front of John's face to remind him.
"Sorry, I'm thinking out loud. It would be really funny to try to bring you to school one day."
"I wouldn't have a clue what was going on." Sherlock pointed out.
"I think you'd be most fascinated with the water fountains really." John shrugged.
"What..."
"They're little streams of water that shoot out with the press of a button." John said, making Sherlock smile.
"Is that what you all drink from?"
"No, we've got bottled water and soda and stuff, which is flavored bubbly water that makes you go partially crazy."
"Does it have drugs in it?" Sherlock asked curiously.
"No, but I'd imagine you'd buy a 24 pack if it did." John muttered, still a little bit uneasy about the fact that Sherlock used drugs.
"Oh stop, I wasn't addicted, they helped me through the nights, I was lonely!" Sherlock defended.
"That's no reason; you know they kill people right? They might be considered a miracle but they destroy your brain and everything else, they're not good."
"I know perfectly well about the consequences of my actions, and I have taken them on my own free will but have discontinued the action so if you have a problem please make it clear because you are talking in riddles." Sherlock said, his playfulness gone, replaced with an expression like stone. John took a moment to really comprehend what he had said, so many big words mixed in, it was almost as though Sherlock were talking in riddles.
"No, I'm not yelling at you, I'm not mad, don't worry." John assure after a while.
"That's good." Sherlock decided, smiling as the waiter came over and set down their food in front of them. Once again John devoured all of it, barely leaving time to breathe or even taste the food. Sherlock though, was being the gentleman he acted out, cutting his food and taking small bites every so often. When John was done with his food Sherlock was not half way yet.
"Someone was hungry." Sherlock muttered with a half-smile, taking another bite of his eggs.
"I told you I was."
"I know." Sherlock agreed. John looked around, some more people were just coming in, but other than them and the old people the restaurant was pretty much empty. It wasn't like the food was bad or anything, maybe people just could afford to eat out anymore?
"Do a lot of people eat breakfast out?" John asked.
"Not usually, but if you want to this is the best place to do it." Sherlock shrugged. John nodded, obviously stealing a piece of toast off of Sherlock's plate with a mischievous smile. Sherlock groaned, but didn't do anything to take it back.
"So are we good in town after this?"
"No, I was thinking we could do a little bit of tailoring." Sherlock pointed out, holding up a bag of clothes that he definitely didn't have when they walked into town.
"When did you get those?" John asked.
"I had them the whole time. I hope you like white shirts, that's all I've got that had the chance of fitting you." Sherlock pointed out.
"No offence, but you're a twig, how am I supposed to fit into those clothes without ripping the seams apart?" John asked. But Sherlock just laughed, obviously something John had said was funny for some reason.
"You're just as thin as me, don't worry." He assured, making John sigh with disbelief. John finished off the piece of toast and was just about to get another one when they were approached by a very happy looking stranger.
"Hey, Sherlock!" it was Greg. Sherlock groaned slightly but smiled anyway, trying his best to look happy.
"Hi Greg." He muttered. Greg approached the table, looking at John and then at Sherlock, a smile breaking out over his face.
"I see you two get along then?" he guessed, raising his eyebrows at Sherlock, making John sigh.
"We're not..." John started.
"Are we still on for Friday?" Sherlock asked at the same time.
"Oh, ya, if you want to be, no pressure. I heard that girl is coming around, their niece or something. I remember her, so if you ever feel like inviting your dear friend Greg to visit I'd be perfectly happy to oblige." Greg decided.
"Irene's all yours, can't stand the sight of her." Sherlock agreed. That seemed to, if possible, cheer Greg up even more.
"Alright then, if you're so eager. I actually got an invitation to some ball their holding, what's that?" he asked, pulling up a chair to the side of the booth and sitting down in it.
"No please, stay a while." Sherlock muttered.
"It's being held to find Irene a husband, from what I know most of the guys her age are invited." John said as Sherlock scooted politely towards the wall and farther from Greg.
"Oh, that sounds like fun, who do you think the lucky guy will be?" Greg asked hopefully.
"The only lucky ones are the ones that leave without her saying a word to them." Sherlock decided.
"You don't like her?" Greg asked, looking surprised.
"Absolutely not." Sherlock groaned.
"Why ever not? She's the definition of out of our league." Greg pointed out, as if that cleared everything up.
"And the definition of the Devil." John muttered.
"She's got this thing for me; always flirting with me and all that, I'm terrified she's going to ask for my hand." Sherlock decided. Greg, once again, took looks at both John and Sherlock and actually looked upset for them.
"I'm sorry to hear that, for both of your sakes." He decided. John groaned, but it seemed useless to argue. Were they both wearing neon signs on their back saying Please Assume I Am Gay?
"For all of our sakes try to get her to like you better." Sherlock decided.
"No chance in that mate, if she likes you she's got much higher standards than me." Greg defended. He was right, of course, Greg wasn't horrible, but if Sherlock lived in 2015 he'd be a Hollister model. John thought that was an odd thought, imagining Sherlock in beach outfits posing through all that nauseating gas and semidarkness.
"Please try anyway." Sherlock begged, not trying to argue with him.
"Of course I will, isn't that what friends are for? I get all the hot chicks off your tail so you can enjoy all your... not chicks." Greg decided, his eyes flickering momentarily back to John again.
"I am not..." John started.
"Your check sir." Interrupted the waiter, holding out a slip of paper to Sherlock.
"I should get going, you two enjoy the rest of your day, see you Friday!" Greg decided, pushing his chair back noisily and dashing out of the room. Sherlock paid the waiter and they got ready to leave, picking up all of their bags and walking out the door to the tailors. Was it somehow illegal to be with another guy around here, just walking around with the same gender, or does that automatically mean they were husbands? Sometimes John hated these stupid people, open your eyes and block out the rainbows please.
"Here we are." Sherlock decided, crossing the street to the other sidewalk and bringing John into a small, dusty shop. There were numerous women in long white dresses walking around with needles and thread or sitting behind a sewing machine, stitching together modified clothing.
"Hello Sherlock." One said happily, smiling at him as she came over.
"Hello..." Obviously Sherlock had forgotten her name.
"Mary." Mary clarified with a happy smile, one of her blonde bangs hanging down from a bun she wore on her head.
"So what do you need?" she asked, looking over the two of them.
"We need some clothes tailored to fit John here, think you can handle it?" Sherlock asked, holding up the bag of clothes.
"You don't even need to ask that, come along John, you can change into these clothes in that changing room and then hop up on the platform." Mary decided as Sherlock handed John the bag with a small encouraging smile.
"I'm going to go get some last minute things on the list; I'll see you when I see you I guess." Sherlock shrugged.
"Wait, you're not staying?" John asked nervously.
"No of course not, don't want to ruin the surprise." Sherlock said with a laugh.
"Are you two going to the ball as well?" Mary asked. Sherlock nodded, not looking happy about his obvious dread being the talk of the town.
"Well I'll hope to see you there; I got an invitation as well." Mary said happily.
"I think they're inviting anyone around the fifteen to twenty five range really." John shrugged, sensing a recurring pattern in all of the party guests.
"What's it for?" Mary asked.
"For their niece, bloody devil if you ask me. I should be going though, John I assume you're good here?" Sherlock asked.
"If I have to be I suppose." John shrugged.
"He'll be fine, you scramble along now." Mary assured.
"Be good." Sherlock said with a small smile, and then disappeared out the door. John sighed, but headed back into the changing room. When he swapped his regular clothes for Sherlock's he found they definitely needed to be fixed up a bit. The pants doubled as long socks and the sleeves hung down to his knees. Other than the length they fit alright, at least they weren't falling down. It was lucky Sherlock was pretty much a twig. John walked out of the changing room, holding onto his old clothes uncertainly, looking around to find Mary. She was standing over by a little pedestal near the back, threading a sewing machine and smiling at him to come over. John went over and stood on the pedestal, pulling at the sleeves nervously. She wouldn't poke him with a needle would she?
"Alright John, I'd say you need a little bit of work wouldn't you?" she asked with a small laugh. John nodded and she plucked a pin out of a tomato shaped pin holder. Mary talked to him all throughout the process, talking about the ball, about the town, the quarantine, there didn't seem to be a topic she couldn't talk years about.
"So, how do you know Sherlock then?" she asked eventually as she was folding up the last sleeve to pin.
"Oh, we met at the Baker Street pub, we're friends." John shrugged, the truth, but not the whole truth.
"It's nice to see him with a friend, he always looked so lonely." Mary sighed, and John nodded in agreement.
"Have you heard him play the violin?" John asked after a small moment of silence.
"A couple of times, I try to steer clear of the bar scene though." Mary shrugged. "He is brilliant at it though."
"Ya, he really is." John agreed.
"I haven't seen you around the town before, are you new?" she asked.
"Oh, ya, just moved here a couple of days ago." John shrugged.
"With your family or are you a runaway?" Mary asked, as if that was a totally socially acceptable question to ask someone.
"Not exactly runaway, I was separated from my family, so here I am." John shrugged, pretty much all he wanted to say at the moment.
"Alright, I'm done here, you can go change back into your normal clothes, but very carefully, don't knock a pin off." Mary decided, stepping away and examining her work with a smile. John nodded, walking back into the changing room and changed back, being extra careful not only so the pins don't fall off but also so they didn't poke him. When he was snug back in his jeans and tee shirt it took Mary a little while to sew the clothes up, make them fit properly and all, but when she was done she assured him that they would fit as though he had them made especially for him. To John's relief Sherlock walked into the shop just as John was unfolding the clothes to look at them. Sherlock smiled and walked over, holding up a black mask in his hand. It looked like a regular bandit mask from old Western movies, except there was fancier fabric, almost velvet or something, and it had a couple of incrusted black jewel things.
"Oh brilliant!" John decided, holding it up to his face and examining himself in the mirror.
"Thought you'd like it. Everything's in order then?" Sherlock asked Mary, who nodded. She seemed to be the only girl in town that was able to look Sherlock in the eyes without blushing furiously; even John couldn't pull that off. Sherlock dug around in a small, beat up leather bag, pulling out a couple of the silver coin things and paying Mary, who thanked him and said goodbye, going over to her station to continue threading the machine with new string.

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