Where We Started

Dumb Ways to Die

"So that was fun, was it not?" Sherlock asked with sarcasm, leading John away from the shop.
"I guess so; at least I don't have to go to the ball looking like someone that just crawled out from under a bridge." John shrugged.
"You always look like that, don't worry." Sherlock laughed. John just rolled his eyes, following Sherlock down the street and to the dirt road leading home.
"That's everything then?" John asked.
"I believe so." Sherlock agreed.
"Should I be sneaking around or not?" he added.
"I don't think you need to, I doubt their up anyway."
"It's ten o'clock!" John pointed out.
"Exactly. I'd give Irene another hour." Sherlock decided. John couldn't stand sleeping over nine in the morning, he felt like it was such a waste of time.
"That's pathetic." John muttered, and Sherlock only nodded with a small laugh. When they entered the driveway John saw that Sherlock was right, there was no movement that he could see from the house, and it was only too easy to walk into the property unnoticed.
"I'll get these unloaded; you make yourself at home, but go to the barn in case Irene comes to my door." Sherlock decided.
"Be quiet." John added, handing him his backs with a slight smile, but Sherlock only rolled his eyes.
"It seems the more money you have the lazier you are." Sherlock decided, walking into the house with some difficulty and closing the door with his foot. John went back up to the loft, putting his new outfit behind the bags of food in case someone came investigating. He sighed, hoping that Sherlock would remember food this time, it had been quite miserable to sit in this hay without food for so long. But when John heard the high pithed whine coming from the house, he knew Sherlock wasn't coming back for a while. He squinted through the wood to glare into the dining room window, where Irene was calling for Sherlock overtop of her powdered sugar covered waffles. Sherlock came into view, smiling timidly at her, obviously he didn't want to be there, but of course Irene couldn't pick up on that. They talked for a little while with words unheard, and then he sat down in a chair next to her and looked like he cringed. John couldn't help laughing as Irene went on eating, not noticing his obvious disgust. Apparently her people skills were rubbish, John could tell he hated her and he was watching from a window like a stalker. So the day passed on, without food or Sherlock. John entertained himself by napping, throwing rocks and hay, and trying his best to bond with the animals more. He ended up by being able to pet one of the horses, but it ended up only wanting the hay from his hair. When Sherlock finally returned he smelled like heavy perfume and wine, scowling as he walked up the ladder.
"Maybe if I jab a knife through her temple she'll leave me alone." He guessed, but it was a desperate thought.
"That would get you nothing more than a jail cell." John pointed out, making Sherlock groan in acceptance.
"I hate her John, and this isn't just a little disagreement, this is absolute hate, I hate her so much." Sherlock groaned.
"It's only for three more days." John assured, but he knew that wouldn't do anything but discourage Sherlock more.
"And you're right, what if I end up having to be that, that thing's, husband I would assuredly kill myself." Sherlock decided.
"I'll do all I can, I assure you. Maybe I could find you another girl, then she'll have to compete with more than a figment of your imagination."
"And who would that be?"
"That would be your crush that doesn't seem to exist." John pointed out. Sherlock laughed, blushing slightly at the thought of whoever this crush was.
"She exists, I assure you." He pointed out.
"Then what does she look like?" John asked, crossing his arms with slight annoyance.
"You'll find out at the ball won't you?" Sherlock pointed out, his eyes twinkling with whatever the heck he was feeling, probably mischief or something.
"You're one of a kind aren't you Sherlock?" John sighed. Sherlock just nodded, smiling wider, a big contrast from before.
"I like to think so, yes." Sherlock shrugged.
"So what now then?" John asked, looking the best he could out the dusty window.
"Well I'll imagine you're hungry." Sherlock guessed. John's stomach rumbled in response, it was already around five o'clock and he hadn't eaten since breakfast. "I'll be back." Sherlock decided, hopping down the ladder once more and disappearing. John sighed, sitting on the hay until Sherlock finally got back with the promised food. Once again it wasn't much, some chicken and potatoes, but John would've eaten horse food soon, so the meat looked heavenly.
"Aren't you going to eat?" John asked in between grateful bites.
"I ate at the house, one of those rare events when they actually let me eat with them, even if it does mean more time with Irene." Sherlock groaned.
"I guess the whole town is buzzing about the ball, who isn't invited?" John asked.
"Well I'm pretty sure Angelo isn't." Sherlock laughed.
"It's all our age group?" John asked.
"For the most part, I know that Greg, Molly, and Mary are all going." Sherlock shrugged.
"Molly too?"
"I believe so."
"Maybe you could dance with her, I bet she'd like that." John pointed out.
"Don't make me say it." Sherlock shrugged.
"I have no interest in Molly because I only like this one girl that doesn't seem to exist." John said in an extremely high pitched impression of Sherlock.
"There, I didn't have to say it." Sherlock said joyfully. John groaned, taking another bite of his potatoes and trying to ignore the mysteries of Sherlock's love life.
"That Mary was pretty cute, maybe I could ask her to dance." John shrugged.
"Maybe, but I don't know if you're really her type." Sherlock pointed out.
"Oh and you would know?"
"I would know."
"How?" John demanded, raising an eyebrow.
"I just, do?" Sherlock muttered.
"I know what this is about." John decided with a heavy sigh. Sherlock suddenly seemed to look nervous, as if there actually was a method to his madness.
"You do?" he muttered, his voice sort of small.
"You just want me for yourself. If Irene sees you with some stranger she might not come over." John pointed out.
"If it means getting Irene away I'd do anything, but there is no master plan behind it." Sherlock shrugged.
"Sounds like you're up to something." John pointed out.
"Then you'd be wrong." Sherlock decided, but he poked at the hay he was sitting on, not looking John in the eye.
"You're pathetic." John decided, playfully punching Sherlock in the arm, but Sherlock barely flinched.
"And you're pathetically weak." Sherlock agreed, making John roll his eyes but pull his fist back. There was a high pitched shriek from the house, obviously Irene, probably just because the water was too cold or her sheets were only 99.9% pure cotton.
"I hope she fell down the stairs." Sherlock decided.
"Maybe she crawled into an air duct and got trapped." John agreed.
"Or Tuffy scratched her face off." Sherlock said, starting to smile now.
"Or she fell out the window pretending she was a bird."
"Or a mysterious bolt of lightning came down, even Thor can't stand the sight of her."
"Or she drowned in the bathtub."
"Impaled herself with her high heel."
"Her makeup full out fell off of her face and took the skin with it."
"Got strangled by her fake hair." Sherlock was now giggling like mad, and John was trying his hardest not to burst out laughing, god forbid anyone in the house would hear. The very idea of that hag going through any of those creative tortures brought joy to their otherwise annoyed and angry hearts, which of course was pretty sad. But if Irene actually did die they'd play sad at the funeral and have a two man party afterwards.
"It's very likely." Sherlock shrugged once they pulled themselves together, taking a deep sigh of both laughter and shame.
"I suppose it is." John agreed.
"I just hate this, I hate her. If she makes me marry her I don't know what I'll do." Sherlock groaned, his emotions changing like two different masks.
"Just run away, we could both be social outcasts, it'll be fun." John insisted. Sherlock just laughed, a forced and sad laugh, but it was a laugh all the same.
"That'll be the day. We already are social outcasts, we'll be street hobos forced to sleep under bridges with the stacked corpses." Sherlock pointed out.
"At least we'll be together, and without her." John said.
"I suppose Greg or Molly would take us in, Angelo would only be too happy, he thinks we have a special bond or something." Sherlock shrugged.
"Do you?" John asked with a small laugh.
"God no, I can barely stand that guy, but until I get some decent money."
"I could always work as well." John pointed out.
"What would you do huh?" Sherlock asked.
"I don't know, work in a restaurant, do something useful with my life."
"I could try to get a better job, play violin in some other part of town; we could live in the woods somewhere near the stream." Sherlock planned. John nodded, feeling extremely stupid planning stuff like this; it probably won't even happen, planning to run away with some other guy, it was like a cheesy love story. "We could do it, if we really needed to." Sherlock sighed, looking at John with dead serious eyes. He wasn't kidding around, if she proposed he would run, run as fast as he could, with John in tow.
"But eventually I'd have to leave you, and you'd have to do it all on your own. Maybe it would just be easier to stay with her." John pointed out.
"Our only lead is quarantined with the plague, how are we going to get you home?" Sherlock pointed out.
"I don't know, but as much as I hate it, we have to try. They're probably burying an empty coffin as we speak." John sighed. He didn't want to think about his heartbroken parents, thinking their son was now dead after less than a weak. There were probably man hunts everywhere, Mike was no doubt blaming himself, and here Johns sat, on a bag of sheep food staring at some guy from the 1600's facing relationship problems. It was like an insane dream, but it was real, all of it, he was sure it was real.
"This is real right?" John clarified.
"What type of question is that?" Sherlock asked.
"You, this, everything, it's real?"
"I'd hope so." Sherlock shrugged. John just nodded, knowing that was the confused answer he was setting himself up for, but it helped for some reason.
"It's so absurd." John admitted.
"It's much more unbelievable for me, don't you worry." Sherlock assured.
"I'm the one that got sent back." John pointed out.
"But I'm the one who learns there is a future. We're in a wooden barn light by an oil lamp, and half our food source is still alive below us. You come talking about internet and electricity and cars, it's way too much than I can imagine." Sherlock admitted.
"Didn't you say that the world was going to end in 2012?" John asked with a laugh.
"So we've been told, thankfully I'll be long dead." Sherlock shrugged.
"Don't say that like it's a good thing." John muttered.
"It's weird to think that we're coexisting, don't you think? The past is gone, completely, am I merely a memory, is this entire thing an illusion? Right now your future occupies the earth, how can we be on it as well? Am I just a memory, right now are we being crushed by your modern buildings?" Sherlock asked. John suddenly got the biggest headache of his life, but he could see where Sherlock was coming from. Time wasn't just a line, infinite and something you could jump back on, how could John and Sherlock be one place in the 1600's while his parents and Mike were on the exact same planet at the exact same time, just centuries before.
"Maybe it's not so real after all." John shrugged.
"It has to be, there has been no gap in my timeline yet, maybe your future is fake and this is real here?" Sherlock pointed out.
"Can't be, there hasn't even been the Revolutionary War yet." John pointed out.
"Will my son fight in that war?" Sherlock asked with a small smile.
"Grandson probably." John decided.
"If I have kids."
"Why wouldn't you?"
"You have to remember that I am a complete loner with no intentions of getting married at all. And do I really want to send my own flesh and blood down the timeline? Would they like it or would it just be a curse?" Sherlock asked.
"All this deep thinking, it's making my head heart." John decided.
"But really?"
"The war will be tough, for Britain and for America, but I think it's worth it after a while. Maybe when I get back I'll find your great, great, great, great to the power of a trillion granddaughter." John said with a laugh.
"That's way too weird." Sherlock decided.
"I hope she's cute." John added.
"Of course she will, she's my descendant."
"Probably be a pig."
"Probably be a boy." Sherlock said with a laugh.
"That would put a bit of a damper on my plans."
"He'll probably flirt with you though, won't he? Probably inherit that from me as well." Sherlock pointed out with a laugh.
"Will you just let that go?" John groaned.
"No of course not, it's just too funny." Sherlock admitted.
"It's funny because you're so painfully obvious."
"What's the point of flirting if the other doesn't know? Then all you'll end up with is a friendship and invitations to Christmas dinner with them and their wife."
"Wife?"
"Husband."
"What are you trying to say Sherlock?" John asked with a laugh. Sherlock's cheeks glowed scarlet; he was smiling in an embarrassed sort of way.
"I'm trying to correct my mistake if you wouldn't mind."
"I'd never invite you and Irene to Christmas dinner anyway."
"I will not be with Irene." Sherlock growled.
"I think there's a diamond ring that says otherwise somewhere in that house." John pointed out.
"Maybe she'll end up proposing to you after the party, then you could feel my pain."
"I'd run too."
"I'd follow."
"Hopefully she wouldn't." John agreed, making Sherlock laugh a tiny bit.
"Oh my, look at the time!" Sherlock exclaimed, looking at the clock on the wall. It was approaching ten o'clock, somehow the time had snuck up on them, it jumped from five to ten in almost a half hour apparently. "I should be going, you get some sleep, tomorrow night is the pub." Sherlock pointed out, taking the plate from the bag beside John and poking his nose with a childlike laugh.
"Oh go away." John grumbled, swatting his hand.
"Good night John."
"Night Sherlock." John mumbled as the boy descended the ladder, landing on the ground with a plop and closing the door behind him.