Where We Started

Rich Kid Parties

                  

When John officially woke up he made one notice, that he had suddenly, somehow, found a pillow. But not until he rolled over did he realize that 'pillow' smelled like cheap cologne and hay. John's eyes flew open and he scrambled to his knees, feeling like he had just awoken from a drunken night, if he ever actually did drink. Sherlock was lying flat on his back, his eyes just starting to open groggily muttering words unheard.
"Good morning." Sherlock decided after a little bit of blinking and looking around.
"Okay, first off what the heck?" John asked.
"What the heck what?" Sherlock asked.
"Oh I don't know, the fact that A. You're not in your little hut, B. I was using you as a bloody human pillow!" John demanded.
"Aw, I thought it was cute." Sherlock admitted, laughing a little bit at John's ignorance.
"It's not cute, it's weird!" John pointed out.
"Be that as it may, you're the one that was snuggling up to me." Sherlock defended, sitting up onto his elbows and blowing the hair out of his eyes the best he could. John suddenly remembered what Greg had told him the previous night, and nothing seemed to improve after that.
"So you actually carried me home, from the bar?" John asked.
"You're not nearly as heavy as all those groceries." Sherlock agreed.
"Well, thanks, I guess." John muttered. "I can honestly say no one has ever told me that." Sherlock just laughed, as if this were all some sort of cute joke they had shared, just one John hardly remembered because he slept through it.
"Big day today huh?" Sherlock asked. It took John a moment to process what exactly he was talking about, but then he remembered the masquerade ball and all that.
"Oh ya, you might just end up with Irene after all." John laughed, but he knew now why it wasn't funny. Sherlock had no interest in Irene, not only because she was a stuck up annoying rich girl, but just that, she was a girl, and obviously that didn't fit Sherlock's type.
"Well I best be off, they'll wondering where I am, and they'll be needing all the help they can get." Sherlock decided, heaving himself to his feet and brushing off the strands of hay still clinging to his clothing.
"So when should I get down there?" John asked.
"Around six or so, I'll probably just get dressed in there; you don't need me to escort you. Just sneak in with the rest of the guests, and if you're questioned, which you won't be by the way, tell them you're with me." Sherlock decided, jumping down the ladder. "And you should make yours selves some breakfast as well, unless you forgot how to do that." he called up.
"Alright, you have fun with whatever the heck you've got to do." John agreed, but was only answered by the slamming of the door. Joh didn't know if he was expected to sneak down and eat in Sherlock's hut or kill a pig in this very barn, but he didn't have time to focus on that now. John let his head fall back in the hay, had he really been carried all the way here? What he needed right now was proof that Sherlock had no interest in him, which would be true of course, it wouldn't make sense if Sherlock liked him. First of all they've known each other for a whole week, and second f all they were just friends. Sherlock never gazed at him or anything, just because someone was gay doesn't mean they go around kissing every man in sight, they were civilized. The situation would be exactly the same if Sherlock was a girl, no romantic feelings, but they could be together if they did. And would John even have feelings for Sherlock, if the opportunity presented itself? No, of course not, once again, they were only friends, and there were the thoughts that made even friendship seem unnaturally romantic. So John pulled himself to his feet, groaning as he did, and stretched his now aching muscles. When John went down the ladder to check if the coast was clear he had to duck away from the window as quickly as possible. Mrs. Hudson and what he assumed was the other maid were out in the garden, pruning the bushes, weeding the garden, throwing stones into a pile, re-mulching, all this stuff to get the garden ready for the visitors.
"And then I told Carol that if she wanted to get the waitress back she had to hurry up, because the steak would only get colder." Mrs. Hudson said, finishing off what John could guess was a pointless story.
"In the end we got a full refund because Ethel's cake was gooey in the middle, but I'll tell you this, I will never go back to that restaurant again." John groaned, creeping back up the ladder and sitting there without both breakfast and lunch. He hoped he'd be able to sneak some dinner in with the oeuvres they made for the ball. He spent the entire day hidden in the barn, not daring to get up and walk around, stuck in his own mind in this same barn for ages. The same thoughts came around, the mark on his chest, his home, this angel, Irene, and the most prominent, Sherlock's crushes. Even though John knew he shouldn't be judging him, whenever he thought of that boy now he saw him snogging another boy on some bar counter. It felt like something you should automatically tell someone before you become barn mates really, not that it matter. John supposed he didn't have to warn Sherlock he was straight before camping out in his barn really. Victor, who was this Victor, and was he really one of the first killed in this awful plague? Poor Sherlock, his entire past was a spiral of death and sadness wherever he went. And John would  be adding to that if he did indeed find a way out of here, Sherlock would be left once again without anyone to his name. Poor Sherlock.