Where We Started

Strange Looking Fish

"So, market next, we should probably get the clothes last, they'll kill me if I get animal food on it." Sherlock decided.
"How do they possibly need more food?" John asked in amazement.
"For the cat." Sherlock shrugged.
"I didn't know they've tamed cats yet." John muttered, which was a bit of a stupid comment.
"It's not exactly tame, it always attacks me when I go near it, but Mrs. Hudson loves it to death, dresses it up in little bows and stuff." Sherlock sighed. John laughed at the thought of a bow clad cat scratching Sherlock, but he had no trouble believing it, cats were pretty mean sometimes, like the one under Mike's porch.
"Okay, to the market, this is a lot of stuff." Sherlock muttered.
"When is Irene coming?" John asked.
"Not until a couple of days I'm guessing, Mrs. Hudson likes to plan everything out for at least two days before they show up. Every time they come it's like a contest to see who has the better house." Sherlock groaned.
"How old is she?" John asked.
"Eighteen or nineteen, I'm not quite sure." Sherlock shrugged, walking down the street to a large shop that would be the modern day grocery store. He opened up the door and led the way into the store, which was the most crowded store John had seen so far. It was like a little fair thing, there were all sorts of stands with a whole lot of food, some John had never even seen before, sold by a whole bunch of people. There were lines for some of the booths that stretched nearly ten people long and some booths were already starting to run out.
"Popular place." John muttered.
"Oh this is nothing, you should see it in the afternoon, jam packed, you can barely walk."
"Is it like, the only grocery store around?" John asked.
"The only what?" Sherlock asked, pausing in the middle of picking up a bag of apples.
"Food store." John corrected.
"Oh, yes, the only sanitary one at least." Sherlock shrugged, flicking a bug off of the apple as he said that. If this was what they considered 'sanitary' then John would hate to see what some of the other shops had. They went through out the whole market, John trying his best to help but he had no idea what to do. At one point Sherlock had to weigh a slab of chicken and another five or so pounds was added because John had his hand on the scale. Finally their grocery shopping was done, but they still had to go to the feed store for the evil cat and the laundry mat for what Sherlock called their 'dinner clothes'. But John was starting to have trouble imagining how two people could carry so many bags, both of their hands were full and they were only half way done. Sherlock lead him once again through the growing crowd of the street, past people talking, laughing, and even a group crying as they set out a body wrapped in a white sheet, another victim claimed by the plague apparently. John looked away, feeling as though he was trespassing on a family moment, but it wasn't like they were trying to keep it secret. Sherlock just walked on to a crude wooden shack, the feed store apparently. There were bird cages hanging outside on the porch, with everything from canaries to owls hooting softly. When they walked in it was like a maze of food bags, all stacked as high as the ceiling, but Sherlock seemed to know his way around. He led John through stacks of everything from horse grain to bird seed to a counter where a middle age man with an out of control beard was stroking a snake that was curled along a wooden stick nailed into the wall. John stepped back immediately, a shiver going down his spine.
"Hello Gary." Sherlock sighed, obviously not this Gary guy's biggest fan.
"Ah, Mr. Sherlock is it? What can I get for you?" he asked, letting the snake crawl up his arm and curl around his neck. John found that absolutely disgusting, not only were snakes terrifying but the man itself was also a bit unnerving.
"Cat food." Sherlock sighed.
"Ah yes, how is the Hudson's cat? Tuffy right?" he asked. John coughed, trying not to laugh at the most ridiculous cat name in the world.
"Unfortunately still alive." Sherlock muttered as Gary walked from behind the counter, browsing through the bags as if he himself didn't know what he was looking for.
"He we go." He decided, rolling up a ladder and climbing to the top of the mountain of brown bags. They weren't like the modern bags, they were just like thicker grocery bags with the word Cat in black ink stamped on the side. "Here lad, can you catch?" he asked, but before John was even prepared a bag of food came hurtling down at John. He panicked, about to run away but dropped the grocery bags, catching the bag of food that was so heavy his knees buckled and he almost fell into the ladder.
"Holy... what is in this thing?" John asked as Gary descended the ladder, the snake curling around his head to look at John and stick its little red tongue out at him.
"Cat food I hope." Sherlock muttered, stepping out of the way to let the man walk back to the counter and start poking around in a box with a lock on it.
"That'll be twenty pounds please." He decided. Sherlock sighed; setting down his bags and digging around in the leather bag once more, throwing the money down.
"I'll take that John, you look like you're about to fall over." Sherlock decided with a little laugh. It was true, John's knees were starting to buckle once more and he doubted he could carry it much longer.
"Thanks." He said in an exhale of breath, letting the bag roll out of his arms and into Sherlock's. in return John took the other bags, and in a combination of them all he was almost covered, and they still had another stop to make. He waddled out of the store, sure that if there were eggs somewhere in the bags that they would be cracked by now since they hit the doorframe a couple of times.
"Hate it in there." Sherlock decided, heaving the bag higher on his arms.
"He seems like a bit of a weirdo." John guessed as they walked back the way they came.
"Oh he is, prefers animals to people and he's never without that creepy snake." Sherlock agreed. Their last stop was the laundry mat, which was kind of just an in and out sort of thing. Since John had no hands left Sherlock threw the bag of food over his shoulder, holding it with one hand and in the other held the long clothing bags of the freshly washed clothes. Finally their errands were over, so they started to make their way out of town, a lot slower than when they entered. They were almost at the edge when a familiar voice called them out from behind them.
"Hey, Sherlock!" the two turned around to see Greg, the bartender from the pub, jogging up to them with a smile.
"Hello Greg." Sherlock said, obviously not in the mood to talk right now.
"I see you made a friend, John right?" Greg asked, taking his dear old time to get to the point.
"Yes, hello." John muttered.
"I was wondering if you'd be willing to play all night Friday, the pubs open since it's some bloke's birthday, Carl something I suppose, booked a room." Greg pointed out.
"I doubt this Carl wants to listen to violin all night." Sherlock pointed out.
"Well the band isn't up to it and Mr. Smith has other plans." Greg shrugged. Mr. Smith must be the trumpet player, or at least that was John's guess.
"I guess I'll manage sure, they'll be a raise though?" Sherlock asked.
"Of course."
"Alright then." Sherlock decided.
"Brilliant, I'll go tell Angelo, see you next week!" Greg decided, and with that he ran back down the street to where the pub was. John and Sherlock walked all the way back to the house, too weighed down to talk much, but John was certainly glad Sherlock didn't have to carry all of this rubbish alone. When finally they turned into the dirt driveway Sherlock was swaying to the side under the weight of the cat food, and when he could finally drop it on the ground they were both relieved.
"Okay, I'll go drop this off; you can go in my hut, just don't mess anything up and don't let anyone see you." Sherlock decided, groaning and rubbing his shoulder.
"Sounds like a deal, see you." John agreed, handing him the bags feeling sort of guilty but relieved to get all that weight off of his shoulders. He didn't wait around for Sherlock to open the door, just in case one of the Hudsons wanted to help carry the bags in, so he walked to the small hut and opened the wooden door. Thankfully it was unlocked; John didn't really fancy jumping through a window anytime soon. The hut was small, but also the perfect size for one man. There was a bed in the corner, covered in a mess of blankets, an empty tub in the corner that had to be for bathing (ew), a smaller tub near the window with John's breakfast dish, filled with popping bubble suds, and a desk in the corner with books and papers everywhere. For a servant he wasn't very neat and tidy. There was an old looking armchair in the corner, so John sat down in it, tapping his feet and making sure he was invisible from the window and door. He waited a little while until finally the door opened and Sherlock walked in, looking tired and sore from carrying so much stuff.
"Are you okay?" John asked. Sherlock wiped his forehead with a towel hanging on a peg, dipping it in the water but nodding.
"Just tired, it's a hot day today." He shrugged, throwing the towel back down into the tub. The water made his curly black bangs stick to his forehead, something John made himself look away from.
"Well still got a lot to do, clean the stalls, get fresh water from the spring, and then indoor cleaning that you can't really help with, but they have a maid that comes so I only do laundry and stuff." Sherlock shrugged.
"Well I think you deserve a break don't you think?" John asked.
"I'll take a rest when it's done." Sherlock pointed out, slipping off his shoes and trading them for a pair of work boot type things. "But on the bright side you get to meet all the lovely animals you've been sleeping over." he said with a smile. When he said lovely it was extremely sarcastic, the animals were all lazy, smelly, and mean. But Sherlock seemed to have his place in the pack, whenever he'd walk into the pen the animals would back away, whereas when John tried to get in with a shovel the goats all ran at him, pushing him out of the stall and onto his butt. It was thanks to Sherlock that the goats didn't get out, which would be quite a feat to catch, he managed to jump in front of fend them off with the rake he had, slamming the door with a laugh.
"They aren't the nicest." John decided as Sherlock helped him up with a heave.
"They just don't know you. You need to be firm, but I'll take this pen, you do the horse over there." He decided.
"If goats push me over I can't imagine what a horse would do." John muttered.
"Oh don't worry, she's ancient, I'm shocked she can walk to be honest." Sherlock pointed out. John nodded, taking his shovel and a wheel barrel and walking over to the horse pen. As Sherlock had said, the poor thing was completely gray, looking at him with old looking eyes and huffing softly. John opened the gate and started shoveling, immediately hating the job of cleaning up the poop that was piled high in the corners. But he got the job done, nearly sweating through his tee shirt when all the stalls, even the pigs, were cleaned up and fresh.
"If you can get through that, you can get through anything." Sherlock decided as they stacked the rakes in the corner of the barn.
"Well, at least it'll smell better." John agreed. Sherlock just smiled, picking up four buckets that were all stacked in the corner.
"Now we've got to get water." He sighed, throwing two of the buckets to John.
"Please tell me there's a hose out back." John begged.
"A what?" Sherlock asked with a blank stare.
"Nothing." John muttered, not in the mood to start explaining again.
"Alright then, follow me." Sherlock decided, carrying his own two buckets out of the barn and into the woods, behind the entire complex. There was a heavily traveled path, thankfully, not a single weed grew in it, but there were a couple of rocks and roots to dodge around. It was a long stretch, but after a while John could hear running water in the distance, and finally they came across a small, bubbling stream.
"Here we are." Sherlock said triumphantly, kneeling down to dip the bucket in the water. John followed suit, dropping one of the buckets in the dirt and letting the current fill up the other one. He was doing quite a job of making sure no leaves or rocks got inside as well, and when he finally got a full bucket he set it down with the first one. The stream was actually pretty deep, like a swimming hole kind of, somewhere he would love to go to when all the work was done. The forest was nice and peaceful, sunlight streaming in through the gaps in the leaves, but it was cool and shaded, with birds chirping and nice dew still hanging in the air. Little squirrels and birds would occasionally hop around, but every time John would watch them they'd scramble back for shelter. He was just reaching for his second bucket when a stream of cold water hit him in the back, soaking him to the bone. At first he was furious, but the water felt kind of nice after all the walking in the hot sun. He turned around to see Sherlock, standing above him with a sort of fight or flight stance, holding an empty bucket with a huge smile on his face.
"Oops." He said, but obviously he was kidding, and obviously he would have to pay. John dropped the bucket and shook out his shirt, standing with a glare on his face and planning his revenge. And then, all of the sudden, he ran at Sherlock, getting the leverage he needed and pushing the boy into the stream. Sherlock let out a surprised gasp as he fell, hitting the water and sinking below before rising with a spit of water, flipping his wet curls off of his head with a smile.
"I guess I deserved that." he shrugged. John laughed, having no intentions of helping him out of the water, but Sherlock stayed in, wading around a little bit and floating on his back with the current. His clothes were completely soaked through, and his shirt stuck to his chest, emphasizing the hidden muscle. John felt guilty for noticing that for some reason, but he was too busy trying to wipe the river water out of his hair.
"I guess we should get going, still got work to do, and Mrs. Hudson will be furious if I trek mud through her house." Sherlock decided, climbing onto the shore. John nodded, making the mistake of turning his back to get the other bucket when Sherlock grabbed him around the waist, both of them falling back into the water. John tried to escape, but he knew it was a lost cause when he submerged in the cool water, feeling his feet sliding against the mossy rocks at the bottom. Sherlock still had his arm around him when they broke surface, breathing heavily but smiling.
"Oops." Sherlock muttered. John swam away from him, feeling a bit uncomfortable being so close, especially after Sherlock made no mistake of flirting with him when they first met.
"Idiot!" John exclaimed, splashing some water into Sherlock's already soaking face.
"Pay back." Sherlock corrected, splashing John with more water. John laughed, avoiding the water by sinking below the water. Sherlock was already swimming away, going down stream for some reason, and hitting John with water as his feet slapped the surface. John grabbed his ankles, pulling Sherlock back and pushing his head below water for a moment before letting him breathe.
"Idiot." He decided, swimming out of reach and clambering to shore. Sherlock simply laughed, a drop of water clinging to the bottom of his nose, something John found completely adorable, not that, you know, Sherlock was adorable, because he wasn't, he was a guy, obviously. Sherlock came to shore as well, shaking out his clothes and laughing at John's angry expression.
"That was refreshing." Sherlock decided with a little laugh, his shoes squishing on the ground as he walked to get his own bucket.
"You're a jerk." John decided, not knowing why he was playing angry, it actually was a bit refreshing.
"Oh don't be like that; it was only a bit of fun." Sherlock shrugged, not sounding too guilty. dyW��͵�1