Where We Started

Part Time Pack Mule

John woke up this time before Sherlock came to wake him up, something that was quite unusual since Sherlock woke up before the sun.
"You're late." John pointed out, not that it mattered much.
"You're early." Sherlock corrected as he climbed the ladder up to the loft, poking the now empty oil lamp. "Did you leave this on all night?"
"Sorry." John shrugged.
"Doesn't matter, breakfast is down on the hay once again; ready to start a whole new day of fun?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.
"I guess I don't have a choice." John shrugged. He was right of course, and the day was anything but fun. The grocery list was now double the amount of yesterday, but this time they remembered the wheelbarrow, which they definitely needed. Irene was coming in one day, so Mrs. Hudson was baking and cooking way too much. They had to drop off almost all of their clothes to the dry cleaners, getting them cleaned, repaired, and everything else rich people needed with their clothes. The entire wheelbarrow was full, as were their hands and arms. There was so much food the Hudsons' almost didn't give them enough to pay for it, and along with the clothes and some cleaning products there were only three pieces of silver left when they headed back to the house. Sherlock was steering the wheelbarrow with difficulty, his arms sinking with bags, and John was feeling quite like a pack mule. When they finally reached the house Sherlock put all the things away and John went into the cabin, as usual. His stomach was growling so he decided maybe he should be the one to prepare lunch, for something different. He rose from the armchair he was occupying and walked to the cabinets, opening them up to see what Sherlock had hiding in there. There was nothing new of course, bread, cheese, vegetables, no knives or anything though, so John just put a loaf onto the platter from the previous night, hoping it looked Semi presentable.
"I seem to have a large rat infestation." Sherlock decided when he walked in, seeing John still poking around in the cabinets.
"Oh god really?" John exclaimed, jumping back from the cabinets in fear that a rat would eat his eyes out. Sherlock just rolled his eyes with a little laugh.
"You're extremely gullible." He decided, walking up to the tray and examining it.
"Thought I'd do some work for a change." John pointed out, waiting for Sherlock's reaction.
"That's very kind of you, but I'm afraid I'll have to eat quickly, the Hudsons want me to do a complete clean of the entire house, with the help of the maid of course, it'll take hours." Sherlock groaned, pulling a bread knife out of a drawer and cutting two pieces off of the loaf, one for him and one for John.
"They treat this Irene like royalty." John guessed as he took the bread thankfully.
"More than royalty. This is half the reason she's spoiled brat, because everyone does treat her like she's more than just a rich person. News flash, she doesn't run the country." Sherlock pointed out, rolling his eyes and starting to eat his makeshift lunch moodily.
"Well just treat her like royalty for a couple of days, then she'll be out of your life for another year or so." John assured. "Unless, of course, she chooses to marry you."
"Oh I don't want to hear that, I really don't, that would sincerely ruin my entire existence."
"I know, that's what makes it so funny." John added with a laugh.
"Oh stop, I could send you to the streets easily." Sherlock pointed out with a threatening look.
"Yes, you could, but you won't."
"How do you know that?" Sherlock asked.
"Because we've both been crying about my leaving since I came here, and you obviously don't want me to leave sooner than necessary."
"You act as though I care about you." Sherlock laughed, but he was smiling, he obviously cared way too much about John.
"How could I be so silly to think that? The very look in your eyes says you want to throw up when you see me." John agreed.
"I'll see you later you little rat." Sherlock decided with a little laugh, finishing off his bread and ruffling John's hair like he was some type of dog before disappearing out the door. For some reason John couldn't wipe a smile off of his face, it was almost contagious, even though he had just been called a rat it was almost like a pet name, they were closer than ever before now. He cleaned up the best he could with yesterday's water, which made John want to take a shower in hand sanitizer afterwards, there could be mosquito larva floating around in there and he was washing the dishes in it. But after a while of sitting around and doing nothing he became unbearably bored. Sherlock was still preoccupied with chores in the house, which would undoubtedly take a while, so John decided to get some water from the stream, just to help out the best he could. He got to his feet and carried two buckets down through the woods and filled them up to the brim. He was definitely getting stronger through his whole adventure in the 1600's, carrying groceries, carrying water, carrying pretty much everything he had to bring somewhere. His arms weren't even burning like they usually did when he got to the house, setting them down on the steps for Sherlock to see and getting the other two, filling them up at the stream as well and leaving them out next to Sherlock's hut. By now it was a bit hard to believe there were so many chores to do inside, if only John could go in there and help out. But then again it was a big, elegant house, and he imagined it would be difficult to polish and clean marble, which was the sole building material apparently. When Sherlock finally arrived it was almost dinner time, the sun was starting to sink low in the sky and John was just about to doze off himself.
"I hate indoor chores." Sherlock announced as he stormed in. He looked like he had been working his hardest though, sweat and dirt everywhere, his hair a tangled mess on his head, and he smelled strongly of disinfectant.
"You look happy." John observed with a little laugh.
"Well then you need some glasses." Sherlock grumbled. "I saw you got the water though, thanks for that, I was dreading having to go down there at this hour."
"I was bored, there's not much to do around here." John admitted.
"There is if Mrs. Hudson tells you about it. My god, I had to scrub that bloody kitchen counter like eight times because she spilled grease all over it."
"You better get a pay raise." John laughed.
"They give me a house, they give me water, all I need to buy is clothes and food, this hut is half my pay anyway." Sherlock shrugged.
"Well then you should get an addition." John decided.
"Oh whatever, did you make dinner?" Sherlock asked with a little laugh.
"No should I have?" John asked.
"Of course not, that's kind of my job, I don't fancy bread for the third meal straight, how about some vegetables, a salad maybe?" Sherlock asked, looking in the cabinets.
"You keep vegetables in the cabinet?" John asked.
"Not many other ways of preservation, but don't worry, just bought them today." Sherlock assured, getting out a head of lettuce and some tomatoes, onions, and cucumber.
"So we were carrying your groceries as well?" John asked.
"I bought them myself." Sherlock defended, as if John were accusing him of using the Hudson's money for himself.
"I know that, I just didn't know you shopped."
"Where did you think the food came from?" Sherlock laughed.
"I don't know, I just thought it sort of happened." John shrugged.
"For being a time traveler you're definitely stupid." Sherlock decided, getting a big knife out of a drawer and starting to chop the lettuce into little bite sized pieces. "Get some plates out of there." He instructed, pointing up to a cabinet above the water sink thing. John obeyed, getting two plates and a bowl for the salad to go into. After a while of watching Sherlock chop vegetables, which, if John had attempted, would result in nothing more than a severed finger.
"So you said you'd teach me how to play the violin, is that still happening?" John asked hopefully, looking at Sherlock with a small smile.
"Of course, if you really want to play." Sherlock agreed, pouring some of his newly mixed salad equally onto the two plates.
"It's a really nice instrument, maybe it'll help pick up some girls when I get back." John decided. Sherlock just laughed softly, handing John his plate with a fork and sat down on his bed.
"It's not that difficult to be honest, people always think it's rocket science when it's really just sliding a bow against strings."
"Well I've seen you play, you're like a genius at it, you were playing so fast I couldn't even keep track." John pointed out.
"That's what makes a good violinist, you can't focus on what you're doing, it's the music, not the movements, that I notice."
"I'm probably going to break glass when I try." John guessed.
"I doubt you'll be bad, you might have artistic vision that you haven't noticed before." Sherlock pointed out with a small laugh.
"We had to learn clarinet at school, I broke mine because I accidently stepped on it." John admitted, remembering his teacher's furious look.
"Well if you break my violin, I break your neck." Sherlock decided, making John laugh nervously. There was a part of him that didn't think he was kidding, that violin obviously meant a lot to him. When dinner was over Sherlock checked that the coast was clear, sneaking around the back of the house to the barn, violin case in hand and John in pursuit. When he closed the door to the barn, John could breathe a bit easier, knowing that the Hudsons weren't going to find them without really looking.
"Wont they hear the music?" John asked.
"Of course, but they enjoy it, think it's relaxing." Sherlock shrugged, climbing the ladder carefully before hopping onto the loft. "I forgot this was empty." He muttered, shaking the oil lamp as if it would help in some way.
"There's an oil can right there, hand me it will you?" he asked, pointing to an iron bottle next to John's feet. John did as he was told, feeling like he was in the Wizard of Oz or something as Sherlock poured oil into the lamp and lit a match, providing light as they went over to sit on the feed bags. Since they weren't eating there was no special arrangements with the bags, they both sat on John's makeshift bed.
"So, this is the violin." Sherlock said, opening the case to reveal a beautiful instrument. It was polished to perfection, as if Sherlock had just cleaned it the previous night, the wood shining in the lamp light.
"It's beautiful." John admitted as Sherlock picked it up. The instrument was definitely something that belonged to Sherlock, the two fit together like puzzle pieces. Violins were elegant and beautiful, both of what Sherlock was, there was just something in his face that screamed violin player.
"I like to think so, yes." Sherlock agreed, lifting it to eye level. "So this is the actual violin, as you can see, and this is the bow." He picked up the bow, which was just a metal thing with some type of string or something stretched between. John nodded, knowing this already, but sometimes it was interesting to listen to someone talk about what they loved. The way their eyes sparkled as they explained every little detail, the small smile on their faces as they got to explain what they loved to someone else that actually cared, the opportunity came only once or twice.
"These are synthetic core strings, usually the most common type whereas the steel and gut are expensive and unpredictable." He explained, examining the clear strings pulled tightly over the violin. "So, here you are, carefully please..." Sherlock decided, handing the violin over to John. It was a lot lighter than John imagined, probably because the core was hallow, but he still imagined the wood to weigh more. Sherlock smiled proudly, as if holding the violin was a very complicated task and required encouragement.
"Put the violin on your shoulder and rest your left jaw on the chin rest, I don't know why it's called a chin rest honestly, it should be called a jaw rest." Sherlock decided. John just smiled as he rambled, putting the violin on his shoulder as instructed and resting his chin, sorry, jaw, on the chin rest, just a padded leather attachment really.
"Sit up straighter than that, don't be slouching." Sherlock added, making John roll his eyes but sit up as straight as possible. Even though he was doing his best to be tall the top of his head only stretched to Sherlock's nose at best. "Perfect, you little protégé." Sherlock said with a little laugh. John smiled back at him, feeling a bit awkward with the violin on his jaw, but the smile he received back was worth it in the end.
"I feel very fancy." He decided with a little laugh.
"You are fancy." Sherlock agreed. "Okay, rest the neck in between your thumb and first finger, the others will do the actual playing." John did the best he could, but he felt extremely stupid next to this musician as he couldn't seem to find a comfortable way to hold the instrument. And then he felt Sherlock's cold fingers moving John's plucking them from where they lay on the strings to the appropriate positions, the neck of the violin sitting where it should go. The contact sent an unfamiliar shiver down John's spine, making him do his best to avoid Sherlock's eyes in any way possible.
"There we are, now we'll focus on the basic cords, G, D, A, and E, in order from top to bottom strings, only short strokes for now." Sherlock decided. John nodded, placing his finger on the topmost cord and waiting for Sherlock's word to start playing.
"Hold the bow in the middle, where the gaps are in the body, and slide it over the strings." Sherlock instructed. John did as he was told, positioning the bow in the gaps and sliding it over top. The most awful screeching sound came from the violin, definitely not something that Sherlock had played in the pub.
"I don't think I did that right." John guessed. But, instead of being mad, Sherlock just laughed, as if this were somehow acute beginners mistake everyone made.
"You had the cord right, not the bow." He decided. "May I assist?" Sherlock asked, looking a bit nervous for some reason.
"Be my guest." John assured, not knowing exactly what he meant by assist, but knowing that whatever Sherlock was going to do it would probably help this train wreck of a cord he was playing. Sherlock's moved close to John on the bags of food, sitting so close that the violin almost hit him, and wrapped his fingers around John's on the bow, making John's heart start to beat faster than he had previously thought possible.
"Clean strokes, like this." He decided. "Press on the G." John held down the top cord, the one he assumed was G, and let Sherlock control the bow. Their hands slid up and a soft, clean note sprung forth from the instrument, very unlike the screech John had managed to produce. Sherlock smiled proudly, his eyes sparkling with happiness.