Not A Thing You Get To Choose

Have You Something To Say?

"Are you ready to go?" Mycroft asked, finally turning from the grimy mirror in which he checked his reflection to see his brother already arranging the tent in his arms. Sherlock nodded sleepily and so the two went out the doors, ignoring their coats as it was already warming up. It was sometime in the spring, neither really kept track on calendars, and so the flowers were blooming and all were in good spirits. Together they started down the road, beginning the long trek from their cottage on the edge of the city to the innermost market, a walk that was usually done in silence. Today, however, Mycroft deemed it necessary to converse, so as to make the journey a little bit more entertaining.
"What tricks did you do yesterday?" Mycroft wondered, making a point to use the word 'tricks' instead of spells, so as to maybe divert his attention away from the fact that Sherlock's profession was in every way perfectly illegal.
"Oh um, well I'm not sure. I did the one with the bird, but it pooped on a guy's hat so that didn't work out. Let's see...I did the one with the monocle." Sherlock mumbled.
"The monocle, I don't know that one." Mycroft admitted in a sleepy sort of voce. It was obvious he didn't really care, and yet Sherlock appreciated the falsified enthusiasm.
"It's um, well there's not much too it. I enchant it so that it's like a yoyo, and then I do all sorts of yoyo tricks with the guy's monocle." Sherlock admitted with a shrug. Mycroft laughed, sounding like a proud parent when their child speaks of a new trick they had learned. Sherlock smiled proudly, however he knew that half of Mycroft's laugh was just because he felt like he was entitled to laugh and so he didn't take it to heart.
"And I did the parasol one." Sherlock added in a mutter. Mycroft stiffened, and it was no secret why. Mycroft didn't approve of that one, he thought it too complicated of a trick despite its popularity.
"I thought I told you not to do that one again." he warned sternly, looking on his brother with that familiar look of disappointment. Sherlock kept his head down, repositioning his tent under his arm and shrugging as if he had just conveniently forgot about Mycroft's dislike.
"Ya well, it brought in the most money of the day. I know it's not your favorite..."
"It's not that I don't like it, it's that the police don't. That was the very trick that sent Inspector Trevor on your tail." Mycroft warned.
"And yet he learned very quickly that it was all fake. Don't you remember, I 'messed up' on one of my tricks?" Sherlock pointed out defensively.
"His superior officers were fooled but he was not, that man has it out for you Sherlock, and I won't let him get his hands on you. I cannot let you get hanged like all those other poor souls." Mycroft insisted in his stern older brother voice.
"Yes I know, but we're smarter than them, by being obvious we're being secretive, it's the perfect disguise." Sherlock defended in his whiny younger brother voice. Since they didn't have parents growing up Mycroft had adopted all of the more annoying habits of both paternal roles, and now he was demonstrating his superb motherly defensiveness, which always managed to infuriate poor Sherlock.
"It's only the perfect disguise until they see through it. You're safe for now Sherlock, and unless you're careful you may not be the safe forever." Mycroft warned.
"And then for now I will be cautious, and yet if being cautious doesn't bring food to the table..."
"I would rather starve than see you hanged!" Mycroft roared, turning on his brother with that caring rage upon his face. Sherlock gave a little squeal of terror, however as soon as Sherlock ducked away his brother's anger melted, and for a moment he took on the role of supportive big brother once more.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be angry with you, I know you're doing your best." Mycroft admitted with an apologetic smile. Sherlock nodded, continuing on in some awkwardness as Mycroft very rarely threw around compliments. However he took this one to heart, thanking his brother in a very quiet voice before continuing on in silence. When they reached the market they found that there were many open spots still available, and so Sherlock pitched his tent and sat inside for a while until the dawn broke and the people began to mill about. Mycroft left around the same time the people began to show up, and so Sherlock took his tin and set it outside the tent, donning his miserable feathered hat and looking about the crowds as they began to appear. His first show brought about a couple of sleepy faces, all who watched purely for the excuse to give their legs a rest, pausing in their walking about for a moment to watch as he scampered about, having created fire from his hands and went about lighting some sticks and papers on fire. When he blew the fire out, however, it was revealed that the items that had been burning were never really harmed, and he got a little bit of a cheer. That round created around fifteen pence, which really wasn't that bad. The day became monotonous as always. Sherlock spared some of his earnings to buy himself a couple of tomatoes for lunch, enough for him to survive off of until dinner. He sat in the mouth of his tent with his collection tin sitting safely inside, watching the people go about their day quietly. It was mostly women and children in the market, for the men were all at work today, however sometimes school boys would mill around. Sherlock was always very curios of those boys who went to the university, all dressed up in their sweaters and their slacks, they all looked so educated. They all had hope, despite their current empty pockets they knew that with their knowledge they could work their way up in the world, and Sherlock had always sat about wishing beyond anything that he might have that privilege. He didn't know much of the education system, especially higher education; however he knew that they could focus on a certain branch of study that suited them best. He hadn't a clue what he would peruse should he ever have the opportunity; however he entertained him during his lunch breaks to try to imagine himself in their shoes. He would certainly look dashing in those school issued vests, maybe he would be one to carry around his books with him wherever he went, maybe he was have friends. He could study all sorts of things, science, math, language and Latin, well the possibilities were endless! And to think all that was keeping him from being one of those boys was his money. He thought he could be smart, if he had the potential, for he had proven himself to be plenty educated when Mycroft had taught him as a child. He could read and write and do some simply equations, Sherlock had been taught poetry and rhetoric and had even written a sonnet or two in his boredom. He knew of some of the basic elements and the compounds they formed, he knew of great works of literature and he knew some basic world history. He remembered things and he was excellent at piecing them together, he was able to make connections in the social world that people thought to be extraordinary. Maybe it was his magic, or maybe it was just his brain. The boys hadn't inherited much from their parents, however Sherlock was figuring out more and more about them just by what they had. For starters their father had to have been intelligent, otherwise Mycroft wouldn't have been able to get a job as a clerk. Sherlock had inherited his magic from his mother, which was a trait she hadn't wished to pass to either of her sons as she knew it was condemning. It made a man feel alone in a world of so many; it alienated them and made them a criminal walking amongst the normal people. Of course Sherlock felt like it was a very lonely gift, however without it where would he be? Starving, most likely, starving or dead. Sherlock's train of thought was interrupted when he noticed a boy watching him from afar, the very same boy from the day before. Last time he hadn't thought much of it, but today the boy didn't seem distracted by Sherlock, no in fact he seemed almost as if his attention was focused entirely on Sherlock, almost as if he was the very thing he had come to look at. Sherlock sat up straighter, very happy he had left his silly hat inside, and watched the boy just as curiously. They didn't make eye contact, in fact the boy looked almost as if he was in a daze as he stood on the other side of the street, far enough away so that their looking at each other didn't provoke too much suspicion form the passing folks. He was most certainly the same boy from before, he had golden hair that gleamed in the sun and he dressed as if he had money, but apart from that there was nothing truly spectacular about him. He looked mostly average, it was his stare that distracted Sherlock to some extent. No one had taken any interest in him, not like this. Finally the boy seemed to come to, and suddenly he blinked as if he had realized that staring was rather rude. Sherlock tried to smile at him, almost as if to beckon him over to the tent, but to no extent. The boy had already turned away, scared by his own interest, and disappeared back into the crowds of the market.