Not A Thing You Get To Choose

Friends Can Be Multiplied

    For the next couple of days Sherlock saw nothing of John but his penmanship, he got his notes and that was all, for the boy seemed to be avoiding the market place all together. It was a little bit unnerving, for his disappearing made Sherlock think that John was growing to be more uninterested, however the notes strongly suggested otherwise. Never once did John admit that he was in love, he never spelled it out in plain lettering, he never used the word either, he just skirted around it, talking about how his heart beat (so vaguely that Sherlock was almost sure he meant the actual beating to stay alive) and sometimes he talked about how he 'longed to be breathing your air, able to reach out and touch, your soft skin and the curls of your hair'. That sounded romantic, of course it did, and yet John didn't specify, he wasn't specific, and Sherlock was beginning to wonder if the notes were John's polite way of staying as far as he could away. The letters were touching of course, so beautiful that Sherlock felt his heart warm every time he read over one of them, however they also gave him a sense of emptiness, a sense of uselessness. John's writing was so beautiful of course, and yet Sherlock had to remind himself that it really was no more than writing. For John to say these things in person would prove to be a magical experience, enough to unnerve Sherlock enough that he might melt in John's hands, however for now he was just stuck here in his little cot, waiting to see what might come next in Merlin's beak. He saved every note that John sent him, and towards the end of their physical hiatus Sherlock and John were exchanging up to five letters a day. Poor Merlin was growing to be more exhausted, and he simply couldn't get enough bread and water in order to help him get through the long distance fly from the Holmes cottage to the Watson mansion. Or at least Sherlock could only assume it was a mansion, he had never been there before but certainly on a judge's salary they could afford something as glamorous as a mansion. Sherlock envied John horribly, for the boy had as much as money as he could need and all the education he could imagine, that boy could know anything, the world was at his fingertips, and yet he complained! Oh to have his problems would be a gift! And to think what possibilities might unfold should Sherlock have access to such an education, imagine how far his brain could go if it were used properly? Oh magic could only do so much, and Sherlock was using it to the best of his abilities. The only way his gifts could help him more than they already were would be to use them to steal the money from people's pockets, and Sherlock was simply too morally correct for such a thing. It was a Wednesday night when Sherlock was given a very obscure opportunity, an opportunity that came in the form of ten pence from his brother as they were sitting at home after their work day. Mycroft was still in his business suit, looking very nervous as he straightened his tie (which he only wore for very special occasions) and tried to brush out his brown hair to perfection. Sherlock sat curiously on his bed, holding the coins very nervously in his hands, almost as if he was expecting Mycroft to say some very terrible news. It was unlike his brother to give him money, and even more unlike him to look this nervous around five o'clock at night.
"What's this for?" Sherlock wondered curiously, poking the coins around in his hand and looking up to where Mycroft was breathing rather heavily, trying to stare at himself in the mirror with his business like grin on. Oh, so it was a meeting then.
"I have a work dinner, we are meeting with the investors and Mr. Moran wants me to take notes of the account. I have to look my absolute best Sherlock, absolute best." Mycroft murmured nervously, straightening his tie yet again and turning to Sherlock as if asking how he looked.
"You look wonderful. What's the money for?" Sherlock asked, still not straying from his original question.
"Ah yes, the money. Well if this all works out then I might see a little boost in my paycheck, for Mr. Moran plans to expand and if he does then we'll be more profitable, and either way it's my payday tomorrow. I thought that maybe you'd want to go out, have a little fun." Mycroft suggested with a smile.
"What you mean like...?" Sherlock muttered nervously, very unaware of what Mycroft meant for him to do. Surely he understood that Sherlock never went out?
"I don't know what I mean; I don't know what kids like you do for fun." Mycroft shrugged, looking almost as bit awkward as he turned back towards the mirror.
"Mycroft I don't have any friends. It'll just be weird." Sherlock pointed out.
"You have one friend; one which I'm sure will be out tonight." Mycroft insisted, turning towards Sherlock with a hesitant smile, as if hoping that Sherlock will reject the offer and settle for eating bread alone in his house. TO be honest seclusion sounded much preferable than going out and trying to be social, for the chances that John was cooped up in his house as well were much too high for comfort.
"Where would I go?" Sherlock asked.
"Well you're um, what eighteen?" Mycroft wondered.
"Seventeen." Sherlock clarified with a frown.
"Seventeen, then you're old enough to pretend to be eighteen." Mycroft said with a smile.
"What...you're saying I should go to the pub?" Sherlock asked in astonishment, his jaw dropping.
"I'm saying that maybe you'll find your little friend at the pub. Now don't over indulge of course, I will not like it if you come back drunk. Either way, ten pounds won't buy you enough to get drunk." Mycroft murmured. Sherlock couldn't process what he was hearing; this was so unprecedented it was almost as if Mycroft was drunk himself.
"Mycroft this is new, this is...this is scary to be honest. You're asking me to break the law?" Sherlock clarified with a gape.
"I'm asking you to have fun, and to be a kid for once. I never had a childhood, and yet I have no right to deprive you of yours. So go, have fun, be a little be rebellious for once! All in all you know right from wrong, and as long as you're responsible I know you'll be fine. Just no magic." Mycroft insisted. Sherlock stared at him for a moment, and then back down at the coins in his hand, trying to wonder what on earth was going on here. Mycroft was usually so overprotective, for him to actually suggest something like this was beyond scary. Sherlock was suspecting that next he might announce that they were moving to France, or that Sherlock was dying from some sort of plague, or that Inspector Trevor was on his way to hang them both. It was all so unnerving, and yet Mycroft didn't seem to be kidding. He had no ability to joke, for the most part, and Sherlock could only suspect that he was being completely serious.
"This is odd." Sherlock decided, and yet even as he said that he slipped off of his bed and onto the floor, starting towards his little basket of clothes in which he kept his 'nice' clothes. They were merely an old pair of slacks and a purple button down, dressy enough to get him by yet certainly not meeting the standards for half the restaurants on the block. Maybe that was why Mycroft was encouraging him to go the pub, the trashiest establishment in town. Nevertheless Sherlock changed quickly, looking at his brother ever so curiously before pulling on his equally tattered black jacket, glancing over at Merlin to which the bird just ruffled his feathers and cooed excitedly. Well, at least one of them was excited about being rebellious. Sherlock slid the money into his pocket and glanced at himself nervously in the mirror, all while Mycroft finally pulled on his jacket and grabbed his brief case from next to his bed.
"We can walk together." Mycroft said with a smile, watching as Sherlock pulled on his old trench coat reluctantly. He really didn't want to leave the house, as if he suspected some sort of trap was waiting for him at the pub, and yet it was all he could do but nod and follow Mycroft out the door, whistling for his bird to follow while they took to the familiar dusty roads towards town.
"I'm very confused Mycroft, usually you don't want me to even leave the house." Sherlock admitted as they began, walking under the fading sunlight and the first of the stars that dared peak out through the ever growing darkness.
"Yes well, you're old enough to behave yourself." Mycroft shrugged.
"Why would you let me though? Have I don't something...right?" Sherlock wondered curiously, knowing that surely this wasn't some sort of punishment.
"You've been down of late; I've noticed that you're glum about something or other. I just thought that your friend might be able to help. Maybe he could introduce you to his friends; maybe you could have...multiples." Mycroft suggested with a confused little frown.
"Multiple friends, what a very odd idea." Sherlock agreed.
"I think from what I know of Mr. Watson he is a very nice boy, and I think together you could be very good friends. I envy you of course, brother mine, for I have never had a friend of my own." Mycroft admitted with a heavy sigh.
"Well you have me." Sherlock offered guiltily.
"Oh you don't count." Mycroft muttered, however there was a slight smile on his face, detectable only the slightest in this dying light.
"That's nice of you." Sherlock laughed.
"Well you don't! We're brothers; we can't be friends as well. Friends are people that you pick." Mycroft pointed out.
"Well if you weren't my brother..."
"Then you'd never know me. Don't give me that cheesy stuff Sherlock; you know how it sickens me." Mycroft murmured. Sherlock nodded, grinning for his brother's sensitivity to heartwarming conversation was almost something of an allergy. The poor man couldn't stand human emotions; to Mycroft all aspects of the human heart were foreign, especially in verbal conversation. That was part of the reason Sherlock never mentioned this possible growing love between John and he, simply because he suspected Mycroft wouldn't be able to tolerate two seconds of the conversation that would follow. When they arrived in the town Sherlock left Mycroft at his fancy restaurant, being as though it was on the edge of town whereas the pub was near the center. Mycroft was nervous, Sherlock could see it in his usually emotionless eyes and hear it in his accelerated breathing, he kept patting down his hair and tapping his fingers against his pants. It was unlike Mycroft to be nervous, however Sherlock could tell that there was a lot on the line with this meeting, and so he knew that he couldn't get Mycroft to calm down nor could he try to make him focus on his own problems, like where the pub even was.
"So this is where I leave you then." Mycroft muttered, a couple of steps away from the restaurant so that none of the diners could see them through the windows.
"Yes, yes Mycroft you will be fine. Quite fine." Sherlock assured with a nod.
"I know. At least I hope so. This is my first business meeting, or at least my first with this sort of pressure. Everything is in order, I look fine, I just have to write fine." Mycroft murmured.
"And you will, you will. Now go in there Mycroft, make me proud. I'll be home when you get back." Sherlock assured.
"No, Sherlock stay out if you want to. Just please, no girls. Or at least no um...intimacy with them. Those pounds are for food and drink only." Mycroft insisted sternly. Sherlock stepped back, his face contorting into unimaginable disgust. It was almost amusing to realize that Mycroft thought Sherlock was straight, and yet now was certainly not the time to break the news, not now that Mycroft was under so much pressure.
"Mycroft I give you my word that I won't do anything with any girl." Sherlock assured with an almost ironic smile, however it seemed to put Mycroft's mind to rest, and so he was quieted.
"Alright then, alright. Have a nice night Sherlock, be safe. If you need me for any reason, please at least wait until I'm finished dinner." Mycroft pleaded, and with that he nodded his brother farewell and walked very professionally into the restaurant, holding his head high even while his hands trembled around his briefcase handle. This left Sherlock standing alone on the pavement, looking around nervously at the streets, empty except for some very fierce looking night goers. Merlin was perched on Sherlock's shoulder, the only friendly company he now had, and yet Sherlock decided that if he was going to go to the pub he might as well get it over with. No one there would know that it was unusual, no one there would care that he was alone. And so he just had to go, pretending like this was his millionth time, he had to go and pretend that everyone inside was his friend. He had to go in hopes that maybe John would be there as well. So Sherlock began the long trek to the pub, walking along the trash strewn sidewalks, looking so different now that the sun had set, now that the markets had emptied and the tents had disappeared. It was almost as if the city had lost all life, and in a way that made Sherlock a little bit depressed. When he was here it was always to collect crowds, and now that the sun had set he wanted to stay as far as he possibly could from anyone who might come closer. There was certainly a different air to the city at night, a new hostility that sent shivers down Sherlock's spine. The pub was unmissable, for it was glowing obnoxiously with oil lamps hanging from the sign outside, overflowing with men and women alike, the men dressed formally while the women were dressed well...provocatively. Sherlock could hardly bear to look, and so as he entered through the crowd he kept his eyes fixed pointedly at the sidewalk below his feet. Those women must have been the ones Mycroft was anxious to keep Sherlock away from. Inside it wasn't terribly different; however it was much more inviting than was the sidewalk outside. There were more people that looked at least a little bit respectable, some even that sat and had dinner, while some sort of live band played upbeat music on a saxophone and guitar. The air was thick with smoke from all sorts of tobacco products, and it smelled much like body odor and strong alcohol. The bar was in the back, and Sherlock could only assume that was where he was supposed to go, for he couldn't take up a table entirely for himself. The crowds were thick, and so Sherlock couldn't see John's head anywhere, however it reassured him when he saw a couple of teenaged boys looking about his age sitting around a table in their university uniforms. At least he wasn't the only one here under twenty five. Sherlock tried not to make eye contact with the boys as he made his way to the bar, sitting on a stool and looking this way and that in an attempt to find John. Still he was very much lost in the crowds and the smoke, and his search was interrupted immediately by a woman who hung over the counter with a flirtatious gaze, her black hair pulled up into a messy bun on the top of her head.
"And what can I get for you?" she wondered in a soft voice, leaning so far over the counter that Sherlock felt the need to sit back. She was pretty in a very odd sort of way, not so much naturally, for she was very much caked in makeup. Sherlock didn't feel all that excited about drinking something alcoholic, and yet he was sure that he should probably get a drink just so that he didn't look silly for going to bar and ordering a ginger ale.
"Yes um, a beer?" Sherlock murmured, not sounding all too sure of himself. The bartender just laughed, as if he had made some sort of joke, her eyes now trialing to his shoulder as her smile dropped in confusion.
"Is that a bird?" she asked curiously, finally letting up her seductive act as she became legitimately intrigued in the boy sitting across from her. Sherlock cleared his throat nervously, looking over to Merlin with an apologetic smile.
"Yes um, this is my bird Merlin. I'm not sure why he likes me but we um, well we sort of get along." Sherlock admitted with a grin.
"That's very interesting." She said finally, nodding her head as if she was happy to see something new before she finally disappeared, presumably to go get Sherlock's beer. Merlin chirped apprehensively, as if worried he wasn't allowed, however Sherlock shushed him ever so quietly.
"Don't worry, I think she likes you." Sherlock assured in a whisper. The woman returned shortly with a great big mug overflowing with foam, setting it down in front of Sherlock before leaning once more over the counter with a more curious look in her eye.
"I think I've seen you before, haven't I?" she wondered, staring at his face for quite a while and making Sherlock feel just a little bit uncomfortable.
"Well um, I'm not that public of a figure, but I do put on some magic shows near the market." He admitted with a shrug.
"Oh my God! Yes you're right, that's where I've seen you before! Ya you're amazing, truly amazing." The woman agreed, getting more and more excited by the minute.
"Oh well thank you. It's always nice to meet a fan." Sherlock said humbly, smiling a little bit to himself and trying to remind himself that this was probably what all socialization was like. It was just talking, it really wasn't so bad.
"You did that thing with the guy's nose the other day, didn't you? I'm friends with the accordion guy, he lives in the flat under mine, said he got knocked out trying to protect you." The woman laughed.
"Yes, oh yes what a day that was. It attracted the police and everything." Sherlock agreed with a little chuckle.
"Ooh, I'm sure you don't want them around do you?" she guessed. Sherlock blinked, not quite sure how to respond to that purely because he didn't know what she was hinting at. Well of course he didn't want the police around, no one did, and yet why was she so positive in assuming he didn't like police?
"Well I'm not opposed, certainly he saved me in that situation, since your musically inclined friend was almost no help." Sherlock laughed.
"Well they'll be after you magic, right? Surely you attract attention with that sort of thing." she guessed, her eyes growing wide in excitement, as if expecting some sort of great story about police chases and whatnot. Sherlock, however, shuffled uncomfortably on his chair and shook his head, remembering what Mycroft had said about not disclosing his magic to anyone.
"No well, it's just tricks of course. I don't have any actual magic; if I did it would be crazy to display it. It's just tricks." Sherlock assured again, nodding his head reassuringly while the woman's smile faded in obvious confusion.
"Oh come on, you can't actually claim that there's no magic involved there! You made that guy's nose grow, how on earth could that be a trick?" she wondered insistently.
"A true magician never discloses his secrets." Sherlock said with a little chuckle, lifting the large mug to his lips and taking a small, preliminary taste of the beer. It was foul; however he had to pretend to like it so as to not look out of place in a pub like this. The woman still seemed to be pondering how Sherlock could enlarge a man's nose without real sorcery, a feat that was all together impossible for there was no logical explanation at all, and she was staring at him quite transfixed.