John roamed around a little bit, passing shops like barber shops, libraries, restaurants, but everything looked ancient and stupid, obviously it was a different world in this particular town, without electricity. He followed the sound of voices and laughter and decided that would be a good place to start his search for the town's location, so he walked into a dingy little pub lit by oil lamps. There were men and women everywhere, all following the extremely odd dress code but seeming to be having the time of their lives. They were all drinking large glasses of who knows what, but with every sip their eyes went cross and they smiled a little bit wider, laughing a bit louder and talking a bit more. There was a band playing all sorts of instruments, from guitar to accordion, stamping to the beat and also sipping from mugs when they got the chance. John looked around for anyone he could ask, wandering over to the bar to where a young looking guy with blondish grey was filling up yet another mug of beer or something for a swaying man at the bar, throwing money on the counter. There were some stools along the wooden bar, so John pulled one up, trying to block out some of the music and noise and get his bearings. His home couldn't be far, how he got here he had no idea, but it seemed only logical that the wind storm, whatever it was, was only short lived.
"You're a little bit too young to drink mate." The bartender decided, polishing a mug with a ratty looking towel.
"I'd say the same to you, but luckily I'm not here to drink." John decided, leaning on his elbows and frowning up at the man. "Where am I exactly?" he asked. The man looked confused, looking around as if trying to decide if he was joking or not.
"The Baker Street Pub, sitting at the bar and asking stupid questions." He decided.
"No, what town?" John asked again.
"Nottingham, London, Earth." The man said, his sarcasm definitely evident. Nottingham? That was miles away from John's hometown, a two hour drive at least, how in the world did he end up here?
"What's with everyone though, some type of costume party?" he asked, observing the people around them.
"Are you drunk mate?" the man asked, edging an abandoned half full glass away from John with caution.
"No, I'm not, but really, why is everyone dressed like this?" John asked. The man rolled his eyes.
"What are you on about, you're the odd looking one if I have to be honest, creeping me out." he decided, observing John's shirt and windbreaker as if they were some dark magic. John laughed, trying to decide if this guy was being serious or not, this was all a joke right? He couldn't be in Nottingham, he couldn't be the weird one here when there was a guy walking around with a cane and a handkerchief sticking out of his pocket. The bartender was still looking at him funny, as if expecting him to start laughing and admit that it was all a joke, but they both stayed serious and quite confused.
"Okay then, do you have money or are you just going to sit there?" the man asked. John dug around in his pocket, bringing out a five and holding it out.
"Whatever this can buy I guess, nonalcoholic please." He decided, sliding it towards the man. But he just looked at him funny, or funnier than before at least.
"What is that?" he asked, poking it with the cleaning cloth as if it were dangerous or something.
"Money, take it." John decided.
"That isn't money mate, you need at least a shilling for a mug around here." he decided. John felt like he was getting the biggest headache of his life, what was this guy talking about, shillings?
"Um, I don't... have one?" John decided.
"Well you can have some water on the house I suppose. I'm Greg by the way, Greg Lestrade." He decided, filling up a cup with foggy water from the sink and handing it to John, who excepted it with a bit of a frown.
"John Watson." He muttered, taking a sip of the water and setting it down almost immediately.
"So tell me, John Watson, why are you here?" Greg asked.
"Another!" cried a man, stumbling up to the counter and throwing a silver coin at Greg, who caught it as if that was normal and filled up a mug.
"I have no idea; I was kind of hoping to find out where I was, or when." John decided, looking around.
"You're all out of whack mate." Greg decided.
"Tell me about it." John agreed. After a long while he had nowhere to go, and after sitting at the bar for a while, sipping the warm water, Greg's shift ended, taken over by a grumpy looking man who told John to stop taking up the seats. But John had nowhere else to go, thankfully the bar was open late since it was a weekend, he'll somehow manage to bum a place to sleep other than in the street with the rotting smell of death and decay and figure stuff out in the morning. He was probably unconscious on the basement stairs in The House, just dreaming all of this up, because it couldn't be true, could it? Soon the energetic band moved out, making way for a younger guy, about John's age, maybe younger, with dark curly hair and pale skin, who was walking onto the makeshift stage with a beat up looking violin case. The men and women started to leave as well, now that the mood of the whole place went from upbeat to violin music only the drunkest stayed to watch. Since John had been kicked out of the bar he went and sat in a small, two person table and sat back, watching the boy set up his violin to start playing. There was upset grumbling from the men, obviously they wanted more upbeat head banging music, but when the boy put the violin to his chin and started to play, John didn't miss the band at all. He could only be seventeen or eighteen, but he played the violin better than anything John had ever heard. And it wasn't like it was a great violin either, it was shabby and obviously used a whole lot, but his fingers danced on the strings, the bow going back and forth to create the most magical music John had ever heard. The boy himself looked lost in the music, swaying slightly back in forth in the lamp light. He, like everyone else, was dressed like an old fashioned cosplay, with black slacks, a black coat, and a purple shirt underneath. What was with this entire town, not only playing dumb but acting dumb all the same? John wasn't quite sure what time it was when the boy put the violin down, but when he walked off the stage John was sorry he left. He had been very much enjoying the music, an odd choice for a bar but he wasn't complaining one bit. An old man around fifty took the boy's place, hauling up a trombone that looked too big for his frail arms, but the men seemed to be excited he was there, as if he was a regularly know musician around here. John sighed, sipping the last of his water and was about to get up to get another one when someone sank into the chair opposite him. He looked up with surprise, expecting to see Greg from the bar, but instead it was the violin boy, half smiling at him as he set his violin case on the floor.
"Might need something stronger than that if you're going to try to stay all night." He pointed out, twirling the glass with a long pointer finger. His voice was a lot deeper than John would've guessed, like someone stuffed the reincarnate version of Mozart into a teenager's body.
"I don't have any money apparently." John shrugged, sitting back farther in his chair. He was a bit intimated by this boy, who seemed like he could just sit down wherever he wanted and make fun of people for only drinking water.
"Let me buy you a drink, poor thing." he decided.
"No, I'm fine, too young anyway." John objected, debating whether or not to just leave now.
"So am I, but Frank there lets me off." the boy shrugged, getting up from his seat and walking to the counter. He returned a little bit with two foaming mugs of beer, setting one down in front of John and keeping one for himself.
"You didn't have to do that." John pointed out, but now that it was sitting in front of him he was debating whether or not to just try a sip. The boy smiled at him, sipping from his own mug with a smile. Up close his eyes were extremely distracting, not something John prided himself in noticing, but they were the greenest eyes he had ever seen on a person, gleaming like emeralds with sun shining through them.
"I haven't seen you around this place before, where are you from?" the boy asked.
"A while from here, you wouldn't know it." John decided, not about to tell this strange boy where he lived, just in case he decides to follow him home. John kept his eyes down, playing with the handle on his mug but not actually drinking anything, scared of what his mother would say if he came back home swaying like one of the drunken men who could barely sit up in their chairs.
"The name's Sherlock Holmes, if you were wondering, I'd like to know your name as well, unless that's classified information?" he asked, setting his mug down and leaning against the wooden wall. John wasn't an expert on relationships or anything, but he'd say that this boy was... flirting with him. It made his stomach slightly sick to think of that.
"John, John Watson." He muttered.
"Hello John Watson." Sherlock said with a crooked smile, shaking his head slightly so that his curly bangs hung over his forehead.
"Hi."
"I expect you saw the performance?" Sherlock asked after a little bit of awkward silence. John really wanted to just get out of here now, he was sure no one would try to stop this boy from full out asking him out, and John didn't want to crush anyone in the couple of hours he was here.
"Oh, ya, it was really good, I didn't know someone so young could actually play the violin." John pointed out, which was true.
"My mother gave it to me when I was very young, taught me how to play, ever since that I've practiced every chance I got, it's one of the only things I really know how to do." Sherlock shrugged.
"You and me both, except I can't play the violin." John muttered.
"I could teach you if you wanted, some day." Sherlock offered, making John's cheeks glow scarlet.
"Oh, no, that's okay." John muttered, looking around the bar in hopes of an excuse to leave the table. There was more silence, perfectly comfortable for Sherlock, but John was sure that the boy's green eyes were focused on him, making him very uncomfortable. Sherlock was still leaning against the wall as if that was some supermodel pose he used to pick people up, and John kind of wanted to just dump him and leave, but he had nowhere to go to be honest. He could go show up at Greg's house, wherever that may be, but he suspected that an hour's conversation of stupid questions about time and place might not get someone to fully trust you.
"You couldn't tell me where this bar is located could you?" John asked, just to make sure he had the right reference.
"Good old Nottingham." Sherlock said with a smile, but he looked bored, as if the town had nothing left to provide him with.
"Call me crazy, but I woke up in an alley, and I'm definitely not from anywhere near Nottingham, any idea how that happened?" John asked, deciding that he could ask this Sherlock guy because he'll be away from him in twenty minutes.
"Not crazy at all, could've been drunk, drugged, or simply bumped your head on a rock or something. Have you had any other memory loss?" Sherlock asked, suddenly playing doctor apparently.
"Not that I know of, my friend just dared me to go into this old house and suddenly I end up here." John pointed out. Sherlock suddenly looked very interested, not even flirtatiously, as if this was more fun than hooking up with some stranger.
"An old you house you say?" he asked.
"Ya, it's ancient, we call it The House, teenagers break in a lot. But I thought I saw," John looked around, knowing that everyone would call him crazy, "an angel statue, in the corner of the basement, and suddenly I'm in the alley here."
"An angel statue, interesting, I've never heard of someone claiming that." Sherlock said, pondering John's story. "Anything else?" he asked. John shook his head but suddenly remembered the camera in his pocket, he had taken a picture, had used the flash for light, what if it was visible. He smiled, taking it out of his pocket but making Sherlock jump back in surprise.
"What's wrong?" John asked as Sherlock looked nervously at the camera.
"What is that?" he asked, his deep voice not sounding too confident anymore.
"It's a camera..." John pointed out, holding it up for Sherlock to see, who flinched and jerked away.
"Please don't hurt me." he pleaded, holding his hands up in defense. No one else seemed to notice this weirdo terrified of a camera, but John was definitely lost.
"You're joking right?" he asked, tilting his head with confusion.
"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked.
"It takes pictures, it doesn't kill people, see, look at this." John decided, clicking through the pictures and finding that the picture was slightly blurry but you could clearly see the shape of an angel in the corner, a creepy gray angel illuminated with the artificial light. He held the screen up for Sherlock to see, who squinted at the picture and nearly put his nose up to the screen.
"Colored dots? Fascinating." He muttered, taking the camera from John, not bothering to make sure their fingers didn't touch in the process.
"No, don't you see, there's an angel, it's an angel from the basement." John pointed out.
"Did you draw this?" he asked with amazement.
"What, no, it's a picture, from a camera, how many beers have you had?" John asked, taking the camera back. Sherlock just looked at him with the weirdest expression John had ever seen on a person.
"Where could you possibly have gotten that? I've never seen anything like it; a metal box... is it alien?" Sherlock asked.
"No it's not alien, look!" John snapped a picture, blinding Sherlock with the flash. He jumped back with shock, nearly tipping over the mug and hoping out of the chair. The entire bar froze; even the man with the trumpet had stopped playing to see what was going on. John started to blush a little bit when all the eyes were fixed on him and his 'death trap metal box'.
"Now look." John commanded, sticking the camera screen in Sherlock's face to show him the picture. It was quite awful, Sherlock had an extremely bad face and it was pretty blurry, but Sherlock stared at it as if it were the most amazing thing in existence, easing nervously back into his chair.