Sherlock replaced the cigarettes and the lighter as he was meant to, so as to ensure Moran didn't suspect he was facing any sort of thief, and ran eagerly to the door. He knew that John was waiting behind it, and yet he set himself up for disappointment all the same. With the way his luck had been working, he was going to open the door and find their wrinkled old milkman from years past standing on the stood, struggling with such a heavy crate. And it was a stroke of luck, or at least an irregularity in his bad luck, that when he opened the door it was John Watson, as promised. Sherlock smiled at him, yet John looked entirely amazed when he saw him. Almost as if he could sense a difference, as if he could tell that the boy who stood before him was soiled.
"Sherlock you're smoking." John said obviously, noticing immediately the cigarette that was clenched between Sherlock's teeth. Sherlock blinked, looking down as if he had forgotten, and nodding finally.
"Yes I am." Sherlock agreed. "Put the milk away, and go and get breakfast with me."
"Get...get breakfast with you?" John clarified with a blink, looking startled yet not entirely upset about such an offer.
"Yes, did you not hear me?" Sherlock pointed out with a groan. This really shouldn't be too difficult, and yet of course John went and over complicated matters.
"Well yes I heard you, but I've got many questions and concerns. For starters, I actually have a job, and all of this milk might get spoiled if I leave it sitting too long. Secondly, I already ate breakfast, and thirdly, there are a lot of people out there relying on my delivery at their expected time. I know a lot of people who don't eat until they get their milk, and I wouldn't want to starve them." John pointed out.
"Does the wheel ever break on that milk wagon of yours?" Sherlock wondered, poking his head out to look at the little thing, an icebox on wheels from the look of it, with a weary old donkey pulling it. Even the donkey looked tired, holding its head down to the curb and dreading the moment it had to get started up once more.
"Well ya, sometimes." John agreed with a shrug.
"Excellent, that's what happened today. Now come on John, get moving. I want to be out before anyone wakes, I'll leave a note." Sherlock decided, hurrying John along before the other boy could protest.
"But why...why me? Why not go and wake Molly?" John wondered a little bit anxiously, as if he was worried about such an offer more than excited. He was supposed to be in love with Sherlock by now, wasn't he? Why wasn't he showing any more enthusiasm?
"Because we're arguing, remember? And it'll be easier to sit with you than to sit with her and still pretend that I have some sort of righteous purpose." Sherlock grumbled.
"Ah yes, you were saying that you were going to be a changed man this morning. You don't look any different, if I dare say." John muttered pivoting with the gigantic crate just so that he could peer back and make sure nothing odd stuck out about Sherlock's complexion or composure. It was the only the cigarette that made him look any different, yet it was doing wonders and by now he couldn't dream of snuffing it out.
"It was...oh God don't tell Molly. But I was wrong." Sherlock admitted.
"Oh you know I'm going to have to tell her that." John teased, waiting for Sherlock to open the kitchen door before waddling over to the icebox to set down the crate on the counter. Oh Sherlock even pitied the counter, for the poor thing creaked with the weight of it all.
"Still got sandbags in the bottom of that thing?" Sherlock wondered.
"Yes of course. The Holmes delivery has become my workout regimen." John admitted with a little chuckle.
"Oh, you claim to be buff then? In all your five foot glory?" Sherlock teased. John blinked for a moment, obviously taking some offense in such a statement.
"I'll have you know I'm five feet seven inches, and yes, I am buff. I don't want to hear anything from you, noodle arms." John snapped, starting to put the milk away where he knew its designated place to be. Sherlock just slouched over by the door, feeling almost as if there was some stalling taking place here.
"Where do you want to go for breakfast?" Sherlock asked.
"I already told you Sherlock, I would love to go..."
"Good, where?" Sherlock asked once more.
"But, I have work to do." John reminded him. Sherlock groaned once more, very annoyed at this point that he was put in such a position to have to convince someone to spend time with him. Did John not understand that such an attempt really was a last attempt; did he not understand the urgency?
"Don't make me explain, John, because I really don't want to." Sherlock groaned, going over to get a piece of paper and scrawling down his excuse for his mother to find. John paused, shutting the ice box and raising his eyebrow with some curiosity. Sherlock knew now that he had caught his attention, and that now all hope was not lost.
"It might be nice to hear the reasoning behind this sudden change of heart, yes." John agreed. Sherlock sighed heavily, turning his head so that he could take a quick glance at John.
"I'll explain over breakfast. And I warn you now, for the integrity of life as we both know it; I'm going to leave things out." Sherlock muttered. John nodded, looking for a moment as if he was trying to weigh the benefits and consequences of going.
"So what you're saying is that you're going to lie?" John wondered.
"White lie, but yes, lies all the same. Coming then?" Sherlock presumed, starting out the kitchen without waiting to see if John was following, because he knew that he was. And yes, just as Sherlock had predicted, just as soon as he made it to the front door John was following in his heels, looking guilty yet confident for whatever reason. Sherlock knew that he had John caught in his web, and it was all he had to do but pull the strings to the boy comply. Sherlock snuffed out his cigarette against the iron railing of the porch and tossed the thing into the grass for someone else to deal with. Undoubtedly it would be forgotten and left there for a long while, long enough for him to have moved out and never face the questionnaire of which misbehaving child had been smoking on the front porch.
"Would you like to bring your wagon along?" Sherlock wondered, going over to where the tired looking donkey was standing, with his fuzzy old ears drooping in exhaustion. Sherlock smiled at it none the less, patting its head until finally the animal looked up and showed at least some sort of life.
"That's Daisy!" John said proudly, bouncing into the cart to bring an apple from the depths to feed to the donkey.
"Very nice name, and a very beautiful animal." Sherlock said with an encouraging little pat, the very thing that would make an old woman flattered. This donkey was in essence an old woman, however in donkey form, and with no proper understanding of English. Therefore she showed no signs of flattery, however after a hand fed apple and a scratch behind the ears she was looking a little bit happier while standing out in the cobblestone.
"Daisy loves going to the Holmes household, don't you Daisy? It takes quite a considerable amount of weight off the load she has to lug around." John said with a grin. "Come on then ,we'll take the cart down to the café."
"Only the most stylish of transportation I see." Sherlock teased, however he had no problem clambering into that carriage. It very much beat sitting around in the kitchen and waiting to make his excuses, waiting to try to avoid the very man that had made his life almost intolerable. To try to avoid the man that had changed him so drastically and scarred him so permanently. Sherlock sat up on the cart next to John, who had taken the reigns and began whipping Daisy to make her get up and trotting. The old thing gave a lurch, and with power Sherlock had not expected from such an animal they were headed down the road. He could hear the bottles in the back of the cart sloshing, and however potentially hazardous that sounded to Sherlock, John paid no notice. Maybe he was used to such sounds, being as though he made this very trip every morning. It was all Sherlock could do but hold onto the railing and try his best not to get thrown off when the large wooden wheels hit divots and bumps in the cobblestone, throwing the two up into the air with such force that Sherlock was sure he wouldn't survive the whole trip. He had wanted something to distract himself from Victor; well there certainly wasn't a better way than to nearly die on a donkey ride! Sherlock let out a yell every time he went airborne, and every time he heard John respond with some sort of cruel cackling. In the end it did end up being funny, for when they pulled up to the café Sherlock's fingers were clenched so tightly against the carriage that he almost couldn't move them. But he was alive, and just as soon as he stood once more on solid ground he could at least smile about the terror that had been flowing through him. Daisy looked quite proud of herself, for she was kicking her hooves in excitement on the cobblestone, almost as if she too was laughing at Sherlock's cowardice.
"She'll be alright out here, as will the milk." John assured, hopping out of the carriage so as to join Sherlock on the sidewalk with a smile.
"That was...bumpy." Sherlock decided, clearing his throat and straightening out his curls so that he could look at least semiprofessional when they entered the café.
"Well yes, but it certainly makes the mornings a lot more exciting." John agreed.
"Because you don't know if you'll survive?" Sherlock presumed.
"Exactly!" John laughed, starting his way into the café with all the eagerness in the world, almost as if this had been all been his idea in the first place. It was a busy place, considering that it was one of the finest place for breakfast around. Sherlock recognized some of the clientele, and so he could only hope that they minded their own business and didn't notice him as well. Not that he was embarrassed of his company this morning, just that John was about the lowest you could get on the totem pole, and Sherlock was sporting his family name with all the pedigree in the world. They got a table for two, thankfully well in the back were none of the Holmes family's distinguished friends would notice them. Sherlock was beginning to feel only a tad uncomfortable as they took their seats at one of the smallest tables in the place, purely because this was beginning to feel like something of a date. Not that he would mind going on a date with John, it was just that he still felt something of an obligation to Victor. Just because the soldier would so willingly leave him at a moment's notice did not mean that Sherlock would show the same unfaithfulness. He could only hope that Victor never found them here and got the wrong idea. Did he have the right to feel as though he owed the soldier something, or was it Sherlock's duty now to turn his back on him, the man who had disappointed him so greatly? Was he supposed to fight back, and in turn treat Victor as if he was nothing, just as Victor had treated him? Was the bond between them so quick to lose its strength?
"This is a nice place." John muttered a little bit nervously, almost as if he was unsure if he could afford whatever meal was coming their way.
"I'm buying, if that's what's gotten you so apprehensive." Sherlock assured with a small smile. John looked almost offended by that, however just as soon as he picked up his menu he knew that it was all he could do but nod along and be grateful. They both knew there was no way he could spend so much money on his second breakfast of the day.
"Thanks." John muttered. It was awkward conversation until they finally ordered their food, for they both had the excuse of looking at the menu instead of actually discussing why they were here. All while Sherlock scanned over the tiny cursive writing he was contemplating whether or not John deserved to hear the whole of it. He wanted to share the information; he really did, because he knew that there would be no way he could go to Molly anymore. He hated being proven wrong, and she simply loved to be right. The two of them then, in any sort of finished argument, were like two explosive substances mixed into one bottle. They were destructive, to say the least. Sherlock couldn't take that sort of shame, especially when he knew that he had dug himself into this great big hole and was now helpless to get out of it himself. He needed a hand, a helpful and friendly hand at that, and in this moment in his life the only qualifying contender was John. He knew that Mrs. Hudson would be happy to help, and yet he didn't want to get lectured. He didn't want to give the poor woman a heart attack when he admitted what he had done, all in the whole of two days! She would double over and die if she heard such a confession so rapidly, and then of course the news would spread throughout the Holmes family because she felt obligated to share. That was usually how it went with secrets shared to Mrs. Hudson, or at least the ones she considered to be putting him at risk. The only leap of faith Sherlock needed to take with John was making sure he didn't somehow use this information to help aid the rebellion, and yet there was a curious sort of trust that was blooming in Sherlock's heart. Not only a growing sympathy for those who would stop the British, but a trust that was aimed directly at the boy that sat across from him. For some reason it felt like Sherlock had known John longer, that they had been acquainted before, and for some reason he felt very strongly that whatever secrets he shared would be safe. There was something about that boy, something that made Sherlock appreciate him. When finally their menus were stolen away by the waitress Sherlock had no choice but to realize that it was time to talk, for John was leaning over the table in a very eager sort of way, with a look of empathy already plastered across his face.
"So, the explanation?" John clarified, blinking innocently towards his breakfast buddy. Sherlock sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair and leaning his chin on one of his long, lanky arms. He knew that he really had no choice, these secrets were pushing against his skull, just begging to come out! He felt as if he was at their mercy, he felt as if he tried to keep them in any longer they would just break through, announce themselves to the world, and kill him in the process!
"John I feel like I'm making a mistake telling you, yet in the end I feel the need to just tell someone. You know how secrets gnaw at you, I'm sure." Sherlock grumbled, changing his position so that he could also lean over the table, that way he could whisper and still get the message across. The last thing he needed was for someone else to overhear his confession and spread the news around the whole of Boston.
"Yes of course." John agreed rather breathlessly. Maybe it was the anticipation that was getting to him, that or it was the sudden closeness of their faces now that they were both leaning against the table. In fact Sherlock hadn't taken notice of such a thing before he noticed John's obvious state of discomfort, and yet he did nothing to fix it. In a way, a sadistic way quite possibly, he liked to make John nervous. He liked to be the one who was in charge...in a way. The way he molded to Victor's horrible hands was a degrading thing, however now he almost felt as though he was the dominant party in this blooming relationship. If there was any sort of romance here at all.
"And I can trust you, right? I can trust that you won't use this information against me, or the British, or in any way for your own personal benefit? You won't tell a soul?" Sherlock clarified quietly. John blinked; almost as if he was shocked by the lengths Sherlock would go to protect a secret. As if he was amazed that such a secret that could bring them both to breakfast could also potentially have some sort of end to the British army. And yet, he was still loyal. He was still good.
"Yes of course you can trust me. I just didn't know this was all so serious." John muttered with a bit of a breathless whisper, obviously preparing himself to be absolutely shocked by the news that Sherlock was about to deliver. Sherlock nodded, taking a deep breath and deciding that it might be better if he just got out with it all at once. It would be something like vomiting, feeling terrible beforehand, yet absolutely fine right afterwards. Sherlock just had to go ahead and get out with it, before he could regret it. Before he could process just how bad of a decision he was making. And so he took a deep breath, scanned the restaurant once more so as to make sure no one was listening, and leaned even closer in, dropping his voice to a whisper.
"I fell in love with one of the soldiers who are quartering in my house, and in the whole of two days I kissed him and slept with him and now...now I'm so disgusted in myself that I can hardly stand looking in his eyes. Because I can't help but suspect he feels nothing for me, and I'm humiliated and angry and ashamed. And Molly told me not to and I didn't listen to her and now...well now I'm here." Sherlock whispered, clenching his eyes shut all while he confessed so that he didn't have to see the reaction that came across John's face all the while the truth was coming out. He was right, in the end, because there was at least some sort of relief that came along with spewing the truth without any further thoughts of the consequences that might follow. Yes, the good news was that Sherlock didn't keep the secrets alone. The bad news, of course, was now John knew.
"Sherlock, what in the actual f...."
"Your breakfast!" the waitress interrupted abruptly, appearing out of nowhere almost as if to bring them both back to reality for a moment. Sherlock opened his eyes and exhaled a great chest full of air, and he was daring enough to look over at John, who was still staring at him as if he had sprouted three heads. The waitress obviously didn't know that there was anything going on, for she lingered enough to make sure that the two were fine with their cups of coffee and if they needed any extra napkins, however Sherlock shooed her off impatiently, unable to wait another second longer to hear John's response. And then they were alone once more, alone now with their breakfast and their secrets spilled all upon the table.
"What am I even supposed to say about that?" John whispered horrifically, not even looking down at his breakfast as he surveyed Sherlock with very inquisitive eyes. Almost as if he was seeing him now in an entirely different light.
"You're supposed to...well I don't know. Maybe something empathetic?" Sherlock suggested a bit nervously, his cheeks blushing in humiliation as he dropped his gaze now to stare at his scrambled eggs instead. Once more he wasn't feeling hungry.
"I mean, well honestly speaking as someone who has never had any experience with...well anything you just said...maybe it's all I can do but shake my head and tell you it's all going to be okay." John offered hesitantly, picking up his fork but pausing there. Sherlock looked at him once more, almost feeling the urge to smile in relief. That was, well it wasn't much. John was proving to be no help at all, yet that was still better than him jumping up from the table in disgust, it was substantially better than him calling Sherlock a freak and reporting him to the police. No, he was merely looking disappointed that he couldn't do anything more than nothing.