After dragging Sherlock from the beehives, John led the two of them to a little copse of woods.
"I'd play here as a child. Explore for ancient treasures. Hunt the big, bad wolf."
"There are few wolves left in Britain."
"I know. I got the last of them by the time I was nine."
Sherlock started a bit, then realized the joke and laughed along with John. He really was much more comfortable today. Sherlock wondered why that was. Perhaps out here, away from their brothers, he could be more himself. Perhaps he, as a man of action, felt smothered indoors, straightjacketed by the need for propriety.
Sherlock thought that the woods were not only perfect for exploring and wolf-hunting, but with enough imagination, could pass for a perfect spot to bury pirate treasure. And he said so. This made John laugh, and Sherlock was inordinately pleased with himself over that.
"Look, just there, where the fallen tree crosses the other! We should dig there; 'X' marks the spot, you know!" Sherlock scaled the recently fallen tree and peered at the ground around him. "Well, perhaps not. It doesn't appear that the ground here has been disturbed since a badger abandoned its nest."
"Badgers? Oh, Sherlock, do come down from there."
"Why? They're long gone." Sherlock crouched down and poked into the shallow burrow. "Likely they've found somewhere deeper and more secure for the winter."
"No need to tempt fate."
"What else is there to do but tempt fate in life, John? What other thrill is to be gotten?"
John didn't answer. After a few moments of allowing Sherlock to explore the hollow, he said, "We ought to head back."
"Oh, are you getting tired, John?"
John clearly wasn't going to admit it, but Sherlock had noticed his pace had begun to slow and he stood a little stiffly now. In his pride, they would likely take a roundabout route back.
"I'm fine." Liar. "It's just the fresh air inspires my appetite. I'd love to see if Mrs. Richardson has any of those tartlets left."
"Of course, John. Let's be off."
YOU ARE READING
The Lazarus Machine
FanficSir Harold Watson requires his younger brother John to marry for money. The wealthy husband-to-be? None other than Sherlock Holmes. Before the wedding can occur, Sherlock gets swept up in an investigation of random found body parts and strange lette...
