My Full Confession

Leave The Riddles To The Educated

The next day was planting day, one of my father's least favorite days and one of my favorites. Well of course I didn't like it because of the task itself, I was more excited that it meant the house would be empty. Yet today I was feeling rather left out, for John was away in the fields and I was left to my lonesome self. They all got up at four o'clock, so as to beat the sun and get the tractor all ready to go. I had no idea how the seed processes even worked, for I had never been witness to it myself. All I knew was that they drive a great big tractor, and that it takes less people than you might have expected. I sat in the house all day, watching the tractor as it moved from row to row, and watching again the silhouettes of people scampering behind it. One of those was obviously John, and the other Mycroft. My father was too fat for the legwork, and so he was the one driving the tractor, the most physically painless job of them all. I watched John for a while, and even though I couldn't see anything but his sketchy outline against the fields I found him terribly attractive. Oh it was a shame, was it not, that it was so complicated for us to be together! Oh how much easier it would be, if society accepted every sort of love, not just some narrow close minded definition! How much easier it would be, if I was allowed to love him as I was meant to. Towards lunch time I packed them all a sandwich, knowing that they would be too hard at work to take a break. While of course this meant trudging through the freshly plowed mud, I knew that it would at least be worth it to see John smile. So interesting, how such a simple facial expression could mean so much to me! How just a little grin could change my entire perspective on life! How it could bring meaning to this bleak, desolate world once more. And so off I went, tiptoeing through the densest ground I could find, and wincing when clumps of dirt or splashes of mud found their way onto my nice leather shoes. In my hand I held one of those stereotypical picnic baskets, yet I held it close and protectively, with two hands, so as to make sure I didn't stumble and spill my creations in the mud. Then again, the men were probably ravenous enough to eat the food anyway, muddy or not. I approached the tractor as fast as I could, and yet since it was moving in the opposite direction I proved to have much longer of a walk than I had anticipated. John was standing behind the tractor, instructing my father on how to arrange the wheels, when at last I arrived within earshot.
"William, what are you doing out here?" Mycroft called, as if to bring attention to my arrival. I held up the basket rather obviously, to which they all let out a sigh of thankful relief.
"We work hard, but Sherlock obviously works harder." John muttered, pulling off his gloves and approaching me with a great big smile. I felt my legs go rather wobbly, for his smile was worth so many laborious lunches.
"I don't think that's quite accurate, but if it makes me seem a lot more valuable than I am, I'm happy to agree." I decided with a shrug.
"You're positively invaluable, Sherlock. Don't let yourself think otherwise." John assured, his voice dropping into a softer, more serious note. I blushed, for I knew of course that those words, coming from him, must be true. He did admire me, I knew that for sure. Love might still be a stretch, but he felt things for me that he didn't for other people. I held a place in his heart, a special one, even if it wasn't entirely a romantic position.
"Thanks John." I muttered a bit timidly. I opened the picnic basket to reveal what I had brought, a handful of fresh apples, a sandwich each, and a nice big pitcher of the lemonade that they so adored.
"Wonderful, wonderful." John said excitedly, taking his share and going to sit down on the wheel of the tractor, evidently not caring about how muddy it had come to be.
"Thank you, brother mine." Mycroft mumbled, a lot more formal yet a lot less appreciatively. As if he had been expecting a delivered lunch, even if it wasn't ever promised to him. MY father didn't even bother getting up from his seat, he merely stretched out his legs and had me hand up his food to him, saying nothing in thanks at all. Mycroft went to go sit on the other wheel, yet I lingered nearer to John, hoping that my presence wouldn't be too bothersome to him.
"Do you want to sit?" John offered, scooting over and still revealing a great muddy mess.
"Oh no, no I'll stand." I muttered, shaking my head reluctantly.
"Too pristine for the dirt?" John teased, laughing a bit as he took a large bite out of his apple.
"Yes." I said simply, to which he chuckled once more.
"I do agree, Sherlock. We've all known you're too good for the farming life." He assured.
"Yet not above the duties of a housewife." I muttered, looking down to the basket rather shamefully.
"You make an excellent wife, if it makes you feel any better." John assured. "But soon you'll have one of your own. H*ll, we won't be seeing you around here much longer, will we?"
"I don't know. I don't know where she wants to live." I admitted quietly, allowing my shoulders to sag just a little bit in disappointment. John sighed heavily, noting the way I looked so glum. We had grown up together too intimately to be able to overlook the other's emotions. Surely he could read straight through me, I was a fool if I thought I could keep anything past John and his all-seeing eyes.
"Sherlock you know me, I want to make sure you're happy. Yet in my very limited experience with such things, I don't think I've ever seen a groom-to-be so miserable." John commented, reaching out a hand for me to take, so as to pull me closer to him. I looked up at my father hesitantly, who was sat back in his chair and quite content with his sandwich. Mycroft was on the other side of the tractor, and yet when I stared through the framework I could see the back of his head, facing the other direction. And so there would be no witnesses... I took John's hand, taking a bit of a nervous breath before allowing his fingers to interlock with mine. He pulled me closer, so abruptly so that I stumbled a bit in the mud, and nearly fell onto that nasty wheel after all. John chuckled, steadying me with a strong hand, before allowing his grip to slacken and his eyes to meet mine once more.
"You do love her, yes?" he presumed in a quiet whisper. I felt my cheeks begin to grow red, and hastily I dropped my gaze away from his, and stared at the torn up earth under my feet.
"Love is a complicated word, John." I muttered, quietly enough that only his ears would be able to hear my halfhearted confession.
"It's really not." He assured, keeping our hands together now, and keeping his eyes held onto mine even if I wasn't there to return the gaze.
"I need the money." I muttered finally. "I need her to get me through college; I need her to support me. With her fortune I could better myself, I can get out of this dreadful life."
"Money is a terrible reason for marriage." John warned. "You'll be with that girl for the rest of your life! Surely you've considered that?"
"What choice do I have?" I growled, pulling my hand away from his, now suddenly getting angry. I hated his rational; I hated how right he was in assuming my misery! I hated how enigmatic he was, how I couldn't read what was on his face, nor what was in his heart. Did he care for my happiness, or his? Did he want me to marry someone else, or did he want me all for himself? John sighed in disappointment, letting his hand fall away and going back to his apple quietly. He didn't seem to have a good answer to that question, so he stayed silent.
"John, you see what happened to my brother. You see what, what happened to you! I can't just be a farmhand for the rest of my life. I need an education, a better one." I insisted. "She's my last hope."
"Sherlock, I'm not going to tell you how to live your life. Yet I know that your heart is every bit as extraordinary as your brain, and it needs to be given the respect it deserves." John muttered.
"What do you mean by that?" I asked, going rather numb with the idea that he might know, that he might have known this whole time.
"Oh who knows, Sherlock? I haven't the potential to make riddles, or spew knowledge. I'm just a dumb farmhand, anyhow." John snapped. I couldn't tell if he was actually mad at me or not, so just to be safe I dropped my gaze shamefully. I only looked back up to him when I felt his hand on my hand once again, patting it in reassurance. I forced out a smile, and he returned it just as eagerly. Yet we were interrupted, or rather startled, by the sound of my father repositioning himself in the chair above. That sound alone was enough for us to fear getting caught, and in response we both jumped away and gained our normal, law abiding positions. The guilt itself should have been reason enough to suspect John's ultimate feelings for me, for he wouldn't care about getting caught if he knew us only to be good friends. I suspect that I knew, all along, that John loved me back. But in my youthful ignorance I still thought the idea to be impossible, and for the life of me I couldn't fathom the idea that so wonderful a boy could ever fall for someone so problematic as I. Then again, he was most likely thinking the same. Now that I think about it, we both were so ignorant. We were both so unaware of what was going on right underneath our noses, and at the ends of our conjoined fingertips.