My Full Confession

In The Lights of The Barn

I sat back in the grass, watching as they worked to repair the broken fence post. I watched my brother apprehensively, realizing now that this might be the last day we spent together. Surely I couldn't tell him that I was leaving, nor where I was going. Perhaps in twenty years I could finally admit to it, when Victor was off of our tail and Irene was done moping around. Maybe then he'd understand enough to come visit. I did love him, and I would miss him, and yet I wanted my own happiness before I wanted his. Mycroft's viewpoints were rather akin to that as well; he would sacrifice just about everything he had for the sake of my wellbeing. In fact, he nearly already had. Once I had left him, perhaps he would move on with his life. Once I escaped this prison he too will go, for he had no reason to stay and labor on a farm that would give him nothing in return. Family was not a very good reason these days, or at least between us members of the Holmes clan. A drunken, murderous father was a terrible reason to stay loyal to the fields you were born in.
"There we go, good as new." John said with something of a smile, stepping away from the post and staring upon it with pride. Well of course it wasn't as good as new, far from it in fact. Any strong gust of wind had the potential to knock that severed thing down once more, and yet I dared not interrupt his self-congratulation. I just nodded my head, and looked a bit anxiously at the boy as his gaze began to turn towards me. We'd have to be fools if we allowed ourselves to forget what had happened last night. It was stuck in my head if it had never ended, and perhaps like most of the moments we shared, it truly never had. In one universe we were children, forever curled together in bed. In another, we were under that apple tree as awkward teenagers, and in the final we were standing in that bathroom, gaping at each other like fish and unable to construct a word. And yet where I was now, time continued. And John was standing over by the fence post, lighting a match for my brother's cigarette as they packed up their tools and began to head back towards the barn. I let Mycroft hurry up the hill first, and lingered back with John so that we might be able to get a few words in private. I knew that it was too risky to discuss my plans of leaving, yet I might as well hint at some future plans. I could at least validate what he had said to me, couldn't I? I could say things within my brother's earshot; surely he wouldn't mind that much? And yet just as I was beginning to open my mouth...
"She's here then?" John clarified, looking up towards the house with something of a somber expression on his face. I trudged a bit heavier through the tall grass, nodding my head glumly.
"Yes, she's here. Very excited too." I agreed quietly.
"Yes of course, who wouldn't be excited?" John murmured.
"Me." I offered quietly. "Me, and that's what I wanted to talk to you about."
"Mind your tongue, Sherlock. There's a time and a place for such a discussion." John warned, shushing me very quietly as he hooked one of his hands into his belt loop. I nodded, looking up towards where my brother was just about to the door, a cloud of smoke drifting behind him in the light spring wind.
"Yes alright." I agreed quietly. "But there is a time, is there not? So let's make one."
"You're getting bolder by the minute." John said with a little chuckle.
"As are you." I assured. John nodded his head, as if he really couldn't argue with that.
"Perhaps it's just time we became brave." John suggested.
"Or perhaps we're getting stupider and stupider, by the minute." I offered again.
"That's probably more likely. Nevertheless, I feel as though I will be at my stupidest this evening, when I'm shutting the cows away." John decided after a moment of thought.
"Stupid and alone?" I presumed.
"Not if you join me." John corrected with a chuckle. I nodded, shoving my hands a bit nervously into my pockets, so that no one could see them trembling. We passed through the barn doors, and John delivered the tools to where Mycroft was stowing them all away.
"About time for lunch, yes?" my father asked, materializing from the back of the barn and wiping his hands off on an oil cloth. I nodded, looking to my companions hopefully. Thankfully they both seemed hungry as well, and so the entire party trudged back to the house, most of us stinking of cows, wood, or straw. I smelled of lavenders, of course, due to my fancy bottle of perfume. When we arrived at the house Irene was sitting on the porch, doing some sort of cross stitch while she waited for my return. She didn't look too happy; however she forced a smile upon our return, for that was the polite thing to do.
"William I thought you had abandoned me." she commented, getting to her feet and leaving the very complicated (and dare I say, rather poorly done) creation on the table next to her.
"Oh not yet, darling." I muttered in response, to which she merely frowned, yet continued inside.
"Oh good, she made lunch. How I've missed having a woman around." My father grumbled. I dared not comment on how the last woman left, and decided instead to share in his enthusiasm in having lunch served by someone other than myself.
"I think Sherlock's been doing a pretty good job." John assured.
"Perhaps. Yet what sliver of masculinity he still retains has all together disrupted the taste of the food. Surely Ms. Adler has prepared us something authentically feminine." Mr. Holmes muttered, sinking down into his chair and looking excitedly at the chicken sandwiches that had been prepared for him. I dared not comment on his little speech, yet upon looking at John's perplexed expression I could only guess that I was not the only one who couldn't make any sense of it. The sandwiches proved to be much more heinous than I could've prepared, for it would seem as though even Irene's gender could not compensate for the fact that she had never prepared food for herself before. She must have always had servants do it for her, for these sandwiches were only such because they were squashed between two pieces of bread. Besides that, they were quite unrecognizable as food. Nevertheless, the hungry farm workers ate them without stopping to think about what it was they were putting in their mouths. I, on the other hand, took one look at the slime creation which was hiding under the bread, and decided that I was not hungry any longer. Irene looked proud of herself nonetheless, and sat back to watch the men. She occasionally looked over at me, and flashed me one of those god awful smiles, before settling back in her chair. John's eyes found hers a couple of times, yet by the way she recoiled I could tell that she didn't find any comfort in them. Well of course John would hate her, undoubtedly more than I did. He didn't need her for anything, not for money, not for status. She was just in his way, the barrier standing between him and the thing he loved so dearly. Oh it was always a pleasure to be fought over, I must admit. Especially when I was now holding the reins, and had the power to go where I choose. That day went slowly, for as soon as the men left for the barn once more I was stuck with my lovely lady. The only console I could find was the fact that this might be the last time we ever sat together. For after tonight, if all went as planned, I would have fled this accursed land, these horrible fields, and this blood soaked home. I would forget this place, and have nothing but John Watson to remember it by. And I would be happy, dare I admit it. Perhaps I would be happy for the first time in my life. Irene talked of wedding plans the whole time we sat on the porch, happily cross stitching what appeared to be a blue jay. I sat smoking my pipe, deciding to just peg her voice as background noise and instead focus off towards the barn, where I knew him to be lurking. I could only imagine he was biding his time, waiting for me to finally understand what it was we had. He was just waiting for me to open my eyes; or rather he was waiting to open them for me. And once I could see the world as it stood around me, he'd be there to carry me away. I saw, today I looked around me and saw nothing but misery. I saw my fiancé, I saw the corn fields, I saw the staircase where my mother fell. Nothing in my vision could provide me any comfort, save for the apple tree which still grew prosperously among the corn. Yes, that was the only forgivable scene in this horrible landscape, and it was only because of its connection to John. I only loved the apple tree because I loved him.