The Madness Was A Man

Best Of Luck With Your Leisure

"Of course I don't know why I'm telling you this...don't know why I'm confiding in a boy I just met." Sherlock muttered at last, blinking as he realized just how personal this conversation was getting. 
"Perhaps because you can't confide in anyone else." John offered. "And because I'm a very trustworthy person."
"Well how could I know that?" Sherlock asked with a chuckle, turning his eyes away almost embarrassingly, as if he was some retched schoolgirl who wanted to play hard to get.
"I look the type." John assured with a twinkle in his eyes.
"That you do." Sherlock agreed. "You look to be a nice person...hopefully you are."
"I am." John assured. "Hopefully you can find that out for yourself, without my having to tell you." Sherlock merely blinked in his direction, not entirely sure if that was an offer of friendship or not. Well he rather hoped it was, for it seemed as though due to age range alone the two were destined to be inseparable. It was a matter of social classes that might get in the way, a matter which Sherlock opted to be blind to. Now his brother may not appreciate it, but then again Mycroft didn't need to know everything.
"I'd be quite determined to, in due time." Sherlock agreed with a little nod. John grinned, picking up another stone and skipping it expertly across the glassy surface of the pond.
"Well that's good. I could use a friend around here, no matter how posh." John chuckled.
"Oh come on now, it's not a character flaw to be well dressed." Sherlock defended.
"Never said it was! Then again, it's hard to do anything meaningful in a three piece suit." John warned.
"Meaningful as in?" Sherlock wondered.
"Oh you know, climbing trees, fishing, chasing rabbits. All the things you do when you can't read." John offered.
"You're illiterate?" Sherlock asked rather shockingly.
"Everyone that doesn't live in a manor is illiterate." John assured. "You'll meet some interesting folks around these parts, those who have more fingers than teeth. Some who have more eyes than fingers. Some who would go through hell and back just to write a card to their loved ones."
"Learning to write isn't hell, it's awfully simple." Sherlock assured. "I could teach you if you want."
"If ever we find a rainy day and cannot entertain ourselves properly I may take you up on that. But I haven't got any loved ones to write to, so there's not really a point to that." John muttered.
"Surely you have some extended family?" Sherlock presumed, not bothering to hide his slight shock in the matter. John seemed far too cheerful to be a proper orphan; he seemed far too lovely to have been abandoned by anyone.
"A plague took my family, God it almost took me as well. We've had hard times in these parts for a long while, and a lot of us found ourselves alone." John admitted.
"Consumption?" Sherlock presumed quietly. John nodded stiffly, touching one finger against his chest as if trying to make sure his lungs were still working properly. A nasty disease that was, something that Sherlock never wanted to witness, much less have himself.
"But Mrs. Hudson is good to me. She's as much as a mother as I'll ever need, and now that I've got some money in the bank I'll be sure to outgrow this little place and see the world." John assured with something of a doubtful smile. "Get down to London; breathe some new air for a change."
"London isn't all they say it is." Sherlock offered weakly, for even as he allowed the words to spill out he knew he was lying. London was magnificent, in so many ways which went without saying. Then again rubbing such history and luxury into his new friends face seemed a bit inconsiderate, considering John just listed off all of his personal grievances.
"I'd like to make that decision for myself." John muttered a bit sadly.
"Yes of course. Of course." Sherlock agreed immediately, worried that he had gone and insulted his new friend in the first ten minutes of their knowing each other. John sighed, wiping his hands off on his overalls and looking over to the stables, where there was the ever constant sound of horses whinnying.
"I ought to get on with my job." John decided finally. Sherlock's heart plummeted, for he hoped his own comments had not deterred John enough to go and be responsible for a moment longer. Nonetheless he nodded, deciding that it was in his best interest not to seem too apologetic. John had to think him a little bit authoritative, otherwise he may not respect him to the level he should. No matter how charming John was, and no matter how lonely Sherlock could grow to be, John was still the servant and Sherlock was the everlasting master. He should not find himself guilty for anything, especially when there was such a gap of status. Well what a ghastly thought process...it was startling when his internal thoughts began to sound a lot like Mycroft.
"I'll see you around I suppose. Best of luck with your work." Sherlock offered.
"And best of luck with your leisure." John agreed, though if that was meant as an insult Sherlock really would never know. In the end, whether it was insulting or not, it was inherently true. Sherlock was not going to get to his feet and start a day's work; no he would not even lift a finger! That's why the servants were here, of course. To make sure that Sherlock lived a completely effortless life, a day of leisure, while other people slaved around him. For they had to earn their money, while for Sherlock the money merely flowed through his very veins.