The Madness Was A Man

Tonight, Meet Me Here

"Sherlock, this doesn't look like the sort of gathering I'm welcome at." John warned as he drew nearer, perhaps talking more to Molly than to Sherlock, to assure her that his presence there was not voluntary at all. Molly merely shrugged, seeing obviously that it didn't matter what she wanted anymore.
"I just wanted you to meet Molly Hooper; she's our guest this evening." Sherlock muttered, gesturing rather obviously to where Molly was now standing under the tree, looking unenthused but polite all the same.
"John Watson, ma'am. A pleasure to meet you." John muttered, holding out his hand for a shake.
"Nice to meet you Mr. Watson." Molly said in response, shaking his hand politely yet pulling it away rather quickly. Sherlock hoped that she was repulsed only by John's being here, and not by his status in the world. That would be a terrible trait to have in a forced wife, especially if Sherlock planned on clinging to John as long as was socially acceptable.
"I'm to be putting the horses to sleep now, actually. That's where I was off to." John admitted.
"Would you like to see the horses, Molly? There's a particular pony who is just awful, he threw me off when I first rode him!" Sherlock exclaimed excitedly.
"Oh how could one resist?" Molly grumbled, crossing her arms in a rather moody way, yet allowing Sherlock to start the small party off in the direction of the stables.
"He's awfully enthusiastic about the horses, just happy to show them off once in a while I imagine." John muttered to Molly, though he made a point to lengthen his stride so as to keep up better with Sherlock as the boy went sauntering across the grass.
"Sherlock, are you not on a date?" John grumbled, rather bumping into Sherlock as if to try to knock him out of whatever madness had overtaken him.
"Yes, but that's beside the point. Horses are romantic." Sherlock insisted.
"They are not." John muttered in protest.
"You seem disappointed in me, John. Aren't you happy to see me?" Sherlock wondered, looking down on the stable boy with a very goofy grin. He honestly didn't know what had overtaken him, perhaps nothing at all. Or perhaps a sort of freedom, a sort of fearlessness. His confession to Mycroft had opened up a realm of self-confidence he never realized before, and at last he knew that his days of suffering were coming to an end. He wanted to enjoy this carelessness, at least before the big reveal tonight.
"I suppose I am, but under these circumstances I feel rather out of place." John admitted, looking back to where Molly was trudging moodily behind.
"She'll get over it." Sherlock assured, being bold enough now to wrap his arm around John's shoulders, holding him in close without the intention of letting go. John didn't protest, though he rather wiggled his way under Sherlock's arm with something of a disgruntled sigh. It was almost as if he too was fighting under the two opposing forces of love and common sense, and had found himself instead at a socially unacceptable conclusion. One which favored his own self-interest, rather than that of those around him. When at last they reached the stables John was released to the hay bales, grabbing up large handfuls and dumping one first into Hazelnut's stall. The pony was present and ever so happy to receive his food, though Sherlock could swear that he raised his black eyes at least once in a rather mocking way to his old rider.
"This is the pony I was talking about. Hazelnut." Sherlock muttered, scowling down at the thing as it munched ever so innocently on its hay. Thankfully the presence of a small horse was enough to cheer poor Molly up, and a smile made its way onto her face.
"Aw he's precious!" she exclaimed at last, walking up to the stall and sticking her hand fearlessly over the fence. She was able to get a few pats in before Hazelnut shook his head in protest, and she withdrew rather fearfully and allowed the thing to eat. "He doesn't look very mean at all."
"He ran as fast as he could." Sherlock mumbled.
"Because you kicked as hard as you could!" John protested with something of a chuckle, shaking his head in exasperation before throwing some more hay over to one of the chestnuts.
"That's not how you ride a horse, Sherlock." Molly commented, to which Sherlock looked a bit sourly towards John.
"Well perhaps my teacher didn't specify that well enough." He mumbled, to which John just sneered at him and continued on with his work.
"Oh what a beautiful horse! I've always loved riding." Molly exclaimed, walking now to where the Palomino was sticking his beautiful head over the fence, waiting impatiently for his own handful of hay.
"You ride then?" John presumed.
"When I can. It's not usually considered a lady's sport, but I do simply love the freedom of it all. I feel as though I can just leave society behind for a while, leave it all behind." She muttered, stroking the horse's nose all the while John cast something of a curious look back to Sherlock. Sherlock just leaned against one of the doors, watching as John went on with his work in admiration. He felt like something of a fawning school girl, but at last it didn't matter to him any longer. At last he wasn't ashamed of what he felt, instead he wanted to act on it. Thankfully tonight he wasn't the one who had to make the first move, for as soon as John noticed Molly was occupied he walked rather determinedly back to where Sherlock was leaning, pulling him just around the door so as to ensure they had whatever privacy they needed.
"Tonight, Sherlock. Meet me here." John muttered, standing much closer to Sherlock than ever he would have attempted before. Maybe it was because his voice was so low, or perhaps he also felt as though something had changed between them. Maybe he sensed that there was no longer a wall separating them, perhaps he instead felt as though they were free to be as close as they wished.
"Whatever you say." Sherlock whispered back, tempted to let his fingers play across John's cheek for good measure, while his face was so close and so accessible. Yet he restrained himself, and just in time too. Just as soon as John broke away to grab the last handful of hay Molly reappeared, snapping her pocket watch closed and announcing that she probably ought to get back to the house by now. Sherlock could do nothing but agree, and so he bid his temporary farewell to John and led the lady across the grass, happy to know now that he would be returning shortly, and without a female escort who had the potential of spoiling the fun.