The Madness Was A Man

A Seamless Transition

Finally its steps began to sync into a clear, smooth rhythm. With each lift of his leg the saddle shifted, as the bones and muscles contorted to allow the animal the steps it needed to begin shooting through the darkness, over the grass that was just visible by the silvery light of the moon. Sherlock nearly yelled in delight, feeling at last the wind moving along his face and through his curls, the cool night breeze brushing across his cheeks and making them raw with chill. The freedom, the speed, the closeness with John as he still latched carefully behind...it was all enough to make Sherlock about ready to burst. It was a great mass of feelings, all of which were painfully rare for a boy of such status, all bursting inside of him all at once. It was like an explosion, a fire of rebellion, something which made him finally let loose a yell that could very well have been heard from the castle. But at last he didn't care; he let that scream move past his lips and into the air around him, a yell of delight, of fear, of exhilaration! The horse ran powerfully through the open gate of the pasture, its hooves pounding against the gravel in a startling rhythm, almost entirely disregarding its riders as it began its own way towards the tree line, as if following a route it had taken a hundred times before.
"Does it know where it's going?" Sherlock asked hopefully, yelling above the wind that had just picked up around their ears, making sound rather difficult to carry.
"Steer towards that gap, see in the trees?" John insisted, letting go for a split moment and pointing towards a very obvious gap in the tree line, in which one tree seemed to have been missing in the nearly perfect arrangement. Sherlock did as he was told, pulling the reins in the direction of the path and allowing the horse to slow a little bit, so as to compensate for the newly uneven terrain. They entered a different world just as soon as they let the forest consume them. In the open fields the moon was bright and vibrant, bathing everything in an inky, silvery glow. Yet under the canopy it was nearly pitch black, so dark that Sherlock's only chance of seeing anything was staring straight up and looking anxiously for a gap in the leaves, for that glimpse of illuminated sky that might provide him with at least some peace of mind.
"It's pretty spooky out here." Sherlock admitted quietly, happy now that he had John so close. The woods were hauntingly silent, yet still Sherlock felt as though they were being watched from every angle. He felt as though there were eyes everywhere, human or otherwise, watching as the two boys let their horse pace aimlessly along the trail, waiting for them in a predatory way. Sherlock felt a great many shivers go down his spine, and he was almost tempted to ask John why he had picked such a dark and spooky path to take. This would have made a near perfect daytime excursion, yet in the nighttime it almost felt like a death trap.
"It's alright Sherlock. I grew up in these woods, I know every creature and they know me." John assured, rearranging his hands around Sherlock so that he was holding him by the shoulders instead, his fingers wrapping around Sherlock's collarbone so as to feel every movement of the boy's arm firsthand. Sherlock let lose something of a breath of satisfaction, feeling now that John was getting closer. He knew that if he just leaned backwards a small bit he would make contact, and the two of them could be pressed together properly. Yet he was not yet bold enough, he was afraid to make a wrong move. Especially now that John seemed to be his only way through these woods, and the only way out as well. If Sherlock overstepped his boundaries, if he made John feel uncomfortable to the point where he was thrown off the horse and left for dead...well what then? He couldn't make his way through this darkness alone, he'd have to lie where he was left and wait until morning. And in the meantime he would be at the mercy of all the little pairs of eyes who watched, and who waited. And yet temptation was certainly creeping about, it was tainting his mind to the point where maybe the rational and self-preserving option was beginning to feel incredibly boring. Sherlock knew that such an opportunity would not come along many times again, the opportunity that with half a movement he might be cradled up against John's chest where he belonged. Even better it might be made to look like an accident if it was not at first accepted. A bump from a horse could send anyone flying any direction... Sherlock took a breath, his fingers clenching against the reins in a very nervous way, his thumbs running up and down the smooth leather as he contemplated just want to do. In a way he wanted nothing more than to lean backwards, yet in a completely difference sense entirely he wanted to stay exactly where he was. It was the ever present battle between who he was and who he was expected to be. Oh such a shame that the expectation persona was the one who was most morally aligned. Such a shame that if Sherlock finally fit into the form he wanted to take on he would be sinning in a great many ways. Oh but what was life without a little risk? That was what he told himself, at least, when at last he allowed himself to lean very slowly back. At first John must have thought Sherlock had fallen, for he made something of a noise of urgency. Maybe he thought Sherlock had fallen asleep, or passed out even! Yet the idea of intimacy didn't cross his mind until a split second afterwards, when at last Sherlock crashed into his chest and John's arms tightened around his fellow rider. Sherlock could feel him now, every breath he took, every beat of his heart...it was all pressed right up against Sherlock and magnified to a startling frequency, to a point in which every common internal movement was countered by the most superhuman clarity. Every heartbeat was a drum, every breath was a wind storm, every word was a melody...
"I can feel your heart beat." John muttered, steadying his hand now right overtop of Sherlock's chest, all the while pulling the two of them even closer than they had been before. John's legs were clinging tighter, his hands getting bolder, his breaths getting quicker now against the back of Sherlock's neck.
"I can feel yours." Sherlock agreed just as quietly, heaving in his next breath and feeling just about ready to faint.
"It's quick. Unusually quick." John whispered. Sherlock listened into John's once more, finding that it had the same diagnosis. It was just as rapid, meaning a great many things of course. One of which was favorable to their situation.
"Perhaps I'm afraid." Sherlock suggested, feeling John's breath once more on the side of his neck, as if he was leaning in so as to get his words even closer to his ear.
"Perhaps you're not." John countered. "Perhaps you're no longer afraid of me, or of yourself."
"I'm never usually the brave type." Sherlock insisted, finally letting one of his hands unloop from the reins and clutching at John's, grabbing his hand rather agressivley yet lacing their fingers together and easing that hand up to where he wanted it. He let John's skin brush against his neck for a little while before at last he let go, letting his head fall back onto John's shoulder so that he was completely collapsed against the boy, wrapped up in his arms like a defenseless child.
"Might I hear a confession soon?" John whispered, running his thumb very gently over Sherlock's bottom lip, parted now in a gasp of pleasure.
"A confession of what?" Sherlock breathed. "I have nothing to say that you don't already know."
"Sometimes it's better to hear it aloud." John whispered.
"And you are the expert, are you not?" Sherlock wondered, tempted now to let go of the reins entirely so as to clutch to John's head, so as to pull it down upon his exposed neck just as his stranger had done on that fateful and confusing night. Yet now that he was with John he felt that it was so obviously pleasurable, now that he was with a man he wanted to love he felt as though such closeness, such aggression, well it was a manifest of the powerful love that was stirring inside. It wasn't about injury, it was simply about passion. It was about feeling something, feeling something that only another person could provide. Feeling love, physical love, in the form of someone you trusted and their abiding lips.
"I am the expert, and you're the novice. Trust me, Sherlock. Let the words out, and this will be so much easier for the both of us." John assured. Sherlock sighed heavily, rolling his head against John's shoulder and at last finding his ear. There was nothing to hide any longer, the filter had long been abandoned and at last the truth would roll out effortlessly. All Sherlock had to do was will the words to pass his lips, and John would be his forever...
"I'm in love with you, John." Sherlock whispered, the words carrying so much weight off of his shoulders that he nearly didn't recognize his stature without it. At last he was free of the burden that he himself had placed, at last it had dissolved from atop of him and fallen on some other long suffering romantic, freeing Sherlock to at last feel weightless, free, and unburdened. He merely heard John chuckle, yet it was not in a deterring way. In fact it was a chuckle that mimicked the same feeling Sherlock was having, that everlasting sense of relief.
"That's precisely what I thought you'd say." John admitted.
"And?" Sherlock whispered, though with all the confidence in the world that such a confession would be mirrored.
"And I stand by my presumption from earlier today. You, Sherlock Holmes, the heir to an estate worth more than this entire town's income combined...your type is poor stable boys." John said with a chuckle.
"When you say it like that...!" Sherlock growled, nearly laughing now as their moment of romance was lost in a near fit of giggles.
"You're lucky that my type happens to be pasty rich boys." John insisted, just now planting the first kiss onto Sherlock's cheek from his rather awkward angle. It was a kiss which meant more than a thousand words, a kiss worth more than a thousand lifetimes. It was the most meaningful thing which Sherlock had ever encountered, the most magical thing which had ever brushed against his skin before. So much more human than any kiss from that butler, so much more welcomed. It was a passionate kiss, one that was backed by weeks' worth of love and longing, a kiss that had been so long overdue that it may as well been a hundred kisses all at once, one for each moment they kept away from each other, and for each moment lost to their own doubt. A kiss that would have many others following shortly, no doubt. And a kiss that Sherlock would return before the night was through.
"John, where are we going?" Sherlock asked finally, reaching his head up so as to look around throughout the darkness. There was something of a playful mystery to their excursion, yet there was also an underlying sense of fear. The horse seemed to know the path well enough; perhaps his night vision was better than his riders'. Yet it still felt as though they had been walking for a long while now, and still there seemed to be no destination in sight.
"It's not far, Sherlock. Not far." John assured, wrapping his arms around Sherlock once more and smiling into his neck. "I'm just happy to be near you."
"How very romantic." Sherlock chuckled. "Surprising, as it's the first thirty seconds of our relationship."
"There were many statements that were long overdue, you know that." John admitted with a sigh. "How exhausting it was, trying to get you to realize anything."
"In my defense you weren't very obvious." Sherlock muttered.
"Not very obvious! Oh come on!" John whined. "I thought I was as obvious as you could be without a full confession."
"You were not!" Sherlock groaned, slapping at John's arm with something of an exasperated whine. "If anything I was the one making all the moves."
"You really are an idiot." John insisted with a chuckle. "An idiot to think that you were the driving force behind..."
"I was the one who snuck out to see you!" Sherlock defended.
"But I was the one who made the excuse to see you regularly. Without the lesson swap we might have stayed awkward acquaintances forever." John pointed out, to which Sherlock could only shrug his shoulders, admitting now that he may be at a loss.
"Oh what does it matter? It's too early on to be arguing over the origins. Save it for the wedding." Sherlock muttered.
"Sherlock you really need to tailor your dating skills. No man likes commitment so early on." John warned, to which Sherlock only sneered. Wasn't very professional of him to deny their future, yet then again Sherlock may also have been in the wrong. Even if they did intend to get married they certainly never could. Not a priest in the world would dare marry two men, even if they were of the same social class! Oh to think of Agatha at a wedding, with half of the church empty because of John's orphan status...Sherlock almost had to laugh at the thought.
"To be honest I've been imagining our future since I'd fallen in love." Sherlock admitted with a rather guilty chuckle. "I've got nothing else to do around here but fantasize."
"You ought to get a job then." John suggested, to which Sherlock slapped him once again. The moon emerged from a clearing in the tree line, made by a fallen tree which lay just along the path. It was a beautiful moon, bright and full of silvery light. Sherlock had to wonder just how late it was getting, as he had left his room at a pretty unreasonable hour, and it had to at least been two hours since then. The thought of Mycroft finding his bed empty wasn't nearly as scary as Agatha discovering the escape, yet the rope hanging out the window would certainly be damning either way. Sherlock would have to make it back before sunrise, for he knew that no one in that house would like the conclusions they drew from an empty bed and a lovesick boy gone missing.
"Why does this feel so normal, John?" Sherlock sighed finally, realizing that they had just seamlessly transitioned from awkward friends to effortless lovers. He had presumed there would have at least been an uncomfortable phase, the time spent between the first kiss and the first conversation. Yet they seemed to have their love story confused and mixed up, for whatever reason they seemed to be talking like long time lovers rather than those who had just confessed a couple minutes prior.
"Because I feel like we've known for a while now." John admitted with a shrug. "I feel like in a way we're just finishing off the conversations we started alone in our own heads."
"How mournful." Sherlock muttered rather sadly, though he understood of course that John had a point.
"Not any longer." John assured. "I don't know Sherlock; with you it all just feels very natural. Like we've done this all before, at one stage or another."
"Have you dated before?" Sherlock wondered.
"Well, I suppose dated is a strong word. I've been in relationships before, sometimes very short lived relationships if I have to be honest." John admitted.
"With women?" Sherlock presumed.
"Yes." John agreed quietly. "But I've always been open minded. Always willing to...to branch off. If destiny allowed it."
"Did you know that I was the one when you first saw me?" Sherlock wondered anxiously.
"Again, you and the forever talk." John interrupted, in something of a way that made Sherlock feel a bit upset. It was almost as if John was trying to veto his happily ever after, as if he didn't think their love would be as eternal as Sherlock wanted it to be.
"I'm sorry, should I keep it more short term? Is this going to be just another one of your flings?" Sherlock presumed with something of a snap, feeling the need to cross his arms if John's arms weren't already in the way.
"That's not what I mean at all. I'm just preparing for the moment you decide you don't like me." John said with a little chuckle. "When you realize I smell like horses all of the time, and that I still basically live with my mom."
"All perfectly valid reasons to love you even more." Sherlock insisted.
"You enjoy the smell of horse poop?" John asked in sarcastic amazement.
"I enjoy the smell of you." Sherlock defended. "Whatever it is you smell like."
"How very flattering." John muttered, though he did sound entirely touched. "Look there Sherlock, see that gap in the forest? That's where we're headed." Sherlock squinted through the darkness, just able to make out a glowing patch of emptiness, where the thick grove of trees seemed to fall off like the edge of the world. It was a pretty complex destination, though Sherlock was happy to see it nonetheless. He was happy just to get off of this horse, not that his company was bad. Simply because his back was hurting, and his fingers were sore from twisting the reins unnecessarily tightly across his palms. Getting off and prancing around in whatever sort of clearing that was seemed to be the much more tempting offer. When finally the horse broke through the tree line Sherlock halted it, pulling back on the reins as John had instructed him to do when he first taught him the basic horse commands. That would've been a nice skill to retain, at least when he had embarked on Hazelnut for the first time. Yet just as soon as that pony took off Sherlock was quite unable to process anything. Whatever simple pulls or kicks would have been necessary seemed to have vanished from his mind as soon as that scary thing had gotten up to more than a simple canter.