"Now what is going on here?" asked a loud voice, the one of the newcomer, which was muffled and unrecognizable from through the fabric.
"That little wizard insulted me, made my nose grow long! I've got to make him pay, I've gotta!" the man growled, however he seemed quite timid around the police officer, almost as if he had something to hide from the law as well.
"Well then don't leave a good tip! Your nose looks normal now, well...probably back to its normal condition." The police officer decided, craning his neck so as to get a better look at the man's previously ugly condition.
"Oh maybe I'll make you pay as well." The man growled in his brutish voice.
"Off with you now, go! If you want to make him pay just don't tip him." the officer insisted, shooing the man off all while putting a hand on his belt, where his nightstick most definitely hung. The man finally gave a growl of defeat, and he sulked off after a moment's thought, leaving Sherlock and the unconscious form of the accordion player alone with the officer. Sherlock tried to be still, hoping that the idiot Inspector might mistake 'the little wizard' to be the man that lay outside. However with a dramatic entrance the mouth of the tent was flung open to reveal the one inspector Sherlock really didn't want to have around, the one that was out for his head, or more accurately, his neck. Sherlock scrambled to his feet, dropping his money tin almost carelessly as he scuttled about, trying to make himself look as innocent as he possibly could. This time he kept the silly hat on, in hopes that maybe it would make him look more like an innocent child. Of course Inspector Trevor would never be fooled into believing Sherlock was innocent, for he was one of the only men in the town who suspected Sherlock of actual sorcery.
"Ah, how good I am getting at recognizing your stench." The man growled, closing the tent so that the sunlight failed to flow in uninterrupted. Now the tent took on a rather eerie red hue, making the air seem to be tinted with blood. Sherlock backed away just a little bit, forcing a smile onto his face all while his hands quivered.
"Maybe it's just that you can now pick my tent out of the crowd." Sherlock suggested weakly. The man nodded, humming his agreement as he took a step closer, his blue eyes flashing dangerously, hungrily. Victor Trevor was around Mycroft's age, however he wore whatever was left of his youth much better than did Sherlock's brother, for he still smiled with dazzling white teeth and his skin was still soft and smooth. He was a daunting figure wherever he went, wearing his police hat tall and proud with his soft brown hair sticking out just enough to display that he wasn't balding. He always held himself with his hand on his nightstick, however now he was standing with his arms crossed; staring at Sherlock with that look he most always wore when the boy was around. It was something of hatred that Sherlock had never seen before, as if he would want nothing more than to wring Sherlock's neck himself. Victor had been the one to prosecute Sherlock of sorcery those years ago, strumming up a scandal that had reached far enough to get the attention of the mayor. However when finally Sherlock proved his innocence by 'messing up' on one of his tricks, and by proving himself innocent he made a horrible fool of the Inspector, a folly that Victor had never forgotten and always hoped to avenge.
"What mischief had you gotten yourself into today Sherlock?" Victor wondered, taking a casual step forward as his long trench coat flourished at his feet. Sherlock took a deep breath, wondering if he could possibly skirt around the Inspector and sneak out into the open, at least there Victor wouldn't dare come any closer. Maybe his unconscious accordion friend could come back to his rescue.
"Me? Why Inspector I'm never up to mischief, you know me I'm a very law abiding citizen." Sherlock assured with a nod, watching as Victor loomed ever closer, a small smile starting to grow on the man's face as the space between them closed ever more. Sherlock stumbled back once more, pressing himself into the fabric of the tent, hoping that it wouldn't break with the strain.
"Law abiding, Sherlock that is not a word I would chose to define you." Victor laughed. He looked almost pleasant if you ignored the vileness in his expression, or the growl that was hiding just beneath the surface of his laugh. Sherlock trembled shamelessly, his small limbs shaking as he struggled to hold himself up. He felt his hands start to twitch, his fingers aching to just cast a spell to defend himself, the jinx was on the tip of his tongue, he could just split the fabric of the tent and make it look like an accident! Then at least there might be a witness to whatever brutality Victor might inflict upon him.
"Well I hate to contradict a man of justice, however I was proven innocent. Need I remind you of that day?" Sherlock snapped. Victor made a very doglike growling sound and started for Sherlock, reaching out for his neck but stopping himself sharply, freezing just as his fingers might have made contact.
"You need not remind me of anything Sherlock, simply because when I win the case next time I will not have the opportunity to gloat. Unless of course I come to talk to you at your grave, should your brother scrape up enough money to burry you at all." Victor teased, letting his fingers brush ever so gently against Sherlock's neck as if wondering what it might feel like to tie a rope around the very skin that he touched now. Sherlock winced, drawing his skin away in reluctance, not appreciating the intimacy Victor evidently thought he was entitled to.
"I won't die Victor, not at your hands." Sherlock spat, smacking the boy's hand away in a fit of disgust.
"Oh no, not at my hands no of course. But before my eyes, because of my doing, no, Inspectors don't hang people; they only get the pleasure of cleaning up the trash." Victor murmured.
"You can start by ridding my tent of the trash that's in it now, simply by leaving." Sherlock snapped.
"Daring, ever so daring Sherlock. You've got quite a loose tongue, never afraid to say what you think." Victor sighed, stepping forward even closer so that Sherlock could smell his breath, something of vinaigrette.
"Get away from me." Sherlock demanded, shivering in fear, in proximity. Victor just smiled, evidently without the intent on moving. Sherlock's savior came, however, from a very unexpected hero. Suddenly from the top of the tent Merlin swooped down, shrieking in his birdy voice and pecking very violently at Victor's outstretched hand, the one whose fingers were so close to Sherlock's cheeks. Victor withdrew with a cry, clutching at his now bleeding hand in amazement and looking from Sherlock to the bird, almost as if he was trying to figure out how on earth such a companionship had been made. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief, and he took advantage of Victor's short distraction by darting under the flap of the tent, rolling through the dirt and grabbing his money tin as he dashed to the outside world, holding it open just long enough so that Merlin could escape as well.
"Sherlock what are you doing? Rolling about in the dust in your work clothes!" cried Mycroft's familiar voice as he made his way down the street, briefcase in hand and ready to start the journey home.
"He's in there." Sherlock breathed fearfully, getting to his feet and clutching his hat to his head as if he was worried about losing it, Merlin now perching safety on his shoulder and giving a squawk of agreement.
"He? You don't mean..." Mycroft's sentence was interrupted by the flap of the tent being flung open, Victor ducking his way out of the tent in some embarrassment as he wiped his hand off on the inside flap of his trench coat. It wasn't a very bad injury, merely a couple of pecks from a bird wouldn't do much harm at all, however it was enough to injure the man's honor, knowing he was bested by a bird.
"Ah, Mr. Holmes the elder, always a pleasure." Victor sneered, holding his head even taller for he had always had some sort of false sense of dominance over Mycroft, almost as if he felt like he was superior in every way. He was wrong of course, simply because Mycroft the stone hearted statue was superior to him in all aspects of humanity, which was a feat for Mycroft seeing as though Victor might be the only one he actually trumped in that aspect.
"Inspector, I do insist that you stay away from my brother, for every time you come around he seems to appear quite frightened." Mycroft advised, stepping up towards Victor as if trying to look fearless, when in fact Sherlock could see that his knuckles were growing white around the handle of his briefcase.
"Only the guilty ones get nervous Mr. Holmes." Victor assured with a gleam in his eyes, looking straight over Mycroft's shoulder to where Sherlock was standing with weak legs, holding onto his tin of money as if he was expecting Victor to force it out of his hands. Merlin hopped about on his shoulder, flapping his wings almost as to challenge Victor to another battle. Victor sneered at the bird before finally looking back down at Mycroft, who was looking very unimpressive compared to the taller man in the police hat.
"We've had this discussion before Victor, quite formally I'm afraid. Stop throwing around accusations if you've nothing to back them up with. All men can convince themselves they have seen magic, and it seems that you've done nothing else since discovering my brother." Mycroft snapped.
"I did see magic, with my very own eyes; he set fire to a book and returned it unscathed!" Victor insisted. "He made a man's nose grow longer, he...he took a photograph with a lacy parasol!"
"Tricks, just tricks Victor, you'd be wise to learn a few yourself!" Mycroft exclaimed, getting quite angry for his voice was beginning to quiver.
"It wasn't a photograph..." Sherlock murmured, however it would seem that no one other than Merlin had heard him.
"Oh go on, both of you, go on before I'm forced to report you!" Victor exclaimed.
"Report us on what charges?" Mycroft demanded, however he looked back at Sherlock as if he was very tempted with simply getting on and avoiding any farther quarrel with this poor excuse for the law.
"Your brother here was disturbing the peace." Victor said flatly, crossing his arms plainly and looking back towards Sherlock with a proud look upon his face.
"Oh good job Victor, you've been able to charge me with something legitimate this time!" Sherlock laughed, and finally Victor gave a growl of annoyance and started to turn away.
"You better watch you back, both of your meddling Holmes brothers. You better hope I don't get evidence, or I'll have you both hang. Both of you and that...that horrible bird!" Victor cried, clutching at his hand once more before turning off in a dramatic huff and storming down the cobblestone streets, evidently unsure of where he was going for that road led out of town.
"He's going to try to hang my bird." Sherlock muttered in an almost pathetic excuse for a laugh, trying to hide the uneasiness that was still flowing through his very veins.
"What was he doing here?" Mycroft demanded, turning on his heel the instant Victor had disappeared down the street. Sherlock simply shrugged, stumbling away from his brother's rage in a cautious sort of way, as if he now had to be threatened by the only family he had.
"There was a man, angry about my tricks and he threatened me, and the um...well the accordion player tried to step in and be of some assistance." Sherlock muttered, looking down towards where the man was still out cold. Mycroft turned towards the unconscious man and blinked, for obviously he hadn't noticed him lying there during all the Victor induced commotion, before looking back at his brother anxiously.
"The man was still angry, he tried to come at me, and I was hiding in the tent when Victor appeared. I didn't know it was him, I only saw his silhouette, but he came in and he threatened me again. He told me that he was going to hang me." Sherlock muttered nervously, looking back and forth so as to make sure there were no nooses readily accessible. Mycroft sighed heavily, nodding as if he didn't expect much else from such a man before turning on the tent and beginning to take down the poles to start for home. Sherlock was quiet and timid, standing and watching as Mycroft did most of the work. He knew that he was somewhat entitled to sitting by, for his hands were shaking so badly that the little tin was shaking with all the coins, rattling and making it ever so obvious that he was terrified. Victor always had that effect on him, not just because his accusations were not only correct but they were one piece of evidence away from being proven, but also because of the proximity that Victor liked to maintain with him. The man was always so close, with his blue eyes sparkling and his hands always touching, he made Sherlock uncomfortable in ways he simply couldn't define. He didn't know what the fascination Victor had for him was, however it was always enough to send a horrible chill down his spine. As Mycroft dismantled the tent Sherlock dragged his heroic accordion player to the side of the street, tucking the instrument under his arm safely and putting a couple of pennies in his hand to show his gratitude. It wasn't much of course, and Sherlock wasn't entirely sure if the man was even alive or not, however it seemed the right thing to do after the stranger had stepped in to try to help poor Sherlock in his time of need.
"What did he do to you, anything more?" Mycroft asked as they walked down the deserted dirt road to their house, the sun was just about setting and the landscape was bathed in a soft orange glow. Mycroft was carrying the heavy tent while Sherlock was left to carry their dinner, a meager couple of rolls and tomatoes since the money hadn't been quite as much as they were hoping. Even without Sherlock having to buy his lunch the tin was somewhat lower than the days before.
"He didn't...I mean he was like he always was I suppose. He um, he confronted me. He touched my neck." Sherlock murmured nervously. Mycroft let loose some sort of growl and instinctively began to walk faster, almost as if that was enough to get his mind churning as to the possible corruption in their friend Mr. Trevor.
"Disgusting man, simply disgusting! I can't believe they hire scum like him to walk these streets, enforcing the law when he's the only one breaking it!" Mycroft exclaimed.
"Mycroft he's not breaking any rules, sure he's a little bit overwhelming but to be perfectly honest I am in fact operating against the law. He's right, and that's what makes him so threatening." Sherlock insisted with a sigh. Mycroft nodded stiffly, looking quite bothered by Sherlock's claims and yet he knew he could do nothing to contradict him. And so they kept walking.
"Where did you get that bird from? It's rather loyal, for a wild animal that is." Mycroft wondered, looking onto Sherlock's hat where Merlin perched proudly.
"Oh well, I pulled it out of some lady's hat and I suppose it's grown rather found of me. We named it, actually, Merlin." Sherlock said with a proud smile. Even though he couldn't see the bird he knew it was there, for he could feel the little indents of its talons on his scalp.
"We? Did you consult the lady on the name of the thing?" Mycroft asked with a forceful laugh, obviously trying to lift the mood as best he could.
"Oh well, no, I actually saw John again. After all that excitement I had almost forgotten." Sherlock admitted in a breath, thinking back to that boy's smile and his soft presence, well it was enough to lift the heavy dark cloak from around his shoulders and lighten his mood tenfold.
"Oh, so his name is John then? You hadn't told me that part last night. Your new friend." Mycroft teased with a smile. Sherlock sighed heavily, shaking his head in ignorance and wondering what had possessed him to release such information to his brother. Of course there had to be a million Johns in town, however this one, this very John, well he was the most special of them all! Surely Mycroft would be able to pick him out?
"I'm still not quite sure friend is the appropriate term." Sherlock murmured.
"Did you do another trick for him then?" Mycroft guessed. Sherlock shrugged, smiling a little bit towards the ground and hoping his brother wouldn't notice. Well there was nothing to be ashamed of, really, smiling was perfectly normal and being happy about being with someone was normal as well. It was the pure fact that Mycroft might take notice that bothered him, for Mycroft held himself to such rigid expression standards that he expected his brother to be the same, a statue, a stone. Sometimes Sherlock almost felt as if he wasn't allowed to show any sort of emotion in front of his brother, especially anything that may borderline on joy.
"No actually, we found each other in the market." Sherlock admitted with a smile. Mycroft hummed, a small smile hovering on his lips as he looked over at his brother, who was still staring at the ground and cradling the money tin even softer in his grasp.
"And what did you do there?" he wondered. Sherlock just grinned, shrugging innocently.
"Well he's the son of a judge; I figured that much out, he's got a personal tutor. We had lunch together, he bought, and we just sort of talked. It was odd, talking to a person like him. I've never had a friend." Sherlock admitted almost excitedly. Merlin chirped his agreement; almost as if he mirrored whatever feelings Sherlock was feeling right now.
"The son of a judge? Isn't that risky? Sherlock if he knows that you're...well he could tell his father, he could prosecute you, his knowing your secret could be enough to settle any trial that might surface in the future!" Mycroft exclaimed suddenly, seemingly forgetting about the part that Sherlock had mentioned, the part about friendship.
"Relax Mycroft, relax! I haven't known him for more than two days; I'm not just going to go spilling my secrets to a complete stranger!" Sherlock defended. Mycroft hummed in agreement, however he was very obviously not convinced.
"Who knows what you might say? We've never been in this situation before." He pointed out.
"I've talked to people before!" Sherlock defended loudly.
"Yes but not with such excitement, look at you Sherlock, you're beaming with joy with the mere...the mere thought of this boy! Who knows what you might say to impress him?" Mycroft insisted.
"I'm not looking to impress him!" Sherlock corrected loudly. Mycroft just shook his head, almost as if he doubted Sherlock's levels of self-restraint.
"I'm sorry for shouting; it's just that I'm worried about you. I'm finding that you're becoming out of my control, as much as I want to protect you I feel like you're going to have to protect yourself to some degree." Mycroft admitted with a sigh.
"And what do you think I'm doing? I'm being smart, I know the risks, and I know the rewards! So what if he's the judge's son he's like no one else I've ever met. He seems to like me." Sherlock admitted in a smaller voice. It was rather sad when the one trait that John had that set him apart was the mere fact that he didn't sneer in Sherlock's direction. He was sweet, kind and compassionate, he was giving yet not in some sort of charity, he made buying lunch for a poor man feel more like a social favor more than pity. He seemed so soft, and so luminescent when he smiled, Sherlock had never met anyone quite like John Watson and he was sure that Mycroft would understand if he ever saw him. Who cared about his heritage, who cared about his family ties?
"I need to trust you Sherlock, and so I'm going to attempt at beginning that now." Mycroft decided finally. Sherlock nodded, looking nervously at his brother before casting his gaze aside, worried that Mycroft might think too much into his gaze.
"Haven't you ever had a friend, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked after a moment's silence, talking in a timid voice as if he half expected Mycroft not to answer.
"No, never." Mycroft admitted solemnly, and with that he walked ever faster, as if trying to hurry towards the house so that this conversation would end as quickly as it had begun.