Have You Something To Say?

"Are you ready to go?" Mycroft asked, finally turning from the grimy mirror in which he checked his reflection to see his brother already arranging the tent in his arms. Sherlock nodded sleepily and so the two went out the doors, ignoring their coats as it was already warming up. It was sometime in the spring, neither really kept track on calendars, and so the flowers were blooming and all were in good spirits. Together they started down the road, beginning the long trek from their cottage on the edge of the city to the innermost market, a walk that was usually done in silence. Today, however, Mycroft deemed it necessary to converse, so as to make the journey a little bit more entertaining.
"What tricks did you do yesterday?" Mycroft wondered, making a point to use the word 'tricks' instead of spells, so as to maybe divert his attention away from the fact that Sherlock's profession was in every way perfectly illegal.
"Oh um, well I'm not sure. I did the one with the bird, but it pooped on a guy's hat so that didn't work out. Let's see...I did the one with the monocle." Sherlock mumbled.
"The monocle, I don't know that one." Mycroft admitted in a sleepy sort of voce. It was obvious he didn't really care, and yet Sherlock appreciated the falsified enthusiasm.
"It's um, well there's not much too it. I enchant it so that it's like a yoyo, and then I do all sorts of yoyo tricks with the guy's monocle." Sherlock admitted with a shrug. Mycroft laughed, sounding like a proud parent when their child speaks of a new trick they had learned. Sherlock smiled proudly, however he knew that half of Mycroft's laugh was just because he felt like he was entitled to laugh and so he didn't take it to heart.
"And I did the parasol one." Sherlock added in a mutter. Mycroft stiffened, and it was no secret why. Mycroft didn't approve of that one, he thought it too complicated of a trick despite its popularity.
"I thought I told you not to do that one again." he warned sternly, looking on his brother with that familiar look of disappointment. Sherlock kept his head down, repositioning his tent under his arm and shrugging as if he had just conveniently forgot about Mycroft's dislike.
"Ya well, it brought in the most money of the day. I know it's not your favorite..."
"It's not that I don't like it, it's that the police don't. That was the very trick that sent Inspector Trevor on your tail." Mycroft warned.
"And yet he learned very quickly that it was all fake. Don't you remember, I 'messed up' on one of my tricks?" Sherlock pointed out defensively.
"His superior officers were fooled but he was not, that man has it out for you Sherlock, and I won't let him get his hands on you. I cannot let you get hanged like all those other poor souls." Mycroft insisted in his stern older brother voice.
"Yes I know, but we're smarter than them, by being obvious we're being secretive, it's the perfect disguise." Sherlock defended in his whiny younger brother voice. Since they didn't have parents growing up Mycroft had adopted all of the more annoying habits of both paternal roles, and now he was demonstrating his superb motherly defensiveness, which always managed to infuriate poor Sherlock.
"It's only the perfect disguise until they see through it. You're safe for now Sherlock, and unless you're careful you may not be the safe forever." Mycroft warned.
"And then for now I will be cautious, and yet if being cautious doesn't bring food to the table..."
"I would rather starve than see you hanged!" Mycroft roared, turning on his brother with that caring rage upon his face. Sherlock gave a little squeal of terror, however as soon as Sherlock ducked away his brother's anger melted, and for a moment he took on the role of supportive big brother once more.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be angry with you, I know you're doing your best." Mycroft admitted with an apologetic smile. Sherlock nodded, continuing on in some awkwardness as Mycroft very rarely threw around compliments. However he took this one to heart, thanking his brother in a very quiet voice before continuing on in silence. When they reached the market they found that there were many open spots still available, and so Sherlock pitched his tent and sat inside for a while until the dawn broke and the people began to mill about. Mycroft left around the same time the people began to show up, and so Sherlock took his tin and set it outside the tent, donning his miserable feathered hat and looking about the crowds as they began to appear. His first show brought about a couple of sleepy faces, all who watched purely for the excuse to give their legs a rest, pausing in their walking about for a moment to watch as he scampered about, having created fire from his hands and went about lighting some sticks and papers on fire. When he blew the fire out, however, it was revealed that the items that had been burning were never really harmed, and he got a little bit of a cheer. That round created around fifteen pence, which really wasn't that bad. The day became monotonous as always. Sherlock spared some of his earnings to buy himself a couple of tomatoes for lunch, enough for him to survive off of until dinner. He sat in the mouth of his tent with his collection tin sitting safely inside, watching the people go about their day quietly. It was mostly women and children in the market, for the men were all at work today, however sometimes school boys would mill around. Sherlock was always very curios of those boys who went to the university, all dressed up in their sweaters and their slacks, they all looked so educated. They all had hope, despite their current empty pockets they knew that with their knowledge they could work their way up in the world, and Sherlock had always sat about wishing beyond anything that he might have that privilege. He didn't know much of the education system, especially higher education; however he knew that they could focus on a certain branch of study that suited them best. He hadn't a clue what he would peruse should he ever have the opportunity; however he entertained him during his lunch breaks to try to imagine himself in their shoes. He would certainly look dashing in those school issued vests, maybe he would be one to carry around his books with him wherever he went, maybe he was have friends. He could study all sorts of things, science, math, language and Latin, well the possibilities were endless! And to think all that was keeping him from being one of those boys was his money. He thought he could be smart, if he had the potential, for he had proven himself to be plenty educated when Mycroft had taught him as a child. He could read and write and do some simply equations, Sherlock had been taught poetry and rhetoric and had even written a sonnet or two in his boredom. He knew of some of the basic elements and the compounds they formed, he knew of great works of literature and he knew some basic world history. He remembered things and he was excellent at piecing them together, he was able to make connections in the social world that people thought to be extraordinary. Maybe it was his magic, or maybe it was just his brain. The boys hadn't inherited much from their parents, however Sherlock was figuring out more and more about them just by what they had. For starters their father had to have been intelligent, otherwise Mycroft wouldn't have been able to get a job as a clerk. Sherlock had inherited his magic from his mother, which was a trait she hadn't wished to pass to either of her sons as she knew it was condemning. It made a man feel alone in a world of so many; it alienated them and made them a criminal walking amongst the normal people. Of course Sherlock felt like it was a very lonely gift, however without it where would he be? Starving, most likely, starving or dead. Sherlock's train of thought was interrupted when he noticed a boy watching him from afar, the very same boy from the day before. Last time he hadn't thought much of it, but today the boy didn't seem distracted by Sherlock, no in fact he seemed almost as if his attention was focused entirely on Sherlock, almost as if he was the very thing he had come to look at. Sherlock sat up straighter, very happy he had left his silly hat inside, and watched the boy just as curiously. They didn't make eye contact, in fact the boy looked almost as if he was in a daze as he stood on the other side of the street, far enough away so that their looking at each other didn't provoke too much suspicion form the passing folks. He was most certainly the same boy from before, he had golden hair that gleamed in the sun and he dressed as if he had money, but apart from that there was nothing truly spectacular about him. He looked mostly average, it was his stare that distracted Sherlock to some extent. No one had taken any interest in him, not like this. Finally the boy seemed to come to, and suddenly he blinked as if he had realized that staring was rather rude. Sherlock tried to smile at him, almost as if to beckon him over to the tent, but to no extent. The boy had already turned away, scared by his own interest, and disappeared back into the crowds of the market. 

 The boy was on Sherlock's mind for some time as he tried to fall asleep that night, for some reason he stuck out of the crowd, he was more than just a face, he seemed more real than anyone else Sherlock had come across. Maybe it was because he had been observed away from the crowd that usually gathered, that or he seemed to have some interest in Sherlock as well. But why, what could turn the fascination of a boy that seemed very wealthy towards a mere street performer? It was curious, but Sherlock hardly ever interacted with anyone other than his brother. He didn't know how to approach this boy should he catch him staring again, he didn't know if staring was a normal social thing these days or if it was just as odd as Sherlock would expect it to be. It seemed almost creepy; however then again Sherlock could just be overreacting. He should be flattered, should he not, that he had caught the attention of someone around his age? It was the potential of a friend, that was probably something he should be happy about. However it lingered in his mind, longer than it probably should, and come the next day Sherlock found himself looking for the boy once more among the crowd. It took another day until the boy reappeared, however this time Sherlock hadn't noticed him until he became another face in the crowd he was gathering. It was the hair that gave him away, for it gleamed despite the boy's standing so low to the ground. Sherlock noticed him, and for some reason that motivated him to put on an even better show. He began with some card tricks before he did his ever so famous pulling something odd out of someone's hat. It was always a crowd pleaser, and today he took a lady's lovely hat and pulled a little kitten out of it, one that was meowing and was certainly very confused. Now of course these animals didn't come from nowhere, he couldn't create he simply summoned it, and as his hand was in the hat he willed a cat into it and then it appeared, just like that. It was a difficult spell however once completed it paid off. Sherlock was even able to sell the kitten to the woman whose hat it had been pulled out of, simply because she felt entitled to keep it. It was a fantastic show over all, that and Sherlock had earned twenty pounds on the cat, and so all in all he had made quite enough for the day. As Sherlock was just about to collect the money tin he noticed that there was still someone in the crowd, left after all the rest had left. It was, as expected, the boy who had been watching him a couple of days before. Sherlock stood taller, almost as if to try to show his superiority to someone who by very examination of their clothes was to be very easily presumed as higher on the totem pole. This didn't scare Sherlock; however, he saw the man's apparent wealth as something of an opportunity. Sherlock took off his hat quickly and tossed it carelessly onto the cobblestone on which he stood, walking up to the man with a raised eyebrow, curious about why he still lingered. 

"Have you something to say?" Sherlock wondered, walking up to the man who stood stone still, looking up at him with a bit of a nervous look in his brown eyes.
"Oh, no." the boy said quickly, looking startled to have been confronted.
"No." Sherlock nodded, not entirely convinced. Of course the boy had something to say, he was lingering while the rest of the crowd had left.
"Yes, actually yes. I just wanted to um, congratulate you on your performance. It was very good, very convincing. If magic wasn't outlawed I'd almost suspect you of being an actual sorcerer." The boy admitted with a nervous little laugh. Sherlock nodded, looking down upon him curiously, wondering why he was stuttering so much.
"Yes, well I assure you all of my tricks are just that, tricks." He assured. The boy nodded, looking almost nervous to be standing here, one to one with the man he had been watching for the past couple of days. Maybe he was something more to say than just that, maybe it was on the tip of his tongue. Finally he reached into his pocket and produced a shiny coin, smiling at Sherlock and stepping off to the side to drop it in the bin. Was that all, a simple donation? Had he no other purpose for loitering here?
"Thank you very much Mr...." Sherlock wondered, holding out his hand to shake.
"Mr. Watson, John Watson actually. Just John." he corrected, growing less formal with every name he suggested. Sherlock nodded, shaking the boy's hand timidly. He was wearing leather gloves of very fine quality, simply be feeling the texture, and he smelled of fine cologne.
"Would you like another trick then, my dear Mr. Watson?" Sherlock wondered with a smile. John looked around; almost as if he was someone he didn't want seeing this whole ordeal. However he finally nodded, evidently not spying anyone he would want to hide this encounter from.
"Well yes, yes I suppose so." John agreed. Sherlock smiled, looking him over to see which article of clothing he might be able to entertain him with.
"May I borrow one of your gloves sir?" Sherlock decided, holding out his hand politely.
"My glove? What do you want with my glove?" John asked curiously, looking very reluctant to hand it over.
"Well to do a trick with it, of course." Sherlock said with a smile, laughing as if he was amused by John's sheer nervousness.
"Well yes, yes I suppose you can. Be careful with it, if you will." John murmured, finally pulling off his glove and setting it carefully in Sherlock's extended palm. Sherlock smiled at him, closing his fingers around the thing and thanking him politely.
"Now I suppose Mr. Watson, that you think this to be simply a glove?" Sherlock presumed, holding it in his hands and examining it as if he was trying to find anything special about the simple leather glove.
"Yes, just a glove." John agreed, evidently confused as to what Sherlock was getting to. Sherlock just hummed, kneeling down and setting the glove onto the cobblestone. Evidently this scared John, for he took a reluctant step back and nearly stumbled into an old woman, who used some rather foul language for a woman of her age.
"No need to be frightened Mr. Watson, no observe. Your poor glove has been so long on your hands; do you not think it wants to move by itself, to be free for just a moment?" Sherlock presumed.
"Well it's a glove, I thought it not necessary to..."
"Ah, not just a glove my dear, that's where you're wrong." Sherlock corrected, jumping to his feet and speaking the softest spell under his breath, thrusting his hand at the glove for dramatic affect and finally it came to life. It was a simple animation spell, a short lived little thing, but suddenly the glove stood up upon the leather fingers, almost as if they were legs, and began to stroll about the cobblestone. John gasped, laughing as he watched his glove stumble over the blocks, walking around over top of Sherlock's shoe to which he just laughed, plucking it from the ground in his fingers and watching as it squirmed and struggled, the leather fingers going back and forth as if in a panic.
"Now be still, you funny thing, be still." Sherlock commanded, pulling the glove onto his fingers and muttering the spell away. He finished the performance by peeling the glove off of his fingers and handing it back to John. The thing had stilled moments before, and yet John still held it in his hand as if he felt bad for putting it back on his fingers.
"How did you do that?" John wondered in astonishment, looking from Sherlock and the glove as if expecting one of them to do something miraculous. Sherlock simply smiled at him, shrugging as if nothing remotely exciting had happened, as if a walking glove was just part of his everyday life.
"I did nothing at all. It's the glove that did it." Sherlock said with a little laugh.
"You're a much better performer than any of these other magicians." John admitted finally, stowing the glove in his pocket and producing another coin to put in the tin. Sherlock was thankful for the money of course; however he had almost forgotten that this was supposed to be a job. While performing for John felt more like he was showing off than working, and the amazement in the boy's eyes was almost enough to make him forget his financial struggles.
"Well thank you very much, thank you." Sherlock said with a smile. John nodded as if it was no big deal, and Sherlock imagined that it really wasn't a big deal at all. John seemed to be very well off, and the loss of a simple pound wasn't going to do him much harm at all. Nevertheless Sherlock was thankful, and he bowed his head respectfully.
"Well I really must be going." John said finally, looking about the streets as if nervous once more.
"Ah, well it looks like you forgot something, yes, right there, now hold still." Sherlock instructed. He reached towards John's head, to which the boy stiffened and yet didn't move, evidently nervous of what Sherlock might do. However Sherlock meant him no harm, he simply reached up to John's ear and produced a daisy, a beautiful flower that seemingly appeared from nowhere.
"There we are." Sherlock said triumphantly, handing the flower to John with a smile. "How long have you let that grow there?"
"I haven't been growing anything." John said with a little laugh, accepting the daisy in his bare hand and staring at it in amazement.
"Well evidently you have my dear, you should really clean out your ears more carefully." Sherlock warned in a scolding sort of voice. John laughed rather reluctantly, setting the daisy in his pocket so that it stuck out for the world to see.
"Why do you keep calling me that?" he wondered curiously. Sherlock looked at him in confusion, surely he needed to clarify.
"Calling you what? Well I assume I'm using the name you told me." Sherlock admitted.
"You're calling me 'my dear'." John clarified. Sherlock sighed, tucking his hands into his pockets and shrugging as if he hadn't even noticed.
"Well I suppose I call everyone that, show business requires some level of person connection." Sherlock admitted with a shrug. The boy nodded, his shoulders sagging just a bit as if he had expected more of a personal answer than that. Well what else might he have been expecting? It wasn't like they knew each other.
"Yes, I understand." John agreed. "Now I really must be going."
"Come visit me again Mr. Watson, and maybe I can make your hat dance." Sherlock offered with a charming sort of smile, the smile that always convinced the women to put an extra penny in the tin. John, however, simply nodded with a sort of blush in his cheeks, beginning to turn away before looking back reluctantly, as if he didn't want to go just yet.
"I will." He promised, and with that he turned away and started off into the crowds, leaving Sherlock nodding and standing where John had left him, next to his donation tin and his funny little hat.  

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