John sighed, watching as he got set up. The violin was recently polished, it gleamed much brighter than it had in the barn, the night before Irene came, it seemed like forever ago. Carl and his friends were getting seated around the tables, each carrying two mugs and already their voices had gone up three notches each. But once Sherlock started playing they seemed to die down, even the drunken idiots were serenaded by Sherlock's playing. John smiled proudly, also engulfed with the notes flying from the beautiful instrument. Sherlock was once again lost in the music, his eyes closed, swaying slightly, the bow going back and forth on the strings so fast it was a blur, his elegant fingers plucking and pressing the strings, it sounded straight from the radio. All but one man was fascinated by the music choice, he started muttering something to his friend and he didn't seem too impressed.
"Is this some type of joke?" he grumbled. "I want music." This was much louder than the previous sentence. Sherlock didn't stop playing, of course, and whether or not he had heard the man was still to be seen. At first John tried to ignore him, it wasn't his fault that he had no taste in music, manners, or even beauty, he was just a jerk.
"Come on, are there any girls?" he demanded, loud enough that Sherlock had to have heard him.
"Hey buddy, you got a problem?" John demanded, getting to his feet in a blind spot of rage. The mumbling man smiled cruelly and rose to his feet, and just then John noticed just how much bigger the man was. The noise, all except for Sherlock's violin, was gone; everyone was watching this soon to be fight. John was terrified, obviously, but he couldn't back down now.
"I'll let you slide with that one comment, but I'm not scared of bashing your head in after another." The man growled, making John smile uncomfortably.
"Don't make fun of my friend." John said, trying his best to sound confident.
"Oh of course not, he just needs to get off the stage and let some real music come." The man agreed.
"If you lay one finger on his I swear I will wring your fat neck." John warned, but the man's smile only widened.
"Is that so?" he walked over to Sherlock, stepping unopposed onto the stage and approaching him. Sherlock's eyes were still closed, John didn't figure out if he was aware of his visitor or not.
"Like this?" the man asked, touching Sherlock's shoulder with his finger. It all happened so fast John couldn't see what full happened. Sherlock dropped the violin gently and grabbed the man's forearm, with a great heave flipping him over his shoulder, like in the movies, and making him lay flat on his back in the middle of the stage with a large bang.
"Now, just what do you think you are doing?" Sherlock asked in an almost purr. He still had the violin bow in his hand, pressing it down on the man's forehead so that he kept his head down. John didn't know whether to cheer or to separate the two, but there was no more fighting to be seen. The man didn't even try to get up, he just lay there helpless, amazed that the scrawny violin guy was able to make a complete fool out of him.
"If you'd like real entertainment I suggest we get a boxing ring in here, so we could teach you how to show some respect." Sherlock rolled the man's head away with a soft kick, going back over to his chair and sitting down, picking up the violin again and going back to playing. The man quickly got to his feet, looking back at Sherlock one more time before fleeing the bar, slamming the door loudly, as if trying to prove he could still beat up a piece of wood. John smiled a little bit to himself, his nerdy little Sherlock taking down a stereotypical motorcycle man. The night wavered on, Sherlock never the left the stage and there definitely weren't any more interruptions. Carl and his friends had a lovely time, their voices so loud he was sure Irene would be complaining about them miles away. John was just about to go get a glass of water or something from the bar when Greg sank into the booth opposite, where Sherlock had sat previously.
"You're either really brave or really stupid mate." He decided.
"On a good day I'm both." John agreed.
"That was the meanest guy here though, comes around once and a while, I'd pay to see Sherlock flip him again." Greg decided with a little laugh.
"Stronger than he looks I guess." John agreed.
"So what's the story between you guys? Just last week you wandered in here and now you two aren't seen apart." Greg pointed out.
"Oh, he gave me a place to stay."
"He's a servant I thought?"
"I sleep in the barn, but it's better than the streets." John shrugged.
"And in return?" Greg asked.
"I do some of the chores, feed the animals and get water, and to be honest I think he's just lonely, I give him company." John admitted.
"So are you like, boyfriends?" Greg asked.
"Oh, no, nothing like that no, just friends." John pointed out, his face glowing reed for no reason at all.
"Sorry, it just comes across like that." Greg admitted, not looking too ashamed at being wrong.
"Everyone seems to think that, is it illegal to have a friend around here?" John asked.
"Well, he's kind of you know, a flirt. I saw him when you first met, the last time he was flirting like that there was this traveler from London, had to be three years ago." Greg admitted.
"He wasn't flirting, he told me that." John pointed out. Greg just rolled his eyes, obviously something John had said was funny.
"I've been around that guy long enough to know what's going on in his head, like I said, it has been three years since he really tried." Greg admitted.
"Well who was this traveler, she must have been really pretty right?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock kind of nervously. He was still playing, oblivious to the conversation going on below him.
"Well I suppose if you put a whole lot of makeup and a dress on him, he might have been pretty, but there was the fact that he had a bit of a stubbly beard, might ruin the princess vibe." Greg laughed.
"It was a guy?" John asked, not knowing whether to be shocked or disgusted or relieved.
"Course it was! The number of men I've seen throw Sherlock away is ridiculous, but this traveler guy, he was different. He just splashed him with his beer and knocked him out with the mug." Greg said with a laugh. "He came to hours later, passed out on the table with a lump on his head, if only I had an artist paint a picture of that, it was hilarious."
"So you mean he's like..." John asked, his voice getting caught in his throat.
"Gay?" Greg clarified. John nodded nervously, knowing the answer already but not wanting to face the truth. "Oh god yes." He admitted. John sighed, that would be why Sherlock hated Irene, and Molly, and pretty much every girl in this whole town. But he wouldn't like John, of course he wouldn't, he couldn't, they were just really good friends.
"The first time he came in here he must have been fourteen or something, I can't remember honestly, but he sighed up to play violin and stuff, I was no more than a bus boy then, there was the old bartender here, Victor I think, I could've thrown up." Greg admitted.
"What happened?" John asked, curious but not exactly sure he wanted to know.
"Well he bought Sherlock a drink of course, both of them were flirting endlessly, and then Angelo almost kicked them both out because they were just all over each other weren't they? Poor Victor though, one of the first infected, I felt so bad for Sherlock." Greg sighed.
"Victor's dead?" John asked.
"Has been for years." Greg nodded. Sherlock continued playing, but there was now, once again, an air of sadness surrounding him as the violin played soft, sad music.
"But we're not together; it's totally possible to be friends with someone like that, yes? Sherlock hasn't really made a move." John defended.
"Oh definitely, he's perfectly capable of having friends, I'm friends with him, and he hasn't tried to kiss me. You're right, he's lonely, and maybe what he needs is a friend that would stay for more than one night." Greg agreed.
"But isn't it, you know, illegal?" John asked.
"To an extent, but the police don't care, as long as it's behind closed doors." Greg shrugged.
"Sherlock doesn't have anything for me, we're just good friends." John assured once again, but it was more for his own belief than Greg's. Somehow there was always a part of John's mind that had been suspicious; there had been a part that, no matter how many times he denied it, knew Sherlock had been flirting with him that first night.
"Oh gosh, there's a line, got to go, nice talking to you John!" Greg called, dashing up to the counter to the growing mob of angry drunk men with empty mugs. John was left in the empty booth, staring up at Sherlock with both sadness and worry. Once again Sherlock's rough past was being unearthed, now not only had he lost his parents, his home, his brother, but his first love was killed by the plague. The night went on and on, the violin music never wavered, never did Sherlock miss a note, and there was no more complaining from any of the men. John didn't know what to do with the information Greg had given him, Sherlock was gay. Okay, maybe John had always sort of known that, but it didn't mean Sherlock automatically had a crush on him did it? They didn't have a relationship, all that stuff about flirting was just a run on joke of theirs, it didn't mean anything. Soon the music took its toll, John's eyelids got heavy and his head ended up on the table, curled up in his arm and snoring peacefully. He didn't remember the trip home very much, he remembered Sherlock rolling his head over with a slight smile, saying something to which his groggy self just nodded. And then he was floating, Sherlock was actually carrying him out of the bar; he knew he said something because his chest vibrated, but John couldn't hear what it was. He sleepily buried his head into Sherlock's shoulder, mumbling something that neither could make any sense of. Sherlock managed to carry him and the violin case all the way back, the cool wind and chirping crickets only adding to John's sleepy mood. Finally they turned down the driveway to the house, and somehow, in what have been an amazing feat of balance and strength, John found himself staring once more at the barn roof, hearing the animals below him and curling into the hay.

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