A wagon started rumbling down the street, people fleeing to the side as it stopped in front of one of the houses, a little bit away from the window but John could see the whole thing play out. There was a wagon attached to the back, and two men dressed in what looked like bird masks stepped out of the driver's seat and approached a door on the edge of the sidewalk.
"What's going on?" John asked as he craned his neck to see what was going on at the door. The men were knocking, and then the door opened where a small woman, tear streaked and tired looking, cracked it open to see who was visiting. As soon as she saw the men in the masks she broke down into tears, but never the less held the door open for them to enter.
"I guess they're starting to quarantine the infected." Sherlock guessed as the men carried a man in obvious pain on the stretcher, opening the wagon the horses were dragging and pretty much throwing him in. There were many people in the back, crammed like pigs, all sprawled out and moaning, some looking rather annoyed, as if from a bee sting, but others were filled with growths, screaming an agony. Then the men in the masks threw the doors closed, not bothering to make sure the new man's arms and legs were out of the way, and hopping right back on the cart. The sad lady, who must be the poor man's wife, waved to the cart even as it passed out of sight, weeping silently but looking somewhat relived to have the infected out of her house.
"That's horrible." John decided.
"That's life, it sucks." Sherlock agreed.
"They're treating them like animals, they're still humans!" John debated, horrorstruck at he just witnessed.
"They're pretty much dead anyway." Sherlock shrugged.
"So they should enjoy their last few moments." John defended.
"They know their fate, not worth it to sugar coat it." Sherlock said, taking one of the last bites on his meal.
"Aren't you worried that you'll catch it?" John asked.
"Yes, of course, but I don't let it slow me down. If I get it I get it, no fuss, it's not like I have that much to live for anyway." Sherlock shrugged.
"Oh don't talk like that! You're probably the only person in this town that could claim they have a time traveler living in their barn." John debated, making Sherlock smile, lighting up the restaurant just a little bit more.
"You've got a point there, but everything I do anyone else can do as well." He shrugged.
"I've never seen someone carry a ten pound bag of cat food on one shoulder and walk about two miles." John pointed out.
"That's something you could do if you had to do it numerous times." He debated.
"And the Hudsons, they probably think of you as part of the family." John suggested.
"I could still be replaced."
"Well if it weren't for you I'd be starving on the streets, so in that aspect I can't replace you." John decided, smiling with assurance at Sherlock. Sherlock, for some reason, started blushing at the complement, looking at the table and muttering something John couldn't make out. Obviously he didn't get much praise. The rest of the meal, which wasn't much, was silence, but then Sherlock paid for the food and the two left, Angelo waving them out and wishing them a goodnight. They went back to the streets, starting the long hike out of the town. The sun was now casting an array of colors of orange and red over the horizon, a gorgeous sunset over the wild flower field.
"They just don't have anything like that in 2015." John admitted, walking sort of sideways as he admired the sunset.
"It's always so beautiful, walking back home from nights like this are my favorite." Sherlock admitted.
"Must get lonely though, don't you?" John asked.
"From time to time, but I'm my own best friend." Sherlock shrugged.
"I know what you mean." John agreed.
"I can almost guarantee you don't. You've got your sister and family and Mike, I live in a shack by myself, human interactions aren't my strong point." Sherlock pointed out.
"You're doing fine." John assured.
"Well you're from who knows when, in your mind everything around here is weird." Sherlock pointed out, which was true in some aspects.
"If you came to where I live everything would be weird as well."
"I think my brain would just pop." Sherlock guessed, mimicking an explosion around his head with his hands, looking like a little kid who thought it was hilarious.
"It would be a change." John agreed. "You'd get hit with a cab or something though."
"Is that bad?" Sherlock asked.
"For the most part yes." John agreed with a laugh.
"What is a cab?" Sherlock asked.
"You know those cars I talked to you about? Well in big cities there is no space for them, so people run cab services where you just pay a guy to drive you to and from places." John shrugged.
"You people think of the weirdest things." Sherlock decided, but John could see that little spark of excitement in his eyes when he heard more about the future.
"That's not half of it." John shrugged, which was true. The city was packed with weird things, half of it being the cars and the other half the people, everything from plastic Barbie dolls to the homeless people you cross the street to avoid.
"Do you live in a city?" Sherlock asked.
"No, I live in a small town, kind of like this one but bigger." John admitted.
"Do you like it there?" Sherlock asked.
"I like it a lot better than a city, and yes I like it. Of course there are flaws, but in the end its home." John shrugged. "How about you, did you grow up here?"
"No, I was born a while from here, I ran away though, after Mycroft kicked me out. It wasn't too hard to find work." Sherlock shrugged. Sherlock had such a messed up past, John was surprised he could bear all of that and still put a smile on his face every day.
"I'm sorry that you had to go through that, how old were you?" John asked.
"Twelve." Sherlock shrugged.
"Twelve? I was still in middle school!" John exclaimed.
"It wasn't too uncommon to be out of the house by then, most are married off by then, the rich ones at least."
"You said Irene is getting married?" John asked.
"I pity the poor soul who has to take her as his bride, but yes."
"Do you think she'll want to marry you?" John asked.
"No, and she'll need permission from my guardian, which I don't have, so I'd say I'm safe." Sherlock guessed.
"Aw, you'd be such a funny husband." John laughed; imagining Sherlock's scowling wedding picture with what John imagined Irene as, a bleached blonde, fake tanned girl with ridiculously white teeth.
"I'm not interested in her, and I hope that she'll take my polite decline." Sherlock decided.
"And if she doesn't?"
"Then she'll have to accept the not so polite decline, because no way in heck will I ever marry her." Sherlock decided.
"Seems like that Molly girl likes you as well." John pointed out.
"Molly? Anyone in a mile's radius could see that, but I have no interest in her either." Sherlock shrugged.
"You're quite the lady's man huh Sherlock?" John asked with a laugh.
"Unfortunately there is something about me they like. They shouldn't get their tiny brains wrapped around the idea that I would actually return feelings for them though, they shouldn't get their hopes up." Sherlock decided.
"You've got to like someone?" John pointed out.
"Well of course, but it's the stupidest thing I could ever hope for." Sherlock shrugged, looking once again at the dirt, as if embarrassed to admit he could feel emotions.
"Well out you go, who is it?" John asked, using the same tone he used with Mike when he had a new crush.
"You'd never know them." Sherlock muttered.
"Well if you ever pass her, point her out." John decided.
"How about you?" Sherlock asked.
"Oh, well, a girl back from my hometown, Sara Sawyer, she's a grade above me and she's like the most beautiful girl ever." John admitted. Sherlock smiled, but there was a sort of sadness in it, as if he were sad that John might never see this Sara girl again because he was trapped in this time period.
"Young love is so pathetic." Sherlock decided.
"Can't really help it can we?" John defended.
"Well of course not, I like to push all emotions aside because with this plague running around there's no saying who the next kill is, but here I am, feeling." Sherlock said, hissing as though it were a preposterous curse word. They turned down the driveway, what usually was a long walk felt quite short with interesting, but of course awkward, conversation. But it confirmed one thing, something that had been eating silently away at John's brain, the town was wrong in thinking Sherlock was gay, he had a girl crush, so in your face Angelo and Molly. The lights were on in the house so they had to sneak in the shadows of the trees, but no people seemed to be looking out the window, so it was safe for now. Sherlock followed John up to the barn, quickly feeding the animals their dinner, quieting down the racket they were making, and climbing the ladder to the loft. John sat on the makeshift bed while Sherlock sat on the railing, leaning on a wooden post that, if John had attempted, would lead him to his certain death.
"So, we've got an hour or so." Sherlock shrugged, checking the clock on the wall.
"I'm exhausted." John admitted, stifling a yawn. He still wanted to talk to Sherlock, but his eyelids were dropping a bit. His clothes had dried mostly, except for a few nooks and crannies in his jeans it was like he had never taken a surprise swim.
"It was a long day, at least for you, it's normal for me." Sherlock shrugged.
"Oh you warrior, you feed animals and go shopping all day, you must be beat." John laughed.
"And you sit on the couch and stare at moving pictures all day, please just go to sleep now." Sherlock insisted, over exaggerating a worried expression.
"Hey Sherlock?" John asked, trying to contain his sudden laughter. There was sudden realization that Sherlock wouldn't know or understand even the stupidest of jokes of present day.
"What?"
"Why was six afraid of seven?" John asked. Sherlock gave him a blank look.
"Because seven ate nine." He pointed out, making Sherlock go from blank to ultra-confused.
"You can count congratulations John." he decided.
"No, seven ate nine, as in eat, seven ate nine, get it?" John asked. Sherlock laughed a little bit, but John knew it was taking time for him to process.
"Okay, wait, knock knock." John decided.
"What?" Sherlock asked.
"Oh god, you're supposed to say who's there." John groaned.
"Why would I say that, it's obviously you, and you're only saying knock knock, I can hear your voice and see you." Sherlock pointed out, making John want to push him off the ledge.
"It's just what you do!" John groaned.
"Who's...there?" Sherlock asked.
"Orange."
"Why in the world would an orange be at my door? How would it knock?" Sherlock asked.
"I give up." John decided. "You are impossible to tell a joke to."
"It's highly illogical, how could it be funny?" Sherlock debated.
"It's just stupid, so it's funny, a play on words." John clarified. Sherlock just sighed, as if John were being the totally ignorant annoying one out of the two.
"Is this what people do in their free time where you come from?" Sherlock asked.
"Sometimes." John shrugged. John thought hard for something else, something so stupid it might get a smile on Sherlock's face, so he went all the way back to kindergarten, with the rubbish word tricks.
"Okay, say this, what's your name?" John asked, knowing that it Mike knew what he was doing he'd be laughing his head off. The oil lamp rattled a little bit wind blew, shaking the light and shadows around the barn.
"You know my name." Sherlock pointed out. John just glared at him. "Sherlock."
"What's the color of the sky?" John asked. Sherlock looked up, squinting through the cracks in the wooden ceiling. "In the day." John pointed out.
"Blue." Sherlock decided.
"What's the opposite of down?" John asked, feeling so stupid right now that it brought a smile to his face.
"Up." Sherlock said, not sounding very confident.
"That was five year old humor right there." John admitted.
"I don't get it."
"Say it all together." John decided.
"Sherlock blue up..." Sherlock muttered, and slowly a smile creeped onto his lips. "That's pathetic." He decided.
"Yes, it is, but if I was still in kindergarten I would've been rolling on the floor with laughter."
"Kids are violent in your time." Sherlock guessed.
"You're right, they are. It's actually kind of disturbing." John decided. Sherlock smiled, as if that were some type of joke John was making up again. They spent the remainder of the night telling stupid jokes, mostly John telling them, and then explaining them, and then hearing an earful about why they were highly illogical and didn't make sense, but for some of them he got a laugh out of Sherlock, which was about as uncommon as defusing a bomb on the first try. When ten thirty rolled around John's eyes were pretty much shutting by themselves and he couldn't say a sentence without breaking into a yawn, so Sherlock decided that his visiting time had expired. With a quick goodnight he descended down the ladder and closed the door, leaving John to curl up the best he could on the food bags and watch the shadows on the wall until he finally drifted off to sleep.