It didn't take long for John to realize that it was Sherlock, keeping exactly in step and twirling John around this time, looking extremely sharp and mysterious in all white.
"Where have you been?" John demanded, twirling out and then being pulled back into Sherlock's arms, as if in some sort of whirlpool.
"Oh don't mind that, I'm here now." Sherlock pointed out, stepping to the right and pulling John along with him. He obviously had some sort of clue what he was doing, in fact he seemed to be the only one, moving perfectly to the music and dancing as if he had practiced before. Before John knew it, however, the song ended, and everyone mixed through the crowd to find their original partners.
"I was over helping set up the punch stand; very carefully in fact, it would be quite a disaster to spill on this." Sherlock admitted.
"Ya, wear did you find the money to get that?" John asked.
"It may surprise you, but not all my money is saved to by the hobo in my barn food. I've got some stored away for special occasions." Sherlock pointed out.
"Well I'm actually supposed to be dancing with Mary, no idea where she went though." John muttered, standing on his tip toes to see over the crowd of heads.
"She's over there, near the band, looking for you apparently." Sherlock said, using his height to his advantage.
"I'll catch up later, you go find Molly or something, sure she'd love to dance with you." John insisted, waving a quick goodbye before wading back to Mary. Of course he knew Sherlock would not want to dance with Molly, who had been right all along, maybe if there was a nice man in the crowd without a partner and a bit of what, as Greg had said, a stubble beard.
"Hey, Mary, sorry, I found Sherlock." John said in a huff, fighting through a pair of excited looking teenagers.
"It's totally fine, is he okay?" Mary asked.
"He's fine, had to help with the punch." John agreed. As promised, they were right up front with the band, which came along with getting their ears nearly blown out by the trumpet player who started up another tune. John and Mary danced nearly all night, spinning and twirling until John felt like he had run five miles straight. Eventually when their tenth or eleventh song ended and eleven o'clock rolled around they decided to take a break, retiring to the punch bowl and catching their breaths. No matter what people said, dancing was extremely tiring.
"That's actually a lot of fun." John decided.
"Oh definitely." Mary agreed as John scooped out the red punch, handing her a cup and taking one for himself.
"Do they hold parties like this a lot?" John asked.
"Occasionally, when Irene is in town. She's actually quite popular around here, the number one bachelorette apparently. Are you from here?" She asked.
"No, just popping in for a little bit." John shrugged.
"When are you leaving?"
"No idea. It's a long story, Sherlock was nice enough to take me in though, he'd been very kind." John shrugged.
"I'd bet he has been." Mary muttered, indiscreetly but loud enough that John could understand what she was saying.
"No, he hasn't been trying to flirt with me; I know his reputation around here." John defended.
"Well Molly was making quite a fuss about you two on a date, was that just her over exaggerating?" Mary asked.
"Absolutely, I've never gone on a date with him, he buys be food because I have no money, and I'm not going to sit at another table just for the sake of some people's opinion." John pointed out. Mary nodded, seeming a little bit relieved at John's answer, as if that had been something that had been worrying her. John was about to ask her about her life around here when a shriek echoed across the hall, making the band stop playing and everyone turn to look. There was no question that it was Irene, just from the level of her scream, enough to break glass, but also the fact that people were nosing around, trying to see what had made her so upset. And then Sherlock burst from the crowd, his face almost as white as his mask and suit, grabbing John's arm and dragging him away without warning or explanation.
"Wait, Sherlock what, I'll see you later!" he called to Mary, not bothering to fight Sherlock's strength. Sherlock pretty much pulled him out the door, into the cold night air, rushing quickly to the barn and scrambling up the ladder like a scared rodent.
"Sherlock, what's wrong?" John asked after he made sure the door was locked tightly behind them. He climbed the ladder quickly to see Sherlock, pacing across the floor, tapping his chin with his fingers angrily. John didn't bother lighting the oil lamp behind them; they won't be up here long anyway.
"Well, you were right, I was right, she asked, she bloody asked." Sherlock hissed, looking on the verge of either kicking something or breaking down in tears.
"Oh my god, what did you say?" John asked in shock, pushing his mask up so he could see properly.
"No, of course, the parents were involved to, I told Mrs. Hudson that she had no right to get me married and guess who bothered to show up then, after all these years, just to ensure my torture?" Sherlock asked.
"I don't know, who?"
"Mycroft! My stupid brother!" Sherlock said, raising his voice a little bit and kicking at a stack of food bags, which merely shifted a little bit.
"Whoa, Sherlock, just calm down, I know it sucks, but we can work through this." John assured.
"I don't love her, I can't love her!" Sherlock pointed out.
"But it's not the end of the world, you need to except that." John pointed out.
"No John YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" Sherlock roared, making John step back in fright. "I can't love her, I love someone else." His voice was now down to an almost whisper, instead of being the angry bear he now seemed like a nervous mouse. Just like Sherlock's anger, John's sympathy and denial seemed to melt away as the words fully met his ears. There was a moment of silence, Sherlock stood stone still, his green eyes water behind the white mask. "Every time I look at you I fall in love all over again, every time I hear your voice I spiral deeper and deeper, I don't know what to do but I know that I can't ever love anyone else." Sherlock admitted. Now he looked like he was full out crying, facing the consequences for his involuntary feelings. John, on the other hand, didn't know what to think, what to do, or what to say. There seemed to be no response to any of that.
"John, I can't help falling in love with you." Sherlock muttered once again. It took John a moment, but he cracked a nervous, almost defensive half smile.
"That's going to be a hit song in about three hundred years." John pointed out. Sherlock didn't smile, he didn't even seem to process what he had said, he just stood and stared, like a disturbingly accurate statue. John stepped forward, closer than they had been before, just to get his bearings, not sure of his intentions, just winging it, like he did his entire life, it's worked so far. John carefully raised his hands to Sherlock's mask, wanting to see the person behind these heartwarming words. But when he slid the mask off, saw Sherlock for what he truly was, the same boy that had played the violin, that had pushed him in the creek, that had bought him dinner and brought him to town, John just couldn't bring himself to do whatever the heck he was planning on doing. In an impulse sort of reaction he stepped back, looking away. Those words hadn't been Sherlock's they were the mask's, he hadn't fully processed the fact that Sherlock, a boy, had just confessed his un-denied love for him. John wasn't gay, he couldn't love another boy, was this some type of sick joke? Before he turned back he heard Sherlock take a sharp breath, as if holding in a sob, and fleeing the loft, nearly jumping off of the ladder and running out the door, from what John heard his footsteps were leading into the woods. John stood there, not having moved since Sherlock had stood above him, not sure what to think or what to do, this had to be a dream right? He knew Sherlock wasn't really a ladies man, in fact he wasn't even into the ladies, but that didn't mean that he loved John, and that had been the lie he had been telling himself for how long, and no Sherlock just comes out of the blue and says that he was hopelessly in love? Who did something like that, who would spring such an emotional sentence on someone when they were already pretty whacked out from the whole time travel dilemma. He didn't know where Sherlock was going and he was too caught up in the moment to process the guilt that was flowing undetected through him. The shock of taking off that mask, it had been hiding him the whole time, and it pretty much made the whole thing a different person and a different experience. There was probably some metaphor there, something to tie it back to important life lessons about not doing drugs, eating vegetables, and not falling in love with someone after a couple of minutes, but his mind wasn't really working properly. John didn't bother going down to tell Mary goodbye, he didn't want to be around anyone at all in fact, he decided that it would be in everyone's best interest that he stayed as far away as possible from civilian life and people in general. So he curled up into a ball, laying on the bags of food and shivering against the sudden cold. Whether it be nerves or guilt or shock, he barely got a wink of sleep that night.

Apparently John had fallen asleep, because he woke up, and unless he had died for the night that usually meant he had slept. At first he didn't know why he was so terrified, why he was shaking at the fact that he opened his eyes, but it didn't take long to realize the events that had occurred here the previous night. Now he was able to process the guilt, making Sherlock feel unwanted, rejected, who knows what he might do? First he had to get engaged to a monster, then his brother shows up after years of silent hate, and when he finally admits his feelings he's crushed to a pulp by the boy he thought he could love. John hated himself; if it was possible to look at yourself he wouldn't, because Sherlock, the one who had done pretty much everything to keep him safe and sound, thought that John hated him. the sunlight streaming through the window seemed like a joke, some cruel reminder that with sunlight came things like chores and meals, both of which associated Sherlock, and that meant confronting him after all of this. John sat up, his stomach growling but he wished it wouldn't, he didn't want to go knocking on Sherlock's door like a beggar. But when he went down the ladder to feed the animals, the least he could do after last night, there was a plate of breakfast waiting for him on the hay. It had the usual, eggs, sausage, and toast, all looking plenty edible, not containing poison or any other nasty substance John probably deserved after that. Not only was he fed, but the animals were all munching on piles of hay, obviously they had been there for a little while since they were almost gone. John sighed, Sherlock must have come early in the morning to avoid any awkward conversations, the poor boy, he didn't deserve this at all. John sighed, eating his nearly cold breakfast while sitting on the hay, craning his neck to just get a mere glimpse of Sherlock, just to know that he was okay. He wouldn't go all out would he; John wouldn't find him hanging from a tree? That would be almost unbearable, not only guilt but pain, John didn't hate Sherlock, he absolutely didn't, but he didn't love him in that way. In a deep friendship, almost family way sure, but could he ever bring himself to kiss him? That would be super awkward, and maybe a little bit stomach turning, but maybe not impossible, if it was absolutely necessary. The day was spent in the barn just like the others, except he didn't complain about the solitariness of the barn; he only stared at the wall and ran the events involuntary through his head over and over again. Sherlock's anger, his guilty confession, John's evil decline, he hated himself for it, but if he could go back, what would he do? Probably say no more politely, not just look away and look like he was going to throw up. Sherlock probably thought the very thought of being together made John cringe, that he was physically unable to think about them being together. He would tell Sherlock very politely that he wasn't gay and probably not able to be, and that he like them as friends and nothing more. Of course he'd probably get the same reaction from Sherlock, but it wouldn't leave as much painful guilt resting on John's shoulders. John spent the rest of the day wallowing in his own guilt, but at twelve o'clock exactly he heard the door open and someone scramble quickly in before shutting it. John knew that had to be Sherlock, but what he was doing was beyond his guess. John looked down the ladder cautiously, half expecting a lion to jump out of the hay and start eating him, but instead of a lion there was a plate of food, lunch. John's heart swelled a little bit, even though Sherlock undoubtedly hated him he couldn't stop making sure he was well cared for and healthy. When John went investigating he found it was only a sandwich, but compared to what he was going to have, which was nothing, the sandwich was a lot better. John sat on the hay downstairs, eating the sandwich; hopefully Sherlock would maybe come poking around for it eventually. But John waited and no more than a mere shadow in the window appeared for an hour, so he was beginning to think Sherlock wasn't really in the talking mood. He sighed, looking around for a pen or whatever they used these days. To John's relief there was a small desk in the corner, for what he had no idea, but there were scrap pieces of paper and some quills. John ran over thankfully, he'd just leave Sherlock a note, brief of course, not wanting to intimidate him, so he quickly sat down and started writing. Sherlock- I am really sorry about what happened, I don't hate you, if that's what you took from it. I want to talk it out maybe?- John. He thought that looked partially acceptable, it got the word across fine, because he did want to talk, he hated this silence he was getting from Sherlock, neither of them deserved it. John quickly folded up the note and placed it on the lunch tray, hoping their therapy session didn't have to take place at night, when everything was the most awkward. When the door opened again, around five o'clock, he was immediately startled by the slamming of the door once again. Sherlock obviously didn't stop to read the note because when John looked over the side of the railing the barn was once again empty of all humans. John sighed, really hoping they didn't have to go through the rest of their lives living in this awkward silence. Sherlock had dropped off dinner though; some chicken, potatoes, and what looked like spinach. There was no note and no reply of any kind from Sherlock, but the message was clear, he still cared about John dispute everything that had happened. John sighed, but by the time his dinner had been finished Sherlock was still absent. John put the plate back in the drop zone, where Sherlock could easily get to it, and went back up the ladder. He waited all night, looking around hopefully, his ears straining for even a mere footstep outside the barn, but all was silent. Eventually his little search was ended when he nodded off, accidently falling asleep on the hay in the loft, not very effective when on a man hunt.