Not A Thing You Get To Choose

Lunch came and went, and his small block of cheese and a carrot seemed nothing compared to the lovely sandwich John had treated him to the day before. And yet it was enough, for he sat outside his tent and leaned against the fabric, whistling back and forth to Merlin as he tried to see if the bird might accept some carrot from his hands. It would seem that Merlin didn't like that sort of food, and so he continued to peck at the ground and stick his little beak into the dirt, pulling up bugs and crumbs left behind from the people who ate their lunch on the go. As Sherlock ate, however, he was becomingly increasingly nervous for when John may or may not appear. Of course after last night he was apprehensive to see him again, purely because he didn't fully trust himself enough not to leap at him and act out whatever fantasies he had created with his violin. Well of course it was hysterical to think about what might happen, purely because even if Sherlock did decide that he had those sorts of feelings for John he wondered how John might react. Sherlock was quite sure if he did anything he would lose the only boy he had ever befriended, and so in the end he knew that no matter what he thought he was feeling it would be best to just contain it, no need to mess up the one thing he had going for him at this point. Sure it might be agonizing, but then again he would be with John either way, what did it matter if it was romantic or not? And of course, Sherlock didn't even know if he wanted to be romantic either. It sounded like an overwhelming task really, to try to woo John every time he felt it was necessary, to flirt with him, to even ask him what he felt! Imagine how horrible he would be at trying to be discrete, well he was sure that he would say something completely outlandish, something that missed the point entirely, he would mess it up, he would lose John in all aspects. And to kiss? Sherlock couldn't even imagine something so confusion, for he had only seen it practiced a couple of times before, when there were some flirtatious young couples who went to the back allies to be...affectionate. They never really noticed the peddlers, which was always a shame because Sherlock has seen a bit too much. But at least he knew, right? Knew what to do when he loved someone that much, at least if John was ever that eager he would be able to play along just fine. Oh what was he thinking, what was he doing? Fantasizing about that sort of stuff, imagining what John's arms felt like as he pulled Sherlock into a stone doorway, giggling together...
"I need to stop." Sherlock breathed, shaking his head outrageously and staring at Merlin, who hopped around just near his ankle. The bird paused and looked up at him, almost as if wondering if Sherlock was talking to him, and when Sherlock just sighed he continued to scavenge for anything yummy buried in the dust. To clear his head Sherlock took to his feet, clearing his throat and summoning some people to his proximity with mad gestures and ridiculous smiles.
"Now look here, look here!" Sherlock exclaimed, pulling aside a very bored looking couple as they strolled about with a shopping basket on their arm. Sherlock produced a deck of cards from his pocket, holding them to the crowd and arranging them into a tempting arrangement to be drawn from. He held the bouquet of cards to the woman, who was around forty or so and yet still blushed when directly addressed, and she pulled a card at random. Sherlock pretended to think while the crowd remained silent, taping his foot against the dust while Merlin flew about his head excitedly.
"Might it be the eight of diamonds?" he guessed with a shrug. The woman just sighed, shaking her head and displaying to him the ten of hearts. The crowd didn't seem too impressed. Sherlock pretended to give it a good look, as if bewildered, and mumbled a quick spell under his breath. Before his eyes, and his eyes alone, the card transformed into the eight of diamonds and he stood back with a smile.
"Are you sure miss? Have your glasses been checked recently?" Sherlock asked as she pulled the card back and examined it.
"Well I'll be!" she exclaimed excitedly, displaying the card to the meagerly entertained crowd. Yes so it wasn't the most exciting trick, but it was to get better.
"Now that's not my favorite card I'm afraid, I think you should have let's say...the king of spades?" Sherlock recommended.
"Well then let me draw again." the woman suggested.
"Oh but you've got it already, see?" Sherlock insisted. The woman looked down again, and as if by magic (imagine that!) the card she looked down upon was none other than the kind of spades.
"How are you doing that?" she wondered with a giggle, proudly displaying her card to the crowd while they oohed slightly louder.
"Hm, the king of spades, it's nice yes? But I think you Miss, look a bit like a queen, don't you agree?" he wondered with a grin. The woman blushed and muttered out a weak little response, as if too flattered to respond. Sherlock snapped his fingers, and suddenly the card she was holding was the queen of hearts, displaying her face on it. The woman jumped with excitement, and this time when she showed the crowd they burst into applause and chatter, wondering amongst themselves how that might be possible.
"Now that's better now isn't it?" Sherlock wondered. "You can keep that, if you'd like Madam."
"I don't want to deprive you of your deck." She said with a frown.
"No, no of course not. I've already got its replacement." Sherlock assured with a smile. "In fact, I think you might be stepping on it."
"I can hardly see how I might be." The woman murmured, picking up her feet and frowning down at the mere dust that was collected under her shoes.
"No, no, not under your shoe. Under your foot." Sherlock insisted with a grin. Merlin chirped curiously, finally coming and landing on Sherlock's head, to which the crowd oohed and awed, unaware that this wasn't part of the trick. The woman muttered to her husband before shoving her shopping into his hands, kneeling down and undoing the clasp of her high heel before picking her old foot up and gasping. And there it was, the original ten of hearts, hidden under her stockings this whole time. Sherlock accepted the card from the now completely bewildered woman and took a bow, to which the entire crowd burst into applause. Then came the line of donators, congratulating him and dropping some money into the tin all while going on to talk with their friends about how such a thing might be possible. Sherlock was then left with a frown and a stinky ten of hearts, looking about the crowd to see if that might have attracted any attention from a certain boy. It seemed as though it did not, for he was alone once the crowd vanished. Sherlock was lonely for the rest of the afternoon, with no one but his faithful bird to keep him company whatever high hopes he had coming crashing down on his stupid feathery hat. Mycroft picked Sherlock up at the usual time, however it was obvious he could tell there was disappointment in the air. Sherlock was found sitting at the mouth of his tent, poking around his money tin and listening to the coins jingle like he always did when he was down. When Sherlock heard someone approaching he looked up excitedly, expecting to see the one and only John Watson, and yet when Mycroft appeared he didn't even bother to hide his disappointment.
"Oh, hi." Sherlock murmured in a bit of a small voice.
"Expecting someone else then?" Mycroft guessed lightly, seeming as though his words were intentionally supposed to be funny until he realized that Sherlock was legitimately upset.
"No I'm just..." Sherlock sighed heavily, knowing that he really was in no position to fool his brother. "Yes." He muttered finally.
"Oh don't look so down Sherlock, you know that people are much more occupied in their day to day life than you are. He probably got busy with his school work; there really is no need to worry." Mycroft suggested in that very odd voice he used when trying to be compassionate. Of course he sounded more like he was choking on his words as he forced them out, and yet Sherlock supposed that the thought was what counted here. At least Mycroft wasn't trying to remind Sherlock that all men would do this to him and he probably shouldn't try to befriend them anymore.
"Yes I know you're right, but I was still rather hoping I'd see him." Sherlock mumbled disappointedly.
"There's always tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that. It's not like either of you are going anywhere." Mycroft assured, to which Sherlock sighed and nodded quietly.
"Yes, and yet I have to wonder how long I'll have to wait." Sherlock groaned. He slowly got to his feet and began to take his little tent down; deciding that the only way to get over this momentary disappointment was to get it as far as he could behind him. Maybe by sitting home he would forget about John's disappearance, maybe he could teach Merlin some tricks, or read a little bit. Or not. Sherlock was miserable for the whole night; he could barely eat much less do anything productive. He moped about, not saying much to Mycroft as they ate their dinner with gloom looming over both of their heads. It wasn't pay day for Mycroft, that was last week and it would come in another, and so their Friday meal wasn't nearly as extravagant as they would have preferred. After finishing his dinner Sherlock went out back alone, sitting down in the grass and leaning his head against the bench in some sort of uncomfortable contortion, staring up at the sky full of stars, the clear sky that made him shiver when the wind blew. The moon was bright in the sky and he could see off in the distance with ease, noticing all the little wildflowers, closed for the night, and spotting the gleam of an animal's eye as it stalked about in the night. Merlin was perched on the roof of the house and Sherlock new better than to bother him, and so he sat with his head craned towards the Heavens and wondered what John might be doing now, or what he had been doing all day. Schoolwork most likely, an exam of some kind? Or maybe he had taken a three day excursion to the ocean, or some lake off in the country. Maybe he was sick, or he was nursing a broken arm that he had gotten while playing some sort of ludicrous rich boy sport. Maybe he was horseback riding, far away from the market and Sherlock, or maybe he was just sitting inside, watching the windows, hoping that Sherlock wouldn't discover where he lived. Maybe he was angry about the fish in the hat from the day before and he was holding a grudge? Or maybe he discovered that he didn't like Sherlock's company at all, maybe he had decided to stay away the best he could now that he realized how rotten of a personality Sherlock was sporting. Oh Sherlock didn't know which he would prefer, he didn't know which was justified or even logical, he didn't know which one he deserved! Surely he shouldn't count on John's appearing every day, and yet in a perfect world he would arrive exactly on time, undaunted for the rest of their existences. There was no such thing as a perfect world, Sherlock had learned that rather early on, and so maybe John wouldn't always be prompt, maybe he wouldn't always be available. Maybe Sherlock would just have to wait in vain, and wonder what he was doing, for God knows Sherlock would always be at the market place, he would always be in the streets, waiting for John when he chose to call on him. Oh this was almost a sad state to live in, and yet what choice did he have? John was the first relatively exciting thing that had happened to him in the past, oh maybe seventeen years? The whole of his very existence? John was the first person that put excitement and longing into his heart, he was the first that made Sherlock wish to be accompanied by someone; he was the first that made Sherlock wish to be sitting on those dusty streets, watching the crowd! He was different, he was exciting, he was beautiful... No, no he wasn't. He was perfectly average, and he did in no way make Sherlock's heart jump as high as the stars that now shimmered in the dark sky, shining like the gleaming in John's eyes when he smiled, shining like the golden sparkle in his hair. Man, Sherlock really needed to get his priorities straight. Love really was not a necessity for him, it seemed to be more of a burden then anything, and yet why now did he yearn so powerfully to be with another person? Why did he just need to be close with that boy that proved to be absent? It was a horrible feeling, a feeling that was almost humorous when he remembered that he had thought it was caused by something as meager as friendship. 

    The following morning when Mycroft accompanied Sherlock to the tent he wasn't dressed for work, and he wasn't planning on leaving. It was Saturday, and so the shoemaker didn't need him for some reason, and he was free to work with Sherlock on the streets. Mycroft never did much except spectate, sometimes he was the one that clapped the loudest and dropped the first penny, just to get the chain going. Other times he was the person that Sherlock deformed or bewitched or mocked, putting the poor boy through the most gruesome embarrassments all for a quick buck. And yet Mycroft never complained, instead he was always relatively happy to accompany his brother in the market place; it was his idea of fun. Sherlock appreciated his being there of course, and yet today he was rather apprehensive about his place in all of this. If John showed up how would Mycroft react? He was always very protective; would he try to accompany them should they walk off together? Would he insist on buying John lunch and run a deficit simply because he wanted to impress him? Sherlock wasn't quite sure how the two would interact, and so he almost wished that Mycroft had work today, that or John had chosen today to skip on their daily meeting. Who knows, maybe he wouldn't show? Should some of Sherlock's theories from the previous night prove to be true John might be away for quite a while, and if he legitimately wanted to be rid of Sherlock then he would be away forever! It was a conflict of interests now, for Sherlock wasn't sure if he valued his and John's relationship over the self-respect he had when it came to his brother. He didn't want to embarrass Mycroft, he didn't want to embarrass himself, and more importantly he didn't want to embarrass John. There were so many things that might go wrong that maybe it was better John stay away. And maybe this sort of thing would be the very thing that drew him to the tent anyway. As the town was still waking up the brothers pitched their tent and sat inside tiredly, Sherlock leaning against the flap of the tent and attempting to close his eyes while Mycroft played solitaire with Sherlock's simple deck of cards. Even Merlin was sleepy, which was unusual for a bird at this time of day, for all of his close relatives were undoubtedly screeching in the trees and making it impossible for anyone else to get a proper morning of sleep. And yet the bird was perched on Sherlock's knee, tucking his head under his wing in an attempt to make up any sleep he might have missed during the night. When the crowds began to appear the brothers jumped into action, and this time it was Mycroft's job to summon the people by pretending to be extra excited about the performance, clapping excitedly and cheering as Sherlock made his grand entrance from the mouth of the tent. Now of course Mycroft's role in all of this made him look like a fool, and yet it almost always worked for people were drawn to clapping, and despite the morning's dullness there was a thick crowd of about eight or ten people that had gathered to watch Sherlock make a stone skip across the dust as if it was water. Now this trick wasn't all exciting, and so he bounced the stone around on the ground like a rubber ball and even proceeded to step on it and crush it flat, like a deflated football. Now that was enough to get the crowd cheering, and yet Mycroft didn't look all too impressed. Sherlock sighed heavily, remembering that Mycroft preferred the more elementary tricks, the safer ones, and so when he was around Sherlock should always remember to just pull rabbits out of hats for the remainder of the day. However Mycroft clapped and took one of the pennies he had brought with him earlier to drop into the jar, prompting many others to do so just so that they didn't appear stingy. When Mycroft was helping Sherlock found that despite the more boring tricks the pay was always better and the crowds were always larger, in the end paying for the boredom Sherlock might feel as he preferred mediocre tricks before the audience. When Sherlock finally took his last bow and took his money tin inside the tent Mycroft joined him quickly, scowling as if he expected Sherlock already know what he had to say. He was good like that, he could always make his displeasure known even without words and so he always suspected Sherlock to know what was on his mind long before he said it.
"Now Sherlock..." Mycroft started, and yet Sherlock raised a hand to shush him, shaking his head miserably as if insisting he skip the lecture.
"Yes I know, I know." Sherlock murmured.
"A rock, bouncing like a ball, no one would ever produce a logical explanation for that!" Mycroft insisted.
"Well that's exactly why it's considered a magic trick!" Sherlock whined, digging around in the money tin and seeing a very promising amount of coins and change.
"In this day in age Sherlock, they might think that you're legitimately preforming magic!" Mycroft defended.
"And yet they know in the back of their heads that no one would be stupid enough to preform actual sorcery in front of a crowd. It's fine Mycroft, it's all fine." Sherlock assured in a huff. Despite the rejuvenating energy the crowd had produced he still felt quite weary, maybe it was the weight of the anxiousness he had on his shoulders, the looming presence of a boy that may or may not appear today.