Sleepless
part eighteenNature had reclaimed a great deal in the absence of men. There were trees growing in the middle of the highways, whole sides of buildings covered in moss. Three years was far from enough time to erase the damaged countryside but efforts had certainly been undertaken and the creatures that howled in the night were more numerous than Sherlock had remembered. There were some patches of people but not many. Together Sherlock and John stole clothes from shops and other sundries like sugar, tea, salt and bullets for every gun they could collect. In a world with no power and no running water, they weren't just scavengers anymore, they were settlers. They grabbed seeds and herbs from deserted gardens and the back of the SUV rattled with clay pots bumping against each other on every cracked or unpaved road. They drove until they found a place with more to offer than they could take with them. They settled in Sussex, cloistered in a humble cottage with wide windows that faced the south, plenty of overgrown forest nearby and a stream of fresh water that had long since lost the taste of unnatural tampering.
They planted food in every available plot. John's background as a soldier and a doctor gave way to skills in hunting and butchering as he took outings in the early mornings to track and kill their meals. Sherlock and he devised their own traps and salted and buried in plastic containers the leftovers to keep cold in the ground for later. They made plans to travel out and see about finding some domesticated animals--cows, mostly. At least one. Chickens wouldn't go amiss either. For the time being, all they had were some bees.
The first winter nearly killed them. If neither had a successful hunt, they went hungry. Their frozen garden left them nothing to harvest once their small stores had run dry. Sherlock digested books of horticulture while John read up on herbal remedies. They built a green house out of cannibalized pieces of neighboring houses while the earth was still somewhat frozen. Every lesson they learned they did so the first time around. They never went hungry again.
By the second year they had their cow and chickens, their pilgrimages never boring and generally not without some manner of success. Their garden was a small field and their green house on rotation with seasonal favorites. There wasn't time to be bored. Even routine was less a challenge when not following it promised failure and death.
But not everything was a struggle.
Sitting in the bath, his legs parted on either side of John who sat with his back against the opposite end, Sherlock let himself relax into water that was hot enough to cook them both alive. The water always cooled far too quickly for his liking even if it scolded when they first got in. His tanned skin was already rosy from the sun. John, brown as a nut, looked very flavorful indeed in their soup of soiled men.
"I'm going to kill that cow," John threatened, head back as he relaxed tired muscles and bones.
Sherlock tapped him with his feet, wagging them beside his shoulders as his toes helped cool the rest of him. "You're not going to kill the cow," Sherlock replied, watching the water wave to expose the line of dirt that separated John's exposed chest from his submerged torso. He was covered in dust--probably took a tumble while working the animals. She'd tried to kick him again, it seemed. Well, it wasn't the first time. Sherlock smirked. "Maybe you're just not as good with women as you thought."
"Sherlock, there is a significant difference in handling a woman's breasts and a cow's udders."
The gardener shrugged his shoulders and sank down to his chin, legs rolling up to their knees on the outside of the tub. "Well, what is lacks in crossovers with women..."
"Don't. Dear god, don't." John closed his eyes on a sour expression though a smile was clearly hiding beneath. "I still gag if I try and drink it when it's still warm. There is no way I could milk her at all if I were thinking... uhg. No. Though now that you say that, a couple things you've been trying lately make sense."
Sherlock shrugged his brows, not about to argue with decent observations.
John shook his head with a smirk and turned a kiss to Sherlock's knee. "You can take care of her tomorrow. I need a break."
"Trade you cow for compost?"
"Cow fo~r.... um... yeah, alright. Compost."
Sherlock gave a wicked smile. He'd much rather deal with buckets of milk rather than one full of shit. She must have either actually kicked him or come very close to it indeed. It was hard to see under the water if there was a bruise along his ribs. Perhaps on his back. He didn't seem to be complaining of any pain but such things were so superficial for them it tended to not bother being discussed.
John kissed his knee again, his hand rubbing along the underside of his thigh. "There a reason you've got your knees up here by my shoulders?" he asked, all but winking as he smirked down at Sherlock sunk low in the tub.
"Well, it's a small space for two people," he said, keeping a straight face.
John chuckled and leaned forward, drawing his own knees in as he bent Sherlock's down, pressing them between them as Sherlock grabbed at the side of the tub to keep his head above the water. He sputtered and laughed, wiggling his feet in the open air. "If we play around like this, I will drown," he warned.
John met his lips with laughter and gave him a long, languid kiss. "When we're done then," he said, and sat back, taking one of Sherlock's arms with him to help pull him further up from his sunken slouch. He maneuvered them both until he could lay his back against Sherlock's chest, both their legs now splayed on the tub rim in pointless tangles of dark and light. His head rested at Sherlock's shoulder, and he closed his eyes as the ripples of water settled between them.
Sherlock let his cheek rest against his hair and closed his eyes as well, letting John's warmth keep the cold away as the water grew tepid in the tub.
"Are you ever surprised it turned out like this?" John asked, his hand over Sherlock's arm.
Sherlock nodded, his smile a secret among John's dark blonde hair. "I'd have to say the greatest surprise to me has always been that you're here with me."
He could tell from his silence that wasn't quite what he meant. He meant the cow and the chickens, the little farm and their shed of winters skins. He meant boiling hot water for their baths and taking summer trips down old foot trails. He meant the outhouse and the green house and the SUV with the dead battery. He didn't mean everything that came before, but that was how causal relationships worked. John had had one choice: throw everything away for Sherlock, or throw Sherlock away in exchange for everything. Since the moment they hit the road together, their path was set. This was always where they were going to end up, here or buried in the ground. John took a chance and saved him that day. Everything else was just... life.
John kissed his shoulder and gave his arm a squeeze. "You're an idiot, sometimes," he said, with all the affection of 'I love you'.
Sherlock chuckled, breathing in deep. "Yeah, I know. You too."