Before Holmes Met Watson (FEATURED)

Day Ten: Balloons

Sherlock's forwardness at the May Day celebration hadn't left his new acquaintance sputtering (another point in his favour, Sherlock had thought). He'd laughed warmly and said, "I knew I'd like you. I'm Mark, Mark Darcy."

Sherlock shook the offered hand. "Sherlock Holmes," he replied.

Mark looked at him strangely, and Sherlock wondered if he'd omitted one of the minor points of etiquette he often let slip. "Aren't you going to ask after Elizabeth or make some joke about Pemberley or Mr Bingley?" Mark asked.

"No," Sherlock replied, hoping he was masking his confusion at the odd turn of questioning.

"You've never read Pride and Prejudice?" Mark asked incredulously.

"Oh," Sherlock exclaimed. "Does this have to do with literature? They probably insisted I read it at school, but I must have erased it."

"Erased it?" Mark asked.

"Yes," Sherlock replied. "I never bother remembering things that don't matter."

Mark laughed again, and there was a hint of something approaching affection in his eyes that made Sherlock look away. "Well, I'm glad you jettisoned it," Mark said. "I'm sick to death of having to smile and laugh at the same tired jokes every time I meet someone new."

"It must be tedious," Sherlock said.

"You can't imagine," Mark replied, then suggested, "Let's get you that drink."

Sherlock and Mark traversed the field and headed for the merchants' stalls, engaging in easy conversation along the way. Mark bought Sherlock another glass of wine then enquired about how Sherlock was spending his time in Sussex. Sherlock excitedly launched into a detailed explanation of how the results of his decomposition experiments might help resolve a cold case in French wine country where the soil had a similar composition. He stopped himself short after a woman gave him a horrified look when she overheard him mention his desire to get his hands on a corpse. "I'm sorry," Sherlock apologised, stiffening as he realised he was likely driving Mark off. "I forget sometimes that my work is too grisly for polite conversation."

"Don't," Mark said, shaking his head. "You're lovely when you're like that. When you're not hiding." It was a rare occasion for Sherlock Holmes to be struck dumb, but he could think of no worthwhile rejoinder. Not when Mark was looking at him like that. "What else do you like, then?" Mark asked. "Besides corpses and murder investigations?"

Sherlock stood staring at Mark, not quite believing him to be real. "I like bees," Sherlock finally managed to answer. "They're fascinating creatures."

"Is it true they shouldn't be able to fly, aerodynamically, I mean?" Mark asked.

"No," Sherlock replied. "In the 1930s, a French entomologist came to the mistaken conclusion regarding bumblebees, but it's been debunked quite thoroughly. Although, people do seem to like the romance of the sentiment." Mark was smiling at him with a gentle fondness that made Sherlock a bit afraid.

"Come," Mark said, grabbing hold of Sherlock's hand and pulling him away. "I know just what you need."

"It's silly, Mark," Sherlock was complaining moments later as he tried to ignore the tingling in his palm from where it had been clasped in Mark's. "I'm a grown man, and I do not need a shiny bee-adorned balloon!"

"You say those things, and everyone just listens, don't they?" Mark said, taking the balloon from the merchant. "Give me your wrist," he commanded, and Sherlock felt he had no choice but to obey. "I mean, I understand why everyone must just capitulate to you," he went on as he tied the string to Sherlock's wrist. "You're terrifyingly clever, aren't you?" The question echoed in Sherlock's mind, resurrecting a memory he had tried to secret away. Hadn't Victor said nearly the same thing when they'd first met?