Hi guys, it's been a while. This is my first take at a Sherlock Holmes story. Of cours, all the characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle belong to him. This is the first story of a serie. This story will have a few chapters only. I hope you'll enjoy.

See you soon!

TS

"Holmes, wake up", he heard John say angrily. It was incredible how the good doctor's voice could be angry but at the same time trying to hide it as if he didn't want to sound upset. Sherlock Holmes actually pretended to be asleep. He had never been asleep in the first place, he was just grumpy. He had accepted Watson's departure from Baker Street, had accepted his devotion for something else than their cases, had even accepted the fact that Watson intended to start something as incredibly boring as a family. But he couldn't accept his friend's willingness to share that boring lifestyle with him. Mary wasn't the problem, Sherlock got along well with her, thank you very much. He understood his friend's necessity to find his place in the world and do what everybody else was supposedly supposed to do. In fact, he got along with Mary so well, he even considered her now a close friend and had accepted to accompany her and John to a tea party. When Mrs Hudson learned about the party and more importantly, the fact that Sherlock was going, she was pleased and said to whoever would listen that Sherlock was finally about to change and start being normal.

Of course the old landlady was mistaken.

Sherlock had no intention of changing whatsoever. If one thing was as true and constant as the sun rising every morning, it was that Sherlock would always and forever remain Sherlock. And he was perfectly content with that. In fact, he even hoped things would stay like this.

So he could pretend to be asleep in order to anger John a bit. He deserved a bit of fun after all, for all the hours he was about to spend being bored out of his mind. He knew and dreaded the kind of people he would meet and the kind of things they would do. Most of those people where interested in three things only: sports for men, gossip for women and wealth for both genders. Sherlock didn't think they were stupid or anything of the sort. He just knew they lacked perception and he couldn't stand their old-fashioned ways and boring attitudes. As for the activities, he could get perfectly good tea at Baker Street and the food usually had nothing to envy to Mrs Hudson's cooking.

But what he dreaded most about Horse Hill, the place where the tea party was held, was the fact that it was supposedly full of horses. He didn't mind the animals as long as they stayed away from him and god forbid he wasn't required to ride one of them. His last encounter with the beasts had been an excruciatingly painful experience, even if it was with just a half-horse, and he would not retry that again. John had reassured him that no one would be riding anything so Sherlock took his word for it.

"Come on, Holmes, I know you can hear me," John sighed and Sherlock straightened up, readjusting his top hat and dark long coat. He checked the time on his pocket watch.

"We are running late."

"No we're not. And it's still a good five minutes ride to Horse Hill." John looked at his friend from under his own but greyer top hat. "Mary has a lot of friends and there will be some interesting ladies at the party I heard..."

"Don't."

"Don't what? Holmes, everybody deserves a shot at happiness."

"And you suggest that a woman is the solution?"

"Everybody needs to be loved. Everybody wants to be loved."

Sherlock looked to the right and pretended to be absorbed by the contemplation of a green slope near a bubbling river of the clearest water. "I'm not like you Watson. I do not need the mundane things everybody strives for."

John sighed. "Is this about the woman, Holmes? I am sorry Ms Adler is not among us anymore but..."

"It's not about her."

"Don't pretend like you don't care. I know how much she meant to you. Even if nothing ever transpired between you, which I highly doubt, you felt for her the closest thing to love. But there are plenty of women on Earth. I'm sure there's still someone special out there for you, someone even better than Irene."

Sherlock didn't say a word, his silence speaking for him.

They arrived at Horse Hill's stud moments later. The carriage stopped next to the house that was built atop of the hill. It was a splendid house, the kind that looked like a manor and a country villa at the same time. The high windows allowed for the light to get in and shone in the sunny afternoon like giant mirrors. The white stones reminded Sherlock of small cottages in the South of France. Ivy was neatly creeping around the entrance and two small olive trees stood guard in front of the entry door. The roof was a mismatched assembly of brown and yellow tiles that looked dull in the sunlight but were somehow harmonious with the rest of the house.

Sherlock briefly peeked inside as he walked by, his hands behind his back, pretending to admire the flower beds. John saw his friend's behaviour but didn't say a word, glad to see that Sherlock's grumpiness had vanished. John knew how much Sherlock hated that kind of events and so he let his friend do a bit of his mischievous things to brighten his mood. The furniture was simple inside the house and commonly placed. Sherlock wasn't one bit surprised by all the things related to horses that littered the room he was looking at, but one thing did get his attention: a painting above the chimney of a raging sea about to capsize a small ship.

"Come, Holmes, the party is downhill," John said and indicated the valley. Sherlock took his time looking around before following his friend. Behind the house laid all the buildings of the stud, dozens of wooden constructions where the horses were. Sherlock could smell hay and horse manure from that direction. But on the other side of the hill, where John was standing, could be found a breathtaking view. Nothing, except a small garden with a fountain, was getting in the way of the vast plains of high grass. The meadow seemed to be endless and horses could be seen jumping and running about in the enclosed spaces where the grass was shorter. There was even a place where a racetrack had been created.

Sherlock followed John down a small marble stairwell on the side of the hill to reach the garden. The edges and rose bushes were treated with care, it was plain to see. Butterflies and bees roamed about from one flower to the other. A line of apple trees delimited the left end of the garden whereas a belvedere marked the end on the right. A fountain could be seen a hundred feet from the tables that had been placed for the tea party.

Lords and ladies were already drinking tea and eating freshly home-baked biscuits. Fruit were also placed on the wooden tables and people were laughing and talking merrily with one another. Sherlock sighed. "Be nice," John said and went to meet Mary who was talking with a group of women about her age. She smiled and swiftly kissed John when he came. Sherlock followed, reluctantly. He didn't listen to one word and didn't at all remember the names of the ladies that were introduced to him. He simply smiled politely, nodded and made a few pleasant remarks about the fair skin of one lady and the refreshingly coloured hat of another.

After a while, Sherlock took off his hat and placed it on a chair before looking at a couple of lads walking two horses just outside the garden. The animals were very different from the usual horses that pulled carriages. Those were agile and graceful; they seemed to dance on the dusty road leading to the stables. They were part of the best racehorses of the entire county, or so Sherlock had heard. He found himself contemplating the animals and watched as another pair of them walked by for some afternoon exercises.

John came after some time and handed him a glass of wine. Sherlock could smell pears and lemon from his glass and took a few sips. "So, you're looking at the horses, right?" John asked.

"The fact that I don't like riding them doesn't mean I can't admire them from afar."

"Right. I mean, you're right, these are some beautiful specimens."

"Yes, do you see the black one?" Sherlock pointed to an animal in particular, a fierce black stallion that was giving trouble to the lad holding it. "Do you see those powerful hooves and how they smash the dirt?"

"Oh yes and look at the grey behind, how it holds its head high up as if it was the noble horse of a king."

A man appeared near Mary at that moment and the ladies giggled. John turned to see who the stranger was and his features eased when he recognized the owner of the place. He wanted to greet the man, but he waited for the right moment to leave Sherlock alone again, not wanting to just abandon his lonesome friend. But Sherlock was looking at something else while John was busy preparing his escape. A great white mare had appeared from behind the apple trees at the end of the garden. It was ridden by a woman with fiery red hair and of small stature. The lady had fair skin and small hands and was riding with a leg on each side, which made Sherlock raise his eyebrows. She was riding with such grace and elegance he couldn't help but watch, mesmerized. John wasn't looking at her as he was gazing at Mary who was beckoning him to come.

"And did you see the brown one with a white line on the head?" John was clearly not looking since there was no such horse among the good dozen that roamed the meadow now. But Sherlock kept playing their little game even though he very well knew his friend's attention was somewhere else.

"Oh yes, beautiful animal, just like the one that just arrived. Look at it Watson. Its elongated legs, its swan-like neck and that fiery red mane!" Sherlock said, pointing to the white mare.

John looked and frowned, seeing no horse with a red mane. When his eyes finally saw the redheaded lady, he turned to Sherlock. But his friend was already moving and approaching slowly the group of ladies surrounding Mary and the owner of the stud.

"I see you've finally taken an interest in a lady, Holmes."

"Nonsense, I was talking about the mare."

"Right..."

The redheaded lady made a few turns outside of the garden, allowing her steed to do as it pleased for a moment. Meanwhile, Sherlock and John greeted the owner and shook the hand he reached out to them.

"Holmes, this is Cal Hamilton, the owner of Horse Hill and one of the best, if not the best, player of polo in the county!" John introduced. Cal shook Sherlock's hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet the famous Sherlock Holmes."

"Likewise. So this is all yours?" Sherlock asked, making a vague gesture at the hill, the meadow and beyond.

"Unfortunately, no. It belongs to my aunt Christina Hamilton. She couldn't be there with us today for she is out of town at the moment, but she would be pleased to meet you, Mr Holmes."

"Then we'll have to come back," John laughed. Sherlock didn't smile.

If Cal noticed his displeasure, he didn't show it. Instead, he seemed to look behind his guests and straightened his bright coat before yelling: "Would you mind getting off this bloody horse already! Come and greet our guests!" Sherlock and John turned and saw that Cal was addressing the redheaded lady on the white mare. She blushed and lowered her head before stepping off her horse. She gave the reins to the servant that ran to her the moment Cal started yelling and then she disappeared up the hill, her riding boots swiftly climbing the marble steps leading to the house.

"I apologize for my fiancée's behaviour. She loves riding, she's an amazing jokey. She's the one training our horses. Give her a few minutes to get descent. May I offer you another drink while we await her return?"

It didn't take the redheaded lady long to change into a summer dress. It had a lot less flourish than the dresses of the other ladies, but her sleeves were cut above the elbows and she wore bright colours. Her dress was made of yellow silk and had orange ribbons pinned to the hips and shoulders while a row of white beads deliciously adorned her breasts. She was smaller than Mary but had a similar built. Her wild red hair was tied in a knot and held into place with a ruby pin. Unlike other women with red hair, her eyes were the colour of hazelnuts and sparkled of mischief. Her cheeks were red with effort and sprinkled with freckles.

She greeted every lady of the group, apologized for her late arrival and unforgivable lack of manners before turning to Holmes and Watson. She didn't spare Cal a single look. John warmly smiled at her and kissed her outstretched hand. "How are you doing my dear?" he asked. She smiled back and bowed a little.

"I am doing very well, Mr Watson. I am immensely pleased to find you here with Mary. It has definitely been too long since the last time you visited." She looked at Sherlock. "I see that you brought a friend."

John patted Sherlock on the back, but didn't say anything about how his friend was looking at the redheaded lady when she was riding. Instead, he introduced her. "Holmes, may I introduce to you Miss Daisy Wellington."

"Such a pleasure," Sherlock replied before kissing her hand.

Her face seemed to light up when she smiled at him. For the first time since he arrived at Horse Hill, Sherlock genuinely smiled. John noticed and promised himself to mention this later to Mary.

Three more glasses of wine and a few pastries later, Cal decided it was high time to initiate the guests to polo. Horses were prepared and brought to the polo training field that could be found on the other side of the hill, between the meadow and the stables. Sherlock couldn't see it before because the house was partially hiding that side of the valley. The ladies decided they wanted to watch the men play and so the tables were moved from the garden to the small yard next to the house were the carriages were stationed. From there, you could see the polo field but also some of the stables and the part of the meadow were the foals played.

Daisy joined the women with Mary and they walked towards the tables, giggling and pulling on each other's arms whenever one of them walked sideways. Sherlock categorically refused to play but Cal insisted, saying that it was the manly thing to do and that it would certainly impress the ladies. When Sherlock explained that he wasn't very fond of having something with a mind of its own bobbing about between his legs, Cal dropped the subject. To support his friend, John didn't play either. They didn't miss much though, most of the men had trouble staying on their horses and pushing the ball at the same time. But John couldn't help but notice Sherlock's wandering stare towards the ladies. Daisy's engagement ring was shining on her hand for all to see.

"She's already taken, you do realize that?" John asked, smiling.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sherlock replied, suddenly interested in one of the men that happened to fall off his horse at that very moment. John seemed to think for a while before he whispered.

"Have you ever actually been with a woman?" Sherlock shot him a surprised look. "Well, I'm only asking because you never look at women as if you're interested in bedding them... Are you interested in men? There's no shame in accepting..."

"I am not interested by men, Watson. And you'd be surprised by what I've done with women in the past."

John couldn't tell if Sherlock was serious or lying. The polo initiation didn't last very long and so the men got off their horses. Most seemed relieved it was finally over. Cal strode over on his steed, showing off the incredible control he had over his horse. "Well, I am sorry to hear that you won't be joining us ever, Mr Holmes. Mr Watson, perhaps another time?"

"Maybe next time indeed."

Cal Hamilton got off his horse and approached the two men. Both had their hats already on their heads. "It was a pleasure to meet a private detective such famous as you, Mr Holmes. I hope to see you visit again sometime soon."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr Hamilton," Sherlock replied courtly. They walked towards the women. Mary was talking again with Daisy, the two ladies seeming to have a lot of fun.

"Well, Mrs Watson, I think it's time to hit the road," John said as he offered his wife his arm to take. She kissed Daisy on the cheeks before John and Sherlock also said their goodbyes. Only polite words and gestures were exchanged. Daisy stood next to their carriage as the three of them were climbing in it.

"Come back whenever you want! The house is always open for my good friends. Take care!"

She watched their carriage slowly disappear down the road into the valley, then she walked to the stables to take care of her horses.