The village that was set in the medieval era didn't have much. They had farms, a few houses, and a city hall, not a town to be considered fascinating. What they did have though, were two young friends with a close bond. They looked rather much alike, if described rather than seen; they both had black hair, and somewhat of a sinister smile crossed their lips from time to time.
These two boys were named Mycroft and Moriarty. Two odd names for their period, or ant era, really. These two boys were always outcast from the small village, despite the family like bond through everyone else that lived in its vacancy. They had developed a routine, every day, after going to bed and covering his ears to hear his parents arguing and throwing things in the just room over, Mycroft would sneak out the window, unknown to his litter brother, already fast asleep. At the same time on the other side of town, Moriarty would sneak out of his house through the back door, trying to dodge the constant fists that were thrown his direction from his father.
They would arrive at each other, 15 minutes later, under a large tree on the outskirts of the village. They would laugh and talk all night, forgetting their worries at home and struggles with everyone else. They would feel like kids, not small adults that were being forced to care for themselves constantly as they were ignored.
This night had been particularly bad for Moriarty, the boy was crying, having been hit multiple times before managing to escape out the wooden door, barely managing to not break the glass the sit neatly in the middle of it, forming a small window. Moriarty was in tears, snuggling his head against Mycroft's shoulder for comfort, his black hair had grown long, and was covering his face and sticking to it from the tears. Mycroft tried to comfort the boy, patting his back and talking in hushed yet calming tones to him.
"You don't need to worry. I'll be here for you." Mycroft said, still trying to comfort the boy after a few hours of crying.
"Let's leave. I want to go to a different village. No one likes us here." Moriarty complained, curling up into a fetal position and leaning against Myroft.
"They'll never listen to us. We're only sixteen, they won't take us seriously."
"They will, if we get married! It's a great idea, we can say that we ran to get eloped, that's what my parents did, why wouldn't it work for us?" Moriarty begged, looking at Mycroft knowing it was their only chance.
"Fine, we'll go." Mycroft shot back, stubbornly giving in, yet secretly happy. Even if it was a plan, the boy he'd loved for years had asked him to run away and get married.
Moriarty stood, wiping the dirt from his pants and helping Mycroft up. "We should leave now. They won't notice we're gone for a long time if we leave now."
Mycroft smiled at the other boy, glad they were finally about to do something different. They started walking. It took nearly 3 days to reach King's Village. In the coming years they settled down and started a small shop named "Artcroft's". They sold small hand-made trinkets they spent hours, on perfecting each and every one themselves. They would often look across the street at the other happy couple owning another store. "Johnlock's Blacksmithery"