John somehow expected Sherlock to react to the very rural nature of his hometown—the dirt roads, the old buildings, the ten seconds it took to drive through 'downtown'. John hadn't mentioned the farming of his youth much, but he should've figured Sherlock would already know.

Being back in this place wasn't the same with Sherlock here. John couldn't get out of talking to his neighbors because they would always ambush him the moment he parked, but now that it wasn't just him it was different. Gone was the talk about his valiant father. In fact, people didn't seem to think it made sense to talk about John at all when there was an intriguing foreigner to talk to. For people who were so obsessed with loyalty to the home, they were all pretty fascinated with Denmark suddenly.

John didn't mind at all. He'd spent long enough talking about himself and having all of them laugh in his face, honestly believing that he could never achieve his dreams.

Plus, it was kind of funny. To John, Sherlock's annoyance was obvious, but to anyone else he was eating up all the attention. Not to mention Sherlock was straight up lying—John had heard a thing or two about Sherlock's parents and home life, even though it wasn't much, but what he was telling them didn't match up at all. Suddenly he had a brother—though John wasn't sure what adding a brother to the story did for John's neighbors.

Then John's mom came outside. "You all always steal my boy before I even get to say hi," she scolded them, hugging him tight. "And these must be your friends," she added upon looking at Greg and Sherlock.

"I'm Sherlock. It's a pleasure to meet you," Sherlock said, holding out a hand. John thought it funny how good Sherlock's manners could be when he was actually trying to be nice. They were spotless, really. His parents must've been very into being polite—but Sherlock being Sherlock only used said manners when it benefited him.

Sherlock and Greg got a tour of the house and Sherlock was on very good behavior as he pretended to care and then he was shown the guest room.

"One of you will take this room and the other will take John's."

"Then where's John sleeping?" asked Greg.

"The couch," she replied.

"Oh no, I couldn't allow that," said Greg. "I'll take the couch. It's no problem at all."

"Greg—" John started.

"Really, John. Give Sherlock the guest room, but keep yours."

John knew there was no point in arguing. "Alright, if you're sure."

"Definitely. I sleep like a rock anyway. I won't know the difference."

"How about I make some coffee for you all?" Mom suggested.

"That'd be lovely, thank you," Greg said.

"We'll be right there, Ma," John said as they began to walk away and John took Sherlock's bag from him and set it in the guest room.

"I can carry my own bag," Sherlock said with an eyeroll.

"With your pampered, rich-boy hands, I doubt it," he said, making fun of the show he'd made of his wealth to the neighbors. "That brother of yours sounded like a dick," John said conversationally.

"Oh, he is, I assure you."

John blinked. He'd actually been joking because he was under the impression the brother was some inexplicable invention of Sherlock's that he thought would make the story better. "Uh. Wait. You actually have a brother?"

Sherlock seemed to freeze for half a second. "Yes I have a brother," he said after the slightest hesitation.

John looked at Sherlock more closely. How did that never come up?

"Mycroft and I don't get on. I don't normally talk about him."

But now Sherlock was defending himself, which only made John feel weirder about it. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about this didn't sit right with him. Like… he didn't know Sherlock at all.

After a moment, however, he decided he was just grumpy from a long drive. Of course he knew Sherlock. The little details of his family didn't really matter, did they? Plus, two friends don't need to know everything about each other. John wouldn't care if Mike never mentioned a brother. So why was it different with Sherlock?

But John didn't like to think about it too much because then he felt like he knew the answer.

"Well I definitely get not having a good relationship with a sibling," John finally said.

"Yes, is Harry here, or is she back in rehab?"

John had never mentioned Harry's drinking problem, of course. Sherlock just knew.

"She's not here yet, but she'll come. Mom would kill her if she skipped Thanksgiving."

Turned out Mom was going to have to kill Harry after all, because she wasn't coming home for Thanksgiving. Apparently she was going to see her girlfriend's family instead. John felt bad the moment he mentioned Harry over coffee because she got really sad. John wondered if they had gotten into another of their big fights. They were really good at those.

But either way, it was probably good John had company. Mom loved company and it would likely distract her from not having Harry around.

John noticed that Sherlock was looking out the window at the barn, as if wondering if it was for show.

"Want to see the animals?" asked John.

"Okay," Sherlock agreed.

"I'll stay," said Greg, with something weird in his expression. Like he thought something was funny.

Sherlock raised brow. "You mean I get to go alone?" he asked, trying to take some of the sarcasm from his voice for Mrs. Watson's benefit.

"Go ahead. You kids have fun."

John may not have been a huge fan of the rustic life, but he did like the animals. They didn't have much right now. They had a milking cow, some pigs, a couple horses.

Sherlock looked more fascinated than John expected as he stood in front of Jim the black and white quarter horse. He rubbed the side of Jim's face and the corner of his mouth turned up.

"Can you ride?" John asked him.

"Oh yes. The well-bred always know their way 'round a horse."

John rolled his eyes. "Well so do hicks like me, so that doesn't mean much."

Sherlock ignored the comment, looking over with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Let's ride together."

John grinned. "I guess we can see who got better riding lessons, huh?"

John went over to Charles, their Appaloosa, and quickly swung himself on.

"Bareback, huh?" asked Sherlock. "Then you'll win because I've never ridden bareback."

"What, poor little rich boy can't get his ass a little dirty?" John teased.

Sherlock glared and hauled himself onto Jim's back. "I didn't say I couldn't do it. Just that I haven't done it previously."

And he trotted from the stables before John had even thought about following.

There's something nice about a story where your villains get used for horse names. It's so peaceful here in fluff-fic land.