Another double prompt chapter.

Anitina4 (FF): Sherlock's training

Autumn's Crow (FF): I would love to see some friend-ship building between John and Lestrade in the pasture while Sherlock has to train or something (because even though he may be out and stuff due to the drugs, they want to keep him active and ready or something) and Sherlock gets jealous, or something.

Are we getting to the end? I think we are, guys. We're getting close to the point when I'll be done with prompts and getting down to plot-making and wrapping up the story. There's still plenty of time to submit, though, and you can give more than one.

Sherlock woke early, surprised to discover that John hadn't woken up yet. Usually the grey was wide awake and already butting his head against the stall door to announce his hunger, so it was strange for Sherlock to discover his friend still lost in sleep, muttering happy curses. It was yet another example of the strange way John handled living with him- one that Sherlock found as endearing as the steadfast belief John had in his ability to win. The second surprise, again coming from John, was that they weren't in their usual tangle; for once, John was the one pressed to the The third surprise of the day was that Sebastian was already coming by with their food and fresh water. There was a stiffness in his gait and dark circles beneath his eyes that suggested that something important was underway. (He never slept well when something big was happening or about to happen, which was why he'd never made a good jockey- that, and his much above-average height*.) Sebastian heaved a sigh as he stepped into the stall. He placed the buckets in their holders, then put his hand on Sherlock's halter. More curious than surprised, he followed the man's lead and soon found himself cross-tied in the middle of the stable. When he felt something flutter onto his back, he was happy to discover that it was his saddle blanket. The bounce pad followed immediately after that, and Sherlock was nearly quivering in anticipation when Sebastian slipped a saddle- a racing saddle but not the one he used for races- on top. When the girth* slipped around his belly, he was barely able to contain himself. The moment his halter was slipped off and his bridle slipped on, he was walking forward, half-dragging the man behind him. There was a twenty mile long dirt road that looped around the estate and was often used for breezing*, Sherlock's favorite exercise. Even in the beginning when he had to walk slowly, his heart was already thrumming in anticipation. He could already feel the adrenaline in veins, making its sweet way through him and setting him alight. When Sebastian finally let the reins go slack, permitted Sherlock to have his head, there was nothing to hold him back, and for two hours or so, he was lost to the beating of his hooves and the ecstasy of being free.

John hadn't been asleep when Sherlock woke up. The fear of the drugs' effects interacting and causing some horrific reaction had kept him on high alert through the entire night. At dawn, though, he'd finally allowed himself to doze off- not completely, just enough to rest while also being fully aware of Sherlock. When Sebastian came and took Sherlock off to train, it was the perfect excuse for John to go out to the pasture. There was something he'd been meaning to do.

"Oi, Lestrade!" John called, nonchalantly nosing the top two rails of the field's fence over, then walking smartly over the lowest.

"John? What're you doing out here? And where's Sherlock?" Lestrade replied, amused by John's blasé attitude.

"Hm? Oh, Sherlock's off training. Sebastian's breezing him, no doubt. It's about time, too; he was starting to fidget."

The chestnut laughed softly, shaking his head with amusement. Lestrade was one of the few horses who didn't shy at nothing or over-dramatize things that were simple; though they'd only spoken a few times, John found himself glad for the other horse's presence. It was nice to talk to someone whose hooves were firmly planted on the ground. Their shared experience of having a limb become useless was an unspoken point of understanding, and John found that he could take comfort in having conversations with someone whose sight wasn't trained on his weak leg.

Lestrade jerked the grey from his ruminations by telling what was quite possibly the wildest, most over-embellished true story John had ever heard, and they soon fell into a friendly back-and-forth, trading story for story and joke for joke. His time spent competing in steeplechases* had left Lestrade with a plethora of incredible memories- some frightening and some abso-bloody-lutely hilarious, and John found that it was impossible to keep track of time, not that he wanted to. Spending time with Lestrade was like spending time with an old friend, and John wasn't in a hurry for it to end.

He was so caught up in a fit of uncontrollable laughter that he didn't notice when Sherlock walked past, his eyes narrowed and nostrils flared.

The look on Sherlock's face squashed all trace of good humor that John had been enjoying. It was more than just the dark, sulky look Sherlock often wore when he was deep in thought, and it wasn't the outright anger or impatience he wore when something wasn't going his way. There was something else to it, something uncomfortable but distinctly unhappy that caught John's attention.

"You left early today. How'd things go?" he asked, feigning nonchalance.

"Well," came the terse answer.

"And...?" John prompted when no more information was forthcoming. His friend was usually full of thoughts and insane things he'd noticed, so the one word answer (combined with the way he refused to look at John) had alarm bells ringing.

"'And'? There is no and, John. It went well," Sherlock nearly spat.

That wasn't right. He got snarky and a bit snippy when he was frustrated, but never before had Sherlock sounded cruel.

"What's going on, Sherlock? Don't give me some lie about how nothing is when you and I know full well that something is. I want to know what, and I want you to tell me. Now."

"Really, John, there isn't anything-"

"Think very carefully before you finish that sentence, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock sighed, then shook his head.

"I'm telling you the truth-"

"No, you aren't. I can't do anything if I don't know what's wrong."

"There isn't anything wrong!"

"Stop lying to me, Sherlock!"

"I'm not lying!"

"Yes, you are!" John huffed and glared at his friend, his entire body tensed for a fight, but after another breath, the anger left him and all he was, was weary. "Fine. Don't tell me. I'm going off for a walk. Don't bother waiting."

With that, he stalked out the stall, not even bothering to try to re-lock it after him.

Sherlock watched him go and felt the unease clench inside his gut. There was no way he could have told John that he didn't want him to spend time with Lestrade, that he was secretly worried he'd leave him because Lestrade was like John. He was simple and straightforward and didn't make John so angry he had to walk away. Sherlock wasn't an idiot; demanding that John not spend time with Lestrade would only make him angry. Friends didn't do things like that.

A part of him, the part that always spoke for the devil, whispered that a good friend wouldn't have made John so upset that he had to leave. Besides, what could he possibly know about friends? He'd never had one before, and if John's face was any reliable indicator (It almost always mirrored his emotions perfectly) he'd just lost the only one he'd ever had.

*Jockeys are typically short and light, while their mounts tend to be tall.

*Girth: A strap encircling an animal's body in order to secure a load or saddle on its back; a cinch; they come in different sizes and shapes, as well as colors and materials
Image- http:/ / www. succeed-equine. com/ wp-content/ uploads/ 2010/ 12/ horse-jumping-girth. jpg

*Breezing- http:/ / www. ehow. com/ how_2286512_breeze-horse. html

*Steeplechase: a horse race run on a racecourse having ditches and hedges as jumps; a race in which runners must clear hurdles and water jumps. Basically, it's like an equestrian (relating to horse riding) version of a human cross country race.