Title: Making the Connection
Story Summary: A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade
Chapter Summary: On their way back home from a case John teases Sherlock about his extracurricular education. Prompt: Branches
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.
A/N: Sorry if I'm going a bit Moffat on you guys with this chapter, I'm still hoping you'll enjoy it anyways. FYI: The prompt came from oneword(dot)com.
"So, you actually know how to ride a real life horse." John was interviewing him again while they were on the train back from one of their cases that they got through the blog. Sometimes he quite enjoyed getting out of the city.
"Yes, why is that such a hard concept for you to grasp?" He asked, really not understanding how John was still amazed by the range of his education.
His friend just shrugged. "I don't know actually. Your mother did make you learn how to play the violin after all."
Sometimes he quite enjoyed John taking an interest in his life, but this did not seem to turn out to be one of those times. "I wanted to learn how to play the violin."
"Right. Did you also have ballet lessons?" The friendly mockery in John's voice came out with a chuckle.
Sherlock only pouted at that, knowing that John probably already tried imagining him in tights.
"Please tell me you didn't have ballet lessons because otherwise I'd have to beg Mycroft to show me pictures of your recitals." By now John was actually giggling at the mental image.
"I can assure you that my education did not include ballet. I've always been too tall for that." His tone was snide.
"Yeah, right, because you hatched from an egg in all of your six feet tall glory." John was witty and he usually quite liked that about him but on occasions like this it could be irritating.
Which was why he decided to use his special voice that was normally reserved for Anderson now. "Six feet and half an inch. Let's be accurate."
John seemed to get the hint and turned the conversation back to its starting point. "So, why have I never seen you horseback riding?"
Sherlock snorted. "Because we live in London and not the wild west."
"No, seriously, from what I've just heard you spent quite a lot of time on a horse back in the day. What changed?" John sat up and looked like he was really trying to be earnest.
"Some branches got in the way." Sherlock's tone was quiet and he turned his head as he thought back to the last time that riding was any fun.
"You mean you fell?" John couldn't hold back a grin. "Have you never heard of the phrase 'get back in the saddle'?"
The expression on Sherlock's face hardened almost unnoticeably. "They weren't in my way. My horse tried to jump a few branches that lay in our path in the forest, but she slipped on wet leaves and didn't make a clean jump, she fell and broke her leg. It was a comminuted fracture so we had to put her down. I borrowed Mycroft's horse a few times after that but it just wasn't the same."
John was quiet for a few moments, studying Sherlock who looked out the window, watching the countryside pass them by. "I'm sorry, Sherlock."
"It was just a horse, John." His tone was cold but he still remembered her white mane wafting in the wind when they galloped towards a jump. She had helped him escape a life full of constraints, had given him his first adrenaline high and had provided a shoulder to lean on when his heart had been broken the first time. No, he would never forget his Tosca.