Eyes Up, Heels Down
Eyes Up, Heels Down (107845 words) by CodenameMeretricious
“Did you just refer to my horse as Elmer?”
John looked up, both startled at Sherlock’s sudden arrival and somewhat guilty of being caught out by a man notorious for not giving his horses barn names.
“Erm…yes?”
“Yet you know perfectly well, and can clearly see by his stall plaque, that the horse’s name is Elementary Solution.”
“Bit long though, isn’t it?”
Sherlock rolled his eyes but didn’t speak, something John took as a lucky break. He double checked the fit of Elmer’s tack and adjusted the girth before turning to Sherlock. He wasn’t entirely sure yet what his new title consisted of, but he’d officially been told to take over grooming and tacking from Anderson.
Sherlock nodded when John handed him the reins and double-checked his helmet, the black velvet almost as dark as his hair. John let his eye follow one of the curls, desperately trying to escape the helmet’s hold.
“Need anything else?”
“What do you mean?” Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes.
“Before I go.”
“Go? You’re not to go anywhere.”
“I’ve still got stalls and turnout.”
Sherlock didn’t deign to comment and led the grey out of the stall. John paused for a moment, unsure. He had work to do, yes, but it seemed that Sherlock made his own schedule and expected the rest of the world to follow it. John still worked for Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson first and foremost, but he had the feeling that the both of them would prefer that John do everything within his power to ensure that Sherlock and his horses remained at Baker Farms. With a sigh, he followed Sherlock down the aisle.
Sherlock chose the jumping arena and John hastily took care of the gates and moved the mounting block out of the way once it was used. There were two other riders in the ring, but Sherlock made it clear the space was his.
“Now, do pay attention,” he said and walked off to the far side of the ring.
John hovered in the middle, having no idea what he was supposed to pay attention to. One of the other riders, a woman in her fifties riding a bay thoroughbred, joined John in the middle of the ring. She dropped her feet out of her stirrups but didn’t make a move to dismount, instead watching as Sherlock pushed Elmer into the wonderfully loose trot that John had experienced the day before.
“Gorgeous, isn’t he?” she asked.
“Which one?”
The women laughed. “Fair question.”
