Everybody Hide Your Body From The Scarecrow

Perhaps, giving Sherlock a knife and telling him to carve everything out to his heart's content wasn't considered a good idea in any book, but John loved Halloween and he would be damned if he allowed his friend to go yet another year with staying home and experimenting on his parent's kitchen without permission —as he always did—. So there they were, with two pumpkins propped over the table and enough squash filling to last them the next two centuries.

"You're a cruel man, John." The brunette said, narrowing his kaleidoscope eyes away from his expert carving and boring his sight right into John's soul. The blonde would be keen to think it scary if he didn't already find it so endearing.

"I told you, Halloween is fun." The other replied, a huge smile painting on his features as he saw how precise Sherlock's cuts were on the orange face. The blonde wondered how in the hell could his friend be so much better than him at something he literally had never done until an hour ago. But then again, John figured that eighteen years of Halloween experience was not enough to trump the natural grace and competence the teen had for everything under the sun, —when it didn't come to shutting his mouth when he was supposed to, of course.

"Halloween is nothing more than a consumerism holiday; American may I add." His friend started, forcefully thrusting the knife in his hand right through the squash's surface. "That feeds on the foolish traditional beliefs of life beyond the grave and honouring the departed." His words sounded calculated, but the older boy's mouth turned up in fondness. "If you ask me, public executions were way more fascinating and could happen any day of the year despite…"

"Yes, okay," John said, raising both hands forward in surrender. Trust Sherlock to prefer reading about 17th century murders than a bag filled to the brim with sweets and treats. Although, now that he thought about it, the brunette almost always ended up eating most of his candy when he came to visit the next day every year, ever since he was six years old. "But I think it turned out alright." He commented, staring a two very distinct Jack-o-lanterns with clear varying degrees of carved expressions.

"Perhaps the pumpkin stabbing is therapeutical," The brunette admitted, placing both hands on his hips as he frowned, clearly still not satisfied with the quality of the finished product. "But are we really required to go to this tedious party wearing ridiculous disguises?"

They weren't. Not really. John would have honestly been happy to stay on Sherlock's house and watch scary movies while his parents were out avoiding giving out sweets; but it was the first time his friend had agreed —more like lost a bet and this was John's demand. Who would have known being graceful at ballet wouldn't translate to football?— to do everything and anything Halloween-y the older boy wanted, and the blonde may have resigned himself to his probably unrequited crush on his genius friend a long time ago, but it would take a stronger man than John Watson to pass up an opportunity to see Sherlock dress up as Jack Sparrow for one evening.

"We are." He lied, grinning at the annoyed scowled he received. "And don't even try to pretend you're not thrilled you get to be a pirate for the night." He crossed his arms over his chest and stared up at his friend in defiance. Sherlock glared, but on his lips appeared the barest hint of an adorable pout that John thought subtracted more that ten years from his young face. Making him as stroppy as day day they met.

"I don't even know who you are supposed to be." He answered, motioning to John's dark trousers and vest. The abysmal knowledge of pop culture only saved by his interest in anything devious. 'Thank God he likes pirates.' John thought, otherwise he feared he would have ended up parading through the city with a very tall Isaac Newton.

"Han Solo?" He answered, "Brave space hero?" He tried, only to watch the complete lack of recognition over the other's expression. "We watched Star Wars just last week, how can you have already deleted it?" He exclaimed, a hand running over his face in exasperation. The brunette waved an arm in dismissal and turned to look at their creations once more.

A comfortable silence fell between them as they both stared at their pumpkins. "John," Sherlock was obviously the first to break it. "You'd think eighteen years of this nonsense would have sharpened your skills, they leave a lot to be desired." He said, an innocent glint on his eyes as he stared for the other's reaction. John glowered at him, but decided to stay quiet, ignoring the urge to punch him in his stupidly beautiful face. "I told you," The brunette continued, oblivious to the blonde's struggle. "The optimal way to pick the superior squash is to measure the exact-"

"We were in a hurry, remember?" The blogger reminded him, doing his best to ignore the pang of fear said memories brought forth. "Those villagers looked livid, I swear, for a moment there I really thought they were going to trial you as a witch and burn you at the stake." He laughed nervously, and Sherlock softly chuckled at his left. Of course, now that it was over and the git was safe, they would find it hilarious. The blonde had lost count on how many times they had gotten in trouble with their teachers for laughing when they shouldn't.

"If they didn't want their sordid affairs to be known by Sherlock Holmes they should have kept their outdated pants on." Said brunette commented, his now green eyes sparkling with joy, the effect made all around more prominent by the cheap dark makeup around them.

"You're lucky I was there to save your arse." The blonde replied, raising an eyebrow as the other's sight turned, something grew there that John would call 'fondness' if he didn't know any better.

"Lucky indeed." The reverent tone was a bit odd for a boy like Sherlock. Specially since, at sixteen, he was at the height of his moody phase. John cleared his throat and looked away, only to turn his gaze back to the other's face when he was no longer looking at him.

The blonde smiled as the genius picked up the knife again, suddenly excited again for the night ahead. "Are you ready to go to your first Halloween spooky party?" John asked, to which Sherlock mischievously smirked and energetically stabbed the top of the pumpkin with one firm thrust. The knife jutting disturbingly from one of its eye sockets.

"Let's get it over with."

"Are you sure it's this way?" John asked, looking around and completely sure he had never seen any of these houses on the way to Greg's house.

"Of course I am." Sherlock responded, gracefully walking on the sidewalk as his green eyes darted to every street signal on sight. "I have all of London memorised." He said, the haughty expression made more ridiculous by the greasy wig he was forced —by John— to wear. The blogger decided not to comment on the pockets of the pirate costume already stashed full with colourful sweets the brunette had said he 'didn't want' when John made him grab some from the neighbours offering them at their doors. The sweet-toothed ridiculous man.

"But," The blonde countered, as the buildings around them gave way to what could almost be described as suburban lodgings, bushes appearing to tower over them as fences to keep out intruders. "Shouldn't we have arrived by now?" He asked, as the other speed up and then abruptly stopped.

The light of autumn sunset was painting his face with golden and orange hues. The older boy jogged until he could see what gave the other pause. His eyebrows drew in as he stood face to face with what could only be described as a maze made out of corn plants. The yellow and green leaves slithering up towards the sky, as the entrance path continued on until it was no longer possible to make out the first turn. The open pathway like a mouth waiting to swallow everything it could from the outside world. John didn't know why, but he had the feeling it wouldn't spit anything out.

A raggedy-looking scarecrow hanging from a wood stick caught his eye, its half body stood way above the corn plants, visible from even far away. Its hollow face made from a torn out sack, grew more disturbing the more he stared at it, and the empty eyes deep and still as if they were staring back at him.

John shuddered and turned to look at his friend, who had one corner of his lips turned up, as his multi-coloured irises jumped and analysed the vision the maze presented.

"Oh, hell no." The blogger was quick to say. Leaving no room for argument or doubt on where he stood. "No." Sherlock turned to look at him in confusion, attempting to read the reason of his sudden refusal, they had done crazier things together. "You are going to suggest we go into the maze to cut time." John explained, knowing too well that's exactly what the other was planning on doing.

"Your deductions skills are improving, John." Sherlock replied and smiled. The corners of his eyes softly wrinkling with pride at his amateur conclusion.

"No, I just know the face that gets me in trouble when I see it." John cleared, his feet planted on the grass below him as if they were nailed to the ground. "And I'm telling you, I'm not going in there." He gestured. "There's something weird about it."

"Nonsense." Was all the answer he got before the genius strode right through the passage and started walking between corn-made walls. John had no other choice than to follow him as always and try to put any thoughts of bizarre-looking scarecrows and gaping holes out of his mind.

It didn't work.

"Sherlock," John said, after long minutes of twisting and turning with no end of sight. The sky above their heads had turned completely dark now, and the low lighting made for bats and crows fluttering out from the corn and taking to the air in a sudden movement. "That scarecrow just moved." He stated, not daring to avert his gaze from said object, lest it decided to go into motion once more and he lost it.

"Don't be ridiculous." His friend answered with a wave of his slender hand and a roll of his kaleidoscope eyes, his complete concentration placed on the conundrum the maze presented, which made absolutely no sense.

John heard his own voice made faint by the heavy breathing. "No, I'm serious." He said, as he slapped the brunette's coat to gain his attention. The twisted expression on the straw man somehow more horrifying by the shadows casted over the black holes.

"There's a 25 kilometres per hour wind, of course it moved." Sherlock said, still walking back and forth, seemingly indecisive about their direction. Fact which would alarm John just after he stopped being freaked out by the living scarecrow following their steps. He always followed Sherlock foolishly into the worst of ideas, but at least his priorities still worked.

"From way over there?" The blonde pointed, "It was over there, and now it's here again." At that, his friend finally turned. His brows already drawn together as his pale eyes raised to contemplate the fright now hanging directly above them. The space where it had been at the entrance of the maze vacant with not a dummy in sight.

"Impossible." He breathed out, his gaze locked and his face devoid of any expression as he stared at the hollow round face in question.

"Yes, I'm telling you." John said, insistently dragging the brunette away to keep moving. Now desperate to get out of the darkness and pressing walls made of leaves. The hand curled on the other's coat sleeve turning white with the strain. Of course, after a few moments of trying, they were nowhere near that freedom. The entrance of the maze not even visible above the golden line of corn above them. "Sherlock, now we're definitely lost." He concluded as a pair of bats darted out from his left startling him and disappeared into the night.

"But I followed proper maze-solving strategy." Sherlock snarled, frustration spilling with every word. "The way out should be visible by now!" He was pacing again, his hands deep in his pockets and the frown on his face deepened. John swore under his breath, if Sherlock couldn't get them out, then they will probably stayed trapped there forever until they died via spooky scarecrow or sugar coma from the only food they had with them; simple as that.

"Do you think the walls are somehow moving?" He suggested, and his friend gave him a withering look that shot down his idea on the spot. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if that was indeed true in some way, and his friend's expression wasn't helping his raising panic. Specially not when he felt the brunette was somehow slipping out of the grasp of control, and that was never good. "Well, I'm freaking out, something weird is happening and-." He was cut off when both of them heard a noise at their left, coming from out of the path right next to them. A large moving figure rushed to turn out of sight, faster than any of them could turn to catch complete view of it, but what they saw was definitely a human foot.

"Hey you!" Sherlock yelled, as they rushed to follow it. The noise of running ahead of them turning louder as they approached the darting shadow.

"No, we don't know what they want." John said, his palms sweating as the cool night air bit his cheeks, making him suddenly desperate to stay away. He had to sprint almost twice as fast to keep up with the tall brunette and the spectre it chased. Bloody long legs.

"Exactly," The other answered, a bit of life returned to him now that a tangible answer was before him. "Let's go and ask them." He darted further, leaving John grasping to keep him in sight. He had a strange feeling that if he somehow where to lose him from view, he will not find the younger boy again.

"No," He sighed as they turned one sharp corner, but when they got to the other side, and the way ahead was visible, there was no one there and no noise of movement could be heard. The figure had just… vanished.

"But they were-" Sherlock started, moving around searching for their disappearing stranger. "How did they-?" His voice sounded thin, the confusion starting to wear down his confidence. Perhaps he didn't fear monsters and ghosts, but something he couldn't explain was like a horror show to him. John felt the fear in his chest being fleetingly replaced by a pang of worry at the expression.

"Maybe we should call for help." The blonde was already scrolling through his contacts as Sherlock remained still as a statue. But when he tried to make a call the line wouldn't connect, no matter how hard he pressed the call button or how high he raised his arm —and jumped. The phone was good as dead.

"No service?" Sherlock stated more than queried, while he looked around as if waiting for something to jump out and drag him into the tangled stems of the corn and into oblivion. Clearly expecting their situation to be the worst it could possibly be.

'Shut up.' John almost countered, but the other's face as he looked down at him changed his mind. He felt the urge to go and hold him, —for his friend's benefit, or because he needed the comfort was yet to be determined— "What do we do now, Sherlock?" He said, one hand running through his blonde strands in anxiousness. He was very close to panicking.

"John-" He heard the other say, but the blonde's insides were just begging to let out all his apprehension. And he felt he couldn't stop the words any more than he could stop breathing.

"What if the walls are really moving?" He continued, now moving his feet impatiently.

"John-" Sherlock tried again, but no other words had a chance to come out.

"Because if you can't get us out of here then-"

"John!" It wasn't until then that the blogger realised Sherlock was no longer looking at him, but up. And judging by the show he was performing, something important must have drawn his attention away.

"What?" The older boy asked, but regretted the words instantly when a sudden impulse to not know what was happening gripped him. He felt as if invisible slender hands of fear wrapped themselves around his windpipe while he waited the small eternity the seconds before Sherlock responded lasted.

"It's back." He said, and John didn't have to ask to know who exactly it was. He turned to where the other's gaze was directed. And there it was. Standing unmoving behind him exactly where he hadn't been just minutes before.

"Christ!" He exclaimed as he doubled over and rested his hands on his knees.

"John." Sherlock tore his pale eyes away from the scarecrow's rounded head to look helplessly at his friend, an undercurrent of frustrated fear. And John could think of nothing else to do but to take a step forward and grasp the other's hand in his viciously, so that's exactly what he did. The cold hand was clammy and shaking, but John thought he could hold it forever, and the creepy man made of straw before them may just make that wish come true.

Sherlock made no move to step away, in fact he gathered closer to the blonde as they both stared at the still figure in front of them. "Perhaps if we ask him to leave us alone…" John suggested, which sounded completely moronic even to his own ears.

"Are you really suggesting we rationalise with a scarecrow?" Was the expected reply, but even if his mind told him it was beyond useless, it also insisted they had to do something. Specially since he didn't particularly want to perish at the hands of whatever that thing was.

"Do you have a better idea?" He asked, his thumb absentmindedly running soothing circles over the other's skin. Sherlock remained silent, which was the best concede sign he would probably get. John sighed and started to stepped forward, but the brunette stayed behind, rooted to the spot.

"You go." He said haughtily, but his hand was still not releasing him. Gripping tightly as if the blonde were the only thing tying him to reality now. Not ready to let go of the long-desired warmth their joined limbs provided. "It was your stupid idea, brave space hero."

John's expression of fear remained in place as he tugged the younger boy along stubbornly. "We're both going." He decided. Not willing to go and face whatever the hell that was alone.

They got closer, as close as they could to the wood stick that was supporting the bottomless torso and almost suspended the whole straw figure on the air. It looked quite normal at this distance, but when Sherlock reached out a determined hand to tug the cloth that conformed the shirt away, his action revealed a colony of maggots under the surface. The brunette dropped the piece of fabric and stood back to watch questioningly at the tiny specimens crawling among the blades of yellow rotting grass.

John reeled back and tugged the other away terrified; no matter how fascinated the genius appeared. When they turned to run to try and find the exit to the madness of corn and confusion whatever it took, the both of them were sure that thing was still approaching them from behind, feeling its presence on the standing hairs on their napes, but none of them stopped to twist around and check. Instead they continued to run with their hands clasped to the other as they disappeared away into the night.

"You took your time." Was the first thing Greg Lestrade said once they finally arrived to the party, two hours late and both of them panting from the exertion. His expressive face frowning in confusion at their state.

"What? Did you stop for a snog on the way?" Anderson, a seventeen year old they both hated —Sherlock for being a idiot, and John for calling the genius names— suggested. Grinning as if he thought he was hilarious for coming up with such an unoriginal dig.

"Yeah, no." John responded as he still attempted to wrap his mind around the events. Ignoring the suggestive —appealing— thought of said potential activities. Sherlock was a seemingly uninterested statue at his left, almost pressed to his side as his pale eyes glared at Philip. "We got a bit lost in the maze." The breathlessness in the blonde's voice impossible to mask for anything else than subtle panic.

"Maze?" Greg asked, as Molly frowned confusedly at them both from his left. "What maze?" The blonde was not exactly thrilled at the attention they were gathering, but his emotions had been running ragged for a couple of hours now.

"The massive one just outside!" John explained, angrily stalking out the door once more to prove how real the nightmare had been. Sherlock followed with his hands inside his pockets as he half-heartedly scowled at Anderson.

"See? No maze?" Philip added with an amused sneer, as they arrived to an empty field. Stretches of yellow, dry, flat grass where there should have been moving corn walls of hell.

"But it was there!" John said, desperately throwing his arms in the air and looking at Sherlock in hope of an explanation. Sherlock's pale eyes stared at him with a baffled feeling mirroring his own.

"You sure you two didn't do a bit of ahead drinking, mate?" Greg asked concerned, but the blonde brushed him off and stalked away. Leaving the others discombobulated but probably believing that previous inebriation was obviously the reason for their ludicrous story. John heard Anderson mutter something about the freak finally losing his mind, and dragging him down with him.

John sighed in anger while the others returned to the house, but Sherlock stepped forward to study the empty field in front of them. As puzzled as he had probably ever been. "What the fuck?" John muttered under his breath as the brunette stopped pacing after finding no telling evidence, and just stared as if waiting for the answers to spontaneously spring up from the ground, as the maze had apparently done with the sole purpose of giving them a good fright just before vanishing into thin air again.

"Quite." He eloquently said. Neither of them moved for several moments, as the air gently ruffled the blades of grass on the otherwise still expanse of land. Sherlock grew restless and stuffed his hands in his pockets, his painted face drawing a frown when he found them completely empty.

"You lost all your sweets when we were running for our lives, didn't you?" John casually asked. Although why his mind chose to fixate itself on exactly that turn of events was beyond him.

There was a pause, then the both of them bursted out laughing. John doubled over as the brunette placed a hand on his chest to regulate his breathing in the face of the ridiculousness os the situation they had just experienced.

"What happened?" John turned his head to ask, but the younger boy just shrugged between chuckles. It was rare to watch Sherlock Holmes completely baffled into hilarity, but John felt the situation warranted it.

"Never speaking of this again?" The blonde offered, to which the other nodded resigned. Both of them knew that as soon as they had had some rest —probably before that, it's Sherlock we are talking about— the younger boy will obsess and investigate until he found whether it had all been an elaborate trick to scare them or if they had been under the influence of a high-end drug that made them incredibly suggestible, but for now John wanted peace and comfort for the both of them. "Want me to sleep at your house tonight?" He asked as he came to stand closer to his friend. Ready to leave any memory of killer scarecrows behind on that field, hoping they both could just forget the whole ordeal.

"We're not children anymore, John." The brunette answered, his tone returning to the bored and intelligent one that was his trademark, but the blogger could still hear the undercurrent of amazement beneath it. Later, the blonde would wander at how fast their relationship had evolved just with a little —a huge— fright.

"Should I bring my extra candy pillowcase?" John offered and extended his hand for the other to take. Sherlock looked down at it and the corner of his mouth curled upwards into a soft smirk, he wrapped slender fingers around it and squeezed.

"Yes." He answered.

Author's note: I hope you liked it, and if you did comment or go check out my other stories.

Happy Halloween to all, and to all a good fright.