Secretly I Think You Knew

The Voices Inside My Head

"If you're both dead, then where is my uncle? Shouldn't he be here with us too?" Sherlock wondered.
"You are only followed by the ones you cherish the most, the ones who have made the biggest impact on your life. You never knew your uncle, but I did." Mycroft sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and scowling. "He is always here."
"Is he more peaceful, like you are?" Sherlock asked.
"No of course not, but I keep him at bay. And besides Sherlock, I wasn't violent, I only disciplined when necessary." Mycroft insisted.
"So that's what you call it, discipline, not abuse." Sherlock laughed.
"You needed to be put in line Sherlock, you were out of control. Now that you see in your brother's eyes, wouldn't it have been much easier to take a life?" Victor whispered.
"If he had just told me the truth in the first place it would've been much easier." Sherlock agreed.
"I did tell you Sherlock, but it appears that only once I'm dead myself would I penetrate that thick skull of yours. Quite literally." Mycroft said with a small laugh.
"How do I know you two are really you two? What if you're just abstract hallucinations in my mind?" Sherlock wondered.
"Does it really matter? We're here, aren't we? Hallucination or not, we are as real as you are in your mind." Victor insisted. Sherlock sighed, but he knew he was right. Victor was always right.
"And you'll be with me every step of the way?" Sherlock clarified.
"We've been here through everything this whole time, what makes you think we're going to leave?" Victor asked softly. Sherlock nodded again, trying to think just how he was supposed to kill John.
"What am I supposed to do?" he muttered. Mycroft laughed, as if that were so terribly obvious.
"The only way to kill John Watson is with the knife that killed me." Mycroft insisted.
"And me." Victor agreed.
"Where is that knife now?" Sherlock wondered.
"The last I saw of it you had pulled it from my body in the freezer." Mycroft sighed, looking over his nails as if there were so many other things he could be doing right now.
"It's still down there, I can see it." Victor muttered, closing his eyes as if going back into his body for a moment.
"You can see from your body?" Sherlock asked in amazement.
"Not anymore." Mycroft growled.
"You're no more than a pile of ashes in the backyard." Victor teased.
"I'm the reason you're dead in the first place. Little did I know that I'd be joining you so soon, then I would've just trapped you in my basement and not force myself to eternal hell." Mycroft sighed.
"I'm not that bad of company." Victor insisted.
"No, I think you're quite pleasant to be around." Sherlock agreed. "I'm going to go get that knife."
"I think you should kill him in the freezer, like the rest of us." Mycroft suggested.
"No, that's too obvious, he'd see it coming." Victor insisted.
"It needs to be perfect, it needs to be beautiful." Sherlock whispered.
"Paint his face on your wall with his blood." Mycroft said in excitement.
"He already has a mural." Victor pointed out. The two started quarreling as Sherlock got to his feet, letting Victor's hands slide away as he got up to go downstairs. The basement was dark, but suddenly Sherlock didn't fear the darkness, suddenly he understood it, he knew that inside the darkness he had friends; he had people who were watching over him. As he journeyed down the creaking wooden stairs he didn't both to turn on the light, and when he opened the freezer door Mycroft and Victor were standing in the corner, seemingly fighting about something.
"He needs to be memorialized, he needs to be displayed!" Victor yelled.
"He needs to lay down here where you are, like we all were!" Mycroft insisted.
"What are you two going on about?" Sherlock asked, shivering a little bit as he stepped over Victor's frozen body to retrieve the knife, stained with frozen blood.
"I said you should nail his body to your wall." Victor suggested. "Kind of looking like Jesus on the cross."
"And I said that's absolutely barbaric." Mycroft insisted. "We all stay down here in the freezer so that our bodies don't smell." Sherlock sighed, looking between the two of them as if he were a parent with two siblings that simply couldn't get along. Victor was staring at his body as if wondering what more he could do to make it more impressive than simply a lump of frozen flesh.
"I think Mycroft's right, I don't want too much of a mess in case the police come sniffing around." Sherlock decided.
"If the police come then we're dead. I mean, we're already dead, you're dead, metaphorically I mean. They're bound to look in the shadiest spot in the house, the freezer, and find our bodies and Mycroft's ashes in the backyard." Victor pointed out.
"Could you put them in a little urn and dump them into some stream in Paris? I always wanted to go to Paris." Mycroft suggested.
"Oh ya, let me hop on the next plane with my brother's ashes, who I murdered and burned in my backyard, that would be great going through security." Sherlock snapped.
"It's just a suggestion." Mycroft sighed, leaning back on the wall and examining his uncle's body proudly.
"I'm only down here for the knife." Sherlock pointed out, twirling the cold blade in his hands and admiring the frozen shine when it hit the light.
"Alright, go upstairs and hide that in your drawer, or under your mattress, kill him while he sleeps." Victor suggested.
"How can I be so sure he's going to come over?" Sherlock asked.
"He's practically dying to come over Sherlock, we both know that. Besides, he's scared that the police are going to track you two down." Victor pointed out.
"What am I supposed to do if they do come?" Sherlock asked, not really wanting to go to prison right now. It would be very inconvenient to be honest.
"Oh, just stall them. Maybe even kill them, I don't know. They really can't suspect a seventeen year old kid to be capable of murder." Victor assured.
"I was." Mycroft pointed out.
"You had different circumstances." Victor insisted.
"No he didn't, we both killed our abusive caregiver." Sherlock pointed out. Mycroft groaned in annoyance, as if he really didn't feel like defending himself again.
"Sherlock I was not abusive I was simply making a point." He explained.
"With pain." Victor added.
"Oh, so now you're on his side?" Mycroft groaned.
"I'm on whatever side you're not on." Victor agreed.
"Oh my god, send us John Watson now, we need a mediator." Mycroft groaned. Sherlock just rolled his eyes, walking out of the freezer and shutting the door, latching it to make sure none of the cold air rolled up the stairs. Walk in freezers like that should be great for large foods, heck if Sherlock had put up shelves he could've kept all the frozen meat and pizzas he wanted. But no, Mycroft had to stash his uncle's body there, and since then Sherlock really didn't want to eat anything that came from that freezer. It was tainted with the freezer burnt dead. He hiked up the stairs and shut the basement door, locking it out of habit and continuing up to his bedroom, drawing the curtains to block out any unnecessary sunlight. As soon as shadows engulfed the room, Victor and Mycroft appeared. Victor was leaning against the bedpost and watching as Sherlock carefully hid the knife underneath the mattress, where he could get it without John noticing. Mycroft was sitting on the windowsill, leaning very far and craning his neck to see what had become of his body out in the backyard.
"I like this painting of John." Victor decided, gazing up at the ceiling at Sherlock's masterpiece.
"I would've done something like that with you, but someone was still alive." Sherlock snapped. Mycroft just snarled at him, as if that was some sort of threat.
"I wouldn't be opposed to it now." Victor assured, looking at a large bare space of wall next to Sherlock's bed. "I think that would look nice."
"I'll get to that as soon as this is over." Sherlock decided.
"You'll get his blood all over your bed, that's so unsanitary." Mycroft insisted.
"They obviously don't have a problem with blood diseases, I mean, look what they did in yours." Victor pointed out. Mycroft shivered, as if the thought was too disgusting to bear, and looked back out to the yard.
"He'll always be sleeping next to me." Sherlock decided, smoothing out the comforter so that it looked nice and fresh for John's arrival.
"That's disgusting." Mycroft sighed.
"And what are you, the housemaid? If you're so opposed to it, go clean up your own blood out in the hallway, you were leaking as they dragged you upstairs." Victor snapped.
"Well maybe I will! You've been looking for some alone time ever since we got to talking to him." Mycroft pointed out. Victor didn't look too ashamed, he just shrugged, as if he knew it was true.
"Go away Mycroft." Sherlock agreed. Mycroft heaved a heavy sigh; as if this were just too much effort, but as soon as Sherlock commanded it he disappeared, wandering around somewhere downstairs presumably. Victor sighed, leaning against the bedpost and watching as Sherlock made sure the knife wasn't visible from the outside.
"You really love him then?" Victor asked. Sherlock sighed, but nodded.
"He's been so kind Victor. He's been so perfect." Sherlock agreed.
"I was still the first though, to kiss you. I was the first one your heart desired." Victor pointed out.
"Of course, and nothing he does will take that title away from you. But he will be my last." Sherlock agreed.
"Mycroft doesn't seem to think so." Victor muttered. "He was telling me how you'll have to kill so many people because you'll fall in love with every boy who so much as looks at you."
"I won't do that. I love John, I'll love him forever." Sherlock assured.
"Yes well, I was under the impression that you loved me as well." Victor muttered, looking at the floor in shame. Sherlock nodded, feeling rather bad about leaving Victor behind when he was obviously still very taken with him.
"I do love you Victor, but just, not as much as John. I'm sorry, I really am, if I had known I could still talk to you, things might have been different." Sherlock admitted.
"I still love you." Victor whispered, almost too quiet for either of them to hear.
"I know Victor." Sherlock agreed.
"Once he comes to the afterlife, you won't be needing me anymore. You'll have him forever as well." Victor muttered.
"I'll always need you Victor, if not as a boyfriend then at least as a friend." Sherlock pointed out. Victor just smiled, laughing a little bit as if this were all very ironic.
"Everyone spoke of friend zoning, I always assumed it was a myth. You were my first love as well, and I knew from the start that you liked me as well. I never thought it was happen to me. Now here I am, a year later, getting friend zoned even as I'm dead." Victor laughed.
"John's not here yet." Sherlock pointed out. Victor looked up hopefully, as if trying to convince himself he didn't imagine Sherlock saying that.
"No, I could never...you two are in love, that's the sole reason you're going to kill him in the first place. To guarantee his loyalty. How could I make him suffer for his loyalty when I know you're not being loyal either?" Victor asked.
"Well, technically it's not me being disloyal; it's you honoring your promise to love me forever." Sherlock decided. "In a way, I'm just making sure you've been serious about your devotion." Victor looked a little bit uneasy but more excited, as if he had been waiting for this for a very long time which in a way, he had.
"I don't want to jeopardize your relationship with John." he muttered.
"You won't. He'll never find out. Besides, you're only a figure of my imagination, it doesn't really count." Sherlock pointed out. "You'll have died for nothing if you don't get at least one kiss, to make up for your suffering."
"I died for your love, for my love for you." Victor agreed with a sigh. Obviously he was very okay with this whole thing; it was just the matter of clearing his conscious.
"Just one kiss, that's all." Sherlock agreed.
"To prove that people can die with their love, for their love. To ensure you that John will indeed love you after all you'll do." Victor agreed.
"Exactly." Sherlock insisted, stepping closer to Victor, who looked as though he was going to faint. For once it was Sherlock making him uncomfortable, when in life Victor had always been the one to make Sherlock's knees give out.
"Sherlock, I've always loved you." He whispered, stepping a little bit closer so that there wasn't a foot of space between them.
"Yes, I know." Sherlock agreed, wrapping his arms around Victor's neck and getting very close, smelling that familiar scent of Victor, stronger than ever before.
"Are you sure this is okay?" he muttered.
"No, of course not, but that's no reason to stop." Sherlock assured. With that he stood up on his tiptoes, since Victor was just a bit taller than him, and pressed a single kiss to Victor's lips. Even though it was just a kiss, it was so much different than kissing John. Victor was a lot taller, for one, and he seemed as if he were helpless, like Sherlock was making all the advances. That wasn't how it was with John; Sherlock always seemed to be doing whatever John was doing, John was in control.  And even with a little peck on the lips, Sherlock could tell that he was the dominant one. It almost made him want to keep going. But it wasn't like kissing John, it wasn't as passionate. For some reason, this kiss felt rather...hallow. As soon as he pulled away, looking into Victor's eyes and seeing the hope, the satisfaction in his eyes, the door opened and light flooded into the bedroom. Sherlock jumped back, but when he looked at where Victor was standing not a moment before, all he saw was his bedpost. 

"Greg's going to call the cops." John announced, turning on the light and walking into the bedroom without permission.
"John! How...how did you get in, you scared me to death!" Sherlock admitted, clutching his chest like a terrified old lady trying to get his breath back.
"Well no wonder you're scared, standing around in the dark, I thought you hated the dark?" John pointed out with a laugh.
"It's well...it's comforting now. I've kind of gotten used to it." Sherlock admitted. John nodded, walking over and sitting on Sherlock's bed.
"Why is it that you have no parents and no brother and yet you still make your bed after you wake up? My parents need to force me to make mine; I just think it's the biggest waste of time." John admitted. Sherlock shrugged, wanting to appear like nothing was wrong, that everything was normal, but obviously he was doing something wrong. John was just entrancing him, and he was trying to process that this was the last time he would ever talk to John alive. But then again, that didn't mean it was going to be their last conversation.
 "You look like you're trying not to sneeze." John decided, looking at Sherlock's face with a small smile, his face lighting up in a way that only John's face could. 

"I'm fine." Sherlock lied. "I just missed you." John sighed, nodding and watching as Sherlock watched him, both of them wondering who would break down and look away first.
"So Greg's going to get the boys in blue involved." John pointed out.
"The um...the who?" Sherlock muttered. His lack of social media and electronic entertainment was really starting to take its toll on his social life. What little of it he had.
"The police, he's going to call the police. It was him last night, in the field; I recognized the car and went to interrogate him this morning. He took pictures of Mycroft in the fire, and he's going to get the cops." John sighed. Sherlock blinked for a moment, staring at John and trying to see if he were lying or not.
"Why would you keep something like that from me? That it was Greg last night, why didn't you mention it?" Sherlock asked. John sighed, shrugging as if it were no big deal that he didn't disclose the name of Sherlock's trespasser.
"I thought I could clean it up quick, I mean, it is Greg." He pointed out. Sherlock sighed, well obviously this was a bigger mess than John could handle.