"There's nothing about John that makes me want to be in his presence, nothing obvious at least. He's a good listener, he's funny, I guess just being around him makes me a bit happier than I usually am." Sherlock decided with a shrug.
"He's a good friend then." Victor decided.
"Yes, he is indeed." Sherlock agreed. Victor nodded, making a note and muttering something to himself.
"And there's no chance at all that there is something more than friendship on either of your minds?" Victor wondered, looking up at Sherlock with a very accusing glare. Sherlock drew back a little bit, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
"What falls under that category in your mind?" he wondered.
"Love Sherlock, do you love him?" Victor wondered. Sherlock forced a laugh, shaking his head repeatedly, not to reassure Victor, but to reassure himself. There was no possible way that he could ever love another man, Victor was just being paranoid.
"No, no of course not I don't love him." Sherlock assured. Victor nodded, leaning forward in his chair and looking at Sherlock once more, his blue eyes gleaming knowingly.
"You know Sherlock, I understand how hard it might be to accept that you have feelings for someone, especially someone you previously thought to be...unimportant. But sometimes you have to really think, does it make sense, you need to analyze everything you feel and think about what it means." Victor insisted.
"I'm not in love with a man Victor, we went over this before, it's impossible!" Sherlock exclaimed.
"The biggest problem in all things, love, violence, even common day tasks that some men consider to be impossible. The biggest problem that I've faced in this world is fear, and I see it in everyone's eyes. I see it in your eyes. The question you have to ask yourself, whether it be about emotions or even murder, what would you do to them if they didn't know it was you?" Victor asked. Sherlock blinked rapidly, his entire body having gone completely numb in fear.
"I wouldn't do anything to him." Sherlock whispered, his words sounding dry and weak, his throat having closed somewhere in the middle of Victor's sentence.
"Wouldn't you?" Victor asked with a smile. "You haven't wondered about him, you haven't wondered what his skin might feel like, you haven't considered the feelings you might get when he's close? How easy would it be, Sherlock, to sneak in an experimental kiss, if John thought your lips were those of a woman?"
"No, stop it!" Sherlock exclaimed, getting to his feet so quickly that his chair fell over onto the stone. Victor stayed seated, twirling his quill around in his fingers, a smile on his face that represented a hissing snake. "How dare you accuse me of such an act, how dare you plant those disgusting images in my head?" Sherlock snapped.
"They are ideas we must ponder together if we're going to discover this false trust you have of John Watson." Victor insisted.
"You're horrible Victor, horrible! I'm not in love with anyone Victor, my heart is pure, it's selective! I will fall in love when the time is right, when I have found the right person, but to come in here and accuse me of having feelings for John, it's unthinkable." Sherlock insisted, blurting out whatever came to mind without thinking of any of the consequences. Victor still looked proud of himself, as if he were looking for that kind of response.
"Goodbye Victor, goodbye." Sherlock decided, heading to the door.
"We haven't finished your interview." Victor pointed out.
"Well maybe you'll have to reschedule, and think of actual questions to ask next time." Sherlock snapped.
"As you wish your majesty." Victor said, and Sherlock could almost see his smile even though he was walking out the door.
"You look angry." Molly decided as Sherlock stormed into the room, wishing he still had his cape on for dramatic affect.
"Of course I'm angry, I'm always angry Molly." Sherlock insisted, flopping on his bed like a dead fish, not wanting to be bothered with anymore social interaction right now.
"Was it that Victor kid? He seemed like the type to enjoy getting under people's skin." Molly guessed.
"Yes of course it's Victor, god that kid thinks he knows everything, thinks he's so special." Sherlock groaned, staring at the ceiling in hatred. His teeth were clenched tightly, so tight that he could actually feel his head start to ache.
"What did he say to you that made you so upset?" Molly wondered. She was sitting at the desk, brushing her hair with one of Sherlock's very fancy hair brushes. Why she had been here while Sherlock was out he had no idea, but he certainly wasn't going to complain about having someone to whine to. In any other situation he would've gone to fish out John, but considering what Victor had said about his true intentions, well, maybe he would be avoiding that servant for a little bit, just long enough for his brain to accept that Victor's estimate was false.
"Oh nothing, he's just..." Sherlock stopped, not really wanting to admit what Victor had said so early, considering he didn't even know if it was true or not. I mean, of course, of course it wasn't true. Sherlock would never have that kind of interest in John, never in a million years. John was a man for heaven's sake, what could he possibly desire from another man? It was illegal of course, I mean, Sherlock didn't really know all of the basics, he didn't even know that was possible but then again, it would make sense. There were men out there, as well as women, and Sherlock was willing to bet that hearts didn't discriminate. If you fall in love with someone's soul what does it matter their gender? Sherlock shook his head in annoyance; this was crazy, this was completely wrong. He had no love for John; nothing of the sort, to even let Victor's words penetrate his stubborn skull was unthinkable. Victor was trying to scare him for some reason, obviously he just wanted more information about John and Sherlock's relationship, and he thought that by planting that idea in Sherlock's mind he could get the information he desired.
"What did he ask?" Molly asked once more, turning in her chair to get a better look at Sherlock longing on the pillows. Her hair looked very shiny, complements to that beautiful brush.
"He just asked about my relationship with John and stuff, all of these really personal, really...embarrassing questions." Sherlock admitted rather quietly.
"Really personal and embarrassing? How so?" Molly wondered.
"Well, giving the only two adjectives that I used, how willing do you think I'll be to recite them?" Sherlock snapped. Molly held up her hands defensively, going back to trying to brush her hair with that brush once more, the untouched less shiny side.
"He just planted these questions in my head, questions that are so unfathomable they almost seem, well, possible." Sherlock admitted.
"He's manipulating you Sherlock, that's what people like him do. Don't pay any attention to what he tries to tell you, you know yourself better than any rubbish assassin hunter." Molly insisted, and Sherlock nodded, she was right of course, she was always right.
"I don't even know this Victor guy but I already hate him." Sherlock decided.
"You're rather good at making those important decisions early on." Molly agreed.
"Yes, I am, because I usually end up hating everyone." Sherlock said proudly.
"Well, not the last one. The last person you 'hated' turned out to be one of your favorites." Molly pointed out. Sherlock groaned, not wanting to think about John right now, not about John or any of his intoxicating personality traits.
"That's different, John's different." Sherlock insisted.
"How so? He doesn't seem much different to me, other than the fact that you can tolerate his presence for more than ten minutes." Molly pointed out.
"Well it's not my fault that he's interesting." Sherlock snapped, obviously sounding kind of stubborn.
"Don't get all defensive with me now, we all like John, it's not your fault at all. It's nice that you finally found someone that you click with." Molly decided. Sherlock groaned once more, louder this time, to try to make sure Molly knew he didn't like this topic of conversation.
"Do they know who's going to kill you yet?" Molly wondered.
"No, but whoever it is better hurry up, I'm about done with this life right now." Sherlock insisted.
"Don't talk like that Sherlock, this is serious business!" Molly defended, giving Sherlock a very disapproving look from across the room.
"Oh death is so tempting Molly, imagining checking out of everything, ever." Sherlock said dreamily. "Just sleeping and sleeping without knowing that you have to wake up."
"That's morbid Sherlock. Besides, all of the things you'd miss out on!" Molly exclaimed.
"Like what, being king? I think I'll pass, but thanks anyway." Sherlock snapped.
"No, the good things, the really good things. Like having your first kiss, falling in love, raising a family." Molly insisted.
"Those are all female desires I think." Sherlock decided.
"They are not! Men want those things too!" Molly defended, crowing her arms angrily.
"Well my life will never work out like that I don't think, my first kiss probably won't be all that eventful, falling in love with most certainly never happen, and raising a family sounds miserable because I'll know that my children will have to mull through the same rubbish I did, growing up as a prince. I'll have to be king when I'm older, I'll probably have to get married to Irene Adler, lead a life a misery alongside a woman I can hardly stand to look at." Sherlock groaned.
"No, you don't have to marry Irene, we'll keep looking around for you, there's got to be someone out there that you love." Molly insisted.
"Well obviously we just haven't found them yet." Sherlock said with a sigh.
"And I bet she's as miserable as you are." Molly pointed out with a small laugh.
"Oh, I doubt that." Sherlock groaned. He couldn't help but imagine what John was feeling right now, probably not miserable at all. He was probably tired, but happy. What could he possibly have to be sad about, he had a day off of being a servant, the king had died but he didn't know the king, he was probably thankful for one less plate to clear.
"Is it terrible that I'm not completely destroyed over my father's death?" Sherlock wondered, craning his neck to see if Molly would reply.
"Well, yes, kind of." Molly agreed. "I mean, I'm upset myself, but he wasn't really my father. I never really talked to him much."
"I feel like I should be moping all over the place, but in some ways it feels like a relief." Sherlock admitted.
"That's terrible, yes." Molly agreed, not sounding the least bit surprised.
"I mean, he can't be disappointed in me now, I can't get any worse in his eyes because he won't see anymore." Sherlock pointed out.
"He was more than just a critic of you Sherlock, he was your father, he loved you!" Molly insisted.
"Not after our last conversation he didn't. Not after figuring out what a failure I grew up to be." Sherlock insisted.
"That's rubbish Sherlock and you know it. He was just angry, that passes, he loved you for who you were, not for who you were supposed to be." Molly insisted.
"He never said it, ever." Sherlock pointed out.
"Fathers are harder to impress, mothers are always gushing over you, fathers are stern but secretly proud." Molly assured.
"Well maybe he should've been less stern, maybe he should've noticed how hard I tried to keep up my act." Sherlock snapped.
"You make it sound like faking perfection is so exhausting." Molly said with a laugh.
"It is Molly! You know it is." Sherlock groaned. Molly nodded in agreement, but kept on brushing her hair, how she still had anything left to brush Sherlock had no idea, but obviously it wasn't perfect.
"I just wish he hadn't died. Then we wouldn't have Victor." Sherlock growled.
"Victor really must've made you mad." Molly said with a laugh, as if Sherlock's misery was some sort of funny joke.
"Yes, he did, he really did make me mad." Sherlock agreed with a growl.
"Well maybe you should talk to him, tell him what he's doing wrong, be a gentleman about it." Molly suggested. Sherlock just laughed, shaking his head doubtfully.
"Who in the world do you think I am Molly? A gentleman? Really? I think I'd rather chop of his head with a dull blade than have a mature conversation with him." Sherlock decided.
"That's immature Sherlock." Molly pointed out.
"Exactly why I picked it. I'm not mature and I have no plans to be." Sherlock sighed, staring up at the ceiling, Victor's words playing back in his head. All of that guilt, that temptation that Victor had planted just with a simple sentence, it almost made Sherlock doubt himself and his true intentions.
"I get interviewed tomorrow I think, which is stupid, because I could always come and kill you tonight." Molly pointed out.
"I'll leave the door unlocked." Sherlock agreed.
"You better not! I'm pretty sure Victor will have guards flanking your door all night, protecting you." Molly pointed out.
"Then I'll make sure to throw a rope out the window." Sherlock muttered.
"Stop being so suicidal! There are other people in this world Sherlock, people who care about you! Imagine your poor mother having to lose a son and a husband all within three days!" Molly exclaimed.
"Oh stop that guilt tripping Molly, when you say it like that it sounds awful." Sherlock defended.
"Maybe because it is awful, very awful." Molly said with a knowing little smile.
"Yes well, maybe we can kill Victor. He wouldn't expect that would he?" Sherlock wondered.
"That would make our problems double that of what they already are." Molly insisted.
"Ya but he'd be dead, that would be a bonus." Sherlock pointed out.
"Then he wouldn't be able to catch your killer, and you'd die and have to spend the rest of eternity with him in heaven." Molly insisted flatly. Sherlock groaned in agreement.
"That is if either of us makes it there." Sherlock decided.
"That's terribly optimistic of you Sherlock." Molly muttered, finally getting up from her chair and setting the hairbrush down on the dresser.
"I'm going to go down and get some dinner, do you want to come?" she wondered. Sherlock just shook his head, sitting up against the headboard and pulling his knees to his chest like a child.
"I just want to stay here, get some sleep, maybe read a little bit. Be with my thoughts while they're still mine." Sherlock decided.
"Alright, I'll leave you to...whatever that means." Molly agreed, deciding not to question Sherlock at a time like this. "Bye Sherlock."
"Bye Molly." Sherlock muttered, staying silent until he knew she was finally out of the room. Then he stretched out on his bed, letting his head fall in his pillows and staring at the ceiling once more, nothing interesting up there still.
"What would you do to him if he didn't know it was you?" Victor's words echoed in Sherlock's mind, bouncing around his skull until finally they penetrated his brain. What would he do, what would he do? It was dark except for one light, shining down on a lone figure standing in the metallic room. What would you do? The dust particles danced in the light, shining down on the man as if he were the only thing in the room that was of importance. Of course, he was the only thing in the room, so it was fitting that he was the only thing illuminated. Sherlock could only see the outline of the man standing in the room, but it was obvious who it was. He was short yet athletic, strong yet gentle; the light was shining down on his hair so that it gleamed golden. John. The room was empty and for some reason Sherlock knew that it would stay that way, he took a step closer and John didn't move. Sherlock was looking at him from behind, but he knew that John wouldn't be looking back. His eyes were closed, he was unmoving. There were no doors or windows in this room, nothing but shining silver plating the walls, they were alone, and they were going to stay that way. Sherlock walked closer and closer, his footsteps echoing around the room, the sound waves bouncing and spreading since there was nothing to stop them. And yet, John didn't move, he didn't seem to notice that anyone was there. He didn't know that it was Sherlock, he would never know...Sherlock stepped closer still, close enough so that with a simple move he could lean his chest against John's back. He took a deep breath, his dream self submitting to all of these emotions he had pent up in his heart, all of these desires that he wouldn't let be discovered, that he didn't dare bring to the light. But there was no light in this room, only one, and the man that stood in it would never know. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's neck, letting his arms fall over his chest, feeling his lungs breathe ever so steadily, rising and falling, but he didn't even twitch. Sherlock breathed in his scent, letting his face softly nudge against the side of John's neck, letting his lips hover over top of his collar bone. He was so soft, so warm, Sherlock had never enjoyed human contact but being close to John seemed to be the exception. Sherlock couldn't help but pull himself closer still, his heart beating so loudly while John's was steady, he had no idea what was happening. Sherlock took another deep breath, cherishing every movement that he made, standing so close, intertwining himself with this beautiful man. He pressed his lips against John's shoulder ever so slightly, finally feeling what John's skin might feel like, he trailed kisses as far as John's cheek, savoring ever breath, every motion, leaning farther in so that he could so much as peck the corner of John's lips, his eyes closed, unmoving...
YOU ARE READING
Sherlock is the youngest son of a powerful family dynasty, with all the pressure of being the perfect prince sitting on his shoulders. However, he builds his good reputation on lies and tricks, and he dreads the day when his failures will come into...