Don't Stray From The Light

The Servant's Story

John thanked her for her time and stole her chair just as soon as she bustled away, sitting and staring at the wall for a moment while pondering all of these things. It was more likely, in John's mind, that Victor was using the illusion of a disgust of women to hide what he really got up to, for no man that didn't enjoy the company of women would ever frequent a brothel. There wasn't much to do there except ogle at the girls, except of course if he went for the subpar alcohol that was served, which was hard to believe as well. John was having a very hard time believe that Victor could go completely without romantic attractions, and so he dedicated himself to not letting his mind stray off that path. Mrs. Trevor was just blowing smoke at this time, rationalizing the time with her husband as a happy time with a likely excuse rather than openly admitting to the detectives that there was the absence of love in their relationship. It would probably be easier for her to fathom that Victor didn't like all women, as opposed to just her. When Greg returned John told him of his new theories, to which he agreed with a little bit of a sarcastic laugh, almost as if he was quite sure they had interviewed that woman for nothing.
"She's desperate that one, desperate to try to make the memories of her husband good ones." Greg agreed with a sigh, sitting back in his chair only to look over the notes he had collected from Mrs. Trevor's interview.
"It's impossible for a man to go without romantic attractions...God if he really wasn't up to anything he'd have exploded by now, I'm sure." John insisted with a shake of his head. He thought back to what very little he knew of that reporter before he had vanished, only that he was persistent in his work, that he was fairly if not dazzlingly attractive...well that was enough to ensure he had at least some women with their eyes on him! He didn't seem unusual when John knew him, yes he always had that newspaper stuck to his nose, and he watched people when he really should be minding his own business, however that was kind of his job, knowing things other people didn't. It was odd to think that even though John never knew him very well that he would never get to know him any better. He might become the expert of Victor Trevor through this investigation; however he would never personally get to see him again unless they rescued him and closed this case up for good. If he wasn't dead already.
"I talked to Sherlock Holmes this morning at the café; he brought up a good point. He wasn't the last person to have seen Victor alive; his carriage driver did, when he dropped him off at the city. I suggested we go down there and have a chat, just to see what Victor was up to, where he was dropped, and who he might have been with." John suggested. Greg nodded, a small smile creeping up on his face as he watched his partner with seemingly knowing eyes, as if he had figured something out before John had a chance to even ponder it.
"So you and Sherlock Holmes are buddies now?" Greg presumed with a grin.
"Not buddies, no not in the least, I just thought it would be nice to have a chat since we were both sitting alone. We're acquainted, and it's not like I have many friends in this town to begin with. Sometimes it's nice to see a friendly face." John defended quickly, feeling his cheeks go red despite his not knowing why. It wasn't like there was anything to his acquaintance with Sherlock, honestly they were hardly friends, mere customers of the same café, that was all!
"Hm, a likely excuse." Greg teased, shaking his head as if he was disappointed in John for some reason.
"I'm really not seeing your point here, Greg." John snapped, to which Greg just held up his hands in an innocent sort of way. Greg got to his feet and grabbed his coat from the desk, putting it on all while John just stared at him in confusion.
"There's no point, really there isn't. But off to that manor then, right? I presume you hope to catch him early enough so that he's still in that robe, ya?" Greg presumed with a grin, walking past John and pushing him a little bit, almost in a teasing sort of way, before trotting on down the hallway and leaving John admittedly perplexed. 

Sherlock POV: Sherlock stood at his window and watched as the police carriage ascended up the hill, for he had been expecting their visit ever since he had left the café that morning. He had warned the men of the police's entrance once more, and after assuring them that there was no need to worry, they were only here following another lead, the men were easier going back to the attic where they belonged. Some looked rather upset, almost as if they were afraid what might happen if the detectives find them hidden away, however Sherlock assured them repeatedly that he wouldn't let that happen. He told them that the detectives were incompetent, and if they weren't already distracted Sherlock would very much ensure it if they ever dared wander upstairs. Of course that might lead to suspicions of other crimes, homosexuality being the predominant fear, however Sherlock was quite sure that at least one of the two would be tempted enough to keep their mouth shut. He was fully dressed today, dressed as he had been for the café; for he knew that today would be a much more formal event. For one thing John knew that he was expecting them, and to show up once more in that silver robe would be considered a bit outlandish. However he had to admit that it had been a good call during their last visit. It's not really that he had chosen to be interrupted in the middle of his morning glow, however it just so happened that such a robe had been just the thing he needed to keep those detectives distracted enough to miss their main objectives of coming to the house. And yet when they arrived today, Sherlock knew that he had to be the one to greet them. And so, after looking about to make sure there was no evidence of male visitors in his bedroom, he descended the stairs and went out the door to meet the detectives as the rolled up the driveway. Mycroft joined him, standing in his suit and watching the carriage with an idle expression, as if he really couldn't be bothered with all of these shenanigans. He had been told what to say, of course, for Sherlock had made this elaborate lie up on the spot and if Mycroft didn't follow it to a tee then there might be some issues. For starters, Mycroft's relation to Sherlock had to be kept a secret. The story of the Holmes family was something of a fabrication as well, and as far as the town knew Sherlock had been abandoned by his parents and his brother when he was younger. And if that story was to be swallowed then it wouldn't be too helpful if Mycroft was throwing around his name for everyone to figure out! And so he would be going as Michael, which was close but not close enough to make any connections. Mycroft always hated his cover name, however he knew that it was what was necessary to keep his brother far away from the gallows, and so that was what he did. Because he loved Sherlock, and he wanted the best for him. Secondly, the story of his dropping Victor off at town had to be perfected, for if he strayed from the story that Sherlock had created then that would lead the detectives to suspect their hiding something, which was anything but ideal. Sherlock knew that keeping the detectives close and on the wrong path might be a good way to go about this; however he did have certain qualms about being so involved. One slip of the tongue, one miscommunication, and those men could be on his track before he even realized it! They may be shockingly unintelligent but they weren't completely oblivious, and if they set themselves on Sherlock's path he was unsure how long he could hold them. The evidence against him was staggering, all the more so with the additional threat of all that evidence being stored away in the very home he invited them to now! It took one of the men upstairs to stumble, or one of the detectives to ask for a sweep of the house, and then it would be over! He had to be careful, but not too careful that he appears to be paranoid. What a dangerous game Sherlock had taken to playing, and how very exhilarating it all was! John was the first to step out into the daylight, descending from the carriage while the driver kicked back and cracked open the novel that had been sitting next to him for the entirety of the ride. Greg came second, stretching out and being overly obnoxious, as if the trip from the city to the manor had really been so strenuous.
"Mr. Holmes, nice to see you again." John said with a grin, walking up the stairs to where Sherlock waited and shaking his hand with a firm grip.
"Nice to see you as well Mr. Watson, although on such grim circumstances. I would have preferred our acquaintanceship blossom without anyone's disappearing to have been the cause." Sherlock admitted with a grin, to which Detective Watson agreed with a saddened grin. Of course Sherlock wasn't sad about Victor's disappearance at all; however he had to pretend that his vanishing had caused him great discomfort instead of great pleasure. Having Victor around had made Sherlock's life not only more romantic but better all around, for he was such a respectful man and such an obedient lover. However the Detectives still saw his disappearance not to be a gain, but a loss, and so Sherlock had to put on a grim face and mourn for the man that was not yet lost to him.
"Mr. Holmes, a pleasure." Greg Lestrade said less formally, tipping his hat yet not yet going for the hand shake. He seemed more interested in Mycroft, who stood loyally by Sherlock's side and didn't say a word, for he was accustomed to staying silent until commanded to speak.
"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce my butler, Michael. He was the last person to see our Mr. Trevor alive." Sherlock announced, stepping aside for the two to go and shake Mycroft's hand as they saw fit. Mycroft seemed a little bit uncomfortable, for he wasn't used to talking to anyone who wasn't trapped inside the house with him. These Detectives not only formed a social challenge but a legal one as well, for Mycroft knew that his answers would tie back to his master and his innocence (or lack thereof).
"Very nice, Michael I don't suppose you want to talk somewhere more private?" John assured, gesturing to the door way as if he had the sitting room in mind.
"Yes um, yes we could go to the drawing room." Mycroft suggested, looking towards Sherlock as if hoping he would impose on their conversation. Thankfully Sherlock knew enough about police interviews to know that they should be private, and he didn't want to make a fool of himself by trying to join in.
"Could I interest you men in a drink?" Sherlock wondered, leading the way into the house with the intention of lingering in the sitting room while the three conversed just on the other side of the wall. He knew not to listen in, for he had enough trust in Mycroft and not enough patience to deal with Greg's voice any longer.
"Nothing for me, thank you." John said quickly, seemingly punching his partner lightly in the arm as if to shut him up before he asked for something. Sherlock would have preferred to get the two a little bit on the drunken side, not so much that they were falling around and stumbling about Sherlock's things, however a little bit of added mental barriers was never a bad thing when trying to keep a secret. Intoxication could be your friend in many a situation, this one very obviously included.
"I'll be in the sitting room then, if you shall need me." Sherlock said gently, patting Mycroft on the back not only as an encouragement but a warning as well. He couldn't mess up; it simply wasn't an option at this point. With that Mycroft led the way into the drawing room while Sherlock took his leave, turning on a record of a nice symphony so as to block out any of the conversation that may be going on. As curious as he was to the questions they were asking he knew that to be caught or even suspected of eavesdropping would lead to some suspicions, and he wanted to be as innocent as possible in these upcoming weeks. He wanted to be so compliant that even if suspicion did fall on him, the two detectives would think it so barbaric that they ignored it all together. It was about fifteen minutes well spent with a good book and a glass of scotch when finally they emerged from the sitting room, Mycroft leading the way and looking considerably more comfortable in the detective's presence. The two men didn't seem suspicious of anything; in fact they seemed rather disappointed that Mycroft's recap of the whole event hadn't proved to be very helpful. This was a relief, for if they were both staring Sherlock down then he would know there was a problem. Their seemingly careless attitude was enough to ensure him that there really was nothing to be worried about after all.
"Helpful, I assume, gentlemen?" Sherlock presumed, setting his noel down and getting to his feet politely.
"Nothing you hadn't already told us, I'm afraid, and nothing that would lead to anything we hadn't already considered." Greg admitted heavily, shaking his head while he pocketed a little notebook.
"Mr. Holmes did you know Mr. Trevor very well? Do you know enough about him to know if he was involved in any sort of romantic affairs with women? Maybe even some illegal activities, drug cartels?" John wondered, to which Sherlock only shook his head, trying very hard not to giggle at the idea of Victor being intimate with anyone else. Especially that crazed wife of his, well the very idea of the detectives trying to interview her was nearly laughable as well!
"No nothing illegal, at least not that I know of. We were not friends, per say, but we did know each other on a casual level. He would not have mentioned anything of the sort to me, and I'm confident he didn't show any signs of such pastimes." Sherlock admitted regretfully. John nodded grimly, almost if that was what he had suspected.
"Yes, I knew it was a long shot." John agreed with a sigh.
"Well thank you both for your time, I know our silly little investigation is probably getting in the way of your day plans so we'll get out of your way for now. If anything comes up that we might think we need a second opinion on..."
"I'll always be here." Sherlock assured, cutting Greg off before he went rambling on about how the police force was always happy to employ outside citizens for help on curious cases such as these.
"Thank you, Mr. Holmes." Greg said with a legitimately thankful nod. Sherlock led the two to the door, leaving Mycroft behind so as to ensure he didn't say anything else. The carriage was still waiting in the driveway, as he had expected it to be, and the driver seemed to be very much engrossed in his novel. So much so that Sherlock almost felt bad for having to interrupt him.
"Detective, would it be unprofessional to invite you and your wife to dinner one night? I know that we have come to know each other during grim circumstances, but it does not always have to be that way." Sherlock offered, catching John by the arm just as he began to walk out the doorway. He had a very firm arm, a good reaction time, and a very obvious source of strength. He would make a good lover, if of course Sherlock could ever tempt him away from that dazzling damsel on his arm. John smiled, however, as if he would be positively thrilled to join him.
"Yes of course, that sounds lovely Mr. Holmes!" he agreed with a grin. Sherlock nodded politely, looking off to where Greg had already clambered into the carriage and was leaving the door open for John to join.
"What about this Friday night, six o'clock? I'll have Michael prepare a delicious meal, roasted duck, perhaps?" Sherlock suggested, brainstorming out loud at this point. Either way John seemed pleased, for he nodded his head enthusiastically all while trying his best to start his way to the carriage.
"I would be happy to join you, Mr. Holmes, and I'm sure Mary will be happy to meet you as well! We'll be there!" he agreed with a large smile.
"Thank you Mr. Watson, and I'll see you tomorrow morning, I presume." Sherlock said with a grin, tipping his hat in farewell as finally John got into the carriage after his partner. The door closed and the horses began to clop down the cobblestone, leaving Sherlock alone on the stoop until finally he thought it polite enough to turn his back and go inside once more.