Don't Stray From The Light

Keep Your Secrets Close

   "Excuse me if I ask, yet I do wonder if your wife knows you're here?" Sherlock questioned casually, as if the thought had just occurred to him. 
"My wife?" John muttered a bit reluctantly, for the idea of Mary hadn't necessarily come across his mind since he last left here at the hotel.
"Yes Mr. Watson, you do have one, if I remember correctly." Sherlock teased. John blinked; nodding all the while he was trying to think of the reasoning behind Sherlock's questioning.
"She doesn't know I'm here." John said honestly, to which a small smile came across Sherlock's face if only for a moment. He hummed as if he saw what was going on here, and to be quite honest John was at a loss of his own motivations, much less Sherlock's. Yet he leaned back in his chair in an almost guilty sort of way, sipping at his wine between draws of the cigarette, too apprehensive to say much else.
"The last time you lied to her she didn't seem particularly happy with you." Sherlock pointed out. John nodded with a sigh, breathing in the smoke and exhaling it as elegantly as he could manage. He was dimly aware of a woman coming their way, or at least making her way over to the table, yet he ignored her for the time being. There seemed to be much better things to focus on than women, and Sherlock's attention was not faltering and so John thought it unfair to let his own occupation wander towards anything but the man in front of him.
"Well she would never have found out if you hadn't mentioned it to her." John pointed out almost defensively, as if he was for some reason trying to pin the whole thing on Sherlock.
"My apologies, Mr. Watson, yet it sounds almost as if you are trying to hide me from her." Sherlock presumed with a raise of his eyebrow, sipping at his wine with an almost accusing look on his face all while John shook his head defensively.
"Why would I want to hide you from my wife?" John wondered, legitimately confused as to what Sherlock's suspicions were hinting at.
"Oh it could be any number of reasons, Mr. Watson. I'll let you pick the one that best settles your stomach, and we'll work from there." Sherlock whispered with a little gleam in his eye. John's heart skipped a beat for just a moment, for it would seem as though Sherlock's all seeing eyes has just stared right into his soul and saw the very things he was trying his best to hide. Not only his confliction of being here, but the images that had been playing in his skull since he had first met the man, the dreams he had been having, the longings he was beginning to feel. Did Sherlock see them all? How could he? John had to admit to being very glad when one of the 'waitresses' finally came their way, approaching Sherlock first as she twirled the ribbons on her dress, the ribbons that held the topmost portion of what looked like an outward corset in place. She was making it ever so obvious that if she unknotted those ribbons her dress would come undone and her chest would be exposed, and it was that which she used to try to tempt Sherlock into sliding her a couple of pounds and undoing the knot himself. John watched almost breathlessly as the woman approached him, getting up close to him in her frilly dress and trying to wrap her arms around his neck from behind. John was filled with something of an obscene anger as Sherlock at first did nothing to react, he looked stunned and a bit afraid, and yet for a moment he watched John with the utmost curiosity while the women ran her arms down his chest. John's fist clenched around the arms of his chair yet he knew that he could do nothing to stop what was already in motion, and when finally the woman began to lean forward so as to whisper things into Sherlock's ear he finally shuttered away and pushed her aside. He looked genuinely repulsed by the woman, and only now was it becoming clear to John that Sherlock had kept her around just long enough to gauge his reaction to the whole matter. Finally Sherlock shooed the woman away, insisting that they wanted nothing to do with her all while he straightened his jacket and brushed off anywhere she might have touched with her filthy hands. John straightened up as well, watching as the woman went on to seduce some more men while leaving the two of them perfectly innocent in their own corner of the room. John nervously sipped at his wine, for he now felt Sherlock's eyes on him once more and he knew that there was a smile on his face, that smile sent a certain kind of chill down John's spine as he thought of it, and he didn't like the idea of what Sherlock's brain might be concocting.
"You had questions then, official questions?" Sherlock presumed finally, bringing John back to attention as if nothing had even happened. John blinked, nodding almost furiously as he tried to remember why he was even here if not simply to stare at his wine and contemplate the man who sat across from him.
"Questions, yes I do. I do have questions." John agreed, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter so as to look more official. There was still a blush lingering in his cheek and they both noticed it, yet none of them mentioned it out loud, none of them thought to. Sherlock simply sat back and reclined once more in his chair, looking far more relaxed now that they were in a good twenty foot radius of the next woman that might be daring enough to approach.
"Then ask away, Detective." Sherlock murmured in a voice that sent shivers down John's spine. It was a voice and a suggestion that made John most direly want to ask the questions that had been gnawing away at his brain for quite some time now, questions that had nothing to do with the investigation yet everything to do with the man himself. Why was he not married, why did he live alone, why did he always seem so flirtatious, yet all together disgusted by women? And most importantly, what was it that he was doing to John, and why?
"Your parents, could you tell me anything more of their disappearance?" John asked carefully, producing a notebook and pen from his pocket so as to write down any details that might stick out to him as curious. Sherlock sighed heavily, shaking his head in an almost reluctant manner, as if that was not the question he had been expecting.
"My parents...what a harsh subject to even scratch the surface of." Sherlock whispered carefully.
"I'm sorry, I really am. It's just impossible to ignore their disappearance when it might have something to do with the most recent..."
"They didn't disappear, John, I think that's where you've got it wrong." Sherlock said sternly, leaning forward and cutting John's sentence off before he even had a chance to finish. There was an astonishing shift in his personality, from the carefree man who seemed to never have hurt a fly to a man who seemed incredibly angry, if not boarding on violent. This was the side of Sherlock that John had not yet seen, the side that would be the one, if any; to have done the things Greg was so quick to accuse him of.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes if you could elaborate?" John whispered, his pen trembling in his hand as he was much too afraid to write anything down.
"They left me, I had told you that already. My parents and my brother, they abandoned me." Sherlock hissed. "It shouldn't be an investigation, and you're mad if you think it has anything to do with the unfortunate men who have wandered off lately!"
"My apologies, Mr. Holmes I had not intended to upset you." John said quickly, for the fire that was burning now in Sherlock's eyes was enough to startle him. It was a moment like this where he was happy they were not meeting in solitude, for John suspected that if he said one more word to upset the man he would find himself in quite some danger. However as soon as Sherlock seemed to realize the extent to which his anger scared John he dissolved back into the man John had come to appreciate. It was now instead of anger simply discontent, and he sank back into his chair and sipped at his wine almost bitterly, shaking his head as if he was already formulating his apology.
"It is a rough topic, I'm sure you understand. Forgive me, Mr. Watson." Sherlock whispered, to which John had no choice but to nod, for he knew of little else that might be possible in a situation like this. John knew better than to accept Sherlock's apology and move on, and so he took it to heart and made a note of Sherlock's sudden outburst.
"Do you know why they might have left?" John wondered, for he was trying to find any connections to the missing Holmes family and the missing men that were just now frequenting the newspapers. If it was the same kidnapper, or at least the same driving force, then John wanted to know as well why there had been a hiatus of nearly ten years between the occurrences. Sherlock sighed heavily once more, wincing as if he was resurfacing memories that he wanted nothing to do with.
"They were horrible to me, Mr. Watson. And I know that most people would accuse their parents with such a phrase, and yet none had been so appropriately labeled as my heinous parents. They refused to love me, not as a son, not as a human. They had a hard time accepting who I had grown to be, and they found my character to be not only abnormal, but inappropriate as well. They claimed that they had a reputation to upkeep, and having a son like me would only shame the name of the Holmes." Sherlock admitted silently, staring unblinkingly at his wine as if seeing pictures flashing through his head, visions that he didn't want to resurface and yet were coming now with such vividness!
"You speak as if they saw some sort of flaw in you?" John wondered, his pen now scrawling down the most prominent of words that came from Sherlock's mouth, for those words alone would be enough to lead John to remember the entirety of the conversation. This might be the first time he saw Sherlock truly upset, exposed and vulnerable something like a child, and nothing like the powerful man he had come to know, and come to appreciate.
"A flaw...yes. Something no parent wants to see developing in their child, something that would lead them to run, run as far as they could, just so public scandal didn't soil their family name." Sherlock whispered. John's brain struggled to even contemplate what that might be, a flaw in the seemingly perfect Sherlock Holmes? What would be so frightening to a family that would lead them to flee?
"And that would be...?" John presumed, to which Sherlock's eyes snapped up to meet his, burning with some sort of defensive flame that made John shiver, almost as if he had been threatened.
"Something that does not concern you." Sherlock muttered, leaning forward in his chair once more and pulling back the confident persona he wore so often, almost as if he was trying to make up for the vulnerability he had expressed just moments before. "At least not yet." he added in a whisper. John blinked, nodding and writing down FLAW in all caps, something for him to contemplate later when he was not in the presence of such a man.
"Do you know if Victor Trevor was writing a story on it? Was he asking you anything about your past, about your parents?" John wondered. Sherlock blinked, shrugging his shoulders and taking yet another sip of his wine.
"If he was, he hadn't yet approached me on the subject." Sherlock admitted with a frown. He looked confident once more, for instead of the conversation being focused on him it was now once more steered in the direction of Victor Trevor. Sherlock seemed more confident when he was the subject of attention, and not of conversation.
"Did you know him well before he vanished?" John wondered.
"I thought I had told you this before, Detective. We were acquainted, yet far from friends." Sherlock clarified once more, which John only nodded once more. He did remember Sherlock mentioning that.
"You don't think he knew you before you knew him?" John questioned, feeling a bit guilty for digging so much into Sherlock's life, so much that may be considered as personal.
"What do you mean by that?" Sherlock wondered.
"It's just that we had found evidence in his personal belongings that he knew of your parent's leaving, that he knew about you for a while. I wasn't sure if there was any connection before the night when he disappeared." John admitted quietly. Sherlock smiled for just a second, a smile so quick that Sherlock wasn't entirely sure if it had been there at all.
"Are you suggesting some sort of obsession?" Sherlock presumed. John sighed heavily; shrugging his shoulders so as to admit the state of constant guessing he was in.
"Your guess is as good as mine." John admitted with a sigh. Sherlock smiled again, and this time it was long enough for John to fully recognize that it was there. It was as if Sherlock was shamelessly amused by Victor's fascination of him.
"That poor boy, I would say that obsession wouldn't be far off. I always felt his eyes on me when I was at the café, and to this day I'm sure that he had only been there because of me. Enchanted, I dare say." Sherlock admitted with a bit of a grin.
"Enchanted? Why use that word?" John wondered. Sherlock just smiled, seemingly trying to get John guessing once more.
"Victor never approached me on the subject of my parents, no. And I do admit to finding it curious that you should question me as well. You're not reopening the case, are you? You're not looking at me once more as a suspect of some sort of foul play? The detectives before had been unable to see me as the victim of this whole affair, surely Detective Watson you could see me as such now?" Sherlock wondered quietly, bringing his now stubby cigarette to his lips with a crooked little smile.
"It's hard to picture you as weak, Mr. Holmes, yet I will take your word for it. I never doubted your innocence, I was just curios of your role in the whole thing." John admitted quietly.
"I assure you, Mr. Watson...they left by their own choice." Sherlock said confidently. And with that he sat back in his chair, grinning at John as if daring him to ask any more questions. Tempting him, in a way, to accuse him flat out of being responsible for his parent's vanishing. It was almost as if he wanted to keep John wondering, almost as if he just wanted the chance to claim his innocence once more. Almost as soon as John's questioned faded out of the conversation like the smoke from their smoldering cigarettes they were both able to relax a bit more. The tenseness was over, the business that had been lingering over them both ever since they arrived. John hated to have to ask such questions; he hated to have to drag the police business back into the light once he and Sherlock had finally grown used to each other, actually appreciating the other's presence! It was difficult to relax when they both still knew there was a reason for their being here, and now that the reason had subsided they were both able to sit back, order some more wine, and try to enjoy themselves. Of course conversation was easily had among the two men, for they both had plenty of mutual opinions on subjects such as politics, social life, and the common drama that was going about the small town. The disappearances were still on everyone's mind, for the newspaper had printed a nice big article basically dragging the police force through the mud. Sherlock had brought it to John's attention, since he was rather out of the loop when it came to the town's views on things as he was still only getting accustomed to life here. He never had time to pick up the morning paper, and so Sherlock very generously summed up the entire article in one sentence. 

"They think calling you in was a waste of tax money, purely because you've been here for weeks now and you haven't seemed to get much of anywhere." Sherlock admitted with a sigh, leaning forward with his long, lanky arms to light another cigarette on the candle in the middle of the table. It was rather resourceful when he did that, for the candle was sitting deep in a little glass vase and was evidently there for decoration, not for cigarette lighting. And yet Sherlock still managed to light his cigarette where it sat in his teeth, getting dangerously close to spilling candle wax onto his lap as he concentrated with a puff of white smoke and a victorious little grin.
"But how would they know we haven't gotten anywhere?" John challenged a bit defensively, crossing his arms with a scowl while Sherlock just stared at him in the most peculiar of fashions.
"Well you haven't gotten anywhere, have you Detective?" Sherlock teased, shaking his head in a playful way all while letting his fingers dance around the rim of his glass, his fingers pricking the thing at such angles so as to make it chime.
"Yes but how could the media know that?" John laughed. He was getting drunk, in fact they both were, for the bottle of port was nearly half drunk between the two of them and they had only been here about an hour and a half. It wasn't obvious yet in their faces or their actions, for Sherlock still moved as elegantly and as carefully as he did when he was sober. No it was more in John's thoughts that he noticed the intoxication, the fact that he was noticing so much more of his companion than he ever would've dared when his head was cleared. He noticed the peaking of skin between the buttons of his strained shirt, he noticed the gleam of his neck when he reclined his head against the lamp light, he noticed the soft way his curls arranged themselves on his sculpted head, curls that were basically crying out to be combed by another's fingers! How tempting it was to get closer, and surely Sherlock was feeling the same way? He kept leaning forward on the table, even when he was drinking his wine he was contorting his arm so as not to rearrange himself at a farther proximity than was possible to John. It was strangely flattering to know that Sherlock wanted to be close to him, and yet John could only imagine the uproar that would ensue if he dared to get closer! And it wasn't as if John intended on getting closer, no he was nowhere near that brave! Besides, even in his most drunken state John could not forget the wife that was still waiting for him at home.
"People have a way of knowing things, Mr. Watson, most always things you would rather keep hidden." Sherlock admitted with a laborious sigh, as if the meddling of the common human was simply too much for him to bear.
"I know the feeling." John agreed. Sherlock just breathed a sigh of disbelief, shaking his head as if he had no idea what type of lies John was spewing.
"Do you really think you know such a thing? Oh Detective, what secrets could you possibly be keeping?" Sherlock wondered in exasperation, leaning forward if ever closer so that his chest was almost pressed up against the edge of the table. John was almost nervous about his proximity, and yet the part that encouraged him to lean away was a very small, still unaffected portion of his brain that he would be ever so happy to ignore. The larger and more drunken part of his brain was cheering in delight, for it too had the desire to be closer, yet it was being held back. It was ever so happy to see that the task of leaning forward would therefore be set to Sherlock instead.
"If I told you they wouldn't be secrets, right?" John teased, a smile appearing on his face and being mirrored almost immediately on Sherlock's as well.
"So very secretive, Mr. Watson." Sherlock chuckled, however he seemed rather satisfied with that answer and sat back once more in his chair.