The Porcelain Doll

We Are All Just Animals

"I feel healthier already, breathing air not recycled from those barbarians." Sherlock declared, interrupting their almost record breaking time of a half hour of straight silence. John, who had been staring languidly out of the window and examining the inner workings of his mind, jumped to attention at the sound of a voice. He was almost surprised to see Sherlock talking; so much so that he had to squint his eyes and make sure his master looked conversational, just so that he wasn't hallucinating the voice.
"Yes, it's a rather dreary household." John agreed.
"It's disgusting." Sherlock declared at last, folding his fingers miserably across the leather gripped steering wheel, as if he was trying to clench all of his pent up emotions out of his body. John nodded hastily, feeling as if he was not in a position to argue even if he found fault in the argument. All the same he found the description to be fitting, considering there was an energy of utmost thoughtlessness associated with the gray, lifeless walls of the Holmes country estate. John found himself preforming the most detestable acts, losing himself and all of his dignity all in one brief affair. He ran his fingers nervously through his hair, trying his best to push all of those memories out of his brain and away for good. It was tragic, how the more one tries to abolish a memory the more it stays put. John could safely assume that in fifty years he could still feel Victor Trevor's fingerprints upon his waist.
"How often do you visit your brother?" John wondered, trying to keep up their conversation in an attempt to make this drive feel a little bit more manageable. The roads were much more boring the second time around, and sooner or later all of the fields of corn began to look the same. Certainly the only exciting thing, the only dynamic thing, was sitting next to him in the driver's seat.
"Hardly ever. No need to, as he comes to my house whenever he can." Sherlock admitted.
"Perhaps he finds a particular charm in the city." John suggested.
"Well it's where the business is, it's where the railroads are, where the politicians are. There's simply no better place to hold meetings or to enjoy yourself." Sherlock assured.
"The Dollhouse." John muttered, keeping the words locked within his breath so as to keep them hidden from the observant ears of his master. Nevertheless this absentminded mutter was caught, as Sherlock had been listening intensely for a response, and with ears as sharp as a hawk's he picked up upon the few syllables that John had woven into his exhale.
"How do you know such a name?" Sherlock scoffed, looking entirely taken aback by his tutor's sudden knowledge of the club.
"I...I don't!" John exclaimed pathetically, throwing his arms up as innocently as he could manage. Oh what a fool, what a fool he was! If Sherlock Holmes found that his vices spread farther out from a simple kiss with the valet, if he found out that John would go out of his way to pay for an evening spent with another man...well it was positively criminal!
"You don't know it?" Sherlock chuckled.
"Well...well Victor took me there on our hunt for you. He said you conduct business there." John explained quickly, nodding his head up and down and deciding that was the best (and shockingly truthful) explanation he could manage. Sherlock sighed heavily, keeping his eyes fixed upon the road as his fingers clenched even tighter around the wheel. Something about that statement made him upset, though John could not decipher which portion in particular.
"We have meetings there, occasionally." Sherlock agreed. "Don't trust everything you hear from Victor, he does love to stretch the truth to make it all more scandalous."
"Oh good, that's good to hear." John chuckled nervously, remembering all of the ridiculous accusations the valet was throwing around about his master's priorities. And all the mentions of his falsified marriage, well it simply did not make sense! It simply could not be true.
"What has he told you about me?" Sherlock wondered, his voice suddenly turning serious as he glared at John through the beams of dusted sunlight.
"I couldn't repeat such things to you, Mr. Holmes it would be unprofessional." John declared after a moment of consideration, worried now that Sherlock would throw him from the car for such bold accusations.
"Tell me, Mr. Watson. Your refusal of a direct order would be much more upsetting." Sherlock corrected, wagging his finger in John's direction as if to remind him exactly what his position in this car was. He was, after all, on payroll. John hesitated, twisting his fingers nervously and looking up towards his master's side profile, admiring while he could the look of calm composure which settled upon his beautiful face. He was afraid to watch that tranquil face twist, for once he bore no worries and he was asking John to supply them! It would be unheard of, it would be sacrilegious! And yet it was necessary, a direct order was something which could not be broken in good conscience.
"Well he said...he said that you and your brother hold important meetings there. He said that being around...being around prostitutes helps you think. And I told him outright that it was a disgusting claim, that you would never indulge in extramarital affairs." John declared, stepping his foot down aggressively upon the shabby carpet, trying to prove his utmost respect for his master. John watched intently, trying to notice the moment Sherlock's face changed into one of amusement, as if he was going to be relieved by the ridiculous accusations that Victor was throwing around. And yet for a moment he remained emotionless, in fact his face grew heavier, as if guilt was suddenly weighing down his once so careless smile. John's heart sunk, and for a brief moment he began to imagine that Sherlock Holmes was not the angel he so wanted him to be. Could he really have hired women for the evening, to entertain him until he returned home to his wife? His most beautiful wife?
"So optimistic about my character, are you Mr. Watson?" Sherlock muttered at last.
"Yes I am." John declared.
"Well I suppose that is a characteristic in teachers. They know only what books can tell them, and see the world through such a narrow lens. I am not the Saint you depict me as; in fact I am fouled beyond comprehension." Sherlock corrected in a deep, sorrowful tone.
"You cannot be." John debated, his voice kept quiet and hushed behind the most terrified realization. The man was silent for some time, taping on the steering wheel with his thumb and staring lifelessly onto the flat roads, as if trying to force words either in or out of his mouth. There was something more to such a claim, and yet Sherlock Holmes had not the strength to admit it.
"Perhaps, Mr. Watson, you should consider going about the world with your eyes open." Sherlock suggested rather bitterly, as if he was finding John's debates to be rather annoying. It was as if he was fighting for his reputation to be ruined, as if he wanted nothing else than to be thrown from the pedestal that John had set him atop of.
"Mr. Holmes, I am fouled as well." John admitted at last.
"I know." Sherlock muttered, still with his teeth clenched.
"You know?" John exclaimed.
"Last night with Victor, you proved yourself to be more than familiar with the company of men." Sherlock pointed out.
"I am not...well it was impulsive! It was, I could not help it! You said it was fine, you said..."
"It is fine, God da*n it, it's fine! I don't care that you love him, I don't care that you love anyone in this whole world, I don't care what you do Mr. Watson, just don't idolize me!" Sherlock exclaimed, slamming both hands against the wheel of the car and making John jump nearly out the window, expecting the next fit of aggression to be aimed in his direction.
"Mr. Holmes, I don't love him." John corrected, the only bit of information within that declaration that he felt the need to correct.
"Don't you?" Sherlock scoffed doubtfully.
"No, I truly don't. I don't find him anymore lovable than one might find a biting dog, or perhaps a snake who had sunk its teeth into your leg." John corrected.
"And yet you would kiss him, and hold him, and stick your tongue down his throat?" Sherlock corrected. John grew quite red, feeling his hands begin to shake as he looked rather nervously upon the aggressive side of his master's face, those teeth barred in such a position to make his bone structure jut aggressively from his pale, smooth skin.
"I did not have my tongue down his throat." John corrected quickly.
"And yet you would get close enough?" Sherlock presumed.
"I admit it was a moment of weakness, and yet he...well he came upon me. I was just not brave enough to debate it. I am a man, just as any of us are. I have weaknesses, and perhaps one of those weaknesses is an attractive man who seems to desire me." John admitted quickly. "I will not deny it."
"An attractive man." Sherlock repeated quickly. "I never thought my tutor would speak those words."
"I do hope I can remain as your tutor even after I have spoken them." John muttered.
"I won't discriminate, Mr. Watson. Love is complicated but sex is not. We are all just animals in the end, with desires that need to be met." Sherlock grumbled. John nodded, easing into the door of the car so as to keep himself just about as far from his master as he could manage. He felt ashamed, so terribly ashamed, and yet he felt better knowing that they were now on the same page, transparent with each other despite their previous assumptions. Sherlock may be fouled, as he claimed, though he was sitting across from a man equally distasteful, perhaps even worse so! John's desires may be perfectly alien to the man he was seated next to, the married man. Certainly John was a fool to assume Sherlock did not take advantage of the women who meandered about the Dollhouse, with all his money and power he certainly could attract them without having to spend a dime! He was beautiful, and such looks will get you far in life. Though John felt ashamed; almost humiliated for the way he had acted upon their visit to Mycroft Holmes. Their crimes of passion were on different levels entirely, and here John was with the worse end of the stick! Even though he had Sherlock's firm confirmation that his actions were not condoned he still felt as if he had lost a layer of trust which had at one time been shared between them, one which had dissolved with their conversation and could never be fully repaired. It was revealed now that they both had vices, that they both strayed off the path of moral righteousness when their most animalistic desires took hold. And what kind of men did that make them, if not perfectly human after all?