To Be Like That Of A God

Can't Be Shared Between Mortals

"I thought she'd never leave." Sherlock admitted quickly before grabbing a plate from the stack lined along the buffet and shoving it into Victor's chest. "Get me food, good food of course, while I find myself a seat as far away from humans as I possibly can."
"Yes, and for me as well. And do lay off the sweets, I'm on something of a diet." Mycroft agreed, following his brother as quickly as he could while Sherlock wandered through the rounded tables, looking for an unoccupied spot. When they finally found seats well near the corner of the ballroom they were finally able to unbutton their tail coats and relax, wearing the identical scowl that played upon their faces whenever they were stuck in a situation they deemed inferior to themselves.
"You seem rather found of Ms. Hooper." Mycroft observed finally, sitting up so straight that it seemed his head was being lifted by an unseen cord fixed to the ceiling. Sherlock mimicked his posture however a teasing smile played across his face, rolling his eyes in disgust and trying to spot Victor as he appeared out of the crowd. Thankfully the servant was nowhere to be found, presumably still trying to get them both their dinners.
"Oh of course I'm not fond, I can't stand that woman. I can't stand her parties either. I'm simply playing the part she expects me to play, for she can't quite grasp the idea that every man doesn't fall head over heels in love with her the moment their gazes meet." Sherlock sighed miserably, fiddling with the silverware that waited patiently on the table cloth before him. Mycroft sighed doubtfully, chuckling to himself and sitting back in his chair, his black eyes scanning the crowd with an expression of shameless disgust.
"My baby brother, all grown up and falling in love." Mycroft teased with a laugh.
"I am not falling in love, how dare you accuse me of such an atrocity!" Sherlock exclaimed horrifically, shaking his head in self-defense.
"Oh well a wedding will cost money, it certainly will, however I'm willing to spend any amount to give my dearest sibling the day of his dreams, with his bride of choice sauntering down the aisle draped in...chicken feathers." Mycroft chuckled, and however enraged Sherlock was becoming he couldn't help but laugh along. He tried to contain his laughter however, and for once Sherlock was very happy to see Victor parting through the crowd with two plates laden with delicious looking food. He set them down proudly before their respected diner, rushing along to drape Sherlock's napkin over his lap and looking at Mycroft nervously, as if wondering if he would expect the same treatment.
"Oh don't bother Victor; I'm perfectly capable of unfolding my napkin, unlike some people." Mycroft muttered rather bitterly, shooting an accusing glare over to his brother, who simply chuckled shamelessly.
"If I'm rich enough not to perform such tedious everyday tasks I see no reason to do them myself." Sherlock admitted with a breath of superiority, casting a very thankful glance towards where Victor lingered uncomfortably, his eyes set on Sherlock as if asking a question he dare not express out loud.
"Go fix yourself a plate Victor; I cannot starve you to death any more than I can unfold my own napkin." Sherlock exclaimed, shooing Victor carelessly away before picking up his knife and fork and staring hungrily down at the plate of delicacies Victor had picked out for him. Over the years Victor had gotten to know Sherlock's likes and dislikes, knowing not to pick any sort of dish that included fish or beets or dill, and by doing so he was able to prepare Sherlock a dinner worth eating most every time. And tonight, of course, was no exception. Sherlock was perfectly happy with the arrangement of foods that Victor had picked out for him, and before Victor had even taken his first bite of his own food Sherlock had finished and was sipping at his glass of ice water, waiting for Victor to get the message to clear his dish away. However when the meal was finished Sherlock knew all too well that the dancing had to begin, and as predicted almost as soon as Victor had whisked away his plate Molly Hooper had returned, dragging Sherlock off to the dance floor in a breath of excitement, making Mycroft chuckle in supposed knowingness and Victor scowl in disgust. Sherlock was disgusted as well, however over the years he had become an expert in hiding his distaste. He took Molly's hand in his own and brought her to the dance floor, trying to match pace with her very dainty footsteps and pick up the swaying music of the lovely violins. For a while they danced, Molly laughing in excitement and her soft hand writhing in Sherlock's as she tried to get a better grip. Sherlock forced a smile onto his face the whole time, however as soon as she began to step on his feet with her stupid little shoes he decided he had had enough. That was about thirty seconds in, and their dancing continued for about twenty minutes before finally the orchestra reverted from the upbeat dancing songs to a rather low, drawn out sort of melody. Molly paused momentarily, her head spinning on her neck for a moment while she blinked away the dizziness, still with Sherlock's hand clenched in her own. Sherlock wasn't very dizzy, mostly because she had been the one to spin the entire time, however he was very thankful that the music had ceased. Maybe she would think this lull would be the perfect time to take a break, and then Sherlock could make his own excuses and run back to where Victor and Mycroft were sitting still. He could see from the dance floor that his two companions hadn't moved, in fact he was willing to bet that they hadn't said a word to each other since he had left them. Victor's poisonous glare was evident even from this far away, and so Sherlock gave a laugh of vileness and took Molly into his arms once more.
"It would be shame to let this melody go to waste." Sherlock decided in a low voice, swaying along to the low drone of the music and staring fixedly over Molly's shoulder, so as to avoid looking directly into her rather annoying sparkly eyes. She was beginning to talk once more, talking so loudly that Sherlock could barely hear the music over her ranting about the food and the guests once more. Sherlock nodded along whenever she paused to take a breath, watching as the scenery changed every time they pivoted with the masses of dancers on the floor. Suddenly, however, Sherlock caught a glimpse of a man, a very lost looking man at that, lingering next to the wall on his own. He was wearing a rather shabby looking frock coat with his hands hidden away in his pockets, his eyes watching the dancers with a look of envy. As soon as Sherlock spotted this stranger he felt something spark, as though his presence had been the equivalent of flint and steel buried striking in his chest. For a moment Sherlock was tempted to push Molly out of his way in an attempt to introduce himself, however he finally decided that this situation was best left to good decision making and not any hasty and presumably overwhelming attempts to get acquainted. Sherlock attempted to be patient, however as the music slowed to an even more romantic melody he couldn't help but let his eyes linger a little bit longer, watching the strange man in a very odd sense of fixation. Surely he couldn't leave the party without a formal introduction, and so with every spin and pivot Sherlock was worried that the man would slip away when he was out of Sherlock's sight, making him incredibly anxious whenever his eyes were forcefully focused elsewhere.
"Molly, who is that man standing there?" Sherlock wondered as he looked over Molly's shoulder to the man near the wall, suddenly realizing that surely Molly wouldn't be able to see without turning her head all the way around like an owl.
"Let's spin, and I'll tell you." She assured in a breathless voice, easing ever closer before Sherlock was able to take a step backwards and turn them so that she her eyes could easily spot the man through the crowd.
"Which man are we talking about?" She wondered in an amused tone. Sherlock thought for a moment, remembering the man's hair, his dress, his stature...
"He's blonde and rather short, standing up against the wall next to the window." Sherlock whispered, trying to make their conversation a little bit less than obvious however Molly seemed insistent on staring, her eyes not even blinking as she tried to spot the man in question. For a moment she searched, scanning the crowd before finally her gaze set upon a spot, presumably the man whose identity was unknown, and she let loose a rather sarcastic laugh, turning them back around so that Sherlock could stare at the man and she didn't have to look at him anymore. He stared once more at the man as the two of them swayed back and forth, however he had now lost the rhythm of the music and was purely following Molly's movements.
"Who is he then?" Sherlock whispered after a moment's silence, and Molly's face regained that rather crude smile once more.
"Well if we're looking at the same man I'd say that he's John Watson." Molly admitted with a smile. Sherlock looked at her in confusion, not expecting to hear a name he didn't recognize it.
"I haven't heard of him before." Sherlock admitted in an almost guilty manner, however Molly laughed once again, as if Sherlock's guilt amused her.
"I wouldn't expect you to, he's a friend of a friend, presumably he shouldn't even be here at all. The poor man doesn't belong at a party like this; he draws too much attention to himself in his moth eaten frock coat." Molly admitted, seeming quite pleased with herself as she called John out on his financial troubles. Sherlock's heart gave a great lurch and suddenly he felt a feeling he was quite unaccustomed to feeling...something like that of pity. Could such a creature really be such an outcast, standing alone by the window simply because he underestimated his ability to pluck a rich girl from the crowd? Such a man didn't deserve such self-criticism, for even from here Sherlock could tell that there was something special about the man who stood before him.
"Introduce us." Sherlock demanded instantly, letting his hands fall away from Molly's as he walked carelessly away from her.
"Sherlock!" Molly exclaimed in annoyance, her cheeks heating up in shame as she followed the retreating back of her dancing partner. "I don't think you'll like him very much, he's a very reserved man, honestly I don't even know why I invited him if he's just going to stand around and not talk to any of my guests."
"I think we'll get along just fine." Sherlock assured, lingering in the masses of the crowd so that it didn't look like he was too eager to get acquainted. The man stood there as he had before, almost making it seem as though he hadn't moved all night. His arms were crossed and his face blank, watching the dancers with still eyes, as if they didn't entertain him all that much at all. It was obvious that his brain was working faster than his body, and however disinterested he appeared to be from the outside Sherlock was sure that he was fantasizing of what might be possible if he were one of those dancers with a beautiful woman on his arm. Sherlock was sure that he was watching the men twirl their women in envy. Molly sighed heavily, seeing that her own persistence could never subdue Sherlock's newfound obsession and so she took his arm rather moodily in her own and marched over to where John Watson was leaning, turning her exasperated air into a smile as they approached. John repositioned himself as he saw her approaching, standing on his own two feet as if trying to make it look like he had just wandered over next to the window for a breath of fresh air before returning to the party. However close they were to the dance floor Sherlock was surprised at how peaceful it was where the man was standing, the music was less intense and there was room to move, not only that but there was a soft, cool breeze drafting in from the slightly opened window.
"Oh Molly, it's good to see you! I was actually just thinking of heading out, I've got to get to..." John started, however Molly shushed him with a single finger, a smile stretching upon her face as she edged Sherlock just a little bit closer to her arm.
"Before you go John, I'd like you to meet my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes." Molly insisted, displaying Sherlock as if he were some sort of trinket to gawk at. Sherlock went to force a smile onto his face before realizing with a rather horrible start that he was already smiling, as if his body had actually displayed emotion without being told to do so! John nodded, looking up at Sherlock with an almost preoccupied look in his eyes, as if Sherlock was just one of the many people he had been forcefully introduced to this evening. Sherlock, however, found himself rather transfixed, and instead of holding out a hand to shake he found himself bowing his head respectfully, as if this middle class man had somehow become his superior.
"Yes Mr. Holmes, a pleasure." John agreed, clearing his voice and seeming to be thinking of something else to say, other than of course, his goodbyes. Sherlock didn't mind, however, for he could think of nothing else to say as well.
"The pleasure is all mine." Sherlock assured in a rather weak voice, and with that the first smile appeared on John's lips, the first of many, presumably.