To Be Like That Of A God

An Up And Coming Threat

            Victor lingered by Sherlock's bedroom door as if he was unsure whether or not he was allowed to go in or not. Dinner had just concluded for the servants which meant it was just about time to get Sherlock pampered up for his dinner date with his brother and a handful of other high class members of society that regularly visit just to give a more elegant air to the manor itself. Rich people always liked to congregate together; supposedly it makes them feel a bit better about themselves when inviting rich yet slightly less fortunate people into their homes, usually those on the lower end of the upper tax bracket. Some of the families are the opposite of course, they suspect that the moment they have a shiny penny that they're allowed to invite all of the richer folks to their house for a gala, trying to include themselves in the upper class social circles without really being invited. As for the Holmes family they preferred to invite those they actually had an interest in talking to and so there was a mix of both sides of the rich spectrum, the Holmes brothers themselves falling somewhere in the middle or at least they usually did. Victor wasn't sure about what was going on with the money; however Mycroft was looking to be more stressed out than he usually did and since he had been running the numbers that probably wasn't a good sign. Victor knew it was out of his authority to ask and so he stayed quiet, waiting for Sherlock to inquire so that he could ask the lesser of the two intimidating brothers. Victor didn't know the guest list for tonight's dinner however he knew of the people he hoped wouldn't show up at their doorstep. He had taken to despising some of the dinner guests, most of which were all female; however he had just recently added Greg Lestrade and John Watson to the list. The way Sherlock talked to that horrible man made shivers run down Victor's spine, how dare he look so soft, how dare he look like he was actually interested in the conversation at hand! Sherlock was usually disgusted with the townspeople, what made this one any different? It was because they met at that party most likely, should they have stumbled into the shoe shiner before the party Sherlock wouldn't have given him a moment's thought, most likely he would've been talking to Victor the whole time he had been in that chair, kicking John in the chin every time he readjusted himself in the chair. And they would've talked and laughed and maybe Sherlock would've let Victor drape his arm around his shoulder, maybe he would've held his hand and played with each of his fingers like he did when he felt particularly fond. That little puddle occurrence might've gone much better had Sherlock skipped Molly Hooper's party or just ignored the man standing by the window on that dreadful night. Victor sighed heavily, standing in the beautiful hallway of the magnificent manor and rolling back and forth on his heels on the lush velvet carpeting below his feet. He didn't know whether or not Sherlock wanted to be disturbed, however he knew for a fact that despite Sherlock's preferences dinner was approaching quickly and their guests would be arriving any moment. Victor sighed, turning the door handle and pushing the door open ever so slightly, pressing his eye to the crack between the door and the frame and seeing the tall, hunched figure of Sherlock Holmes sitting cross legged on his bed. He was sitting atop the blankets with something in his hands, staring at it intently as though it would reveal its secrets to him through pressure alone. Victor decided that Sherlock probably wasn't doing anything too important, and so with a breath he pushed open the door, making it seem like he had just strolled in from the hallway rather than having stood there for a good five minutes contemplating whether or not he should go in. Sherlock looked up quickly before sighing in relief, as if he hadn't wanted to be disturbed by anyone but his faithful servant. Victor smiled at him quietly before closing the door, walking into the bedroom and lingering a bit awkwardly by the bed on which Sherlock sat.
"I'm quite sure Mr. Watson wrote down Greg Lestrade's address, not his own." Sherlock said finally, holding up the slip of paper that John had scribbled on only a couple of hours previous. Victor sighed heavily, not knowing what he had expected from Sherlock's attentiveness. Of course he should be focused on John Watson, it seemed as though everything was about that man anymore!
"Why on earth would he do that?" Victor wondered, holding out his hand for clarification. Sherlock, however, held fast to the paper, deciding that it wasn't worth risking his now most treasured possession by giving it over to his servant.
"Don't ask me, he seemed like a mysterious man all around. We might've expected a sort of enigma from him, considering he's a shoe shiner who got to attend Molly Hooper's gala." Sherlock pointed out, falling back into his pillows and holding the piece of paper to his heart almost lovingly, as if he was trying to convey feelings to the paper that he could only hope would be passed onto the man who had written on it in the first place. Victor scowled, making his way over to the wardrobe and scanning through the multiple combinations of fancy attire Sherlock owned.
"I don't like this John Watson, I don't trust him very much." Victor admitted finally, seriously downplaying his hatred for the man that lurked on the side of the street.
"And why ever not? He seemed very down to earth, not usually the type of man I would interact with..."  Sherlock started.
"Based on finances alone." Victor added glumly.
"However he's charming in his own way." Sherlock finished with a bit of stubbornness in his voice, as if he didn't want to hear Victor's derogatory comments before he could say what he thought needed to be said. Victor paused as he pushed the clothes aside, his fingers trailing down the fabric in one of Sherlock's suits as his scowl only deepened.
"Charming?" Victor clarified. Sherlock was silent, however he was beginning to move around, Victor could hear the mattress straining under his shifting weight.
"Oh you know what I mean; he's a pleasant man, certainly able to carry on a conversation." Sherlock corrected carelessly, as if he saw the error in his words but he just wasn't bothered enough to fix it.
"He's a shoe shiner." Victor reminded him.
"He's a human all the same." Sherlock sighed, getting to his feet and shuffling about on the carpet. Victor didn't know how to respond to that simply because he was seeing an entirely new side to Sherlock, a very hypocritical one at that. Sherlock usually talked about the lower members of society as if they were nothing more than animals, and now here he was talking about one as if it was his equal, as if it was worth a mention, worth respect! How dare Sherlock call John Watson charming when he would just as confidently have kicked him out of his walking path a week before!
"How about this shirt for dinner tonight my Lord?" Victor wondered, holding up a white shirt and a black jacket to go over top of it, a nice simple outfit that was sure to make Sherlock look absolutely radiant when he sat down amongst his guests.
"Yes Victor, that is fine." Sherlock agreed, not even looking in Victor's general direction at all. He was staring out the window, watching the ocean as it churned from a distance. The rocky cliffs were good at keeping the house safe from any large waves, it was strategically built on the edge of a cliff so that they could have a good ocean view and a short (however nearly vertical) walk down to the beaches below. All the while Sherlock was dressing they didn't say a word, Victor busied himself with doing up the buttons and flattening out the fabric and tying up his bowtie (just another example of Sherlock's hypocritical nature) however their skin never touched, Victor decided that tonight wouldn't be the best of times to take advantage of Sherlock's beauty. He was beginning to suspect that it was becoming reserved for someone else, and that someone was certainly the least worthy candidate of such an honor. When Sherlock was dressed Victor followed him timidly down the stairs, watching from a distance as Sherlock walked into the dining room to greet his guests, all of which had arrived not a moment before he. Out of all the voices exchanged Victor heard Molly Hooper's, that recognizable caw of affection she always uttered when he came into her line of vision. Oh how disgusting she was, however for some reason she was becoming less and less of a threat ever since John had joined in on this little game of affection. Surely Sherlock wouldn't bat an eye at an annoying girl when John was still playing on his mind; however there came the question of Sherlock's sexuality as a whole. Victor sat down upon the stairs, knowing that no one would bother coming up or down them since dinner was about to begin, and pondered some of life's biggest questions. Victor himself hadn't even known of homosexuality for the longest of times, in fact it only seemed to be relevant to his life once he and Sherlock grew up a bit more, once he noticed that his master had blossomed into the most stunning of life forms imaginable. The concept of a woman had always disgusted Victor for some odd reason, even as a child he had stayed mostly to himself, unwilling to mingle with the other boys and completely indifferent to the girls who tried to include him in their games. Despite his lack of money when he lived with his mother he had thought himself to be much more respectable than his peers, deeming them barbarians and himself their ruler long before he understood the monetary value of power and dominance. He began working after his mother had died to scarlet fever; he had been put into an orphanage for a short while before the Holmes parents came looking for help from a boy his age. The money he collected was to go to the orphanage until he turned eighteen however they promised to save him some sort of share of it until he grew old enough to spend it wisely. At first he was hired just to be a friend to Sherlock, mostly just helping him make his bed and fold his clothes and set out outfits he thought looked good. As they grew Victor was given more responsibilities and eventually he became entirely in charge of Sherlock's wellbeing, and as the years progressed the two of them grew into almost inseparable companions. He thought that would never change. Victor only noticed his attraction to Sherlock a couple of years ago, nearly the same time the women began to flock like Sherlock like birds to seed. At first Sherlock seemed flattered, he always talked to the women who approached him, always thanked them for the compliments received, sometimes they even bought him little trinkets or roses or something of that sort. He never seemed very keen on returning their attention, however, and he became very bored of the women in only a few short months. Victor was made self-aware when a rather birdlike woman named Janine had become a little bit more than fascinated with Sherlock, and after a few parties attended with each other she became daring, she kissed him. It had been a very wild affair; in fact Victor still only remembered it in a blur. They had just come back from dancing; Victor had been standing aside the door with Mycroft, waiting to escort Sherlock back home. Janine was a little bit intoxicated, stumbling around in her high heels and clutching to Sherlock's arm as if he were the only thing capable of holding her up. He looked exasperated, that was the one and only thing that stuck into Victor's memory like glue, the way he held her back at arms' length and had a bit of a desperate look on his overwhelmed face. He couldn't have been older than seventeen at the time. As Sherlock was saying goodnight Janine took his face in her hands and kissed him, and he had fallen backwards in surprise, stumbling into the wall with a yelp of horror. As Janine was laughing (she had found his disgust to be amusing, as if he was simply pretended to be appalled) Victor felt a flare of hatred, almost like a sort of protectionism for Sherlock, and in flash of color and a burst of red he jumped into action and punched her so hard that he ended up breaking her nose. It was funny now, however he had nearly been arrested, and since that night the Holmes brothers had never been invited back to her parent's household. It was no loss to be honest, Sherlock and Mycroft were both very happy that Victor had taken the initiative to do what they all longed to do from the moment they met that horrible girl, and for a while they had looked upon the situation as something to laugh about and recreate. The whole situation had lingered in Victor's mind for weeks, however, until he finally focused not on the justice that had been served but on the reasoning behind it all. Any normal servant, man or woman alike, would've let something like that slide. They would've been appalled, certainly, however they wouldn't have jumped into action like their life was on the line. They wouldn't have hit a woman like that. And so he wondered what it was about her kissing Sherlock that bothered him so much and finally he was able to diagnose it one night while he and Sherlock were sitting up late one night, talking like they used to do about deep philosophical questions and drinking multiple cups of tea. Victor remembered looking upon Sherlock as he sat there in his old blue silk dressing gown, sitting with his legs crossed on the bed, leaning up against the headboard with his pale skin contrasting so beautifully against the deep dark of the mahogany. And Victor had looked at him for a moment, finally realizing what a beautiful man he had grown to be, and he had the strangest temptation to just sit forward and kiss him, falling under the same curse that had cost Janine her straight nose. Something had just clicked in him and he felt so drawn, as if he was nothing more than a paperclip drawn to a large magnet. Sherlock had been there and he had been so exposed, he had been so vulnerable, to be honest Victor regretted his lack of action to this day. His life would've been so much easier had he just leaned in for that kiss, maybe it would've meant something, maybe it would've been accepted...Ever since that night Victor had a need to be closer to Sherlock, ever since that night he felt like their friendship had morphed into something much more beautiful, he felt like he was meant to be closer to Sherlock than any other person in the world. Sherlock lived in his dreams, and he lived in his heart, and he lived in his soul. Every movement, every breath, every syllable pronounced from Sherlock's lips mesmerized Victor from that moment on, never before had he realized how entrancing he was and how tempting he was. Suddenly women were even more irrelevant than before, suddenly he just didn't find himself uninterested he found himself disgusted, even the most beautiful woman looked like molded mud when Sherlock was living on this earth! The only problem was that Victor doubted Sherlock knew of his fascination, and he doubted that Sherlock shared it in the end. That was the situation with John, that was the situation with Molly as well. Victor didn't know which of the two were more tempting to Sherlock; he didn't know whether or not Sherlock was looking to John for friendship or romance, he didn't know if Sherlock even understood the concept of homosexuality, and if he did would he allow it into his heart or would he shun it as most did, shun it like a disease? Victor didn't want to know, he didn't want to find out, he was perfectly fine with loving Sherlock in secret, as most presumably did, as long as Sherlock didn't begin to drift away from him to a man that was far less beautiful and far less deserving than he. If Sherlock proved to love men then maybe Victor would try his luck, and yet if Sherlock didn't admit to his own sexual orientation then Victor would have to learn to fear women again, fear for the glances that Molly gave him across the table or the moments they spent in each other's presence. Sherlock certainly was a puzzle, one that wouldn't be so easily solved without questions that would make them both extremely uncomfortable. Maybe Victor would just have to let this play out, maybe he would just have to wait and watch, and hope beyond anything that John, whether or not Sherlock ended up loving him or not, would turn out to be a rotten person, rotten to the core. Victor's thoughts were interrupted when a maid walked down the stairs with a heaping basket of dirty laundry, excusing herself and dragging him back to the present involuntarily. Victor blinked for a moment, watching as she bustled along towards the laundry room with her basket in a rather dreamy state. He loved to hide in his thoughts like that; he loved to think on how this had all played out and how he had ended up here, sitting on these very stairs, listening to the soft conversation that was streaming out from under the closed dining room doors. How it had all twisted and turned and morphed itself to seat himself right here right now always fascinated him, and he spent much of his free time sitting around and wondering where he might be had his mother not died or had the orphanage not lent him to the Holmes household in the first place. Surely he wouldn't have been adopted, he would've been spat out into the world as a confused adult without a job or an education, it would've been terrible! And now look where he was, lost and in love, sitting on velvet carpeting in a house that wasn't even his own. He couldn't have been happier, however, it seemed like his life had ensured his living in luxury despite his lack of money, heritage, or opportunity. Some things were simply destined to happen and that was part of the reason he didn't worry too much about the future. If John wasn't meant to end up with Sherlock then certainly something would happen to prevent his being there for long, if Molly wasn't meant to be Sherlock's bride then they'd have a falling out of some sort, it was simply meant to happen it was just a matter of when. It seemed as though despite all of the relationships Sherlock might be able to build they would just fall back down to their shaky foundations and there would be only one person left at the end, only one person fitting enough to stay by Sherlock's side through all of his problems and troubles in life. After all, that had been what Victor was hired to do in the first place. Be there for him. He doubted, however, that Mr. And Mrs. Holmes had ever specified just how long he was supposed to wait. Victor pulled himself to his feet using the polished banister, stretching out his legs and glancing about through the entry hall with its tall sloped ceilings, wooden and trimmed with golden paint, to the white marble floors that glistened after being washed repeatedly throughout the day, to the large windows that let the natural moonlight sift in and illuminate the room in a silvery glow, only adding to the soft light provided by the magnificent chandelier hanging from the middle of the circular dome of a ceiling. It was a beautiful manor, one that would leave most anyone gaping for a better look, and Victor had the pleasure of walking through it at his own free will, made to serve and honor the household and its occupants until the day he died.

A/N: Hey guys! Don't forget to vote for me and my works for the fanfiction awards 2018, more information on my page. Thanks friends :)