To Be Like That Of A God

Listening To His Little Problems

    Victor walked down one of the less traveled halls to the kitchen, meandering through the rows of long tables that were packed with servants and cooks alike, all trying to make and prepare the food that was to go out to the high class guests sitting at the large dining room table just behind the door. Victor sat off to the side, worried that the steam from the large boiling pots would disrupt his beautiful slicked hair, and watched as the people bustled around and tried to get everything cooked and organized. Victor was never very good in the kitchen, which had been figured out the first time they tried to have him serve breakfast for the family, and so he wasn't invited to help however he wasn't asked to leave either. Mrs. Hudson had always taken a liking to him, she had been ancient even when he first started and it seemed that she had remained the grandmother of the house even now. She was a superb cook and an even better human being, always looking out not only for the Holmes brothers but for the servants as well, treating them all as if they were her blood relatives and taking their problems and considerations to heart. Victor always went to her with his little problems, mostly about how he couldn't figure out to resew a button onto one of Sherlock's shirts or possibly inquiring about why the iron wouldn't work, however sometimes he asked personal questions as well, like how to avoid prosecution when you punched an upper class woman in the face. To this day that was one of the only questions she didn't seem to know how to answer. As much as Victor would like to confide his deepest secret with her it almost seemed inappropriate to tie her into something as scandalous and almost sinful as his impossible love. She obviously wouldn't be able to do much to help him with it and she probably wouldn't have any advice to give, other than to go to church and rethink your life choices. That was one of the main problems of homosexuality these days, it was looked at as basically implausible, it was laughed upon, scoffed at, or unmentioned entirely. People saw love between two men or two women as something of a joke, a sinful one at that, and as something that would never happen in real life! If it did the lovers were jailed or punished severely, maybe even put to death! And still their love wasn't validated, it was never looked upon as two hearts connecting it was looked at as more of a disease, tainting their blood and their hearts and disfiguring them until they looked upon their fellow gender and felt a spark of love, of attraction. Well Victor didn't think he was diseased, in fact he didn't think there was anything wrong with him at all. Anyone who was put in close proximity with Sherlock Holmes was bound to feel something, some sort of attraction that couldn't be dismissed simply as a trick of the mind or as a sinful urge, it was love, that unavoidable feeling blossomed from his skin and infested the hearts of anyone, man or woman, that dared to come near. He was the most beautiful human being that ever did live, beauty uncompromised and untainted, and surely it would be enough to drive every human mad with love and lust. Victor wasn't diseased he was just a victim to Sherlock's proximity and to his temptations, there was nothing he could do to push these feelings out of his heart much less shove other feelings over top of them! Sherlock was his love, his one and only, and if anyone tried to call him wrong for thinking that then they were just denying the obvious.
"Victor darling do something more than just sit around and look pretty, dry these desert plates if you will." Mrs. Hudson pleaded, appearing out of nowhere and handing him an already damp towel and gesturing to the stack of freshly washed plates behind him.
"But Mrs. Hudson looking pretty is part of my job description." Victor whined, however he grabbed the towel with a bit of an obnoxious smile. Mrs. Hudson smiled right back however she didn't have time for conversation, instead she vanished almost as quickly as she had appeared and went back to preparing something or other for the brothers and guests in the dining room. Victor handled the plates very carefully, all of them stamped with the Holmes family crest and undoubtedly each the amount of his monthly wages, he certainly didn't want to drop them. However he seemed to make good work of them, going through the whole stack and drying off every last drop of water until they were all shiny and dry, standing in a stack ready to carry pieces of cheesecake and raspberries or whatever Mrs. Hudson had planned for the night. Whatever it was Victor certainly hoped that there might be a piece left over, one that he may get to sneak away before he had to escort Sherlock back up from dinner. After he was done drying the plates Victor was put in charge of drying wine glasses, and after that there was silverware, and then there was pots and pans, in fact it seemed like there was a constant supply of dishes that were being washed for him to dry and it was starting to become quite tedious. So when he finally heard the conversation pick up and the sound of chairs scuffing across the wood he couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, finally he had an excuse to leave the kitchen and this now soaking wet dish towel. Victor meandered out into the entrance hall just in time to see their guests shuffling off for the night, Molly Hooper was among them, dressed in a nice black dress with a very horrible looking fur coat on overtop, trying to fight off the cold as if that thing would repulse the chill away from her. Sherlock was talking to her again, and Victor couldn't help but notice that the two of them were standing off to the side, almost as if he had pulled her over so that he could tell her something before she went off into the night. Victor lingered next to the kitchen door, no one had noticed him yet, and watched with clenched fists as Sherlock said something to her and she giggled, her cheeks blushing up and a smile appearing on his face. Victor simply couldn't watch any longer however it was the equivalent of a tragedy, a carriage accident so to say. You knew that you shouldn't watch, you knew that you couldn't watch, and yet you had to watch. And so Victor kept his eyes focused on the two of them until finally Molly leaned in, almost as if to give him a goodnight kiss, and Sherlock pulled away, a look of disgust playing over his face for a moment before he finally regained his politeness and muttered something, looking repulsed yet apologetic. Victor could breathe easy now; at least he didn't like her in that way, however Molly was starting to look quite disappointed, rearranging her ugly coat and blushing horribly, muttering things without looking him in the eyes. Finally Molly pulled away, her hands dropping from Sherlock's as her coachman lead her out the door into the night, leaving Sherlock to stand in the corner alone, watching her leave with a very relieved look on his dazzling face. Victor was feeling substantially better, finally deciding that he was daring enough to make his way through the thinning crowd of guests and over to where his master stood. He made it look as if he had just arrived and hadn't seen that whole affair, however Sherlock was looking undeniably frazzled, pulling his hand through his curls with his face white as a sheet, almost as if he had seen a ghost.
"Are you alright my Lord?" Victor wondered politely as Sherlock's eyes finally realized that his servant was standing idly by. He breathed a sigh of relief, shaking his head and pursing his lips for a moment, staring back out the door as if expecting Molly to run back inside and declare her love for him.
"Oh what a night it's been." Sherlock breathed, glancing over towards the crowd and freezing momentarily. Victor mimicked him, following his eyes to where Mycroft was standing, saying goodnight to some of their guests all while staring right back at his brother with a smile on his face, a sort of knowing smile at that. For some reason Mycroft's expression bothered Victor, and based on Sherlock's reaction it gave him an uneasy feeling as well. However Mycroft finally looked away and the two boys decided that it was best not to question what was going on in that man's brain, surely they would figure out sooner or later, and so they headed upstairs to Sherlock's bedroom to get ready for bed.
"Run me a bath Victor, if you will." Sherlock sighed heavily, shedding his jacket and kicking off his shoes carelessly for Victor to pick up after him.
"A stressful night I presume?" Victor wondered, scampering off to the bathroom to plug up the large iron bathtub and fill it with hot, steaming water. Victor was now able to run the perfect temperature bath for Sherlock; he had it down to a science. Sherlock liked very hot baths and so if when Victor submerged his hand he had to recoil it in agony then it was perfect and ready for his master. Since Sherlock seemed tense Victor added lots of soap and bubbles, the entire bathroom smelling of roses and lilac in a calming, steaming sort of way. The mirror had already fogged up and the windows were now completely useless, the cold air from the outside and the warm air from in the bathroom creating a thick layer of fog on the panes. Nevertheless, to ensure Sherlock's privacy, Victor drew the curtains, testing the water once more before opening the door up for Sherlock to get in. Sherlock, he saw, had already swapped his dinner clothes for nothing but a thin dressing gown tied tightly around his body, and he was now standing at his dresser and reading over something carelessly, his eyes barely even moving as if he had read the words a million times before.
"My Lord, you bath is ready." Victor announced, sliding out of the bathroom to let Sherlock pass into the bathroom and get himself situated in the bathtub. Victor had always given Sherlock his respected privacy; especially since his attraction had flared up into an undeniable obsession he thought it was almost unfair to see Sherlock in his most natural state without formal consent. Of course, being a servant, Victor was perfectly eligible to see him completely undressed however he always thought that was rather wrong, and so he gave Sherlock privacy in times like this. Once Sherlock was in the bath, however, the bubbles and the soaps added a layer of privacy and so Victor could go back in and regulate the temperature or wash Sherlock's hair or anything he wanted, however it was the transitional stages that he usually avoided. Sherlock had just assumed that Victor had gotten modest over the years; he never suspected that there was a layer of respect and consent that came along with being direly in love. He heard the telltale splashing before a period of silence, and so Victor peered cautiously back into the bathroom to see that Sherlock was perfectly concealed in a layer of soap suds, already trying to submerge his head so that he could get his curls all wet and soapy. Sherlock was much too tall of course, and his white knees poked out of the little tub, looking like two pale mountains with their peaks towering high above the clouds (soap suds).
"Is it the right temperature for you my Lord?" Victor wondered, picking up Sherlock's discarded robe and placing it gently on the hook, muttering his disappointment to see that Sherlock had splashed it with water as he had gotten into the tub.
"Yes Victor it's perfect." Sherlock assured, waving his arms around in the water as if to show his enjoyment, soap suds threatening to overtake him as small waves sent them closer and closer to his chin which say just above the water line.
"Good, I added extra bubbles this time." Victor admitted with a little smile. Sherlock just laughed thankfully, observing the suds with appreciation and breathing in their relaxing aroma.
"Would you wash my hair? I'm simply too tired to go through that effort." Sherlock admitted strenuously, as if washing his own hair was this exhausting process. Victor simply nodded, knowing that most every night Sherlock found it beyond his power to lift his own arms, and so he walked over to the cabinet, sorting through the shampoos they had on stock and plucking one that he thought would provide a nice relaxing aroma.
"Was dinner really that bad?" Victor wondered, knowing exactly why Sherlock was so exasperated however he wanted to see if Sherlock would find it in himself to admit it without too much prying. Sometimes Sherlock chose to be secretive about his issues with women, as if he thought it would hurt Victor's feelings to know what was going on in his supposed love life, however tonight he wore his anxiety on his face, making it ever so obvious to pick up on his distress. Surely he would want to confide the night's events to the only person in his life that would actually understand.