To Be Like That Of A God

I'm Dealing With a Child

    When Sherlock awoke he noticed immediately that Victor was treating him with a surprising lack of cheerfulness. He only muttered his morning greetings before throwing the curtains open very agressivley, taking the time to vigorously shake the dust out of the fabric before walking over to the other window to let the harsh sunlight stream in. Sherlock wasn't entirely sure why Victor was mad, surely Sherlock was the one who had every reason to be bitter and yet here was Victor, acting as if Sherlock had betrayed him or something ridiculous like that. It was all because of John that Victor gave him the cold shoulder, for the boy had made it increasingly clear that he wanted nothing to do with that man at all. It wasn't Sherlock's fault that he wanted to get to know John better, in fact his interest in this curious shoe shiner was due entirely to the fact that he hadn't many friends from the lower circles, in fact he didn't have many friends at all. Maybe John Watson could be a first, and obviously that bothered Victor more than he would like to share.
"Are you upset with me?" Sherlock wondered carelessly, pulling his warm blankets up to his chin and nestling in a cocoon like state of warmth.
"No I'm not upset." Victor snapped, sounding as if he was furious even as he answered the question.
"Now that's a lie." Sherlock decided with pursed lips.
"It's not." Victor muttered, rummaging through the wardrobe in an attempt to find an outfit for Sherlock to wear today. Sherlock sighed heavily, sitting up on his elbows so that he could watch the back of Victor's head as he searched, neither of them speaking for a moment.
"So are we going to be playing the adjective game? You're not upset you're just..."
"Disappointed." Victor said flatly.
"Oh now you sound like Mycroft." Sherlock groaned, flopping back onto his pillows in disgust. Victor hummed in agreement, hanging his choice outfit up on the wardrobe for Sherlock to observe.
"No I don't think I'll be needing that today." Sherlock mumbled, staring at the ceiling and suspecting that he heard Victor's confusion. The boy stopped, he knew that for a fact.
"Surely my Lord you're not planning on staying in your dressing gown all day?" Victor muttered, his anger overtaken by a sense of curiosity that sounded almost hopeful. Oh what a poor excuse for a flirt he was.
"No I think today we'll go down to the beach, I've nothing better to do with my day." Sherlock decided finally, lifting his head so that he could Victor in the midst of his smile. As soon as Victor noticed him watching, however, he let his smile drop back into a face of indifference, shrugging his shoulders as if the announcement of a day at the beach didn't thrill him. He was lying of course, swimming was his favorite activity and yet he refused to admit it purely because he was too stubborn to let his anger diminish so quickly.
"That sounds lovely my Lord." Victor mumbled, putting the clothes back into the closet and taking out Sherlock's rather ugly striped bathing suit. It was a horrid design really, made for modest men in a very modest age, almost like a waterproof singlet. However it was the only design made for men these days and so it was Sherlock's only option, and so he must sacrifice his beauty so that he could splash around in the waves, in the end it was a fair trade off.
"I don't feel much like moving Victor, would you mind fetching me breakfast?" Sherlock wondered miserably, rolling over in his bed and pressing his face very lazily into his pillows. Victor sighed heavily, crossing his arms and looking rather reluctant to comply to every one of Sherlock's wishes, seemingly forgetting that that was literally his only job.
"You could grab something for yourself as well. I'm sure Mycroft would only be too happy to sacrifice some of his fruit salad." Sherlock added, talking into the pillow yet he was quite sure Victor had heard him, for the servant dashed off without another word. Victor was always very fond of the cinnamon buns that were served in the dining room and, being a servant, he was never allowed to treat himself to one without his master's consent. Sherlock knew that he was probably playing Victor's game exactly how he was intended to, treating Victor to breakfast and a day at the beach simply because he was getting grumpy, however Sherlock wasn't going to give Victor the thing he ultimately wanted, for him to forget John Watson entirely. No that wouldn't be happening anytime soon and so Sherlock decided to please Victor now, while he still could, before he had to make that unappreciated announcement that he had a letter to be sent. The plan was to not tell Mycroft of anything that was happening, he wasn't to know anything of John's arrival nor of his profession until after he had already arrived. Mycroft was never one to kick someone out of his house, and even shoe shiners had a place at his table as long as he wasn't entirely sure of what they did for a living. John would be Sherlock's little secret, one of his worst kept secrets at that but a secret all the same. Only those who knew John well would know how undeserving he was to be invited to such a party and yet those who knew were those who also didn't care. A nice man was a pleasant one to have around, despite the size of his bank account. Sherlock sighed heavily, glancing over at the addressed letter that was sitting on his desk, ready to be sent. Surely he wasn't making a mistake in sending this letter, was he? Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted with Victor's rather abrupt arrival, he kicked open the door with his foot and was balancing a large tray filled with plates of breakfast food, an arrangement of eggs, meats, breads and fruits to be picked from and enjoyed. Sherlock smiled at him and yet his niceties were not exchanged, and so he simply sat up against the back of the bed, his exposed chest shivering in the chilly morning air.
"Could you please grab me my robe?" Sherlock wondered, glancing longingly to where his nice warm robe hung on a post next to his bed. Victor set the tray down onto the bed, muttering things to Sherlock about how he wasn't supposed to knock it over, and went to fetch the robe from where it hung. Victor grabbed the robe and threw it rather coldly towards him, as if he couldn't care less whether or not Sherlock got hit in the head with a face full of fabric.
"Victor don't be a child." Sherlock snapped, pulling on his robe and snuggling into its warmth, tying it tightly around his chest and looking hungrily to the breakfast buffet that was spread out before him. Victor didn't respond, instead he slid the large tray next to where Sherlock was sitting and watched him expectantly.
"Victor." Sherlock whined, crossing his arms and not touching the food that was set before him.
"My Lord I really don't have anything to say." Victor said finally.
"Wrong, you just said something right there." Sherlock corrected, trying to be funny in his own horrible unamusing manner.
"I have nothing more to say." Victor corrected with a frown.
"Well I want answers, and being my servant, you have to comply. So tell me what's got you all hormonal." Sherlock demanded, siting with a rather victorious smile on his face before taking an empty plate from the tray and filling it up with all of his favorite foods.
"I'm not hormonal my Lord I am simply apprehensive about your new choice of companion. That and I am rather offended that you threw me out last night after saying what I believed." Victor added flatly, crossing his arms and glaring down at Sherlock as if daring him to respond. And so of course, Sherlock simply had to respond.
"I'm not asking for your opinion on my new companion Victor, in fact I am rather fascinated with Mr. Watson and I aspire to learn more about him." Sherlock admitted finally.
"I am worried that he plans on taking advantage of you my Lord. You are a rich, sophisticated man and he is no more than a street merchant, he will do most anything he can to please you. I am not sure where your intentions lie, however I am quite sure that every last whim of yours would be satisfied simply because he is looking for donations." Victor admitted finally, his anger giving way to a rather touching sense of protectiveness. Victor always was so careful about who Sherlock interacted with however this time Sherlock wasn't seeking his opinion, for it was usually biased and he always tried to turn Sherlock against men and women who were perfectly acceptable acquaintances. Usually Sherlock found Victor's carefulness to be somewhat charming, however at a time like this when he was completely set on meeting with John Watson on a more personal level; well Victor's opinions seemed to be nothing more than background noise to an even louder piece of anticipative music.
"I am not suspicious of John Watson as of now, however I will do everything I can to ensure that no money passes hands during our evening spent together." Sherlock assured with something he thought to be a reassuring smile. Nevertheless Victor seemed altogether disgusted with the idea of Sherlock spending an evening with John, and despite Sherlock's insistence that he sit down and enjoy the breakfast the had picked for the both of them he decided that it was best to let Victor simmer alone and work over his problems without the constant reminder of the beauty he was to be expected to share. The time at the beach proved to be just as uncomfortable as the seemingly kind, generous breakfast that Sherlock had offered Victor that morning. There was every reason for that servant to be enjoying himself and yet he insisted on being grumpy during the whole of their very short trip. Sherlock was never one to enjoy the outdoors for long, and usually he took to confiding himself under a very large, shaded umbrella. Pale skin was one of his best features and he certainly didn't intend on jeopardizing it for something as unimportant as a day at the beach. It was only Victor and he that made the trek down to the pebbled beach, and in the end Victor was the only one to go in the water at all. Sherlock had the servant lay out a towel on a flat rock, setting up an umbrella overtop to protect Sherlock from the harmful rays of the sun all while warming himself not unlike a reptile on the heated rocks underneath. He lay there for a couple of hours, falling asleep ever so often before repositioning himself on the uncomfortable rock and falling asleep once more. Victor came over to check on him a couple of times, seeming to have gotten over his bitterness every time he rushed over, sopping wet, to make sure that Sherlock was still alive. Of course Sherlock was alive and after the third time he was beginning to become a little bit annoyed at Victor's constant persistence, obviously he wasn't dead he was just sleeping, everyone was motionless when they were asleep! After the fifth time of Victor running over and prodding him with pruned fingers Sherlock decided that it was probably time for them to head home, he had relaxed long enough and he could already feel his back starting to sting with the unavoidable horrors of sunburn. Not a word was exchanged however Sherlock felt that, in some ways, Victor was much more pleasant after having exercised and splashed around for a couple of hours. He at least wasn't wearing that smile on his face. When they returned to the room Sherlock thought it best to dress and deliver the letter to their servants himself, deciding that he shouldn't jeopardize Victor's sudden good mood just because of a silly little post office trip. He would give it to another servant, such as Mrs. Hudson, who was always one to help him out with little things like this. Besides, she was sure to have her own errands to run and her own post to deliver. In the worst case scenario she could always just drop the letter off in the post box when she went out to do her daily grocery trip, filling her basket with foods for the Holmes brothers and using their money to pay for the lot of it. And so Sherlock bathed very quickly (in an attempt to get the sand and salt from his skin and hair) and dressed in his dressing gown, knowing that it would take the moody Victor quite a long time to pick out his outfit for dinner tonight. They were to attend dinner at another of their rich friend's estates, Major James Sholto, a much respected military man who had left with an honorable discharge for some reason or another. Sherlock was sure that he would hear that story, along with many others, tonight at dinner. Major Sholto was always one to boast about his military past, treating as if it somehow put him above the rest. To be honest Sherlock never cared much for the man, he talked too much and listened too little, and despite his many stories he seemed to forget that not everyone in the world knew all the very complicated jargon of the military. Sherlock had never even held a gun before, so how was he supposed to understand what on earth that man was talking about when he was talking about different models, tanks, and trenches? Thankfully Sholto was a rather secluded man, and so as horrible as his dinner parties were they weren't held very frequently, and so it was something of a relief to know that Sherlock only had to struggle through this dreadful conversation once or twice a year. While Victor was laying out his dinner clothes Sherlock excused himself, obviously going unnoticed to Victor or he would have asked where Sherlock was going. Sherlock grabbed the letter from his desk and stole out into the hallway, creeping along the lush velvet carpets, descending down the grand staircase, and walking casually into the kitchen to find his ever so faithful cook. Mrs. Hudson was, as promised, standing behind the stove with a spatula in her hands, poking around at some ground beef in the frying pan. Sherlock had to wonder what she was cooking tonight, due purely to the fact that he wouldn't be there to attend.
"Sherlock what on earth are you doing down here in the kitchens?" Mrs. Hudson asked with a laugh, setting down the spatula and pushing the ground beef onto another burner on the stove, as if she was intending to focus her full attention on whatever Sherlock had come to say. Sherlock smiled rather humbly, shrugging innocently as if he was trying to make it seem like he had come to the kitchens purely to say hello.
"I need a favor, if at all possible." Sherlock admitted with a smile. Mrs. Hudson nodded, wiping her hands (most likely having been splashed with grease) onto her old white apron and nodding her head in anticipation.
"Anything Sherlock, you know I'm always here to help." she assured with a smile. Sherlock nodded, holding out the letter rather reluctantly as if he didn't want it to change hands so unceremoniously. She could be trusted more than Victor, however, to put that letter where Sherlock intended it to be put. He was sure that if it had been given to Victor the servant would have conveniently dropped it into a puddle of mud, or maybe the post office just happened to be closed for some sort of unknown holiday. No, that letter was not safe in Victor's hands and so it must go to someone a little bit more trustworthy.
"I need you to deliver this letter, please. Just give it to the post office of course, no need to hand deliver it. Just um, be careful with it, please." Sherlock pleaded with a bit of a weak smile, as if he was suddenly having separation anxiety from the rather risky letter. Mrs. Hudson took the letter gently, holding it up to her weak eyes so that she could read the small loopy writing on the envelope.
"John Watson, who is John Watson?" Mrs. Hudson wondered, looking at Sherlock curiously before placing the letter securely in her apron pocket. Sherlock winced, trying not to imagine all the grease and food particles that may have ended up falling into that very same pocket however he decided that it was best to just leave it be, surely he was in no position to complain about such a thing.
"He's just a friend, a new one." Sherlock admitted with a bit of a little shrug, trying to play this off as casual as he could even though he obviously had nothing to hide. He had told her the absolute truth and yet he still felt as if he was hiding something from her, something about John that he didn't want mentioned.
"And why couldn't Victor have delivered this? I thought he was in charge of little things like that?" Mrs. Hudson wondered, looking up at Sherlock with the most perplexed look on her wrinkled face.
"Well yes I know, he was just...busy?" Sherlock muttered nervously, nodding along to his own very obvious lie to which Mrs. Hudson just frowned.
"I know enough not to ask for the truth when you lie because surely it's none of my business, just know that as long as I know you're lying I can make up my own truth and it will probably be much worse than what the truth actually is." Mrs. Hudson warned, speaking with wisdom and manipulation that Sherlock could only hope to learn in his old age. Sherlock sighed heavily, scanning around the kitchen to make sure that no one else could hear.
"Victor's not exactly fond of Mr. Watson, I'm not entirely sure why." Sherlock admitted.
"Well Victor's not fond of anyone who comes within a ten mile radius of you Sherlock. I'm sure if he knew we were talking right now he'd come down here straight away and give me that awful death glare from across the room." Mrs. Hudson guessed, crossing her arms with a bit of a frown.
"He gives death glares?" Sherlock wondered curiously, never having noticed an expression so poisonous on his servant's face.
"Yes of course, you're just always facing the other direction when he does. He's a very protective boy Sherlock, it's certainly not a bad trait it's just well...an interesting one." Mrs. Hudson admitted.
"Well I don't know why he's so upset about John; he just seems particularly peevish these days." Sherlock admitted heavily, shaking his head in disappoint to which Mrs. Hudson just nodded.
"A friend then, a new one at that." Mrs. Hudson muttered without sounding entirely convinced.
"Yes, a friend." Sherlock agreed. Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips and looked back down to the letter in her pocket, seeming as though her brain was working a hundred miles an hour despite her standing completely still.
"Fair enough. I'll deliver you letter for you Sherlock, I'll promise you that." she assured, regaining her usual smile and turning the burner back on to continue her cooking. Sherlock thanked her quickly before dashing back upstairs, walking into his room nonchalantly as if he had just been out for a simple stroll and finding Victor lying across his bed, staring up at the ceiling and taking deep breaths through his mouth, almost as if he were gasping for air. As soon as Victor noticed Sherlock's presence he jumped to his feet, trying to look attentive and obedient as if he had forgotten all about their argument before.