To Be Like That Of A God

The Poor Man At The Royal Feast

Sherlock POV: It was becoming difficult for Sherlock to breathe, and to be honest it was a feeling that was not only quite embarrassing but also quite inopportune. Mycroft had already greeted his guests, or at least he was making one of his own servants take Greg Lestrade's coat, he seemed perfectly indifferent to the man standing at the bottom of the stairs with that old frock coat, his hands in his pockets and a completely mesmerized look on his face. But Sherlock couldn't seem to move, he couldn't seem to speak, his face grew redder by the moment and his longs couldn't seem to inflate, he had never felt this helpless before! But somehow he made it down the stairs; he clutched at the brass banister and steadied his shaking legs until somehow he found himself once more on the marble floors, staring at John Watson as the man stood in a rather awkward place in the middle of the entry way, his tattered top hat clutched in his hands as the world went on around him. It seemed as though John, quite like Sherlock, had suddenly found it hard to move. Sherlock took a breath, trying to clear his head and calm his trembling body as he edged ever closer to the man he had invited here as his guest.
"Mr. Watson, it's a pleasure having you here." Sherlock muttered, holding out a hand for John to take however he didn't quite know his intentions once he got that man's hand clenched in his own. For a moment Sherlock was tempted to take his hand and press it to his lips, kissing it like you were to do when you great a lady. However that seemed inappropriate, partially because John was definitely no lady, and also because his brother was standing idly by, watching as the scene unfolded. And so Sherlock simply shook his hand, greeting him like two men ought to greet each other and letting his hand drop immediately back to his side.
"Well it's a pleasure being here, your house is lovely." John admitted in a breath, averting his eyes for a moment to stare up at the ceiling that loomed high above their heads and at the massive chandelier that hung motionless above.
"Oh well, thank you." Sherlock muttered with a little smile, not used to people coming in and complementing his manor so shamelessly. Usually the rich are very slow to dish out compliments. They hold themselves so high that they are unable to accept that someone owns something or is someone superior to them, and therefore they keep a look of disappointment on their faces despite their obvious enchantment. This was undoubtedly the first of many advantages of acquainting yourself with someone from the lower end of society.
"And Victor, nice to see you as well." John added, throwing up his hand in greeting upon finally noticing Victor standing on the stairs, exactly where Sherlock had left him. Sherlock blinked, having momentarily forgotten that Victor had come down with him, and turned to look at his miserable servant, standing there with his trademark scowl on his face. Victor didn't say anything and of course Sherlock didn't expect him to, and so he silently shooed him away with a wave of his white hand and turned back towards John. He could only assume that Victor had disappeared.
"Ah, Sherlock Holmes, I thought I'd never again see an invitation from you in my mail. After that whole, well, incident I should say..." Greg started with a laugh, making his way over to Sherlock with an outstretched hand as if already prepared to shake. Sherlock shook his hand rather reluctantly, immediately repulsed by Greg's energy, however he nodded in agreement.
"You spilled wine all over my white shirt." Sherlock reminded him.
"Oh how I remember. I remember the bill too." Greg exclaimed with a great laugh, doubling over in laughter from his own joke while everyone else just stood awkwardly, not even daring to attempt a smile.
"What is in the past stays in the past I do believe." John assured quickly, noting that the air was getting a little bit awkward between the three of them, for Sherlock's scowl hadn't wavered. He was already regretting inviting this barbarian into his house; obviously he was going to grow to regret it.
"Yes, and they make way for new beginnings." Sherlock agreed reluctantly, to which Greg nodded with a large, lopsided smile.
"Oh yes they do, new beginnings of course, I'll drink to that." Greg agreed, even though there was obviously no alcohol around.
"You'd drink to anything." John pointed out, making Sherlock crack the tiniest of smiles. John had stolen the words right out of his mouth. Mycroft made his way over and observed the small crowd of three, trying to join in the conversation as though he had been there the whole time. Sherlock was rather glad to dump the ever annoying Greg on him however he wanted to keep John and his conversations all to himself. He knew this was an impossible feat of course, because just as Mycroft struck up a conversation about their journey over the servants opened the door and revealed the ever extravagant Molly Hooper, arriving in fur coat hiding a long black dress with a hat filled to the brim with the most hideous peacock feathers, her neck bejeweled with diamonds and her ears drooping with the weight of their heavily encrusted burdens. Sherlock pursed his lips in disgust, glancing over at John to see that the poor man was left entirely speechless, staring with his mouth hanging agape at Molly's horrible hat.
"Hello Holmes brothers, and guests." Molly announced loudly, shedding her fur coat to one of the overwhelmed servants and tossing her hat at the other, letting her long brown hair fall around her shoulders in big shining waves. Greg seemed momentarily awed, however everyone else in the room felt the need to take a step back and cover their ears, for her high heels clicked ever so obnoxiously on the marble floors.
"Ms. Hooper, it's nice to see you again." Mycroft said with a small bow. Molly smiled at him with all of her necessary charm; however it was obviously Sherlock who she had set her mind to. She was already marching up, sticking out her white gloved hand to him to kiss. Sherlock smiled kindly, however he looked over at John with a bit of a nervous glare, finding it much more difficult to pretend to show affection to Molly when in the presence of John Watson. When Victor accompanied him it was surprisingly effortless, amusing really, to play for the poor woman's affections. But now, standing with John and feeling the spotlight of his two large brown eyes, it became almost impossible to raise his own hand to intercept hers. Nevertheless Sherlock managed, kissing Molly's hand very quickly before letting her hand drop and glancing once more at John, seeing that his jaw was surprisingly clenched.
"Molly I do suppose you remember John Watson from your gala the other week?" Sherlock assumed, turning towards John as if trying to show him off whenever possible. John smiled in greeting and Molly made a big show of excitement, as if she was so happy to see him again after all of these days, yet there was a very artificial air to her enjoyment and Sherlock suspected that John picked up on it as well.
"I'm quite surprised to see you at a Holmes family dinner; usually it takes years to get invited. I should know from personal experience, for I had to invite the two of them over a dozen times before I finally received an invitation." Molly added with a laugh, batting her gloved hand through the air as if it was some little game they had played way back when. In reality it had been due solely to both brother's strong dislike of Molly Hooper, they had hoped that she would stop inviting them to things if they never returned the invitation, however one night she had just sort of showed up with some of her friends that had been invited and ever since then she had made the list out of pity. No one liked having her around, however she seemed like a necessary evil at this point.
"Well to be honest I'm not sure how I got an invitation, but here I am." John admitted with the most timid of smiles, looking towards Sherlock for something of an explanation. Immediately Molly's brown eyes turned on him judgmentally, as if daring him to respond with something that didn't quite please her. Sherlock stuttered for a moment purely because he wasn't entirely sure why he invited John, at least he couldn't explain it in words. Had his guests gotten to look into his soul and his innermost feelings they would have discovered just how necessary it was to have John seated at his table, however for now they were just left laughing at the holes in his frock coat and the twinkle in Sherlock's usually expressionless eyes.
"Do you blame me for wanting to make a new friend?" Sherlock wondered rather accusingly, holding his head higher and looking over at John with an almost appreciative expression. Molly simply laughed, as though the idea of Sherlock having a friend was entirely ridiculous, however John's cheeks may just have donned a new shade of scarlet.
"No I don't blame you at all." Molly assured. At that moment the doors of the dining room were opened, beckoning the guests inside, and so Molly offered Sherlock her arm (which he very hesitantly took) and they all made their way into the dining room together. Sherlock was placed rather forcefully next to Molly Hooper while John took the seat across from him, Mycroft sitting at the head of the table with Greg on his left and Molly on his right, looking rather uncomfortable when he saw that he was squished between two strangers. Sherlock watched as John gazed around the dining room, looking completely mesmerized as he observed the fine oak walls and the golden trim that lined the moldings of the ceiling. The table was decorated beautifully with all sorts of leaves and flowers, however almost immediately the decorations were removed to make room for conversation and the first dish, a warm bowl of some sort of yellow soup. The servants were all looking very attentive, holding themselves high in their black suits as they bustled around and handed everyone their own bowl of the garnished soup, bowing their way out of the room as the diners all looked around happily, checking for the reactions of their fellow guests.
"Oh this is really good." John said first, to which all eyes focused on him. He already had his spoon his hand, ladling out another spoonful before anyone else had even thought about picking up their spoons and trying a bite, every upper class diner knew that you were to wait for your hosts before you begin your meal. Mycroft sighed very disappointedly as John very nervously put down his spoon, looking quite like a startled deer as he smiled nervously and silenced himself once more. Sherlock couldn't help but smile, dropping his head so that no one but his own bowl of soup noticed his amusement. When Mycroft began everyone else did as well, enjoying their soup and chatting about useless things.
"He has no etiquette." Molly whispered very quietly to Sherlock as she noticed John's elbows on the table, he had long since finished his soup and he was waiting for the second course with his head rested in his fists. Despite his rude stature it was obvious that he was paying attention to the conversation, smiling with everyone else smiled and frowning when the conversation got more serious. Sherlock found it quite amusing to watch him, the poor man at the royal feast, and for a moment he forgot that he was probably supposed to be critical. Instead he found John's ignorance to be quite charming. Their other courses came and went, however despite Sherlock's initial intentions to use this dinner to get to know John better he was slowly finding that he could barely get a word into the man other than, of course, the usual 'how is your food'. Despite their proximity Sherlock felt as though John was fading farther and farther away with every course, and finally Sherlock had given up all hopes of starting a conversation with him and resorted to simply listening to Molly drone on about how her cat had dragged in a whole raccoon the night previous. John seemed quite content with the meal, finishing off every morsel that had been placed onto his plate (including the kale garnish, which most everyone else left untouched). One might argue that he had been starved the night before, however Sherlock was willing to bet that he had been starved the whole year before, surely a shoe shiner didn't have too much money to spend on food, much less delicacies! Desert was probably one of the highlights of their meal, simply because Sherlock got to watch in amusement as Mycroft very painfully refused a slice of the most superb looking apple tart, trying his best to preserve his diet or at least the pretenses of a diet in front of his guests. Sherlock was quite sure that the moment he got a spare minute he would rush down to the kitchens and insist on finishing off whatever was left of the delicious desert. John seemed quite content when his plate had been cleared, sitting back in his chair and watching with tired eyes as everyone else very carefully sliced off small pieces of their own tart with the edge of their silver forks. Sherlock watched him as well, mesmerized for a moment at the way John's brown eyes drooped and snapped open as the conversation began to dwindle. Sherlock's gaze was interrupted only when John caught him staring, to which Sherlock just ducked his head apologetically and finished up his tart as quickly as he could. When the plates had been cleared the cigarettes were brought out along with elaborate candelabras for which to light them. They all helped themselves (including Molly, however impolite it was for a woman to smoke) and chatter commenced once more. Greg seemed to be just a little bit intoxicated and it seemed as though the more wine he poured the more elaborate and colorful his stories became. John sat back in his chair with a cigarette in his two forefingers, blowing off large plumes of smoke and looking quite satisfied. Sherlock wanted to talk to him, at least for a moment, however it seemed almost impossible to get a word in as Greg's voice carried through the dining room, making the entire table burst out into laughter to a joke that was unheard by Sherlock. Finally Sherlock decided that this was eating him alive, he hadn't invited John to dinner to just stare at him and listen to everyone else's pathetic stories! No, John's presence at his table may just be a once in a lifetime opportunity, surely Mycroft wouldn't let such a barbarian share their dinner again, Sherlock had to appreciate his presence while he was still here. And so he leaned over the table, clasping his cigarette in his fingers and trying to get John's attention.
"Do you fancy a walk?" Sherlock whispered when finally John's brown eyes had noticed him. John looked around at the other three, all of which seemed to be completely fascinated with Greg's tale and completely indifferent to their absence. John simply nodded, getting to his feet and following Sherlock out of the dining room. No one seemed to notice their absence, and so they were free to don their coats and hats and slip out into the night. The windows of the barn were illuminated, presumably the stable boys were playing cards with the coachmen that had brought their guests while their horses stood freezing outside on the cobblestone. The silence was rather unnerving; suddenly it became difficult to think of something to say with the absence of the very loud howl of Greg Lestrade's stories. John shivered in his thin coat, looking around at the well maintained lawn and the large brick manor that stood towering behind them. He seemed completely awed, at a loss for words even, however his silence was due not to stupidity but of wonder, which was a lot more respectable than Sherlock's closed lips.
"We must be fairly close to the ocean." John decided finally, listening to the very distant lolling of the waves along the beach.
"Oh we are, in fact the beach is just a short descent away." Sherlock agreed quickly, nearly jumping on the idea of taking John down to the privacy of their rather hidden beach. John hummed curiously, trying to crane his neck to look over the cliffs on which the house sat.
"Would you like to walk down there? It's beautiful, especially at this time of night when the moon reflects against the water." Sherlock suggested, looking at John ever so cautiously as his breath turned to frost in the cold air above him. John thought for a moment, seeming almost reluctant to follow a strange man away from society, however he seemed to decide that it was worth the risk and he nodded, following Sherlock as the man wandered about the cobblestone until he met the rocky face of the cliff.