To Be Like That Of A God

Protect The Secret...Whatever It Is

"What on earth were you doing down there?" Molly Hooper wondered with a laugh, being the first to notice as Sherlock walked into the entrance hall with soaking wet feet. John followed closely behind, taking a moment to hang his coat and hat on the rack and seeming rather quiet, as if he was examining the night's occurrences in his mind too thoroughly to be bothered with the present world. Sherlock sighed heavily; he had almost suspected that he could get away with looking a disheveled mess; however one screech out of Molly Hooper and the whole hall turned their heads in his direction.
"Just wading along the ocean." Sherlock explained with a careless shrug, as if this was the habit of most upper class folks. John returned to Greg's side and the two began to muttered to each other, occasionally smiles broke out on their faces and once or twice Sherlock found Greg's startlingly grey eyes trained in his direction, as if he had come up in their conversation. Sherlock tried to stay focused on whatever Molly was saying to him, she had somehow managed to steer him off into their own private corner once more and was taking his hands in her own, interlocking her stubby fingers in his own and saying things in a very quiet tone. Sherlock wasn't listening. He only came to attention when the very name that was going through his head erupted from Molly's obnoxiously painted lips, and finally he blinked and tuned back into her squabbling for a moment more.
"John is quite the character isn't he? At least he's talking to people tonight, remember at my party, when he was standing there all alone? The poor guy, oh I can't imagine how overwhelming this must be for him, all of these rich parties and dinners, he must be so thankful." Molly muttered, glancing over at where John and Greg were conversing quietly, leaving Mycroft to stand off by himself and pretend to look interested in his walking stick while everyone talked in their own private little sections. Sherlock wished he could join his brother, or at least he wished his brother could join them. Seclusion with Molly Hooper was never a good thing.
"He's not one to fuss over what he doesn't have. That is what I like about him, among other things." Sherlock admitted, letting his gaze fall to his feet so that Molly wouldn't notice the blush that was erupting from his sharp cheeks. Surely he didn't know why the very idea of his interest in John ashamed him, and of course out of all people to understand a social attraction it was Molly Hooper, who made friends, fell in love, and abandoned people as if it was her version of golf. Sherlock was quite afraid, however, that she had fallen in love with him, and of course that simply could not do. Nothing scared Sherlock more than being romantically pursed by a woman as persistent and annoying as Molly Hooper.
"Well I find him to be rather stoic and unentertaining. I don't see anything vaguely interesting about the man, other than his taste for the upper class life and his degrading life style." Molly muttered with a huff. Sherlock couldn't help but take offense; however he kept his mouth shut for fear of anymore gossip circulating around him. The last thing he needed was Molly Hooper spreading rumors that Sherlock had become attached and therefore defensive of a man who sat across the sidewalk all hours of the day.
"I'm glad to have him." Sherlock admitted, stepping a couple of times in his wet shoes to try to slosh the puddles that were forming around his feet into different positions. He didn't want his toes to turn pruned; as that was a very unattractive sight. Molly nodded, sighing and finally looking up into Sherlock's eyes. He wanted to look away however he knew that he probably shouldn't, women find broken eye contact to be very rude and despite his dislike for her he still had a reputation to maintain.
"Sherlock last time you had me over we stood in this very spot, I tried to kiss you and you refused." Molly stared, her voice sounding genuinely concerned as if she was worried for his mental health. Sherlock cleared his throat very awkwardly, not wanting to think back to that horrible night where she had downright attacked him with her puckered lips. Molly seemed to think this was a very important topic of conversation for her voice dropped low and she looked at him like one might look upon a wounded animal that you held the deepest concern for.
"Yes Molly I'm sorry about that, you kind of...you caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting it." Sherlock admitted quickly. Molly's face didn't change, in fact it did nothing but fall even more, as if that wasn't quite the answer she had been expecting.
"Well then could we try again? This time with a little bit more warning?" Molly suggested in a rather low voice, as if she was terrified to ask and yet she couldn't bring herself to leave without a kiss. Sherlock's face drained of color and immediately he tried to take a step back, yet his fingers were trapped in Molly's and he found that he couldn't go far.
"Sherlock it's almost like you don't want to kiss me!" hissed the ever observant Molly Hooper, pulling him back to her side. Sherlock shook his head profusely, clearing his throat, taking a quick look around the entrance hall to see that John was still very much occupied with Greg, and quickly pecked a quick kiss onto Molly's forehead; the only sign of affection he was willing to give without much legitimacy.
"Sherlock!" Molly complained in a whining drawl, sounding quite like a child who didn't get her way.
"What, what, that was a kiss was it not?" Sherlock wondered instantly, suspecting that Molly should be flattered by his compliance. Instead she seemed rather offended, as if she was completely at a loss for why Sherlock wouldn't be willing to kiss her.
"That wasn't a kiss!" Molly demanded. Sherlock just shook his head, making sure to stay a good distance away from her just in case she wanted to make any moves that weren't consensual.
"Molly I'm sorry, it's just..."
"Are you already in love with someone else?" Molly wondered suspiciously, her eyes narrowing as if she thought she could see through his soul this way. Sherlock just shook his head, opening his mouth to defend himself once more when she held up a finger to silence him.
"Is it that horrible woman, that daughter of Major Adler? I know you attended a dinner with her, God I hate that woman she's always so..."
"No it's not Irene, no of course not." Sherlock assured with a shiver. Molly's face fell gravely, as if she had just had a sudden revelation. For once she seemed as if she was the one who wanted to take a step back.
"It's not...it's not Victor is it?" she whispered nervously, her eyes darting back and forth as if she was expecting people to be eavesdropping on their conversation at the very mention of the boy's name. Sherlock immediately felt his face flush with humiliation, and for a moment he was at a complete loss for words.
"You're not suggesting that I'm um...oh what's the word..." Sherlock muttered, tapping his finger thoughtfully against Molly's bejeweled fingers as he struggled to find that word that Mycroft had used in the carriage not long before.
"That you're a homosexual?" Molly whispered even lower, her own face growing red as she uttered the word, as though it was poisonous against her tongue.
"Yes that!" Sherlock exclaimed with misplaced enthusiasm. Molly's face dropped worriedly, and suddenly Sherlock realized just what he might have said. "No I don't mean..."
"You do know that's illegal right? They'll hang you for that, it's an atrocity." Molly whispered.
"No I'm not a homosexual, no of course not. I was just trying to find the word." Sherlock admitted. Molly nodded in a rather unconvincing manner, as if she was still stuck on the conclusion that Sherlock was trying so hard to hide from.
"I mean if you are I'm not going to...I won't tell anyone it's just, well it would be good to know. That way I don't keep submitting myself to this embarrassment." Molly insisted. Sherlock shook his head repeatedly, a sudden horror passing over him as he realized just what this rumor's outbreak might do. Not only would it destroy his chances of marrying for money he realized that not only strangers would hear of it, John would hear of it, Victor would hear of it, Mycroft would hear of it, and they would all be left wondering if Sherlock was capable of such a seemingly inhuman love. John would be left wondering, with a strange feeling nestled in his heart, if the rumors were really true... And what if the authorities come for him? What if they imprison him on charges he hadn't committed, what if they tried him for the mere speculations of such an obscene form of affection? Sherlock had the strangest urge to protect a secret he didn't even have, almost as if a part of his subconsciousness was defending itself to the point of denial. And so what else could he do? What choice did he have? Sherlock leaned over and planted a kiss onto Molly's lips, a shiver of repulsion running down his spine as he did so, and he suddenly found his head locked in place, her hands leaving his and holding his head there, holding him there so that he couldn't retreat in time! When finally Sherlock was able to wrestle out of her grip he took long, horrified gasps, his face having drained to an unhealthy white color and his legs gone completely numb. He felt the need to disinfect himself, or at least go say a couple of prayers to God above, oh he felt disgusting, completely infected with the taste of her horrible lips! And yet she seemed satisfied, a smile broke out on Molly's face like one he had never seen before and with a squeak of adoration she took him in her arms and twirled him around in a victorious little circle.
"Oh I knew it Sherlock, I knew you loved me!" She exclaimed, maybe a little bit too loud for the moment because everyone turned to look, everyone including John, turned to see Sherlock wrapped in Molly's arms, his own hands on her shoulders (trying to push her away of course, but in the moment that wasn't very evident) and for a moment it looked almost appreciative, almost intimate. John saw that, and Sherlock noticed his brown eyes retreat to the floor in shame, his expression dropping to one of disappointment and his shoulders hunching over in defeat. He turned back to Greg without the intention of saying anything, and for a moment Sherlock had the strangest urge to push Molly off of him and race towards John, fling himself into his arms, and hold John the very same way Molly was holding him now. However it was impossible, or at least the second part was. Sherlock found it only too possible to pry himself away from the horrible grip of Molly Hooper, smiling at her in the most artificial way before finally sliding out of her grasp for good.
"Good night Molly." Sherlock said quickly, bowing very slightly before walking off towards the staircase, glancing back to see John looking right at him, forcing a smile on his face with his eyes looking as disappointed and empty as he had when their eyes had last met. Sherlock could only shake his head, trying to make it clear that he did not love Molly Hooper, trying to make it obvious that his heart was completely unreserved, completely up for the taking. However John nodded and turned his away, nodding as if that was supposed to be his sign of farewell, and suddenly Sherlock felt a soft hand slide into his own. Only after he was led up into the hallway did he realize that it was Victor leading him away from his guests. 

Sherlock sat on the bed in a stunned, almost shell shocked manner, that horrible kiss going over and over in his head while he heard the splashing of the bath being filled. Sherlock felt his hands shaking, he saw them quivering and yet he felt as though there was nothing he could do to stop them, it was his body's natural instinct to try to drive out this horrible feeling, his hands were trying to shake every last trace of Molly Hooper's touch from them, and his trembling lips were doing quite the same. Never before had Sherlock kissed anyone, or at least consented to kissing anyone. He definitely hadn't initiated a kiss before, and to be honest he had always had a slight hope that his first true kiss would be one with his true love, the person he was going to end his days with, the person he was going to enjoy his life with. Surely his first kiss should've magical and now look! She had ruined it! Obviously his life was not leading down the same path as Molly Hooper's, obviously they were following two completely different roads and they were not once destined to cross, however that horrible girl had stolen them magical moment that should have been reserved for the most worthy. Sherlock had read of kisses before, in books and in songs and in plays the first kiss between a couple who loved each other was always treated with such beauty and such intimacy, as a boy Sherlock used to fantasize of the delight that was created by simply pressing his lips to those of another person. And yet Molly's kiss, it had been so hallow, so emotionless and somewhat depressing. Maybe she didn't share the same views as him, maybe she had taken that kiss to be the best moment of her entire existence, however looking back Sherlock felt the need to find a trash can and empty his stomach into it. Molly's lips had been so horrible, chalky and pasty with lipstick, her breath had smelt of apple tart and when she had held his head in her hands he could feel the weight of all of her rings squishing into his skull...Oh she was horrible! Sherlock shook his head miserably, running his fingers protectively through his curls and closing his eyes for a moment, closing his eyes and seeing the disappointment evident on John's face, he could see that drooping expression, those hallowed out eyes. But why would Sherlock's kiss with Molly have any effect on John, how would it disturb him unless he had thought he had some sort of priority over Sherlock's heart? Was he...whatever the word was? Oh that was doubtful, no self-respecting man could ever become so desperate that he could lose his heart to another man...could he? What made a man think like that, what was the breaking point where he decided that instead of loving a woman he would dedicate his life to a man? Was he born with those inclinations or was he influenced by the world around him, by the revolting characteristics of the women and the strong, dominant temptations that radiated off of men's skin, inviting their lover in, inviting him to take a step closer and to exhale a small puff of freezing breath into the salty sea air? Sherlock shook his head as he began to feel something of a headache come about, a sort of throbbing of his temples he felt when he simply couldn't think of something any longer, he couldn't dare to think of it or it would slowly become true.
"My Lord your bath is ready." Victor announced, appearing from out of the steaming bathroom and gazing upon Sherlock with a look of upmost concern. Victor had always been one to worry about him, and Sherlock couldn't help but wonder if the poor boy had been around to witness Sherlock's horrible kiss and Molly's premature love declaration.
"Yes, thank you Victor." Sherlock muttered, getting to his feet and dropping his jacket onto the bed where he had once sat. He walked past Victor and into the bathroom, knowing full well that the door was still open as he undressed and sank heavily into the steaming pool of warm, relaxing water. It was a wonderful feeling; he could almost feel his problems wading away as the thick bubbles began to circle around his nearly submerged face, his knees poking just above the surface as they always did and the window fogging up so thickly that he could barely see out of it. Victor reappeared after the symphony of splashing had ceased and Sherlock stretched his neck back to watch as the boy entered, closing the door softly behind him as if trying to ensure their privacy. Sherlock watched as Victor very awkwardly smiled at him, beginning to rustle around in the cabinets to find the best shampoos that would ease Sherlock's throbbing skull. Victor had never loved anyone, in fact Sherlock couldn't think of one instance when Victor had shown any attention much less any affection to a woman. Victor had always been a curious boy, as they were growing up he seemed to grow and mature into something even more of an enigma and despite their friendship Sherlock knew that there was a large wall of secrets that separated them, a wall he dared not acknowledge until he sensed that the time was right. Now of course Victor had always housed something of a fascination with him, this Sherlock had known since the start, however Sherlock had never dared to think too much on that fascination, lest it lead him to much more troubling conclusion. Could Victor be one of those select few men? Could he be not only be fascinated by Sherlock, but in love with him as well? No, the idea was preposterous! Surely Sherlock couldn't have stumbled upon the very breed of humanity that interested him the most?