To Be Like That Of A God

Not A Very Good Pretender

Molly took his hand and led him cheerily into the darkened house, slamming the door shut and beginning to twirl about the empty marble floors of the entrance hall. Her giggles of joy echoed through the empty walls of the manor while Sherlock stood rather awkwardly by, wondering just what pleasure she got from looking like a complete idiot and twirling until she stumbled in her thin white heels.
"Oh Sherlock I just love your house, our house. So old, with so much history, oh and the portraits are just so exquisitely painted! Maybe I could get one of myself, and of you of course. Oh you have the most beautiful face Sherlock, it should be preserved." Molly insisted, making Sherlock smile rather nervously.
"Yes I have been told." Sherlock agreed.
"Oh you are such a narcissist, so in love with your own good looks." Molly murmured with a laugh, tumbling over towards Sherlock and falling into his arms with a yelp of excitement. Sherlock had the strangest urge to just drop her; however that was usually considered rude, especially on a wedding night.
"You're the one that brought it up." Sherlock defended rather spitefully.
"Who tells you that you're beautiful?" Molly wondered, draping her arms around his neck and looking into his eyes with a very unnerving look in her painted eyes.
"Victor does, at least five times a day." Sherlock admitted. Molly simply laughed, rolling her eyes for a moment before letting her head fall momentarily onto Sherlock's shoulder, rolling it gently back and forth along his collar bone as if trying to show some sort of very odd affection.
"Oh that boy is in love you Sherlock; you really must approach him on the fact." Molly suggested. Sherlock let loose a very nervous little laugh.
"I don't think it affects much, do you?" Sherlock wondered nervously.
"Well I won't have it that someone else is in love with my husband." Molly insisted flatly, picking her head up once more and staring indefinitely into his eyes. Sherlock simply looked over her shoulder at the darkened staircase, clearing his throat rather awkwardly. Might this be the time to confess?
"Well I hate to admit it Molly, but I'm sure there are others, not just Victor, who are in love with me." Sherlock admitted in a murmur. In fact one of them had the privilege of being loved back, and it certainly wasn't Molly.
"Yes but a homosexual? Isn't that a bit obscene?" Molly insisted with a pout.
"What makes a man's love any different from a woman's?" Sherlock wondered. Molly simply laughed, shaking her head as though that was a ridiculous question.
"Well the morality of it of course! You can't tell me that you're actually okay with that poor boy's infatuation?" Molly wondered with a laugh. Sherlock shrugged rather passively, making Molly laugh again, laughing as though she found this to be some sort of joke.
"Oh Sherlock you really are funny." She squeaked, and with that she did the unthinkable and yet the inevitable. She kissed him. At first Sherlock was okay with it, for he knew that this was coming and he had already discussed with Victor the many ways he could tolerate such a kiss from someone he had no interest in kissing. The first, most obvious step was to pretend that the kiss wasn't happening at all. Sherlock attempted to put himself into his happy place, which of course was just right upstairs, and instead of a woman in his arms he had a violin on his shoulder, playing the music and humming along quietly. However that wasn't enough to distract him, for he still felt that woman's horrible lips on his own, and her bejeweled hands running through his hair and on his skin, oh it was dreadful, it was absolutely dreadful. And so he went to step two, the more affective of the steps after all. He imagined that it was John. Now this was a little bit difficult to do considering John had kissed him much more timidly yet much more lovingly, his skin was rougher than Molly's, his hair was shorter, and never in his life would he be caught in something as hideous as a white chicken feather dress. Sherlock simply imagined that it might be John Watson in his arms and at least he had the bravery to lift his arms around Molly's neck, making it look like he was somewhat enjoying the most horrible (and longest) kiss of his existence. And it was going fine, at least he was tolerating it for the time being, it was only once Molly got a little bit too confident that he began to have issues. It was when her lips traveled from his lips to his neck where Sherlock began to panic, it was when her hands began to unbutton his collar that he felt his heart begin to stop and his breathing begin to increase. Suddenly he felt as though Molly was suffocating him, pressing the shadows from the walls and engulfing him in an airtight box of some sort, stealing the breath from his lungs and the beat from his heart and the life from his body. It was terrifying, it was the most unpleasant feeling he had ever experienced, and in in instant he pushed her away in disgust. Sherlock let out a great cry of protest and fell backwards onto the floor, scrambling away from her as if his life depended on it all while heaving great breaths, the world spinning and spotting before his eyes.
"Sherlock what on earth are you doing?" Molly demanded in exasperation, looking completely scandalized at his sudden nerve. Sherlock shivered horrifically, looking up at his new wife with a distraught expression, looking almost as though he were about to burst into tears.
"No I'm sorry...I'm sorry." Sherlock murmured, his hands trembling as he fought his way back to his feet, staying away from Molly and from her affection for a moment longer. Another kiss would drain him, it would disgust him, he already felt his stomach turning in disinterest, no not even pretending she was John could make this night go any smoother, oh how she disgusted him!
"I'm sorry...Molly I'm feeling quite ill." Sherlock murmured, clutching his stomach truthfully.
"Oh Sherlock, Sherlock I'm sorry I didn't realize." Molly assured, taking a step forward to which he held up a hand to stop her, shaking his head in protest. She seemed to take offense to that, however Sherlock couldn't figure out a situation in which that would matter to him and so he ignored her for the time being. All he needed to do was get her out of this house, out of his life for now. Marriage wasn't as easy as it was meant to be, that was obvious.
"No, no Molly I'm fine. I just need to go lie down, I'm sorry. Feel free to um, to go home." Sherlock insisted, clutching his stomach and stumbling towards the staircase, nearly doubling over when he reached the landing for his vision was beginning to spin. He clutched at the railing and yet his feet were still stumbling over themselves, eventually one of his shoes caught a stair and he fell in a bit of a daze, crying out momentarily and hearing a scream in return, a very feminine scream. As his vision went black Sherlock remembered the only thought, the only wish, that Molly would stay far away from him. He would rather die in a trance on these darkened stairs than be held in her arms once more. For once in his life, death was more favorable.