To Be Like That Of A God

Why Must You Hear It Out Loud?

Victor POV: Victor never liked to talk to Mycroft. That was never an issue, usually, for he hardly ever talked with the elder Holmes brother unless it was about business, like his salary and his duties and his responsibilities while taking care of the slightly more fragile of the two brothers. And yet today is seemed as though there was a topic of conversation just waiting for privacy, and despite his best efforts to avoid all contact with Mycroft, Victor was forced to follow the man down the stairs on his way to the servant's quarters, for there was nowhere else he wanted to go. The house was still empty; everyone was still at the wedding, now wondering not only where the bride and groom were but also where the servant and the best man were as well. There was stillness, however, and it seemed as though the empty entrance hall was occupied by an enormous elephant in the room, and it was only addressed as Mycroft paused, taping his walking stick against the marble and clearing his throat as Victor tried to escape down the hall.
"Victor, could I have a word?" Mycroft requested in the most passive of voices, almost as if he was trying to convince the boy that he had done absolutely nothing wrong. Well Victor couldn't be sure what he had done wrong, and so he turned very quickly, standing tall and alert, almost as a soldier would respect some sort of high ranking official. Mycroft certainly did strike the same fear in Victor's heart as a general would strike into that of a mere foot soldier.
"Yes my Lord, anything." Victor agreed.
"Oh stop with the formalities Victor, it's not like we are exclusively professional." Mycroft insisted with a careless wave of his stubby little hand, swollen with excess fat yet cleaned until it sparkled in the afternoon sun.
"My apologies." Victor murmured, daring to at least slouch his shoulders minimally, trying his best to not look as though this were some sort of business like meeting.
"That display back there, Victor, that was like nothing I've ever seen before. Not only with my brother, but with you as well." Mycroft started, taking a deep breath as if it were painful to address something such as this. He seemed relatively annoyed, as though this little lecture was cutting into his precious time of sitting around and eating deserts.
"Well yes, I do admit that his passing out was a little bit out of character, however I'm sure he was just overwhelmed, with the wedding, and the aftermath, the shock of it all still must be settling." Victor assured, trying to play this off as though Sherlock's little fainting session had been nothing more than wedding nerves. In reality he feared it was something far more serious, and evidently Mycroft felt the same way for he sighed heavily, almost as though he was not convinced for one moment.
"I'm quite sure my brother had something of an anxiety attack, quite like he did the first time that woman, oh what was her name? Janine! Kissed him. Do you not remember that? Even then I do remember you being defensive. You slapped her, if I do recall correctly." Mycroft murmured, reminiscing as though the memories were flashing behind his cold black eyes.
"She attacked him, what else was I supposed to do?" Victor defended automatically.
"She kissed him." Mycroft corrected with a sigh.
"It's the same thing." Victor growled defensively. Mycroft nodded, holding up his hand as if trying to pause the conversation exactly where it stood. Victor felt rather attacked now, for he hated when his own words were used against him.
"Ah but it's not, Victor it's not and that's where the problem arises. For any normal man the love of a woman wouldn't be considered to be an attack, and yet for my brother he treats his new wife's affection, or any woman's affection to be exact, as though it were some new plague. He despises it, and I'm quite sure that is what happened this evening. She made an advance and he scurried away, as he always does." Mycroft assured thoughtfully, his fingers thumping against the rounded head of his walking stick and his eyes never once leaving Victor's, never blinking.
"Well you know Sherlock my Lord; he's a rather emotionless man." Victor assured. Mycroft shook his head for a moment, humming a peculiar note while smiling seemingly shamefully.
"Oh no Victor, for that is where you are wrong. Sherlock is a very emotional man, one of the only men I've ever seen cry, in fact, so emotional that I might have mistaken him for a woman one time or the next." Mycroft insisted with a gleam in his eye. Victor could tell that he was veering to the conclusion of this little chat, and he could already sense that he wasn't going to like it.
"You must not judge him too harshly." Victor defended.
"I don't, I don't. I'm just curious, Victor, because he doesn't love his wife, that is for sure. And yet he seems to not want to make an effort, in fact he seems as though he is already in love with someone else, someone who our Ms. Hooper could never replace. My brother is not one to go without love, especially for this amount of time, and I can tell it's...preying on him. So I must know, Victor, for he tells you everything, who is this man who has claimed my brother's heart?" Mycroft wondered with a scowl, as though the very question brought a bitter taste to his tongue.
"Why do you say man?" Victor wondered nervously, wondering how much Mycroft already knew.
"Oh please, Victor, must that even be a question? Now please, tell me. I know it's not you, despite your most unyielding efforts." Mycroft murmured. Oh this was almost like rubbing salt into the wound, for Mycroft very obviously knew who it was, he just wanted Victor to spew it out, he wanted to hear it himself. Victor could only purse his lips, momentarily glowing red for Mycroft so carelessly through Victor's secrets around as if he thought they were common knowledge. How he knew in the first place was certainly a mystery in itself, for Victor had never confided in Mycroft any of his dearest secrets.
"No, my Lord I'm sorry but Sherlock's secrets are mine to protect." Victor stated firmly, nodding in approval of his own loyalty. However Mycroft didn't seem to appreciate his answer, and in a flash his walking stick was level to Victor's throat, with a clean cut it could certainly do some irrevocable damage.
"Tell me, Victor." Mycroft demanded, taking a step closer and easing the walking stick ever nearer to Victor's neck. The poor servant took a step back, shaking his head pointedly despite his newfound fear for his life.
"I think I already know the answer, all you have to do is confirm." Mycroft assured, a smile playing across his face as though he wanted to play it off as his being the considerate older brother, however Victor wasn't fooled for a moment. There was an evilness instilled in Mycroft's heart, an evilness that was out to protect whatever he deemed necessary for his family's survival.
"Then why must you hear it from me?" Victor asked in a small voice, stepping back once more as Mycroft's stick loomed ever closer. He was terrified at the moment and yet he couldn't show it, for Sherlock's sake he couldn't dare show a sign of weakness.
"Because I want to know if I'm right." Mycroft growled, taking numerous steps forward to which Victor scurried, hitting his back against the wall and feeling the walking stick set itself on his Adam's apple, ready to crush it in a blow that would be very easily concealed as an accident. Victor was quiet for a moment, and yet eventually the pressure on his neck was becoming too much, soon he wouldn't have the breath for the words much less a breath of life, and this was Mycroft's intention of course, his own means of torture.
"John Watson!" Victor whispered in a breath, clutching at his face defensively for he could not dare to look Mycroft in the eyes in this time of weakness. And yet as soon as the words were uttered the stick dropped, hitting the ground with a congratulatory thunk against the marble. There was silence, and for a moment Victor stared at the floor in shame, clutching at his throat and averting his eyes from the gaze of blackness that was surely trained in his direction.
"Ah yes, the shoe shiner." Mycroft agreed with a satisfied sigh. "Now whatever shall be done about that?"
"You've done your damage, my Lord, for Sherlock refuses to break his vows." Victor assured in a breath, staring up at Mycroft, who had already begun to make his leave.
"Oh yes, I do believe in my brother's good heart, I just do not trust the sinful temptations of the men who have come to entrance him. Nasty business Victor, nasty business indeed. At least I know I can always trust you." Mycroft assured with a smile, and with that he bowed his head in mock respect and walked down to the sitting room, presumably to be met with assorted cakes and sweets, his stick tapping almost joyously against the marble as he went.