To Be Like That Of A God

Sherlock Doesn't Need A Friend

Mycroft didn't understand why there was so much giggling at the breakfast table that morning, and yet what he could never know was Molly and Sherlock's conversation about his so called diet while they were dressing for the day. Victor had arrived to help Sherlock get prepared, and yet by the time he arrived Sherlock was already sitting cross legged on the bed in his pajamas, chattering to Molly while she stood next to the mirror above the desk and brushed out her long brown hair. He was explaining to her why Mycroft was so overweight and what he was attempting to do to prevent it, and so that morning at breakfast while Mycroft chose nothing but pastry's and bacon to put on his plate, well there were some giggles exchanged. Now that the elephant in the room had personally been escorted out, Molly and Sherlock were able to move past the awkwardness of their sudden forceful relationship and into a much more prosperous time of friendship and appreciation. Sherlock found that when Molly wasn't swooning over him she was actually quite an interesting person, a funny one as well, and they had spent most of the whole morning exchanging stories about Mycroft, some of which made Sherlock double over in laughter, to the annoyance of Victor, who was just trying to button up Sherlock's waistcoat for breakfast.
"You too seem cheerful." Mycroft observed, looking between his brother and his new sister in law very curiously, wondering just what was so funny.
"Well it's a beautiful morning Mycroft, just beautiful. In fact I think I would like to go down to the beach, just to sit in the sun." Molly decided.
"It's freezing out there Ms. Hooper, surely you will die." Mycroft murmured dramatically, picking off some of the icing from his raspberry tart as though that would somehow reduce the calorie count.
"Mrs. Holmes. And I never said anything about going into the water, I just think it would be nice to sit in a chair and appreciate the waves." Molly insisted with a shrug.
"Well you can count me out of that. I would much rather sit beside a warm fire than go out on a day like today." Sherlock decided miserably, shivering at the very thought of that frigid ocean wind blowing from over the waves.
"Then maybe we should make this moving day?" Molly suggested while sipping at some sort of fruity tea.
"That sounds like effort." Sherlock whined, scowling at his scrambled eggs.
"Not for you of course. Which would you prefer, the beach or the boxes?" Molly wondered in a sweet voice; however Sherlock knew at once which one she preferred for she was looking at him as if she was already planning on where to put her vanity and where to arrange her makeup collection. Sherlock sighed heavily, looking over at his brother, who frowned in return. Surely Mycroft knew no more on the topic of women than Sherlock did. The boxes were sent for around ten o'clock. Molly spent her day racing around the Holmes household, placing rather obnoxious decorations around the house such as pictures of herself, portraits from some artists she appreciated, and even some flower vases on the end tables, flowers that were still obscenely fresh and smelly. Most of the servants tried to help the best they could, however it was all they could do but bring in boxes before Molly had swept up her belongings and raced them up to Sherlock's room, filling up a whole wardrobe (one that she had brought for herself and set on the far side of Sherlock's room) with all sorts of frilly gowns and skirts, making both Sherlock and Victor stand near the bathroom door and wonder just what they were going to do with all of this added nonsense.
"There are throw pillows on the bed." Sherlock whispered, spotting golden pillows that looked very out of place with his deeply tinted bedspread.
"They have no purpose." Victor agreed.
"You only throw them." Sherlock hissed. Victor shuttered, and while Molly's back was turned (she was arranging her hats on some sort of horrible hat rack that stood about as tall as an ordinary coat rack) he lunged for the pillows, as if attempting to hide them before she noticed their absence.
"Oh don't you just love those pillows?" Molly wondered with a laugh, turning on her heel and catching Victor right as he was grabbing for them. Victor froze, forcing a smile and nodding in agreement.
"Oh yes, they are um...well they're beautiful." Victor agreed, making it seem as though he was simply moving them to a nicer, more decorative place on the bed. Servants came in with even more boxes, making Molly squeal in excitement as she found her golden book stand, filled with all sorts of novels that Sherlock had never even heard of before.
"You don't think you could've left some of your possessions at your other house?" Sherlock wondered, looking about at the boxes and boxes that were stacked within his doorway. The three of them were trapped in here, it would seem, until Molly got a better hold on her unpacking.
"Oh well of course! I only brought the necessities to your house." Molly assured with a laugh, cramming a flowered sunhat to her head and twirling around in glee in the mirror above the dresser.
"These certainly are a lot of necessities." Victor murmured in disbelief. Sherlock nodded, not fully able to contemplate the space and the capacity of the rich woman's closet. Then again, his own closet was evidently big enough to hide at least two of the household's residents in it for countless years.
"Molly would you like any help?" Sherlock offered.
"Oh no, no of course not Sherlock. I would not want to bother you with my feminine wardrobe." Molly assured, although it seemed as though she was just having so much fun with arranging it that she didn't want to give the job to anyone else.
"Or Victor? He has a superb eye for style, I should know, he dresses me." Sherlock assured, looking over to Victor encouragingly.
"I am doing nothing but organizing." Molly insisted. "Unless you would like to play dress up there's not all that much you can help me with."
"I don't know Victor, do you fancy trying on any of those marvelous hats?" Sherlock wondered teasingly, elbowing his servant rather painfully in the side.
"Well not really, although it seems there is no escape from this room." Victor admitted, looking fearfully at the mound of boxes that obstructed their only exit.
"Oh well then, we will have to sit around I suppose. Sit and watch Molly unpack." Sherlock decided, jumping onto the bed and letting his legs dangle, laying stomach first down on the blanket and watching as Molly arranged her multiple diamond necklaces. Victor lay next to him at a proximity that he certainly would not allow Molly to be, however Victor's closeness was appreciated, and for a moment Sherlock even found himself with Victor's hand in his own although he wasn't all together sure how it got there. Molly noticed, obviously, and yet she seemed to take no care in it for she continued to arrange her closet as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. However there were pieces fitting together, there must be, and yet she was too polite to mention anything now. There was only one real explanation to why a man would be so disgusted with the touch a woman and yet so acceptant of the affection of a fellow man, why it was ever so obvious that there was an underlying need for the touch and love a man! And she was figuring that out, Sherlock could sense it of course, the little gears in her brain turning. It was a very unnerving feeling, being trapped under the microscope, and yet Sherlock knew that there was simply no escaping it and so what else could he do but wait until Molly built up enough confidence to approach him on it directly? Until the time when Molly was daring enough to challenge him on such an accusation he would continue living his life the way he intended his life be lived, and maybe his every day actions would lead his wife to a conclusion that would be the answer to all the questions she had ever asked about the ever so curious Mr. Sherlock Holmes.