To Be Like That Of A God

Don't Forget The Alternatives

    The letter was mailed that morning, and within two days the response came back. Victor made sure to filter through the mail before anyone else on the days he awaited John's response, and thankfully he was the first to the letter box on that Friday morning, just as everyone else was saying goodbye to Molly as she loaded up the carriage with her things. She had, of course, chronically over packed, and so she was hauling two large suitcases, a makeup bag, a hat bag, a very large blanket, and a purse for which she used to slap people when she thought they were getting too annoying. Sherlock was very often slapped with said purse, and yet it was more of a love tap than anything, a little warning before the real power was swung. It wasn't a very emotional goodbye, and yet it was the first time John saw Sherlock permit Molly to get very close. In fact she gave him a hug without him complaining all that much, a great leaps and bounds more than what they had started with, passing out after a simple kiss. Victor waved after the carriage along with the rest of the crowd that stood out on the porch in the cold morning sunshine, John's letter clutched in his hand, safely out of the sight of Sherlock and all the rest who shivered here on this concrete stoop. When they finally returned inside Victor and Sherlock disappeared up to his bedroom, alone after what felt like so long. There was an undeniable silence in the house as soon as Molly had left, and yet Victor couldn't all together decide on whether or not that silence was appreciated or not. It was a change to be certain, and yet he liked the idea of being able to hear himself talk. John's response harbored the exact message he had anticipated, John was reluctant to come of course, knowing that his presence would of course spark up some old flames that would prove to be sinful, and yet there was an undeniable eagerness to the handwriting, almost as if his hand had been trembling while he wrote it. Both John and Sherlock wanted to hold true to the vows of marriage, and yet they were both obviously suffering without each other. A night, a single night, was the only thing that had been bargained for, and John had ever so reluctantly agreed to appear. Nothing had been specified of course, nothing set in stone, John only promised his presence, nothing more, and yet that was all Victor needed. He knew that John's accompaniment to Sherlock was all that was necessary to bring Sherlock's spirits out of whatever glum cave they had settled themselves into under the strains of marriage.
"It's quiet." Sherlock said finally, looking up from his book with a frown. They were still longing in Sherlock's bedroom yet many hours had passed, John's letter was tucked safely in Victor's jacket and he was laid out on the blanket, curled into a small ball next to the fire because he wasn't sure if he was welcome to come sleep on the bed.
"It is indeed my Lord." Victor agreed from where he lay, stretching out his arms and looking up over the edge of the bed.
"What are you doing down there?" Sherlock wondered finally, shutting the book he was reading and setting it on the bedside table, looking down at Victor with a curious expression.
"Oh I was just, well I was just sleeping. Nothing else to do." Victor admitted, trying to make it sound as though sleeping on the floor was a perfectly normal thing to do.
"On the floor, that's disgraceful! Come up here Victor, sit next to me." Sherlock decided, patting the space beside him with a welcoming smile. Victor nodded, scrambling to his feet and sitting in the bed next to Sherlock, not daring enough to slide under the blankets but comfortable enough to prop himself up against the headboard and smile at the man next to him.
"It's so different without her." Victor admitted in a breath, looking around them as if almost expecting Molly to appear out of nowhere. It almost seemed wrong to not have her around, and yet it was like a breath of fresh air, it was how things used to be. And yet it was different, there was a certain wrongness hanging about the air, reminding them that whatever solitude they enjoyed was bound to be short lived. Sherlock sighed heavily in agreement, keeping his gaze fixed on the blankets before him as if he wasn't quite sure what to say.
"She's been more of a friend than I could have ever anticipated. I like her, Victor, more than I expected." Sherlock admitted. Victor's heart stopped for a short moment, not daring to breathe until Sherlock specified just what he meant by 'like'.
"You mean...romantically?" Victor wondered curiously, feeling almost as though his lungs were shutting down even as he took in forceful breaths.
"Oh no, no Victor no of course not, she repulses me physically...it's just her aura is very pleasing. She's funny, she's careless, and she seems like she would understand, should I ever admit to her the true workings of my heart." Sherlock admitted finally. Victor sighed in relief, taking a deep breath and smiling rather forcefully.
"I do agree my Lord; she has been a great addition to the family." Victor assured with a smile. Sherlock looked over at him with a smile, raising an eyebrow curiously as though he thought he would never hear something like that out of his servant's mouth.
"You do like her then?" Sherlock guessed. Victor nodded, for once in his life he was actually unashamed to admit his admiration of someone else, especially someone so close to Sherlock.
"Oh yes, yes of course I do. However I wish that you may be with someone you truly loved, someone you wanted to be with in all aspects of marriage. How I wish you could be reunited with Mr. Wa..."
"Shush Victor, his name open wounds long healed." Sherlock insisted, holding up a hand to silence his poor servant, the mood dropping substantially in the air around them. Victor almost regretted bringing up this evidently sore subject, and the silence that followed was tense indeed.
"I do not want to think on that part of my life, for I will only regret the choices that I have come to tolerate. That life is behind me, that love has almost been pushed to the back of my mind; it has been months since that man's name has been uttered on my lips, and yet my heart still yearns for him while I sleep, for I see his face in my dreams. I must forget him, Victor; if I am to truly appreciate what life I am living now." Sherlock insisted. Victor just nodded, a small smile of knowingness crossing his lips. As much as Sherlock tried to convince himself he needed to forget it was very obvious that there was a part of him that was still incomplete, a large part of him in fact, that was still calling the name of John Watson despite his efforts to silence them. And he would be satisfied, it wouldn't be long now, for John was expected at the manor tomorrow night, to remind Sherlock of what love he had given up, and to force him to mutter the name his lips had all but forgotten how to pronounce. The only thing that now stood in Victor's way was Mycroft, and surely he wasn't too much of an obstacle really. As long as Mrs. Hudson had plenty of cakes in the sitting room Mycroft would be sure to stay out of the way, enjoying his sweets while John snuck through the house silently. It was Victor who would be letting him in, and yet Victor was going to have to make it seem as though his presence was a great surprise, surely he couldn't have Sherlock figuring out that it had been he who orchestrated this whole production. Sherlock was sticking true to his vows, an admirable feat considering there was no actual love between his wife and he. The more impressive of the two situations, however, proved to be John's willingness to stay away. There was a sort of stubbornness with him, presumably, in which he decided that he was not welcome and so he should not press his luck. Should Victor have been in his potion, of course, he would have most certainly over stepped his boundaries when the moment arose. And to think that John was blessed with the heart of Sherlock Holmes, and yet he refused to do anything with it! Why that was almost unimaginable, especially to those who wished they could have that sort of privilege. However content Sherlock was with his solitude that was sure to change whether he liked it or not, for John was going to happen into his life seemingly by accident, without Sherlock ever knowing that Victor had pulled all the necessary strings to get John exactly where he was supposed to be, in the empty arms of Sherlock Holmes.