Let Us All Make History

Welcome To Your Daydreams

Sherlock POV: Sherlock hadn't been expecting much of a celebration, and so when he finally staggered back to the carriage (Madam Pomfrey's potion had helped greatly, she had told him that his ribs were mended he just had to stay calm and in bed for the rest of the night) he was almost surprised when girls rushed out to meet him. It wasn't just the usual posy, like Molly and her little friends, but in fact it was everyone! Mary Morstan even, all crowding around Sherlock and squeezing to show their excitement, patting him on the back and hollering with excitement. They all were saying the same thing, champion, champion...champion. It was crazy to think that he had won; in fact it was crazy that he had even survived the entire thing. Those trolls were so big; well he had been sure he was dead! He almost froze, but then he realized that he could make the enemy freeze instead. It had been a beautiful spell, so powerful that the crowd froze as well, not only the trolls. That was what had given him the advantage over his competition, maybe they had been athletic and acrobatic, however he had been powerful. That was what this task had been, had it not? And Sherlock had shown magical ability beyond anyone else in the crowd, beyond Madam Maxine herself! Well that really wasn't saying much, she was rather incompetent at times. And yet now wasn't the time for hating people, in fact it would seem that this was the only opportunity he had to love them back! And so he smiled, he allowed himself to smile, to look at the faces around him and laugh, for he had survived, he had won! After Molly told the crowd they couldn't lift Sherlock on their shoulders they seemed rather hesitant to celebrate anymore. Maybe they didn't want to hurt Sherlock any further, or maybe they had quickly lost interest. Either way they faded away, leaving Sherlock and his friends to stand rather awkwardly outside of the carriage with its open door and illuminated windows, standing in the grass and trying to process that this tournament wasn't entirely a waste. Maybe there was a reason he had been chosen, maybe he was suited to be the winner after all! Was he really the best from this school; was he really the best from all three? The darkness was odd, the darkness was comforting now, instead of threatening. Victor had been right again, when he predicted that come tonight Sherlock would be happy. He was right, he was happy, overcome with a sort of happiness that got choked up in his throat, relief pooling behind his tongue like some sort of phlegm, making him want to cry, making him want to scream. Well this happiness was so happy that it almost made him sad. It almost made him regret not being able to cherish such a feeling, not being able to trap himself in this moment. It was fading...it was going away. Sherlock felt the need to be with people, he felt the need to hold someone in his arms and let himself get cradled, carefully. He looked up towards the castle, almost as if expecting to see someone waiting for him in the illumination of the entrance hall. He wanted to see the silhouette of John Watson; he wanted to see him standing there silently, expectantly, almost as if he knew that Sherlock would look back for him! Almost as if he knew that Sherlock would want him to come back.
"Come on Sherlock, Madam Pomfrey said bed rest." Molly advised, steering him very lightly with a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock nodded, looking away from the castle, emptied of boys who wanted to be with him, deserted from the looks of it. There was no reason to stay outside, and so Sherlock nodded, letting himself be led into the carriage and into his bedroom. It was Victor that he would have to resort to if he wanted to be with someone, and of course Victor wasn't an entirely unsuitable companion. They sat up, the three of them, talking about things and laughing about things, discussing the trolls and John's strategy, for Sherlock hadn't been allowed to see. He thought that jumping on the trolls was something John was very likely to do, and he smiled a bit sadly to think of his beloved standing on the troll's shoulders and hanging on their ears for balance. He smiled gently, his head lolling on Victor's lap as the boy ran his fingers through his hair carefully, gently. It was something of a stupid pose to be honest, however it was comfortable and it was intimate, just what Sherlock was looking for at a time like this. He noticed that Molly was eyeing the two of them curiously, almost as if wondering why they were so close together, almost as if she thought there was something there that she was missing. She wasn't missing anything of course, it wasn't love for Victor that made Sherlock so eager for his attention, no it was just the need for closeness. He wanted John right now; he wanted John more than anything he's ever wanted in his life! And yet he knew that it was impossible, he knew that he was impossible, and so he made do with what he had. He tolerated Victor, because now he had no other choice.
"I must admit, Sherlock, I'm not the least bit surprised you won. I rather saw it coming." Molly admitted proudly, holding her head just a little bit higher in pride.
"Ooh, why don't you go and talk to Trelawney then? You and her can both be psychics together." Sherlock recommended sarcastically.
"Yes sorry, Sherlock how many days do I have left?" Victor wondered teasingly.
"Well it changes every day, you see? Her inner eye is very indecisive." Sherlock muttered.
"I'm not saying I predicted it, I just knew that you were more capable than all the rest." Molly assured.
"You're biased Molly, you're like a favorable mother that's all." Victor insisted doubtfully.
"I am not biased, I'm real! I know that Sherlock has many strengths, many that are good for things like...well fighting trolls!" Molly offered.
"What was it that you got then, in the box?" Victor wondered curiously, letting his fingers trail a bit to Sherlock's hairline, his fingertips brushing ever so gently over his forehead. Sherlock nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his prize. It was a curious thing to keep in a box, really, and for it to be tied to the tournament really was beyond him. It was a little woven doll in blue, with long brown hair and a large smile. When Sherlock held it in his palm it floated upwards just a little bit, just hovering above his palm so he was still able to grab at it in a moment's notice.
"What on earth?" Victor laughed, however he didn't make a move to steal it, for obviously it was the champion's possession and none of his business.
"I don't know, I thought it was absurd." Sherlock admitted with a little laugh.
"It's probably a clue to the next task, don't you think? A little levitating doll, that must be something with flying then, or at least it's probably in the air." Molly guessed, sitting forward on her bed and looking at the doll curiously.
"Ah, well there goes my lead. I'm a terrible flyer." Sherlock laughed.
"You can learn, oh come on that's probably why they gave you the hint." Victor assured, patting his forehead a bit softly. It was a rather odd place to be hit, however, and so it still hurt.
"There must be more, it's a clue not a giveaway. There must be more." Sherlock muttered doubtfully, watching as the little doll hovered in his hand. "It's funny Molly. Kind of looks a bit like you." They spent the rest of the night trying to figure out what on earth that doll was going to be for, what the hint was and why it was even relevant to the next task. In the end they began to get sleepy, Sherlock's eyelids began to droop and Molly was nodding off against the wall quite inattentively. Sherlock didn't really want her to leave, however Victor seemed rather keen on the idea, almost as if something might come with their being alone. Molly bid the boys goodnight before returning to her room, giving Sherlock a quick pat on the shoulder and looking at Victor as if they both knew something that Sherlock didn't. He didn't care to know what it was, probably some conspiracy between the two of them that had nothing to do with him. He didn't care, he didn't even want to know, he was on top of the world at the moment, nothing could bother him anymore. He just had one wish, that the hands that were stroking his hair now did not belong to Victor, that the lap he rested his head on was not Victor's, no he wished that he could be in the company of John, John with his smile and his soft comments. John with his optimism, and his kindness. Sherlock wanted the knowledge that John could be something more to him, and that he could be something more to John. A friend was a meager status; he didn't want to just be a friend he wanted to be something more, something better. He wanted to mean something, to be someone! But for now, well John saw him nothing more than competition. Worthy competition at that, and yet...
"He held my hand. Did you see that Victor? He did." Sherlock said in an excited breath. They were now alone, Molly was softly in her own room and they were left to themselves.
"I did see." Victor agreed in a harsh sort of voice.
"You don't like him?" Sherlock presumed. Victor sighed heavily, a sigh that told Sherlock without any doubt that Victor knew the answer to that question; he just knew that Sherlock wouldn't like it.
"It's not that I don't like him it's just...well I have my suspicions. He seems to almost be playing with your mind, with your heart. He plays with you but I don't think he has any of the intentions you hope he does. I think he's just flirtatious by nature, and you're mistaking it for something else." Victor admitted.
"Flirtatious is an act of love." Sherlock offered.
"Not this type." Victor muttered, sounding almost as if he wanted himself to be true more than he could actually prove it to be. Sherlock nodded, sighing heavily and feeling Victor's fingers once more in his hair, almost as if he felt like being so close was a privilege. There was something curious about the defensive way he was acting, it was starting to seem that he wanted to love of Sherlock to be reserved for him and him alone, it almost seemed as though he was becoming possessive.
"And what of you, Victor? What have you been doing these past couple of nights?" Sherlock wondered a bit tauntingly, a smile breaking out on his lips as he felt Victor shrug.
"I haven't been doing anything. Why do you..."
"You've been nice. You're never nice to me." Sherlock interrupted, making sure Victor didn't start spewing rubbish excuses before Sherlock could get the real accusation into the air.
"I thought you were going to die, and that's what you do to dead men walking. You're nice to them." Victor insisted with a teasing sort of tone, poking Sherlock on the nose in a playful way.
"You don't take silly little things like death into account. Now really Victor, what have you been up to? What's going on in that funny little head of yours?" Sherlock wondered with a smile. Victor sighed heavily, shaking his head in an almost embarrassed sort of way.
"To be quite honest I'm not entirely sure. Sherlock I'm sure you'll laugh at me when I say, but I have been concocting the most wild visions, the most wild of dreams spilling into my innermost thoughts." Victor admitted with a large sigh, sounding almost as if he had already said to much but he wanted to keep on talking. His word choice was interesting, his hands got stiff and his back went rather rigid, suddenly Sherlock felt like he was being imprisoned rather than cradled, he felt almost as if the thoughts on Victor's mind were not ones that may be questioned. And yet he never did have a good sense of good decisions or bad, and so he just kept on inquiring.
"The wildest of dreams of what?" Sherlock wondered.
"Of who." Victor corrected.
"Oh so it's someone? A boy then? Victor have you fallen in love?" Sherlock teased, however his smile came more difficulty, for he was beginning to envision who might be on Victor's mind, he was beginning to realize that there was a reason he was being so nice.
"A boy, yes. A boy I thought would never notice me. A boy I think still never will." Victor agreed.
"Shall I go and beat him up then?" Sherlock suggested. "That usually gets people to cooperate."
"No Sherlock, no violence please. He's quite injured already, in fact." Victor assured with a sigh. Sherlock could almost feel Victor's eyes playing across his chest, almost as if making a gesture towards Sherlock's healing bones, the bandages tied under his clothes, the injuries...Could it be?
"Sebastian Moran took an interest in you, him and his evil friend, had I mentioned that?" Sherlock wondered.
"No you had not." Victor muttered. He didn't sound nearly as thrilled as Sherlock thought he would be, in fact he seemed almost melancholy, overcome with the same odd sort of need for intimacy that had overcome Sherlock while standing off in the grass tonight. Could it be that they could simply take advantage of the other's need for human contact? They were both, in fact, very human.
"Victor you don't sound excited." Sherlock decided carefully.
"I am, of course I am. It's nice to know that someone has noticed me." Victor assured.
"He's not the boy." Sherlock guessed.
"No he's not." Victor agreed.
"Are you in love with him?" Sherlock wondered, quite sure he already knew the answer to this one. He had always known, in fact, it was a commonly known fact throughout all their years of schooling. Had it really taken this long for Victor to realize his own feelings as well?
"I feel a kind of love, yes. I feel as though we had both been ignored, in a sense. I think that together we might be able to notice each other." Victor admitted. His grip was tightening and yet Sherlock didn't mind, in fact he was becoming eager, a sort of hungry impatience was beginning to overtake him. Of course he didn't love Victor, he didn't want anything to do with Victor romantically, it was just the thought that Victor could offer him something that everyone else denied. Love, well it wasn't easy to come by. But tonight seemed to be different, there was a bit of madness in the air; they could both feel it of course.
"Victor I won't say anything." Sherlock assured.
"About what?" Victor whispered, his heart beginning to thump faster in his chest, Sherlock could feel it through his fingertips, throbbing against Sherlock's forehead, tangled in his hair, Victor's passion, his emotions.
"About what comes next." Sherlock mumbled. Victor sighed heavily, almost as if he hadn't been expecting such an answer from him. Almost as if he thought that Sherlock was going to say something much differently.
"And what is coming next?" Victor whispered.
"Your daydreams." Sherlock assured in the quietest of voices, trapping Victor's hand in his own just for a moment, holding it there very still. Victor's fingers clenched in his own, they twitched to be set free and yet Sherlock wasn't going to let them go anywhere. Not now that he had them, not now that he was actually about to do this. It wasn't Victor that he wanted, it was just love. Simple as that. Sherlock had never kissed someone, never properly, and neither had Victor. And yet the boy seemed to know at least something of love, for he slid out from under Sherlock's head and laid down parallel to him, still allowing his hand to be trapped in Sherlock's however he rolled over so that he could have a better view, a better grip. He was on top of Sherlock now, he had his hands in his own, he was breathing heavily, for he didn't know what he was supposed to do. Neither boy seemed to know what was happening; they just knew that it was happening. They were okay with that. Sherlock liked this; he liked the way it was turning out. After a day of being powerful it was rather nice to be helpless, to let your life seep into another's hands and to just let it all go if only for a moment. Sometimes it was nice not to have control, to let someone trap your arms under their grip, to let them take you, to let them have you... What were they even doing? It was almost sad to see Victor try to squirm, hovering his lips still over Sherlock's as he wasn't sure if he was allowed to kiss him just yet. It was Sherlock who then made the first move, craning his neck up to trap Victor's lips in his own, for the boy was simply taking too long. It wasn't passionate, however it was romantic enough. It was enough to make Sherlock's heart start to thud, his first kiss, his first proper kiss. Victor was an unworthy candidate and yet he would do, he certainly would do. Moonlight madness, you might call it, that or simply being opportunistic. There was something that Sherlock wanted and so he took it, he was in that position now where that was completely okay. He was a champion, wasn't he? Some sort of celebrity now? John was probably underneath someone right now as well, celebrating in his own way, getting lost in the love that people threw at him just for the sake of it? Wouldn't he like to know where Sherlock was, who he was with and what he was doing? Wouldn't he like to know that it was Victor who had the honor of entertaining Sherlock tonight; wouldn't he like to be there to witness what an odd spectacle the two made? What would he do to find out, when he discovered that Sherlock would indeed kiss a friend, when Sherlock indeed kiss a boy... This was what John wanted to know, of course, that's what he wondered. That's what he asked about. And he would never know, not until Sherlock made a mistake, not until he let his true identity slide away. And he would never talk about this, whatever this was, Victor's lips on his neck and his hands brushing against the bandages that clenched around his chest, what was it? What wasn't it? It was just something, something that had to be done eventually. Something that was necessary. Something that was imminent. Dreams, spilling into the darkness, into reality, dreams capturing someone in their delusions and in their needs, in their lusts and their longings. Trapping someone into their imaginations and their heart, trapping them so that they couldn't move to defend themselves, even if they wanted to. Sherlock didn't want to and so he didn't try to move, he moved his fingers and he moved his lips, he moved his arms and he kicked his legs, yet he didn't budge, not unless Victor permitted it. Helpless, that was how he wanted to stay. Tonight he was helpless; tonight he was at the mercy of Victor. The boy he didn't love, the boy who loved him now. It was a cruel sort of irony but it suited their needs, if just for a night. This night that wouldn't be spoken of. This night that may just be a dream.