Divided We Will Fall

The War Has Come Home

    Sherlock tried to carry the crate, and that was no exaggeration. He did all the standard lifting techniques, he tried to carry it from the sides, he tried to get it up onto his knee so as to hold it from the bottom, he even attempted to drag the thing across the stoop. In the end, however, the awesome mass of that crate was too much for him to handle, and so one by one he took the individual milk bottles into the ice box. Even these were a little bit heavy when they had been lugged for a while, and so when Sherlock finally got the last one into the fridge he was already beginning to massage his arms. John was right, wasn't he? Sherlock was a little twig. John...what on Earth was Sherlock going to do about John? Well it wasn't like he could sell him out, no that was completely out of the question. Sherlock was no ally to the soldiers, and he was no ally to the revolution at this point. He was simply neutral, now with the view of both sides being taken into consideration. By telling the soldiers of John's affiliations he would be dooming the poor boy to the gallows on charges of being a traitor, and yet if he did nothing the revels would be better prepared to face the soldiers, therefore being better equipped to kill them. It was...well it was unnerving both ways. Sherlock didn't want to see John get killed, yet he didn't want to doom the soldiers to even more casualties. Yes, staying quiet was the thing to do. Even with the soldier's possible deaths it was a much more indirect guilt, Sherlock really couldn't be blamed for what might have become of that little list of their equipment. And besides, if John got hanged they would discover his allies in this whole operation, leading to the possible arrest and hanging of Mr. Hooper and Molly. And that, of course, Sherlock would never let happen. He would give his own life to save that girl, even if she was going behind his back and spying on him without his knowing. She meant the world to Sherlock, more than anyone, and to see her get killed for being dedicated to a cause she loved so much...well that would lead him to madness. Especially if it was ultimately Sherlock's fault! He could never sell out his friends like that, it didn't matter who was on the opposing lines. It was curious now, the light he was able to see John Watson in. Beforehand his sneaking around had been nothing more than a bother, an extreme irritation that made Sherlock despise him even more than he already did. Yet now it was different, now that he had a purpose and a reason to be hanging around the Holmes household and bothering them all it seemed justified and admirable. For once Sherlock could think of John as a hero, rather than just a nuisance.
"Sherlock, there you are! What was all that commotion in the hallway, your brother was complaining?" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, bursting into the kitchen and harshly interrupting Sherlock's train of thought.
"Oh it was just John, the milk boy." Sherlock grumbled, pouting from where he was sitting next to the icebox. Mrs. Hudson just laughed, shaking her head as if she was proud of Sherlock for some reason before seating herself down on the crates and kicking her feet in enthusiasm.
"You two were yelling?" she presumed.
"Yes we were. I um...well he got on my nerves one too many times. He's insufferable." Sherlock murmured, yet at this point such a statement was a white lie. John was insufferable, or at least he had been when Sherlock didn't know of the admirable affiliations he was involved with. At the moment Sherlock was trying to figure out just what his feelings for John Watson really were.
"I think he's a nice boy. You really need more friends Sherlock; you should try to be nicer to him. I know that sometimes people get you angry, but you should look past that. Look through their eyes." Mrs. Hudson suggested.
"I have plenty of friends." Sherlock defended with a frown.
"You do?" Mrs. Hudson asked with a sarcastic raise of her eyebrow, obviously encouraging Sherlock to go ahead and name three.
"Yes, I have friends. There's Molly Hooper, and Victor Trevor...and sometimes Mycroft tolerates me." Sherlock pointed out proudly.
"Your brother doesn't count. But I'm happy you've been talking to Victor! He's about your age, maybe a couple of years older." Mrs. Hudson said with a little nod. Sherlock smiled a little bit embarrassingly, for with all the things that had happened this morning he almost forgot about the events with Victor the night previous. Oh how beautiful it had all been...how completely unprecedented! And to think what might become of tonight, to think what might become of the rest of their lives! He loved Victor; he knew that now for a fact. If only Victor knew of his admiration, if only Victor knew to what extent Sherlock was willing to go.
"Yes he's very kind to me." Sherlock agreed with an almost love sick sort of blush. Mrs. Hudson might have picked up on it, for she began to chuckle in a knowing sort of way. However before Mrs. Hudson could speak her mind the door opened and a very frantic Mrs. Holmes came running in.
"We've only got an hour, my goodness time flies! Come on then William, good to see you here." Mrs. Holmes exclaimed, tapping Mrs. Hudson on the shoulder so as to get her moving.
"We'll be quick today, how about just eggs, bacon, and biscuits?" Mrs. Hudson recommended.
"Martha they'll go starving, throw some oatmeal in the mix to. William, the biscuit batter if you will! I'll start cracking the eggs." Mrs. Holmes exclaimed, looking quite horrified to see that she wasn't meeting her own deadline.
"Now don't panic dear, that's when the food tastes terrible." Mrs. Hudson warned in a calming sort of way, to which Sherlock just smiled in admiration. Leave it to Mrs. Hudson to keep a level head in a situation like this, with an hour to make food for an army. The good thing about being on biscuit duty is that it was a very meditating job. Sherlock needn't think about the dough he was kneading and so he didn't, instead he thought of the much more pressing matters that seemed to be happening all at once. It was such terrible timing in the universe, his first love coupled with his first conspiracy. Well then again, the two were sort of linked so in the end it was appropriate. So terrible still that his love and his friends were working for separate sides, now with Sherlock in the middle forced to cater to both sides without the others knowing. Molly knew of victor, and of course she will be the first one to know of the end result of the night previous. Sherlock wouldn't dream of telling John, especially since John might take his homosexuality as a personal threat instead of just an interesting trait. It was helpful that Sherlock's best friend was a girl; therefore she wouldn't be at all worried that he would fall in love with her. Now of course that had been an issue for the longest time, and it still was with those who didn't know of Sherlock's new preferred gender (so still the entire human population, minus two). Yet now that Molly got it into her head that she had zero chance at ever being Sherlock's love interest there might be the absence of an awkward wall between them, the realization now that they could entirely focus on friendship instead of sneaking about and trying to figure out if there was any attraction from the other side. And of course Sherlock did pity the girl, for he knew that she had legitimately fallen in love with him. It was a bad choice either way, for even if he was heterosexual he was still a horrible person, a complete jerk with a very egocentric personality. He would make a terrible husband whichever gender he chose, that was for sure. Molly deserved a good husband, one that will treat her right, allow her to live comfortable, and never attempt to try to snuff out the burning flame of feminism and rebellious spirit that constantly burned inside of her. She needed someone that would support her just as much as she would allow them to, all while allowing her to be pillar and leader of the house nonetheless. That person of course, would not be Sherlock. He knew that she would be happy for him, of course, and his newly acquired self-understanding. He was happy with who he was, in fact it felt much better to know that there was an actual reason for his never being interested in women. He had always assumed that it had been due to romantic disinterest, and if Victor Trevor had never shown up he might have always been under that false impression! How ghastly would that have been, someone like Sherlock who needed attention to survive never getting appreciated to his fullest extent? No he needed that sort of romantic admiration, and now he just knew that he needed it not from women, but from men. How easy his life would've been leading up to this point if he had only known what other options there were, if only he had been educated not on triangles but on love and sexualities! He would've understood himself and he might've understood his heart earlier than this. Thankfully it had taken a soldier to strut into his life and remind him that men were beautiful, and if that had not happened then maybe he would've discovered another way. Perhaps by...well no. No John Watson would never have been the turning point. It might've come another way, yet that milk boy was nothing special, nothing like Victor Trevor turned out to be. Oh was he thinking of Sherlock now, too? Was he lying awake all night, tingling in excitement of what he had done just as Sherlock had? Was he dreaming of what might come next, or was he trying to wrap his head about how lucky he had ended up being that his own advances were appreciated and returned? How beautiful such advances had been, certainly enough to demonstrate to Sherlock just how horrible he had been. Yet then again, how was he supposed to know the details of a proper kiss? He had never been exposed to such public displays of affection, other than of course the quick pecks that were exchanged between his parents in the mornings. That was what Sherlock thought kissing was, he had no idea that there could be more. More...more gaping, more biting, more tongue. And if he didn't know what to do then, how on earth did he know what to do next? Sherlock had little to know knowledge of the intimate and private ways a relationship developed behind closed doors. He had been told how babies were made of course, yet he had no idea what would happen considering his rather...well his unorthodox relationship. It couldn't possibly be anything like the way heterosexuals go about it, right? How would that even work? Sherlock didn't know, and to be quite honest he hoped Victor knew a bit more than him, because if they were both equally uneducated their relationship might abruptly end at kissing. And that would be fine as well. Victor was a good enough kisser to make up for whatever might not be happening afterwards.
"William come on, why have you stopped?" Mrs. Holmes whined, tapping Sherlock on the shoulder as she had just noticed his kneading had come to a halt. Sherlock blinked, clearing his throat and nodding abruptly.
"Yes, sorry. Just lost in thought." he admitted with a little shrug.
"Well get found! We've got soldiers to feed!" Mrs. Holmes insisted, still sounding very anxious despite Mrs. Hudson's previous calming techniques.
"Yes I know, mother. I know." Sherlock agreed with a sigh. When breakfast was finally prepared it was once more Sherlock's responsibility to bring it out to the soldiers, as if somehow the arms of both of the women had been broken. Maybe this laborious task was a way to buff him up, or maybe it was an attempt for him to finally socially just a little bit more with the men who constantly sat at their kitchen table. Either way it was obnoxious, and it was tedious work. However this morning was manageable, simply because Sherlock knew that someone very special would be waiting for him in the dining room when he arrived.
"There he is, right at eight. Actually a minute past, but we'll let that slide." Moran chuckled, leaning against the table excitedly as he watched the food get set down before him. Sherlock noticed that it was a full house, which was very rare for breakfast. A lot of the men sometimes decide that they would rather sleep than eat and go without nourishment, however today all six soldiers were awake (at least they were here, probably half-conscious didn't count as awake) and sitting around the table in their proper spots. Victor too was present, the only one aside from Moran who looked alert and properly groomed. He looked dashing, completely radiant and probably rightly so. Victor had undoubtedly stood before the mirror for quite a while trying to perfect that hair swoop that sat on top of his forehead proudly. Sherlock smiled at him, a small terrified smile at that, yet a smile all the same. He could feel his cheeks blushing nervously, and even now his hands trembled around the bowl of scrambled eggs. Victor's presence made him nervous; especially now that they were in the most awkward phase of whatever relationship they might be blooming. Would it go on, or would it stop from here? Would Victor want to continue, and to make a good impression, or was he trying not to give Sherlock the wrong idea, and therefore cut off their relationship right after it had begun? There were no certainties here, and so Sherlock had to tread carefully.