Let The Shadows Win

Do What You Think Is Necessary

Sherlock POV: Whatever was necessary may seem like a drastic promise, for in Sherlock's mind only the most harshest of actions seemed necessary. A separation was necessary, and of course a divorce did not settle such a thing very cleanly. A love affair was necessary, yet merely loving in secret before returning to your obligations was very tiresome. What was necessary was a do over, an eraser to get rid of all the stray marks you had made throughout your life. You needed to merely get rid of the deadweight, and that weight was undeniably taken in the form of Mary Morstan. And so Sherlock was prepared to do what was necessary, simply because it seemed as though John couldn't do much of anything except let Sherlock do all the heavy lifting. For John had sympathies, and that was nothing to be ashamed of. There was no telling where the human heart might stray to, for even Sherlock's heart sometimes remembered a simpler time when he would gaze at Victor from across the school hallways. Even the purest of hearts will wander, it matter just that it ended up in the right spot, with its previous path forgotten. Sherlock would ensure that John's heart forgot the path it had once meandered down, he would start it moving from its stagnation and force it back to the spot it had started, all of those years ago. And so Sherlock was willing to do what was necessary, for he knew that the harshest of means would be the only way to rid them of the disease that had plagued his lover for all these years. He woke tangled in John's arms, the way he had dreamed of waking every time he opened his eyes from another night alone. In those days in the penitentiary, when the shadow arms of Victor instead entwined him, he would close his eyes and pretend that shadowed skin was in fact light. He would pretend that the coldness was warmth, and that the stilled chest was instead breathing once more. He would envision himself in an illuminous place, tangled in white sheets with the blonde head of John Watson resting beside him. And sometimes, well even in that hell hole, such a vision would let him smile. And now it was reality, or at least half of it was. The skin was warm, but the room was dark. It could be any time of day or night outside and Sherlock would have no way of knowing, for the windows were sealed tight and the doors were replaced by planks. The candles had reduced themselves to the smallest of stubs, yet they illuminated the bedroom in which the two of them now lay just enough so as to allow Sherlock to look upon the man that lay next to him. He could smile quietly, appreciating the sleeping figure of John Watson who had curled up next to him with his small arms dangled overtop of Sherlock's bare chest, snoring quietly in an almost unattractive yet charming manner. It wasn't near the paradise in which Sherlock had envisioned them, merely because it turned out that this was better. He liked the darkness so long as he was sleeping next to the light, and he didn't mind the unwashed sheets so long as he could still squint to see the portrait of John Watson peeling overtop of them both. His old bed, it would seem, was where they had ended up. Sherlock blinked for a moment, wondering what had woke him if John was still so sound asleep. Of course it wasn't long until the answer was made obvious, for he heard the softest of whispers against his ear.
"Sherlock, you're awake?" asked that familiar purr. Sherlock turned his head as much as he could manage without disturbing the sleeping figure next to him, knowing of course who to expect before he even got a good chance to look.
"Victor." Sherlock whispered. The familiar face broke into a smile, that smile he still tried to convince himself he was used to seeing. Yet after all of these years, such radiant happiness was still able to brighten his day. Sherlock smiled back.
"It's been a while." Victor commented, coming closer and letting his fingers trail about Sherlock's forehead, dancing along his hairline before falling away quietly. "I wanted to talk with you."
"Why now? Can't you see I'm a little bit...well preoccupied?" Sherlock whispered, keeping his voice down so as to not wake John who still slept peacefully.
"This is a dream, Sherlock. You will not wake him." Victor assured.
"A dream?" Sherlock clarified. Victor nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed so as to encourage Sherlock to sit up as well. He obeyed; still worried that John might open his eyes and be witness to Sherlock's conversation to seemingly no one. Yet as Sherlock sat up he let John fall back onto the mattress, and such an impact didn't seem to wake the sleeping man. It would seem as though this really was a dream.
"Your brother hasn't liked me poking around too much in your head. He says I encourage...irrational decisions." Victor admitted with a regretful little laugh.
"He means emotions." Sherlock clarified, pulling his legs underneath himself so as to sit up on his knees. Being the modest being he was he pulled the blankets up around his waist, however Victor merely chuckled for there was no point. Victor was constantly in Sherlock's head, and even if he wasn't visible he was always watching.
"Yes I know, and that's of course what I came here to talk to you about. You're planning to kill John's wife?" Victor wondered softly.
"I see no other way to make him mine forever. If she's alive, he'll still love her." Sherlock insisted. Victor nodded, looking at Sherlock once more with those forever admiring eyes. He always looked so happy to see him, always so happy to be seen back. Victor was a cherishing being, one who could never get enough of looking at the ones he loved. And of course there was only one thing he loved, and that was Sherlock. And so tonight his electric blue eyes sparkled.
"How can you be so sure? What if her death causes her to live in your head? Or even worse...to live in his?" Victor pointed out with a tinge of regret, looking towards John as if wondering what other sorts of unfaithful acts he could get up to. Victor looked at John with remorse, jealousy, and disgust.
"She means nothing to me; she would not stay with me." Sherlock debated. "And John...well I'm not sure. I think he's too sane to embody his innermost thoughts like I do."
"You're saying that I'm merely evidence of your insanity?" Victor clarified, sounding almost offended by such a statement.
"I'm just saying that most sane people don't have such everlasting visions." Sherlock said with a little chuckle.
"I am not a vision, Sherlock. I am your reality. I think when you are not able to, and rationalize when you cannot." Victor clarified.
"I do not need you to think for me this time, Victor." Sherlock insisted. Victor took a deep breath, letting his eyes fall almost shamefully, for it was obvious he didn't like Sherlock so erratically making his own decisions. Ever since he was a child Sherlock was unable to choose, and now that he had the choice of whether or not to kill Mary Morstan, for once in his life the answer seemed obvious! Yet if it was so obvious, then why did Victor seem so opposed?
"Your brother is very fond of the idea. Pardon me if I am suspicious of something he very much favors." Victor mumbled regretfully. Sherlock simply shook his head, a small smile appearing on his face in something of remorse for his confused friend.
"Victor you do not have to worry about me for much longer. Once she is dead, John will be mine. He can do all the worrying from that point on." Sherlock assured. Victor looked up at him with a saddened look in his usually luminescent eyes, looking up as if Sherlock's statement had been the equivalent to the knife across his throat.
"You can so easily replace me?" Victor clarified carefully. Sherlock sighed heavily, shaking his head and taking Victor's hand from where it lay so accessibly on his knees. The hand was solid, as Sherlock had expected it to be, even though he knew that victor was not really there.
"I can never replace you, Victor. I'm just saying I might not need you. Or Mycroft, for that matter." Sherlock admitted with a grin.
"Do not say his name; I am worried he will find me here." Victor whispered fearfully, his fingers clenching as he looked about, observing the shadows as he was expecting them to come to life.
"I will not let him come. Stay with me Victor, for just a little while longer." Sherlock pleaded, squeezing the boy's hand while he smiled carefully.
"Yes of course." Victor agreed.
"I have to kill Mary. I'm sorry to say, but it's the only way he can be mine forever. I'm sure she won't linger, I'm sure she won't take form inside of my head. I won't let her." Sherlock said simply.
"And if you kill her and someone finds out? Remember Greg's warnings?" Victor pointed out.
"Let Greg try his best. This time I'm prepared for him to. I'll kill anyone he sends my way, and if he comes my way...well then I'll kill him too." Sherlock declared proudly.
"Brave words, considering how weak you are." Victor said with a little laugh. Sherlock frowned, looking at his skinny little biceps to realize of course that Victor was correct. He was always correct; it really was just as knack of his.
"No one is weak if they are armed appropriately." Sherlock pointed out.
"They will not let you have a gun." Victor warned. Sherlock grinned, his eyes flashing as he took Victor's other hand in his own and pulled him closer in his enthusiasm. Victor complied, looking over more like the love stuck fool he so often proved to be.
"No, but they left my kitchen drawer completely stocked." Sherlock teased, and with that he pulled Victor even closer and pressed a kiss of farewell onto his lips. He said farewell because he felt himself waking, and he never knew when he would see Victor again in his dreams. Yet just as soon as their lips met, Sherlock's eyes opened, and he saw once more that he was lying where he had woken previously. He saw that nothing had been disturbed, and he was still lying with John fallen on his chest, like it had been before he had gotten interrupted.