Death Is A Friend

Preservation And Desecration

There were many things wrong with Victor's being here, many things which made the man impossible. For starters, he could never get through the Holmes household at this time of night without raising an alarm. Someone would've spotted him, and if not that then certainly the security alarms would have been triggered throughout the church. More than once this church had been robbed, yet the last couple of attempts had been foiled by those loud, annoying alarms. Certainly Victor wasn't sneakier than those criminals, and certainly he wasn't clever enough to outsmart the security systems. The second, and probably the most telling aspect of this occurrence was the time. If Victor would have come for a visit, he would have done it in the daytime. He needn't be stalking about like a criminal, even after the threats of Mr. Holmes, and his promises to kill Victor should he ever step foot in the church, well everyone knew that you couldn't kill Victor. Just as is Death, he was immortal, and should anyone even muster up the courage to lay a finger on him they would find their efforts were wasted. He was not the mere man, and therefore he didn't need to act guilty. One in the morning was the time for the guilty visitor, for the fearful. And Victor wasn't afraid of anything. All the while Sherlock knew Victor's being here to be impossible, all the while he sat up and stared. He sat up in awe, staring lovingly at the man who stood before him, leaning on his walking stick with his top hat bent over his forehead in a very peculiar angle. He had a strange smile on his face, one that Sherlock may have worn that night when it all went wrong. Or rather, when it all went right...and stopped abruptly.
"Victor?" Sherlock clarified, staring at the man who was draped in the shadows. However Sherlock knew it to be him, with only half of his face exposed Sherlock could tell just but the stance and confidence that it was indeed Victor Trevor who stood before him. Whether he was a man, a ghost, or a delusion, well that was irrelevant now. It was the first Sherlock had ever seen of him since he was dragged away by Mycroft, it was the first time since he saw Victor so afraid, and so timid, that he was able to see him again in his normal attire and normal persona. Fearless, confident, the man stood before him like the very first time he met him. That confidence enough was making Sherlock's knees tremble in excitement, in desire.
"It's been a long while, Sherlock. I rather thought you were content with being away." Victor commented almost mockingly, as if he was blaming Sherlock for something that was entirely out of his control.
"It's not like I had any choice." Sherlock grumbled.
"Oh you have all the choice in the world, Sherlock. You doubt yourself too much." Victor scolded, shifting his weight to his other leg so that he could swing his walking stick tauntingly in Sherlock's direction.
"I think you overestimate me, that's all." Sherlock insisted. "They'll kill me if they find me escaping."
"That's the key word, Sherlock. If." Victor mumbled with a sigh.
"You'll have me back, if I do return?" Sherlock clarified apprehensively. "I can't come back here, if I leave."
"You know as well as I that I will take you in. I will take good care of you, Sherlock." Victor assured quietly. Sherlock nodded, for of course he knew that. Victor probably wouldn't be the best caretaker, yet all the same he would be better than this, whatever this was. His morgue would be a more fitting place to live than this dingy, grimy attic.
"I know you will." Sherlock agreed rather quietly, almost as if he was ashamed for having to take advantage of Victor and his hospitality. Well of course he wasn't proud of being a deadbeat, passed along from one caregiver to the next until someone finally opted to keep him. And yet he couldn't stay here any longer, he simply couldn't stay.
"You're meant to be with me, Sherlock." Victor pointed out, stepping closer towards the edge of the bed so as to allude to his coming closer. Sherlock took a deep breath, inching forward on his knees, so that he could bring himself level to Victor's lips when they veered within range.
"I know I am. We're destiny." Sherlock agreed quietly, eagerly. Victor simply chuckled, removing his top hat from his head and setting it down with his cane on the edge of the bed. He came closer, taking Sherlock's head in his hands and letting his fingers sink deep into the mess of curls. He studied him for a moment, with those blue eyes which still shone so brightly in the darkness. He observed every inch of Sherlock's face, and allowed his eyes to delve deep into the soul that was hiding behind Sherlock's multicolored irises.
"But you know what you have to do, don't you? Before you return to me?" Victor clarified. Sherlock shook his head, trying to lean closer yet finding it impossible. Victor's grip was enough to keep him steady, and while his hands were free to wander his head and lips were secured where Victor wanted them. Close enough to be tempting, yet far enough to be frustrating.
"I don't know." Sherlock admitted quietly. Victor merely smiled, his fingers messaging into Sherlock's head, as if to probe his brain to think harder. Victor took a deep breath, smiling quietly and dropping his gaze in a shy sort of way. As if he didn't like asking for things, yet knew all the same that things were necessary.
"You're between worlds, Sherlock. You're between the living and the dead. You know as well as I that you have to choose either one." Victor mumbled.
"Is returning to you not enough?" Sherlock whispered in reply. "Are you not Death himself?"
"One does not simply accept death, it is not so simple. There are two steps to the process of dying, Sherlock. One is killing the life. The other, is accepting the death." Victor whispered. Sherlock stared at him quietly, his eyes growing wide as he realized just what Victor was asking of him. Killing his life, well that was much more metaphorical than he would prefer. It was no secret who in this world represented Sherlock's life, the world he might have lived in had he not been born with malfunctioning lungs. It's no secret who would have been his savior, had he needed one at all.
"You're asking me to kill?" Sherlock asked quietly.
"I'm asking you to deprive life from those who are not worthy of it." Victor corrected. "Killing sounds so brutal...while this should be anything but. This should be romantic, intimate. By taking his life, you are offering yourself a second coming. Tell him that. Allow him to enjoy it."
"Preservation and desecration...you told me about that before." Sherlock agreed quietly.
"Yes I did. And in that very same conversation, you declared yourself worthy of such acts. You declared yourself capable of murder." Victor said with a little grin, drawing his face closer, yet still not close enough. "Now's your time to prove it." he whispered quietly, his blue eyes sparkling with that familiar excitement. A shiver went down Sherlock's spine, yet not with fear. Rather...with opportunity. It may be the very fact that he was not afraid that scared him so much.
"Now's my time to prove myself to you." Sherlock agreed. Victor hummed in agreement, a smile poking itself on the corners of his lips.
"I'll be expecting you, Sherlock. But until then..." Suddenly Victor threw Sherlock back on the bed, wrapping his arms around his torso and bringing his face close. They fell back together, intertwined in a mess of limbs, their lips searching yet never finding each other's. Sherlock let his heart beat for that millisecond, he let himself get excited. Yet faster than gravity could pull them down, Victor disappeared. And by the time Sherlock's head hit the pillow, he was alone once more.