The Last Romantics

Normality Is A Matter of Perspective

I hadn't seen John the next day, though that was due to a personal preference if anything at all. I hadn't gone down to the docks to seek him out, and while half of me wanted to avoid him for the rest of the week the other half was surely hoping that he would seek me out instead. I knew that my actions hadn't all together betrayed my intentions, though the mistake of opening my heart to him was something I was in no position to take back. He may not know everything, but I was too embarrassed to face him on the off chance that he could read me like a book. All of this was up for my own interpretation, and of course my pessimistic mind would never allow me to think positively about the matter. I had no witnesses to confirm that the world was not ending, and so the remainder of my days I spent wallowing in my room, miserable and not seeking any company save my own intrinsic and unfavorable thoughts. The only time I emerged was for dinner, only because it would be seen as unthinkably rude should I decided to skip the key meal. I forced myself to dress, looking only half decent as I emerged down the stairwell, my quiet footsteps interrupting the birds as they went about their business in the cages provided. They announced my presence, though I wasn't expecting any sort of greeting as I descended. Victor was usually eating by the time I arrived anyway, and so when he appeared at the foot of the stairs dressed in his hat and coat I couldn't but feel a little put off. This was an unexpected twist to the night.
"Are you going out?" I wondered quietly, allowing my brow to crease with concern. Victor never left the house if he could help it. In fact I couldn't remember him leaving the house since I had arrived, at least not on his own business. When he accompanied me to the club that seemed to be motivated only by his support of me, and the entire time he seemed uneasy. What special occasion prompted his sudden retreat?
"We are both going out." Victor said plainly. "Mrs. Turner has your coat."
"Where are we going?" I wondered suspiciously, finding the housekeeper standing near the door and proudly holding up my long coat. I wasn't entirely eager to leave the house either, worried that this might be some sort of set up to either lead me to face John Watson or, more likely, the consequences of such endeavors.
"You'll know when we get there." Victor muttered.
"Without dinner?" I clarified.
"Sherlock, get your coat." Victor demanded, thrusting his walking stick in Mrs. Turner's direction. The thing swung dangerously close to her face, though the woman never flinched. Perhaps she was used to such scares, having lived in the house with such a dramatic man for so long.
"Alright then." I agreed, deciding that even if I had more questions to ask Victor wouldn't tolerate them. I was known to be quite a bother, though I only allowed my inquisitiveness to go so far as it would be accepted. Soon I would get that cane swung at me, and Victor surely wouldn't do me the liberty of missing. I scampered down the remaining steps and allowed Mrs. Turner to fit me into my coat, giving me a reassuring pat as if to motivate me to just go along with my host's everlasting whims.
"When will you boys be back?" she wondered. I smiled, always appreciating her referring even to Victor as a boy; though in every definition he should be considered a fully grown man.
"Don't wait up for us." Victor assured. "We'll eat on the town."
"Whatever you say. Take care of Sherlock." Mrs. Turner warned, to which I nodded my head in quiet agreement. Victor smiled, though seemed to have no argument against such protection.
"Always, Mrs. Turner." He assured. And with that he started his way out the door, allowing his walking stick to announce his arrival into the street with a great many ceremonious clicks against the pavement. I followed along quietly, pausing only to light up a cigarette before scampering down in his wake.
"So are you going to tell me where we're going? It's not like you to leave, nor to miss dinner." I pointed out a bit nervously, certain that this was all on account of some strange plot. Victor was always very good at surprising me, and so I figured that this was not going to be any exception.
"Sherlock, you are lost in a world you do not understand, afraid of common place trifles and determined to win the heart of someone who may not even want to give it away." Victor began.
"Well, to put it lightly." I grumbled, to which Victor dared flick a smile before continuing.
"I'm taking you to a very special place, perhaps one of the most secretive operations in all of London. And so, before we enter, I challenge you never to breathe a word of its existence, even of our visit. Not even to me." Victor insisted, pausing on the sidewalk as we marched only to jab his finger into my chest, as if trying to emphasize his point. I nodded, finding it strange that he should put so much time into keeping some silly little escapade a secret. Certainly he wasn't taking me any place criminal?
"So I'm not supposed to acknowledge where we are? Supposed to keep my mouth shut the whole time?" I clarified quietly. Victor growled, looking back and forth between the crowd that was passing along side of us on either end. Not a very good place for a conversation that I wasn't supposed to be having, as per Victor's rules.
"You're not supposed to talk about it after the fact. Once the cat's out of the bag, well then we all may be in trouble with the charge you so fear." Victor whispered, beginning his way back down the sidewalk and motioning me to follow on.
"You are so mysterious, Victor." I muttered, tapping the ashes off of my cigarette before bounding up next to his shoulder.
"My first and only rule was to refer to me properly, what ever happened to Mr. Trevor? Or even Sir?" Victor wondered, looking down towards me with a rather snide expression but looking away just as soon as he almost bumped into a mailbox, having been distracted with his intimidation techniques.
"I got to know you better, Sir. Figured there's no need for formalities." I admitted.
"There's always a need to be polite." Victor muttered.
"Well, I'll follow your example." I said with a grin.
"You really are insufferable." Victor insisted, shaking his head in some disappointment though I could sense some pride in his voice. He had grown to like me, I could just tell. For the rest of the walk (and it was extensive) he was silent, and for a moment I began to suspect he had just taken me for a walk around the entire perimeter of London. At last my feet began to ache and my stomach began growling in protest. Dinner time had come and gone, and we seemed to be no closer to nourishment than we had been when we began this silly journey. At last Victor caught my arm with his tight leather clad grip, tilting his hat lower overtop of his eyes and pulling me rather harshly into what I could only make out to be a rather run down, practically empty bar. It was on a very strange street in town, not one I would ever happen through intentionally. What was so secretive about this place I could only guess, though I was beginning to long for whatever they were making in the back of the greasy, stinking kitchen. Scattered across a couple of barstools were some drunken men, staggering and silent in their own misery. A group of young women were looking quite bored around a billiards table, and there was a rather lost looking middle aged couple splitting what looked to be a rancid platter of fish and chips in the corner. Even that looked appealing to me, which was probably a bad sign. Despite our entrance Victor's grip never ceased, in fact he seemed only to be clenching to me tighter, as if to make sure I followed his every move. He stepped up to the bar, making eye contact with the bartender who sat off in the corner, polishing some of his glassware with a dirty towel. Oh dear, the sanitary conditions of this place were appalling. No wonder it was kept a secret.
"A pint of beer for you, sir?" the bartender wondered, coming up towards Victor and leaning over the bar with a smile. Victor smirked, looking to me once again before shaking his head.
"No sir, I'm just curious about how it's made." Victor muttered, a curious response for someone who had appeared in a bar. No one seemed to take notice except me, and I took to staring at him in deliberate confusion.
"And him?" the bartender wondered, nodding towards me.
"He's always up for learning experiences." Victor assured, to which I nodded eagerly. I wasn't quite sure what I was agreeing to, though it seemed in my best interest. Why Victor would show me the beer making process I could only guess, and what this all had to do with John I was still very confused about. Though I went along with it, figuring it was better than getting left behind with this sorry bunch of drunks.
"Very well." The bartender agreed, coming around the bar so as to open the door to the kitchen, leading us inside. I followed closely in Victor's wake, very nervous now that I fixated only on the clicking of his walking stick against the tiles. Well the kitchen wasn't anything special either, though I was beginning to wonder where we were going with this. There was a stairwell in the back, almost hidden behind a gigantic ice box and a stack of pickle barrels.
"Combination of the night is 2-2-1." The bartender muttered, now sounding perfectly disinterested as we worked our way farther from the public eye.
"Thank you, Gary." Victor sighed, nodding the man away as he took hold of my arm and pulled me rather forcefully down the stairs. The bartender, Gary, disappeared just as soon as we began our decent.
"Victor what is going on?" I wondered quietly. "Who was that?"
"Sherlock, remember love. Not a word." Victor scolded, having taken hold of a small padlock that secured a door at the bottom of the stairs. From the other side of the door I swear I heard commotion, though I couldn't imagine who else was hanging around in the basement of a smelly old bar. Victor worked the correct combination into the lock, and at long last he forced it off of the door and swung it open. Well, whatever I was expecting to see it was definitely not this. The room seemed not to be a continuation of the dingy bar; in fact it was dressed up to be one of the most decorated places I've visited since the opera house. It was sparkling with gold, dazzling with bright lights, and above all I noticed that there seemed not to be a woman in sight. It was packed with men, all sitting around tables and crammed along a bar, drinking, smoking, and laughing amongst themselves. Though whether they were talking or playing cards, all seemed to be entranced by a performance going on in front of them, set on a very dazzling stage. Despite the other men's fascination with what was going on atop the stage, well I had never been so appalled in my life. For standing up there was what looked to be some sort of mock dance routine, though the men preforming were lacking almost all of the clothes necessary to put on a proper show. Instead of wearing full suits or opera costumes they were dressed only in what looked like trousers, cut off above the knees. Their chests were bare, their feet were bare, and they danced in such a way to make any distinguished gentleman blush. Despite this, they seemed to be the performance everyone had come to see. They seemed to be a hit.
"Welcome, Sherlock, to the club that doesn't exist." Victor muttered, having secured the door behind him and taken my shoulder, obviously intending to steer me away from my rather fixated trance and towards one of the few tables that was empty.
"What the h*ll Victor, what is this place?" I whispered, my cheeks now blushing so red that I was afraid to be a fire hazard. The more I looked around the less I wanted to see, and after having felt as though I was interfering in every man's most private moment I decided instead to just watch my feet as they scuffed along the red velvet carpet.
"It's a place for likeminded gentleman, all lonely. All homosexuals." Victor explained, seating us down near the back of the club so that there would be fewer eyes upon us. I kept my head down once more, feeling the need to burst into tears.
"This is outlandish; I don't want to be here." I insisted quietly, twisting my fingers anxiously around each other and feeling as though everyone was watching me. "What if one of them recognizes..."
"Well of course they would recognize you Sherlock!" Victor growled. "But if they're down here, they can be trusted! Not a man here is in a position to snitch, considering they all have just as much to lose! Don't you understand, Sherlock? You are not the only man in London faced with this problem. These are men with wives, children! Each one has plenty to lose, all the more reason to stay quiet. Your secret has never been so safe, even when placed in a position to act on it."
"How'd you know about this place?" I whispered nervously, allowing myself to look back up at the dancers (who were taking their final bows) and shiver a bit nervously.
"Word of mouth, private mouth mind you. Though eventually I was taken in, just as I have done for you." Victor shrugged.
"Yes, yes alright." I muttered. "I'm not sure I like it."
"You don't have to like it, not in the first minute. But continue on, Sherlock. Try to enjoy." Victor insisted, flagging over a waiter so as to order us our long overdue dinner. The waiter was a very attractive man, seemingly well acquainted with Victor due to his need to refer to my daring host as 'darling'. When he left with our order he even dared to stroke Victor's cheek, to which the poet only smiled and I only stared. What audacity this place encouraged!