The Last Romantics

Squad Of Suffering Artists

"What was your family like?" I wondered, finding this a rather good outlet for conversation. Victor had always been a reclusive man, both in his habits and in his conversations. He knew everything about me, past and present, and yet I wasn't even sure I knew anything more than his name, immediate occupation, and state of living. All else with Victor Trevor was surrounded in mystery, like a deep fog keeping a wary distance between myself and my host. It would be impossible to try to wade through such a mess, impossible to try to summon him from it. But it never hurt to try, and no matter how vague his answers were I at least learned that he had something to be ashamed of. Something to hide.
"Just...well just normal I suppose. I cannot comment much farther than that." Victor admitted quietly.
"Can't or won't?" I wondered, rather confrontationally at that. He replied in a glare, a deep and disappointed glare, as if to try to remind me not to go prying in places I have no reason to go.
"Victor, sometimes I find it strange that I know nothing about you." I muttered.
"Nonsense, you know me better than anyone else in this world." Victor assured.
"I don't doubt that's true...and that I think is where the tragedy lies." I pointed out, to which Victor just rolled his eyes in silent exasperation.
"Oh you do love to be a problem, don't you Sherlock? A little bother, like a fly buzzing about in my ear. Never leaving me alone never ceasing to just...linger." Victor muttered, bringing his hand into a fight fist as if to mimic squashing a bug between his fingers. I stared for a moment, wondering if he even understood what he was implying with such a metaphor.
"Would you rather me gone, then?" I wondered at last. Victor sighed heavily, his face growing softer as he suddenly seemed to realize the connotation of his words.
"Never that." he whispered finally, tapping his fingers against the seat of his chair and shaking his head grimly. Again he repeated, "Never that."
"Very good." I muttered at last. "Well then, in the spirit of hearty conversation, what are your opinions on my John Watson?"
"Your John Watson? I did not know there was any sort of ownership involved." Victor muttered, his blue eyes reflecting the light of the fire and almost turning...well almost flashing. Dangerously.
"I suppose I am bold enough to call him such. He is, after all, my partner." I said at last, a bold title to assign to a boy who had almost hypnotically declared his love. Though I felt that he meant it, and I felt tonight that there truly was something special between us. There was a bond, a strong one.
"I am very happy for you Sherlock, though I warn you do not jump so eagerly into titles you have assigned yourself. People have a way of disappointing. Always forget that in a relationship there are two hearts that must settle on one outcome, and a lot of the times it is difficult to get such things to cooperate."
"That's horribly pessimistic." I insisted, to which Victor only laughed. It was not a genuine laugh, more of a sardonic one.
"And how many relationships have you been in, Sherlock, so as to correct me?" Victor asked, leaning forward in his chair so that it was made positively sure that he was staring at me. I could not at first look away from those blue eyes, still I felt my gaze drawn to them as if they were magnets drawing my complete attention. Though in the end I was able to resist, and to regain control of my mind long enough to comment back.
"Just this one." I admitted at last.
"Indeed. So I think it might be wise to take advise from a skilled professional in the field, one who has seen many hearts and had never made the mistake of claiming any of them as my own." Victor said immediately.
"I'm not entirely sure your relationships count." I said at last, to which Victor could only laugh in surprise, as if he could not at first understand what he was hearing.
"I'm sorry, but I would like you to elaborate on that bold claim." Victor insisted, once again commanding my attention with his glare.
"I mean to say that I'm not sure you ever loved anyone. I know you didn't love Jim Moriarty, and I can assume that before him the men were no different." I muttered, making admittedly bold claims considering I had not been with Victor at the time of any of his previous relationships.
"You make the claim that I am incapable of love?" Victor presumed.
"Incapable of a loving relationship. One with commitment, and understanding." I corrected.
"I can love, Sherlock. I have loved and I do still...still love." Victor insisted in a very small voice, as if he wasn't entirely fond of admitting such things out loud. I could only imagine that I had somehow struck a nerve, and was in turn bringing out subjects that he dare not discuss any longer. Heartbreak was a terrible thing to relive, and if Victor had been treated any much like I had been treated by Tobias, well of course he would want to keep such claims to himself. I had never imagined that strong, personable character to have faced any heartbreak in the past. I suppose I always thought of him as invulnerable, someone who broke hearts and was unscathed in return. I had never once believed he could be hurt. I wasn't even sure if this was my final proof, though I suppose it was something to go on in the end. It was an illusion to the much more complicated past of Victor Trevor, something I suppose I would never get the honor of understanding.