Sherlock was particularly good at inviting himself to things; it was many of the good aspects that were needed when you were a chronic husband stealer. He didn't wait for the man's introduction or invitation; instead he just pulled out the chair from the table and seated himself straight backed into it, staring at the man through his dark circular sunglasses. For a moment he stared at him, because for a moment he found it hard to look away. Disregarding the look of surprise and all together fear on the man's face, he noticed a sort of curious beauty that he usually didn't see in the slums of the detective forces. Well for starters he wasn't mustached, which was always a positive aspect in Sherlock's mind. He very much despised mustaches and facial hair of all sorts, he figured that if someone so desperately wanted to hide their chins or upper lips then they should find a better way to do it, for facial hair was scratchy, and all together miserable to kiss. That is why Sherlock had his men shave before they were sent to him, for a mere spec of stubble against his lips was enough to ruin his evening and all together his week as a whole. The detective was kind looking, almost boyish with a curious professional glow to him, as if he was young and yet determined to make his mark on the professional world. He had blonde hair, cut short and not at all extraordinary except for its startling shade of gold. His eyes were large and brown, staring at Sherlock now in a very threatened, almost frightened way. And yet Sherlock studied him all the same, shamelessly, for he might as well be the owner of this café and so he had every right to examine its patrons to the fullest extent of his desires.
"I'm sorry can I...can I help you?" the man asked nervously, looking about the busy café as if looking for someone who Sherlock might belong to. Of course he could understand his apprehension, for Sherlock's first appearance may be one of fear. In fact the man almost looked like the children who hid from Sherlock on the sidewalk, almost as if he suspected him of being a vampire.
"Nothing you can do to help me, I'm afraid, simply because I've nothing the matter. I simply wanted to pop in, say a quick hello, for I see that you're new here." Sherlock said honestly. The man seemed to ease up just a little bit, however tense he appeared to be at least the initial fright seemed to have worn off.
"Oh right, well yes actually, just got here from London yesterday." He agreed with a grin.
"London, beautiful city. Never been there myself, rather a home body to be honest; however I've heard very good things, seen a photograph or two. What brings you here to our sleepy little city?" Sherlock wondered, leaning his cane against the table so as to bring his chin onto his hands, resting his gaze on the man opposite of him as he tried to pick and choose the words that might be best suited for seemingly public knowledge.
"Police business." The man said at last.
"Police business... you must mean the disappearances." Sherlock said with a gleam in his eye (that went unrecognized for the sunglasses were much to dark). The man repositioned himself nervously in his chair, folding up a small notepad and tucking it safely into his pocket as if he didn't want Sherlock to see what had been written there.
"The disappearances, yes, do you know anything about them?" the man asked hopefully. Sherlock just shook his head regretfully, his gaze unwavering though once again, the detective would never know.
"Well yes, everyone knows about them I'm afraid. Due to newspapers, word of mouth, and overall paranoia our city has become rather...tense." Sherlock admitted with a sigh. "Sherlock Holmes, by the way." He added with a grin, holding out his leather glad hand for the man to shake across the table. The detective cleared his throat and hastily shook Sherlock's hand, almost as if he had just realized that he seemed to have forgotten all of his manners back in London.
"John Watson, my apologies for not introducing myself earlier. It's nice to meet, you Sherlock Holmes." John said with a smile. Sherlock liked his smile; it was a bright thing, something that undoubtedly got flaunted around often.
"Nice to meet you too." Sherlock agreed.
"Did you know any of the victims personally?" John asked quickly, sitting forward and taking his notebook out once more, as if expecting Sherlock to say something fascinating that was worth a quick jot or two.
"Despite the city's size, Mr. Watson, we all do know each other rather well. The men in question and I never were friends, per say, however I'd say I was aware of them through the bars and cafés that I frequent, and I'd say that they were aware of me as well." Sherlock said truthfully, for a flat out denial of the fact would be incriminating in the least. There was surely someone out there that could prove that Sherlock had conversed with the men before they had gone missing, and that proof alone could open up a much more thorough investigation on his connection in all of this.
"Understandable of course. I rather like the size of this place, for London is so busy and so tediously unfriendly at times." John admitted with an annoyed little breath.
"Are you getting anywhere in the investigation? For I, as many other men around here, feel rather threatened while these men's possible murderer is still lurking about there in the streets." Sherlock admitted with a shiver.
"The investigation is ongoing." John admitted with a sigh, which of course was police talk for no, nothing substantial was happening at all. This was, of course, very good news for now. Sherlock wasn't entirely rooting against the police force, for this was a game that he could probably afford to lose in the end. He was digging himself into a great big hole, something that he knew he couldn't climb out of and knew that someone would stumble upon eventually. However Sherlock had come to enjoy the act of digging, and even though he knew that there should be a stopping point to this criminal activity he also knew enough to realize that he wouldn't stop unless he was stopped by someone else. The police might be a good agency to be that stopping force, that or some sort of catastrophe that forced Sherlock to reveal his crimes to the public. It wasn't that public scandal would be fun, however he held some sort of pride in the amount of married men he was able to seduce and overwhelm. It was a talent, not only being this beautiful but this secretive, a talent that proved to be something of an accomplishment.
"You're not married, Mr. Holmes?" John clarified, tucking his notebook away with some sort of disappointment. Sherlock found some sort of flirtatious spark in this question, for of course when someone asked such a thing it was actually a question of availability.
"Why would you assume that?" Sherlock asked casually, a small smile appearing on the corners of his lips that was evidently seen by John, for his cheeks blushed only a bit after seeing his error. Surely it was rude to assume that someone wasn't married? That might be an insult not just on their looks but on their personality as well, and insults were generally frowned upon in this affluent of a society.
"I didn't mean to assume anything; in fact it was phrased as something of a question, a yes or no question if you will." John admitted with a little frown, looking a bit disgusted in himself as he stared down at his empty tea cup and back at Sherlock once more. Sherlock couldn't help but smile in the end, a great big smile that showed he was obviously very entranced by John's awkward method of communicating. This smile, of course, went recognized not just by John but by Victor as well, who was now leaning over his forgotten newspaper and leaning his chin on his fists, very carelessly gazing over at Sherlock as if he had all the confidence that Sherlock wouldn't notice. Sherlock noticed, however, and Victor regretfully went to staring at the passerby.
"No Mr. Watson I am not married." Sherlock said quite honestly. John nodded, looking upon Sherlock again as if trying to see him in something of a different light.
"Then I'd say you're safe, if the kidnapper, killer, whatever he or she is, keeps to the same pattern. It's married men that are the target, if there is foul play here at all!" John assured with a grin. Sherlock smiled right back, for as reassuring as his declaration of safety was the way he phrased it was even more pleasing for Sherlock to hear. John seemed to know absolutely nothing; these police were running around virtually blind, unsure of what they were looking for, not even sure if they were looking for something at all! What buffoons they all were, what a waste of such a beautiful man!
"That gives me at least some hope for my safety." Sherlock agreed with a small nod. John smiled once more, a smile that made Sherlock want to crack a joke just to keep it going; however he was interrupted by John's pulling out a pocket watch and jumping to his feet in horror.
"Nine thirty! Da*n it I was supposed to be in at nine, oh Greg's going to kill me! Nice to meet you Mr. Holmes, sorry but I've got to run." John said quickly, throwing the appropriate money down onto the table to pay for his breakfast before dashing towards the sidewalk. Sherlock followed him, standing off by the fence while John helplessly tried to hail a hansom from the mess that had become of the streets in the morning rush.
"I would offer you a ride in my carriage but I'm afraid I've sent my servant away with it." Sherlock admitted with a sigh, to which John just shook his head and jumped around a bit more on the sidewalk, so as to finally hail a hansom with a single yet beautiful chestnut horse pulling it.
"Oh that's fine, thank you for the offer." John assured, looking almost curious as to why Sherlock would follow him out to the sidewalk. It was almost as if he wasn't all together certain he trusted Sherlock, which of course would prove to be a reasonable suspicion. There was, of course, no logical reason to trust Sherlock considering his record of kidnapping. Maybe John would be safer if he was a woman, however Sherlock was already beginning to theorize how to best kidnap a detective from right under the nose of the police force. Carefully, that would best be the way.
"Good bye Mr. Watson, best of luck on your investigation!" Sherlock called as John clambered into the hansom and instructed the driver to the police station. John just waved as he pulled off, seemingly unsure of what to say after he had already said his goodbyes at the table. Sherlock was then left on the sidewalk, pardoning people as they rushed past in no sort of panicked way, which was curious considering their caution during the night. People seemed to feel safer under the sun, safer in numbers, and safer in the chaos of the living city. They never seemed to suspect that the danger came in just that, for Sherlock preyed on those who frequently cross his path, despite the time of day or the density of the crowds. Manipulation never worked short term, and to think that the fools would be wandering the streets as carefully as they could was almost sad. They wouldn't know if they were an intended victim, and truth be told they probably wouldn't even realize they had become a victim until they realized it's been weeks since they've last seen their wives or children. It was just a game, a game that most always ended without violence, a game that was most always crafted on love.
"Did he leave?" Victor's voice asked from behind, breathless as if he had run the ten feet from his table to the sidewalk only to find that in the full minute John had taken to find a handsome, he still hadn't been quick enough. Sherlock looked on him with a particular gleam in his eye, the gleam he used when looking upon beautiful men he knew found him equally tempting.
"You just missed him." Sherlock agreed. Victor nodded, taking a moment to catch his breath before anxiously fixing his hair and trying to shove the newspaper back into the bag he had slung over his shoulder. He looked at Sherlock for a moment before realizing he was staring, clearing his throat a bit awkwardly as if he didn't want to be caught doing something he definitely wanted to do.
"Have you read any of my articles lately?" Victor wondered, obviously thinking that was some sort of good conversation starter.
"No." Sherlock said simply.
"Oh. Well...I'm working on a piece about Mr. Watson's role in this disappearance business, I thought that maybe people will want to know that the police force is at least starting to do something about it." Victor admitted with a little shrug. Sherlock smiled at him, for he was so very clueless, was he not? He was planning on writing an article about the trap he was being led into, planning on reporting the situation without understanding that he would be the next one to go.
"That should be fascinating." Sherlock said without much interest, leaning against the small fence that separated the café from the sidewalk and looking towards the man with some interest. Victor was looking right back, his beautiful blue eyes fixed on Sherlock as if he was stuck once more in a mesmerized state.
"Will you be at Lady Irene's tonight?" Victor asked rather reluctantly, as if he didn't quite like discussing the brothel out loud. Victor was an occupier of the rather disturbing establishment as well, presumably for the same purposes as Sherlock, for he never really interacted with any of the women who were on display. He came in for a drink and that was all, sitting alone as Sherlock usually did. He was a rather newer client, which of course led Sherlock to believe that Victor was indeed tracing his steps and adopting his habits so as to get closer to the man he had evidently fallen in love with.
"I suppose I have nothing better to do. Will you be there, Mr. Trevor?" Sherlock asked with a gleam in his eye.
"Me? Well...well yes I guess I will be." Victor agreed with an excited little grin, speaking his words so quickly that he could hardly get them out in time. He seemed all together ecstatic at the idea of getting more time to spend with Sherlock, especially in a place where intimacy was so common, and so accepted. See there was no place for the homosexuals to hang out, while of course the heterosexuals were catered to in the underworld like the over dominant species of human they were. Those who preferred a more familiar gender were forced to intermingle with the straights in hope that they weren't the only one forced to participate in such barbaric establishments such as brothels. It was relieving then, to find that over the years Sherlock was not the only one with this issue. Most all of the men in his attic had first started at Lady Irene's, and certainly Victor would only add to the list. It was such a convenience to be beautiful, was it not? Oh Sherlock could only imagine how difficult his lifestyle would prove to be should he have been of average attractiveness. It would be much harder to get beautiful men like Victor Trevor to stare at him with as much admiration as he did today, oh that love, it was something that Sherlock could capture and appreciate, something that he could surely cherish for a couple of years to come. That was, of course, if Victor was ready to submit himself to that sort of obedience. It didn't take long for the convincing, for while Sherlock had already seduced the men it was their choice whether to stay with him or face the other option. Sherlock could never have a man that knew his secret walking the streets, and while the men had always been quick to stay with him they had never been aware that there was another option. It was stay or die, that was what it ultimately came down to, and of course Sherlock has kept his hands free of blood for now. However a man who knew the taste of his lips might breathe a word of the many secrets Sherlock was trying to keep, and so either way they would become those very same secrets. Whether they added to the list of those hostages he was holding or they began their own new chapter of bloody crimes, well that was up to them and their willingness to obey.   

    Sherlock told Mycroft to get his carriage ready for him when dinner was concluded, and as soon as he had finished of the last morsel of his roast beef (one of Mycroft's specialties) he went up to his room to pretty up. He knew that tonight wouldn't be the defining night of his relationship with Victor, if there even was going to be one, however it might ultimately end up that way. He wasn't going out with the intention of bringing someone back, however if Victor seemed to be particularly keen on the subject then yes, maybe it would be the time to add another to his collection. Sherlock was trying to be careful about how he went about taking men and keeping them, for he didn't want to begin a pattern that was recognizable in the eyes of the incompetent police force. Of course the brothel was the perfect place to fish for those who were ever so anxious to grab hold of the line, for the men there were dissatisfied with their wives and would never tell a soul where they were off to. In most cases the last known sighting of the men was hours before they had actually been taken, simply because those who attend such establishments are much too embarrassed to show their faces much, that and they would never dare to tell a soul where they were off to. Sherlock only did half the lying and secret keeping in this operation; those unfaithful cheaters did all the rest. He summoned one of his men to get him dressed, which of course only made Mycroft's job of getting the horses ready near impossible when he was forced to get the man up to par before Sherlock got impatient. He had summoned his first catch, the first of his collection and of course, his most prized. Tobias Gregson wasn't exactly what you would call stunning, he had no sort of extraordinary features that would make him downright irresistible, and yet he was attractive enough to Sherlock that when he finally began to show some interest Sherlock had no choice but to accept. It was that night, while Sherlock lay awake in his bed with Tobias lying on his chest that he had decided he had to do something more permanent, something to ensure that his peculiar heart didn't end him up on the gallows. And so that night Tobias went missing, and that morning he had dined at Sherlock's table, and that evening he spent his first night in the attic. Since the man was so special to Sherlock he was hardly upset with the terrible job he had done, for as groundbreaking as the man ultimately was, his skills with the hairbrush were all together lacking. Sherlock looked beautiful all the same, and as he clambered into his carriage that night he could already feel Victor's eyes on him, even from half way across the city. He knew the man was waiting, and he knew he wouldn't have to wait much longer. Mycroft was honestly the worst of all carriage drivers, he took the turns sharp, took the hills fast, and almost killed them come another passing carriage that was wandering a bit close by. Of course Sherlock had no idea what was going on outside the carriage, for he was too busy with his comb and pocket mirror, trying to make himself just a little bit more beautiful before he was due in the public's eye. He was one of the very few in that brothel that wasn't ashamed to be there, since he had no other commitments with women and no social reputation to upkeep, really what did it matter? The only problem would be the meddling police force, they were his only obstacle, and surely they wouldn't be mingling about such a place during a night like tonight. Sherlock had to convince himself to relax; this was his night, after all. He had to enjoy it.