"I just hope Mary doesn't kill me if she finds out where I've been." John muttered with reluctance, rubbing his hands together nervously as he watched the streets go by out the window.
"So long as she knows you were loyal she won't have an issue." Sherlock assured.
"So long as she knows I was with you I'll be fine! You and your aggressiveness, you nearly killed that woman!" John exclaimed with a laugh. Sherlock smiled a bit shamefully, for he had to admit that he acted just a bit harshly, however in the moment he really did think that pushing that 'waitress' away from John was the only logical move at that given moment. They were close, they had been so close! John was sober enough, they were leaning together, he was just about to stroke his cheek when that ghastly woman just appeared out of nowhere! It had been a tragedy.
"Well what was I supposed to do? I understood that you were married, and that with a woman like that they never give up." Sherlock insisted.
"You waved yours away rather effortlessly. You didn't tackle her." John pointed out. Sherlock nodded, briefly remembered having to suffer through a woman's touch long enough to gauge the reaction that it might have had on John. There was no better way to draw out feelings in someone than by pretending that they weren't returned, that you could be swayed in this direction or that by any one that might happen across your way. Men were naturally jealous creatures, and even if they didn't understand their desires at first they would undoubtedly be sure to unconsciously defend what they wanted deep down. And John's reaction had been perfect, docile yet enraged just the same. It was the exact mix of submissiveness and blind passion that Sherlock looked for in a man, one who had strong feelings yet wouldn't act upon them until it was the right moment.
"No I didn't tackle her; I know how to handle women who get to close. Trust me, Mr. Watson, when you're dazzlingly gorgeous you need to know how to pry them off." Sherlock teased, however John only edged closer, giggling as the carriage hit bumps in the road and sent them, for a moment, rather airborne.
"Dazzlingly gorgeous." John murmured, looking over Sherlock with intense brown eyes, eyes that scanned him from top to bottom so as to soak in and appreciate all the beauty that was being offered.
"Some might say." Sherlock added humbly.
"I might say." John agreed with a little hum. Sherlock raised his eyebrow with a grin, for he knew that was something of a love confession in itself. John considered him beautiful, and while the only ones who might miss his good looks would be the blind, it was still a compliment that was the start of something much bigger than itself.
"How flattering." Sherlock said with a grin.
"Yes well, I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true. I mean...Mr. Holmes surely you are one of the most beautiful beings, well no wonder the women are crawling all over you!" John exclaimed with something of a sarcastic laugh. He was shaking his head in amazement, seemingly not having blinked the entire time he was admiring Sherlock's aura.
"It is a cross I have to bear." Sherlock agreed with a sigh, shaking his head with a bit of a grin and leaning forward just a bit, so as to get closer to John than he had been previously. He knew that was what John wanted, for the other man scooted closer ever more, so that by the time he was finished he was hanging so far off the seat that one bump in the road would undoubtedly send him flying.
"Mr. Holmes...who is it that gets your company? A bachelor such as yourself, resisting women yet still not going without. Who do you see, who are you with?" John whispered in an astounded voice, sounding puzzled beyond his wildest imagination, as if he couldn't physically comprehend what the other option was.
"I'll let you guess, Mr. Watson. I'll give you all the time you need. And when you return to me with your answer..." Sherlock smiled, leaning forward and daring to let his finger just now slide across John's cheek, soft yet meaningful all the same. "...come with a purpose."
"A purpose." John agreed, his own hand shooting up towards Sherlock's as it brushed across his skin. For a terrifying moment Sherlock thought he had the intention of slapping his hand away, and yet John trapped Sherlock's fingers to his cheek, he pressed his hand against his face and just held it there in some sort of urgency. His eyes were alight with a flame that Sherlock recognized, and for a moment the more irrational part of his heart insisted that he just go for it now, while John was in his grasp! Oh being in love came with such an irresponsible urge to do things you might regret! It was daring, it was rash, and oh for a moment Sherlock was about to do it! John's lips were so accessible; his touch was so profound, it was so appropriate! In this moment Sherlock wanted John and John wanted Sherlock, oh loyalty and marriage was something that had been left behind long before they arrived at the brothel and it was something that still hadn't caught up to them now! All past behind them, all future ahead, the present was what mattered now, the present was in their grasp! More accurately they were in each other's grasp, and all it took was a halt of the carriage to rip them apart! The horses stopped, the rattling ceased, and all of the sudden there was silence. Whatever energy they had created between the two of them vanished with the change in background noise, the silence was deafening and the almost ludicrous reality seemed to set in to them both. Sherlock was the first to pull away, and while John seemed hesitant at first he got to his feet all the same, brushing off his jacket and clearing his throat with something of a panic.
"This is my stop." He muttered obviously.
"Let me escort you." Sherlock suggested automatically, getting to his feet before John shook his head, making to push Sherlock away in a very minimal action. He looked afraid, yet not of Sherlock. There was still that look in his eyes, the one of desire, and yet now it was coupled with the fear of disloyalty, almost as if he could sense Mary's presence in the hotel not ten meters away. It led Sherlock to the conclusion that he wasn't afraid of what Sherlock might do, but what he himself would do instead. So Sherlock sat down, nodding pointedly with a reluctant sort of smile.
"My apologies Mr. Holmes, but you need to get home, as do I. I feel if you escort me to the door it would be another twenty minutes until I let you go!" John muttered nervously.
"Yes of course, no you are right Mr. Watson. You are right." Sherlock agreed with a grin.
"Don't take it personally." John added almost desperately, to which Sherlock shook his head once more. He rose to his feet all the same, and for a moment they stood there as if there was something more to say, something more to do.
"I will let you leave then, Mr. Watson. And I will see you tomorrow morning in the café." Sherlock promised, dropping into something of a bow of a respect. John looked at him with a painful reluctance, and yet he just nodded his head once more, muttered a good night, and practically forced himself out of the carriage and onto the empty sidewalk below. Sherlock watched John's retreating figure from where he sat near the window, watching as the man's silhouette strayed back into the light, the light that would dare reflect his drunken and love sick form to the world. Sherlock despised the light, oh how he preferred darkness, it was his natural habitat, his hunting grounds! And there John stood; now unlocking the door under the light of an oil lamp and retreating inside. With the open and close of a door he was gone, and Sherlock was left to recline back in his seat with a groan, feeling the lurch of the carriage as the horses started up once more. He was miserable, aching for a love that could only be satisfied by the man who just left him! Oh what a pain this was what a horrible pain! And so Sherlock could only stare at the ceiling and breathe, longing for the man who once sat in his company and yet knowing he would have to get by with another that was half as decent, half as beautiful, half as desirable. John may have left him, everyone may have left him! And yet Victor would be waiting, Victor would always be waiting, and so while Sherlock longed for John it would be Victor that would have to do for now. 

 When Sherlock woke Victor had not left, which was one of the more annoying habits of the man. He always insisted on waking up next to the man he had fallen asleep next to, and so while Sherlock always insisted that he wanted nothing to do with the mangy, smelly breathed mess that became of a man when he woke up Victor always stayed. It was a flaw to be sure, and yet today it was growing to be all the more annoying. For starters Victor was still trying to recover from the emotional damage that had been inflicted by Sherlock's admitting his love for John, and his method was to be the utmost best he possibly could be. Not only was he trying to be on his best behavior, but he also seemed to be out to get Sherlock to fall in love with him as well. He was being as romantic as ever, and yet there was now something of an urgency to it, as if he was doing things now not for the beauty of doing them, but instead so as to make Sherlock's heart stray more permanently in his direction. It almost took the purpose out of love, however for the moment Sherlock couldn't complain. It was just seven o'clock in the morning, and instead of being the sleepy, bed headed creature Victor always proved to be at this hour he was instead getting right back at it. Instead of rolling out of bed Sherlock found himself once more in Victor's embrace, the early morning sun helping to illuminate the kisses that were being shared by the two. It was romantic in a way, annoying in another, for while Sherlock did love to kiss Victor he hated the taste of his lips, stinking with morning breath and making for a very unpleasant experience. It didn't last long until finally Sherlock pushed him away, taking a deep breath and falling back into the mess they had created of the white sheets, closing his eyes for a moment and still wondering what John was up to right now. Hopefully not the same thing as Sherlock, he was hopefully still pondering the events of last night, still wondering what had been the intentions of the carriage ride back home. Maybe he was even regretting it, maybe he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep last night because he couldn't go on peacefully without knowing the taste of Sherlock's lips! Maybe he hated himself for pulling away; maybe he hated himself for getting that close in the first place? Who knows at this point, what was going on in that other man's head? And John was probably thinking the same thing; he probably had the same reluctance, the same wonderings. Did he think Sherlock was worried, regretful, or longing? Oh how easy it would be if he could just admit it, if he could just express his love in a single bout! They mystery would be gone, at least from one end of the spectrum, so now instead of John wondering what was going on in Sherlock's head he could instead focus on his own thoughts and his own intentions. It would undoubtedly make everything much easier, if not painlessly simple! 

"Victor do you ever give it a rest?" Sherlock breathed, shaking his head as if that was something of a flaw. Victor lay down next to him, lying on his side so as to get a better view of his companion, wearing that goody, distorted smile he wore whenever he was falling in love even more. He really was a sappy person, something straight out of a Shakespeare play or something like that, something of a gay Romeo at that. Sherlock had always hated Romeo, so annoyingly persistent and quite obnoxious in a way. He loved Juliet, that could not be debated, yet the two really had a bad way of going about their love. Victor was rather the same, he couldn't imagine a life without Sherlock and so he would make sure he didn't have one, not even a second without Sherlock, if he could help it! It was almost as obnoxious as Romeo in the end.
"Of course not My Lord. How often do I have the opportunity to see you, now with your running about with this new lover of yours? I'm starting to worry that when he arrives I'll never get to be with you again. I'm trying to appreciate every last moment." Victor defended quietly, smiling once more at Sherlock yet keeping his hands to himself, as he was trained to do. The men were not allowed to brush against Sherlock or touch him when he did not allow it, for that was another one of the more annoying things they all attempted. For some reason everyone wanted to touch his face, which was fine when he wanted to be admired and yet at times like these their hands were all sweaty and undeniably filthy, well that would make for a very unpleasant experience! And so Sherlock deemed that they keep their hands to themselves, which was yet another rule that Victor was slowly yet surely beginning to follow.
"Hardly a new lover, Mr. Trevor, yet someone special all the same." Sherlock admitted with a grin. "He will not join you all; no I would not have that. He is different, and for what reasons I do not know."
"Will you take him as a husband instead?" Victor wondered quietly, the disappointment increasingly evident in his voice as his smile began to fade.
"I do not yet know my intentions, with Mr. Watson it seems as though he is something entirely new. He loves his wife, and he's to be a father quite soon. I feel as though I need to get to him before that happens, I feel as if it's necessary that I act quickly. And from there I do not know. Yet I trust him enough, or at least I trust that he's self-interested enough, not to breathe a word of anything that happens between us." Sherlock decided confidently.
"You do not trust me?" Victor clarified, sounding more and more upset with every passing word. Yet that did not matter to Sherlock, this was how it was going to be and the decisions were not at all based on Victor's emotional state. Sherlock called the shots in this house, and when he deemed something necessary, or at least appropriate, then it would be done. That was how they've lived all this time and it was how they were going to live for a lot longer, it worked, and so it would be continued. And no amount of whining on Victor's end was ever going to change that.
"I do not trust you, no. At least I didn't when you still had that job of yours, well how was I to know that you wouldn't wake up and then publish the entire account of your night with me? You were a tricky catch, Victor, yet a necessary one all the same. And John Watson, not only the man who could expose me but one who could arrest me as well, well he is even more complicated than you." Sherlock admitted quietly. Victor nodded, inching ever closer yet not daring to touch Sherlock until the man acknowledged his presence, or at least allowed him to come closer still.
"I would not want to live in that world anyway. Here with you...well it's preferable to anything out there." Victor admitted in a breath. Sherlock grinned, turning his head so as to look at the man with a proud look on his face.
"You really think so?" Sherlock clarified with a smile.
"Well of course My Lord, of course! You are the best thing to happen to me, and every night I get to spend in your presence I am reminded of the fact." Victor agreed confidently. He looked only too proud of himself because of that, and for once Sherlock actually took such a compliment to heart. It was a sweat thing to say, and so Victor was rewarded. Sherlock rolled over and kissed him for about a minute or so more, gentle kisses that were returned with the most eagerness, before finally he rolled out of bed and started to get dressed for the day. Sherlock was already late for the café, and so when he arrived downstairs he ordered Mycroft to get the carriage ready and to skip his first breakfast. If he was still hungry when he returned he would eat then, however at the moment he was too preoccupied with the possibility that he might miss John. He should've left the house ten minutes ago; oh if John didn't wait Sherlock didn't know what he would do! Seeing John in the morning was the highlight of his entire day, it was the reason that Sherlock didn't groan while getting up, for he knew that the thing he desired the most was waiting for him just down the road!  And so Sherlock was in the carriage as quickly as possible, banging on the roof so as to instruct Mycroft to whip the horses even harder, prompting them to race down the hill with the carriage bumping here and there along the unevenly packed dirt roads. When finally Sherlock arrived it was in something of a disgruntled state, for the horses were panting and Mycroft was looking quite overwhelmed. Sherlock knew that anyone could tell that they had been going fast, however he tried to look as composed and easy going as he possibly could as he stepped down from the carriage and started off towards his usual chair. John was there, Sherlock noticed his golden hair at his table as they were driving past, and yet now he made an effort to mind his own business, for today it was Mary who was facing him. Maybe John had wanted it this way, maybe when he woke off his alcohol and realized what had almost come about between the two of them he panicked, and suddenly he couldn't even look Sherlock in the eyes. That or he was too scared to even look at the man, for he knew that after the night of lucid dreaming he had, a single glance at Sherlock's dazzling complexion and he would be jumping from his chair and into Sherlock's faster than his wife could cry out in protest. Between the two Sherlock would most certainly prefer the latter, but the first was undoubtedly the more realistic of the two options. Sherlock had to admit that last night had gone well, yet it was characterized by a lot of rash moves and unplanned words that may have been better or unsaid. He could only imagine how curious it might seem, at least for a man who was looking back on it without knowing the full intentions of his counterpart. John really didn't understand Sherlock's motives, and to have them alluded to yet not elaborated, well he would undoubtedly be pondering the words that had been said all night! And yet Sherlock couldn't be sure, for he couldn't see John, and so he minded his own business and sipped his coffee, perfectly happy with the mere idea of John Watson sitting behind him. It was busy this morning and yet as soon as Molly Hooper came over she made herself at home, seating herself in the chair opposite Sherlock and smiling very widely at him.