The first thing I noticed was what I was not able to notice, for the lights on the stage were so heavily positioned towards my eyes that I could hardly make out who was sitting in the audience. If any of my desired spectators were within that audience, I would not know until the lights had faded. Best go on, then. I actually appreciated the confusion, for if I could not see the eyes on me then I could not worry about the tone I saw behind them. I could not read into anything if all I could see was light, and so I went on to introduce myself and continue with what they came here to see. I began to read my poetry, line from line, in the very way I had practiced with myself in my room. I knew what to say, what not to say, and how to say or not say them. I hardly moved, in fact my hands stayed clenched to the microphone throughout the entire ordeal. The only thing going through my head during the entire reading was how disappointingly sober I was, and how a nice drink before the start of this may have made the entire affair go a lot smoother. Though I was not one to complain, for just as soon as I had begun reading, just as soon as the hot lights began to force my forehead to perspire, well it seemed as though I was finished. I had read through all five of my poems, having explained them all, having complimented my audience for their presence and patience, and at last was prepared to leave the stage. There was applause, thunderous applause, and that very excitement was what prompted me for my final words. The audience was of interest, and who made it up was something that I was becoming obsessed with. Was there one, perhaps two members who I wished to see? Oh if there were they would not be interacting, not understanding their mutual significance. I had to know.
"And um, well before I leave, do you mind covering those lights?" I wondered at last, looking over towards where I presumed the workers were huddled. I wasn't sure who to ask, though at last a rather strong looking man in a shabby tuxedo emerged from the opposite curtain.
"I'm sorry?" he wondered, looking at me as if wondering if this was some sort of joke.
"The lights, well they're especially bright. I was wondering if you could cover them for a moment, to allow me to look into the audience." I suggested a bit nervously, now clenching my hands together as if some extra pressure was just what I needed to ease my tension. I understood that not all my demands would be met, for I was but a guest in this establishment, just as these audience members were. Nevertheless the lights became dimmed, and at last I could look out into the audience to see who had collected for my admiration. Among them I searched for familiar faces, and though my search was rather extensive I did find one, a smiling gentleman, sitting in the midst of England's high society. In that crisp suit I was sure no one recognized him as an outlier, though as I was searching only for his face I knew that he was not all together seamlessly arranged within that crowd. He was special, here on invitation, exactly how I was all those months ago.
"I invite John Watson backstage." Was my last comment, speaking into the microphone clearly so that everyone in the audience would be able to hear. And with that I took my final bow, disappearing behind the curtain before anyone could follow up on that statement, or perhaps wonder just who John Watson was in significance to me or even to them.
"Excellently done, Sherlock!" cried Victor, corralling me to my dressing room with a rather tight grip upon my shoulder.
"Thank you...I'm just happy it's over." I admitted, allowing myself to shiver a bit as I readjusted to being out of the public eye. I was just getting over my nerves, trying to allow relief to seep into my worried heart, when at last John's familiar voice called to me from the end of the hallway, peering through the door that separated the audience from the backstage corridor. Somehow that voice made me feel better.
"Sherlock!" he called excitedly, allowing himself inside and giving no notice to some of the more intimating bouncers who were having a cigarette break in their break room.
"Oh splendid." Victor muttered, though he let his grip fade and allowed me to accept John Watson with open arms. The man stood behind me, almost as if to be the intimidating force that would convince John to behave, though I knew that the only thing intimidating about Victor was the constant scowl on his face. John had come from much more hardened backgrounds, and could probably land Victor flat on his back with one well-placed punch.
"Sherlock you did so well, I'm astounded." John admitted, shaking me by the hand as if he did not know what else to do to express his admiration.
"Astounded makes it sound like you expected me to be a disaster?" I presumed, to which Victor chuckled stiffly very near to my left ear. John hesitated, allowing himself to chuckle a bit nervously before shaking his head insistently.
"No, no of course not. I'm just astounded how much better your poetry sounded in person- not that's it's bad in writing of course. I was one of the first to buy the book." John admitted with a little grin.
"I never would've guessed that a sailor like yourself would have such a passion for the arts." I muttered, unearthing my cigarette case and offering him one in return for his kind words. John refused them, however, assuring me that he didn't smoke. I took one myself, lighting it rather quickly and shaking the match out with a wild flick of my hand.
"I've always liked poetry, my mother used to read it to me when I was a kid. Of course it's changed wildly since her favorite authors were the big hits, I just find in your work something startlingly familiar. You sound almost like the old Romantics." John admitted with a timid little smile.
"Well that is the point." Victor offered from where he stood, as if he wanted to input his own sarcastic comment to our much too friendly conversation.
"Victor don't be rude." I insisted sharply, turning back to my friend with a much softer look on my face. "John why don't you have a drink with me? I know a very good pub down the street."
"Oh I'd be honored. Surely." John agreed, looking almost overwhelmed to get an offer from such a celebrity. He rocked back and forth on his heels, hooking his thumbs into his pocket and looking as if he was waiting to hear if Victor would be joining us as well. Perhaps his enthusiasm would be dampened if he had the older poet sitting in between us, insulting him repeatedly.
"Victor I'll find my way back home. I can clean up here and be on my way." I said at last, turning towards my mentor with an almost apologetic smile. I knew that he wouldn't all together appreciate my dismissal of him, though if he remembered my confession from our drug induced conversations, well then he might understand why I wanted John all to myself. There was a man standing before me who seemed to admire me, and I didn't even have to mention just how beautiful he was. Surely Victor could understand my motivations, considering he himself had been prone to such temptations before?
"Yes alright. So long as you behave yourself I can think of no objection." Victor decided at last, though he turned a rather rude glare upon John as if he could think of a great many invalid objections that would get him a slap on the cheek.
"Then it's settled. Come along, John. I'll show you the dressing room." I said eagerly, catching John's forearm in my hand and giving Victor a quick farewell before dragging my friend down the hallway and to the farthest door on the left. It was a very large room, impressive with the amount of accommodations it offered. John found a comfortable seat in one of the couches against the wall while I hastened to pack up any of the notes or poems that I had left scattered around the vanity. For a while I quietly admired myself in the mirror, smoking down the last of my cigarette before mashing it into the glass ash tray and finally turning to my companion, who had taken to staring at the autographed portraits that were hung on the walls. Many big names had occupied this dressing room, and surely I would not be the last.
"Who knew I'd be friends with a celebrity?" John muttered, looking proud not only with himself but with me as well. He seemed to admire me now, though I could feel that as my fame increased the space between us only widened. Before it was negligible, considering we were both rather down on our luck, though now that I was some sort of want to be star, his occupation as sailor seemed all the more troubling. I was willing to overlook it, as I knew firsthand what it felt like to be inferior. I just hoped that he could see me as less of a celebrity and more of a human being, one seeking his worthy company.
"Not a celebrity." I insisted, though my audience tonight may have proved that statement wrong.
"Well, either way. You seem to have taken a turn for the popular, Sherlock. Soon you'll have no time to slum it with sailors; you'll be getting invitations to the palace before long." He chuckled.
"Oh I want nothing to do with royalty. A ghastly process that is, I'd help topple the throne if the time ever came." I admitted with a chuckle.
"A viewpoint you probably learned from your father?" John assumed.
"A viewpoint I've learned from the history books." I corrected with a tired sigh. "Surely you haven't forgotten what the monarchy had put us through for all these years?"
"I wasn't there to experience it first hand, so I feel as though I have no grudge to hold." John admitted with a careful little shrug, to which I could only smile.
"That's an incredible viewpoint, John. Honestly I wish I could set aside the problems I have no connection to, then perhaps my life would seem a tad bit easier." I muttered, at last packing my things into the small case that I had carried in. They had paid me up front, and so with the cash store in an envelope in my pocket I pulled on my coat and hat, allowing John to walk out first before I followed. I didn't bother to make any needless thank yous, especially to those who didn't quite deserve it. We snuck out the side door so as to make sure I didn't have to make my way through any sort of admiring crowd, and before long I found myself leading John to the very same bar that I had hidden away with Mycroft, oh what felt ages ago! We got ourselves a table in the back, one set with only two chairs for those who knew better than to entertain the company of others. It was just as dark as before, with the same stink of smoke that I used to so despise. I could tell that John was a little bit uneasy as he eyed the massive crowd, all pressed up against each other like rats in a barrel. All the same he seemed easy enough to order himself a drink, and before long we were each presented with a tall pint of beer, our work seemingly cut out for us.
"I haven't seen you around the neighborhood lately." John commented at last, taking his first sip of the foam and chuckling a bit as it stuck to his upper lip.
"Oh I've been busy, terribly busy. Between writing that book and entertaining Victor, well I hardly have any time to spare." I lied quickly, remembering back to my intentional avoidance of the poor boy. Now that the stress of my book had worn away I felt a bit more comfortable opening my heart to John. I knew now that my initial feelings for him had not been all together misplaced, and that same fascination I felt for him in Mary's sitting room still resonated with me all these weeks afterwards. He was a very beautiful boy, a very charming one, and it felt nothing short of an honor to have him sitting across from me in this stinking place.
"It doesn't appear that Victor likes me much." John commented, to which I could only shrug my shoulders in some regret. It was an unavoidable fact, not something I could make up for with a well-timed lie.
"Well to be quite honest, he doesn't like anyone much." I assured, to which John shrugged in agreement.
"He seems to like you." He commented after a while. I allowed myself to be silent, trying to figure out the connotation of such a statement. What was John accusing Victor of? Along with that, what was he accusing me of? I wasn't about to confess that I had a very strange relationship with Victor, that together we harbored a love that was quite different from anything that romance could offer. I wasn't going to admit that we both had the same taste in partner, though being practically family we had seemed to mutually swear off of a direct relationship. It was true that Victor liked me, and true that I liked him as well. What excuse could I make in light of that, to redeem both of our characters?
"I admit we have similarities that were very easy in beginning a friendship. I had adored him in University, and had been introduced by my brother when I arrived back in London. Ever since then, well I suppose we have been quite inseparable." I admitted at last, taking a large swig of beer so that I didn't have to observe John's immediate reaction. I wasn't sure what I was so afraid of; I had nothing serious to hide, though I wanted him to think the best of me. Obviously a close relationship with Victor wouldn't tremendously help in that case.
"Are you still on good terms with your brother?" John wondered. "I couldn't help but notice the last name."
"Oh yes, betrayed as always by my lineage." I sighed. "No, we are not speaking nor do we have plans to. After my father died, my brother turned quite monstrous. I was offered no choice but to leave, if I wanted to follow my dreams of poetry."
"I wish I had such an opportunity. The problem is I have nothing to leave! If I abandon the shipyard I'll be dead in a week, and who knows how long it takes to live off of your own writing?" John muttered, shaking his head in some exasperation. It was rather humbling to see a man so dedicated to art, though so helpless in his pursuit of it. I had always considered myself unlucky to have been tied down with so scientific and industrial a family, though I realized at that moment that I had been blessed beyond any of my wildest dreams. Not only did my family provide me with the funds to support myself up until my time of departure, they had also introduced me to victor Trevor. Ultimately my luck was numerous, and the position I stood in now was only possible by the opportunities I had been born into. Who knew if John Watson was the best poet to ever walk this earth? Had he not met me by accident he may very well have gone unnoticed, unaided. He might never have tried his hand at verse.
"I hate to be forward, but I did talk briefly to Mary Morstan about the position the two of you are in. She claims that with an engagement she will take you into their home, you could be rich by association." I pointed out, wanting more to gauge John's reaction on the matter than to encourage hi in that direction. It would be an awful shame to lose him now to the woman he had been stalling for his entire life, just for the monetary benefits that I too could provide him with. John sighed heavily, taking a large swig of beer as if he needed that extra buzz just to continue on with this trying conversation. I could tell that marriage was not his favorite topic of conversation.
"I know that it's a way out, she's been telling me for years that I needn't struggle away on those docks any longer. But it all just feels...well like stealing. If I marry her just for her money, well that's just lying. It's untrue not only to Mary but also to myself. I don't want to use her family to my advantage." John insisted at last, his brown eyes looking quite determined on the fact. Oh, those words interested me. He was speaking as if he had no love for Mary, which in itself meant there was much more to John's heart than he wanted to admit. Anyone would fall in love with that woman, one who had been so loyal and close all of these years. Anyone would fall in love with her, anyone who had the capability to.
"Are you saying you don't love her? That comes as some surprise, considering her feelings for you. She nearly told me all about the two of you in that short time we spent together at the docks. I hardly even knew her name before I heard about how much she loved you." I pointed out, lighting up a cigarette just to give my trembling hands something to do.
"Don't make me feel guilty, Sherlock." John muttered, running his hand rather stressfully through his hair as if this was all coming back to him rather agressivley. He looked quite aggravated, as if he didn't just feel bad about not loving the woman he actually wished that he did. There was something different about him, and I knew as soon as he began to show signs of stress that I could use all of this to my advantage.
"It's alright if you don't love her, John. There are other men out there for her to chase, your own hesitations surely won't break her confidence." I assured with a chuckle, all the while John looked all the more upset.
"Well she's like a sister to me! We grew up together! It would just be wrong." John insisted, to which I nodded along now just to humor him. Excuses, excuses. I knew what was really going on in that head of his, what he was really afraid of admitting.
"Do you love another?" I wondered, trying to make such a statement sound as innocent as I could.
"I'm not sure I've been offered the opportunity to." John admitted quietly. "I've spent half my life on a boat."
"I feel quite the same way, though without the boat of course. I only first met people my age when my brother sent me to University, and even there I found nothing but inconvenient complications. Now that I've reached London I finally feel free to...well to spread my wings." I decided after a moment's thought.
"Well then, I mean you're welcome to Mary." John offered at last, as if he thought that was where I was going with this entire conversation. I dared to laugh, perhaps it was the alcohol which was taking over my common sense, though for the moment I found it impossible to do anything but chuckle at such an absurd accusation.
"Oh John, no certainly you must be joking? I am an artist; I dare not let my emotions be so predictable." I insisted, laughing before biting down on my cigarette once more, to stifle the giggles that were still emitting from my closed lips. "I dare not." I repeated again.
"Any up and coming star surely has their first pick of women." John commented.
"Perhaps I do." I agreed, trying to let him observe my disinterest without explicitly telling him. This boy seemed to allow many connotations to go over his head; it was quite infuriating trying to get him to pick up on intended subtext.
"Perhaps you do." John muttered, finally allowing something of a smile onto his face. There was no direct confirmation on either end of this conversation, though with such an exchange I could only imagine he understood my meaning. The two of us, well we had something startlingly in common. I could tell that he understood that, even if he didn't at first understand the significance. At that we both took a drink, an unintended toast to the new understanding that we had together. We never acknowledged what it was we were drinking to, though I had a vague suspicion that we were both drinking to calm our nerves, and for that I could only imagine we were wishing for luck. We weren't drinking to each other's health; we were instead drinking to our own confidence. If this night ended at all how I intended it we would not part until morning. If this night ended how I expected it to, well then we would leave with a friendly and premature goodbye.