The rest of the day progressed in such a fashion, with John tutoring upon more advanced subjects to Theo and then going over the basic principles with the young girl. Before lunch they had finished both mathematics and geography, and after their quick meal (prepared by Mary and enjoyed alone in the front garden) the children went along to read their novels and point to words they did not understand. This lasted all the way until their afternoon hours, when at last Mary came to collect the two around three o'clock. Though John was officially relieved of his duties he was not yet tired of the children, and so when Mary took them to play in the back yard he felt almost obligated to tag along. Thankfully both Elizabeth and Theo were rather worn out from such an intense day of learning, and so their games did not involve as much running as John had expected. Instead the children sat upon the ground, picking up stray sticks that the gardening team had neglected to pick up from the gravel and tying them together with thick pieces of grass they plucked from the professionally manicured lawn. As the children were satisfied with their artistic visions John and Mary were free to sit together on one of the white benches, comfortable in the shade of the blooming dogwood tree. John leaned up against the thin trunk of the tree, kicking his feet out in front of himself and trying to relax for a brief moment while he didn't seem to have any active duties. For some reason the day's events seemed to toll heavily upon his energy, and while he had not begun the day with very much it seemed as though he was perfectly drained before the evening hours. It took all John's strength not to let his eyes droop shut in these perfectly ideal temperatures, nodding off while Mary watched over the children.
"How were they this morning? Attentive I hope?" Mary wondered, perhaps realizing that John needed some direct conversation to keep him awake and attentive. The man grumbled for a moment, pushing his weight back upon the bench to keep himself at least present for the conversation she was attempting to have.
"Oh yes, yes very attentive." John agreed in a mutter, rubbing his eyes and yawning as politely as he could manage.
"The same can't seem to be said about you! What did they do, make you run laps around the classroom?" Mary chuckled, obviously noticing John's not so discreet exhaustion.
"No, it's not the fault of the children. I didn't get to sleep last night, and when finally I did I was plagued by nightmares." John admitted at last.
"Frights of a new bed?" Mary presumed.
"No, worse than that. I'm not a paranoid man, but I swear that I saw something last night...something perfectly ghostly." John admitted with a shiver, a quick blink of his eyes blocking out the sunlight just enough for a sharp memory to emerge, darkening his brain and looming that blank white face into his consciousness. The man shivered, though he abruptly recollected himself and looked over at Mary's concerned face.
"Ghostly?" the woman clarified.
"You have not seen a ghost within the halls? Not heard any strange noises come nightfall?" John presumed. Mary shuffled a bit nervously upon the bench, though John could not tell if she was afraid of what she knew or afraid of what she didn't. Perhaps she had never seen a ghost within the halls before and was now frightened that she would have a first encounter.
"I didn't know of such things." Mary admitted at last. "Surely you are seeing things?"
"No, I am not mad. Certainly not! Last night I heard...humanoid howling." John muttered, keeping his voice low so as to avoid scaring the children. The woman's face blushed, though she barred her teeth to show her dislike of such descriptions.
"How terrifying!" she exclaimed, though in such a voice devoid of emotion that John wondered if he might take her seriously or not.
"I had to investigate, it's in my nature. And so I crept from my bedroom and into the main hall, and it was there that I saw the most distorted creature, a ghastly image of a man who was...well he was glowing. I don't know if he was radiating the moonlight or creating his own aura, though he was radiant like a star, almost blinding in such a dark night. He was naked and....and his face was pure white. It looked as if he had been covered in plaster, or perhaps his facial features erased completely!" John exclaimed, shivering just as he remembered seeing such a creature lurking within the halls. Mary's face grew solemn, though quickly she began to shake her head, as if to deter herself from speaking if anything at all.
"I have never seen such a creature." She admitted at last. "Though I would advise you to stay within your room past dark, if you would like to avoid it."
"Do you think Mr. Holmes knows?" John asked anxiously.
"I couldn't be sure. Though I do believe you could have been dreaming." Mary pointed out with a small wag of her finger.
"I know it was real. Even my dreaming brain is not so creative." John admitted, to which the woman chuckled for a moment before settling her eyes back upon the children. John silenced himself as well, and together the two servants found enough entertainment in watching Theo and Elizabeth playing with their constructed creations, having turned the sticks into x's and rolling them through the gravel like largely unproductive wheels. It was only the crunching of approaching footsteps that turned their attention from the two from their watch over the Holmes children, though when their heads turned they were met with perhaps the only man interesting enough to distract them for the remainder of their hours.
"Victor!" Mary exclaimed happily, clapping her hands upon the arrival of the guest servant. The man looked just as beautiful in the afternoon sun as he did in the gloomy confines of the servant's quarters, though this time he was dressed like a businessman in a crisp cream colored suit, decorating himself with a red tie and completing the look with a clipped red rose tucked within the front pocket of his jacket. John wondered just where he got the money for such clothes, or perhaps they were gifts from his master to make the servant look his best at all hours of the day. Either way it would be hard to determine who between the two of them was the Holmes brother and who was the lowly valet, being as though they shone with the same confidence and dressed in the same fabrics.
"You two look quite content." Victor chuckled, settling himself on the very end of the bench with his shoulder rubbing quite closely with John's. The tutor tried to readjust himself, though it would seem as though this bench was only built for two, and he could not gain any personal space between himself and Victor unless he pushed poor Mary Morstan off of the other side.
"It's not every day the children stay in one place. We're getting our relaxation while we can, before they find any more candies within the pockets of your master." Mary scolded. "They were nearly bouncing off the walls last night!"
"Mycroft does like to be generous. Too much so, at times." Victor admitted with a chuckle.
"You call your boss by his first name?" John clarified, straining his neck to get a better look at the smirk which was playing upon the man's face.
"Well of course. He's not my boss, not really. We're more closely acquainted than such titles. I am more like a friend who he pays to hang around." Victor admitted, shrugging his shoulders as if such a title was so easily gained by a man of his humor and looks.
"A friend who carries his bags, dresses him, and brings him his tea." Mary pointed out, as if trying to make sure Victor understood his exact place within his household.
"A servant with benefits, how about that?" Victor suggested, as if this might be the perfect title for a man in position.
"That might suffice." Mary agreed, though she did not sound so convinced. It was undeniable that Victor's relationship with his master was obscure, though he sounded as if he was trying to play it up to be much more of a symbiotic relationship than it really was. The fact that he was still laboring with daily chores and blessed with a payroll said enough about his position in that household to explain it to John, though perhaps Victor felt the need to place himself above other servants even when their duties were quite similar. He seemed to be a man of pedestals, even if he had to construct his own to stand above everyone else.
"How was your first day with the children in the classroom?" Victor wondered, nudging John with his elbow as if to make sure the tutor understood that question was aimed towards him. John frowned a little bit, finding that elbow to be a bit stiffer than he would have appreciated, though he turned his head back towards Victor and decided to humor him with bland conversation.
"Quite well. Theodore learned some triangles and Elizabeth learned multiplication tables. Both took the information very well, they're especially clever." John admitted. Together the three pairs of eyes settled upon the children, though each with a different expression. Victor looked upon the children with a sort of ironic glance, as if he found their presence to be perfectly amusing to him. John kept his expression rather neutral, minding them simply to ensure that they were not getting into trouble while their watchers were distracted with their blissful conversation. Mary looked to the children with pride, as if all of her days spent in their company had blurred the reality of their true parentage. Perhaps the woman had begun to consider them as her own children, owing entirely to the absence of their biological mother in all parts of their life.
"Well any children descended from Sherlock Holmes must be clever. That man is blessed in many ways, his brain being one of the many natural advantages he was born with." Victor chuckled, leaning forward upon his knees and running a finger back and forth over his cheek.
"They're a beautiful family." John admitted.
"The strangest I've ever seen." Mary agreed rather quietly, as if she was ashamed of holding onto such a critical yet truthful opinion. Victor chuckled again, that quiet little snigger that made it seem like he knew much more about the Holmes family than he would ever admit.
"Well, let's just say that without the help of the two of you these children would be illiterate and locked in an attic for fear of shaming the family name." Victor suggested.
"How morbid! Victor you cannot discredit the Holmes family so! Sherlock and Irene love their children very much; our presences here are only to enhance their parenting skills, not to replace them entirely." Mary debated, though her voice was wavering in such a way that made her argument perfectly invalid. All of the servants sitting upon that excessively small bench seemed to understand that John and Mary were the hired parents, taking over the jobs that the biological parents did not seem to care to do. Their places could very easily be replaced by Sherlock and Irene should either of them wish it, though it seems as though the Holmes family was too distracted with their business affairs to pay any mind to the next generation. They were a strange family indeed, perfectly indifferent to the other and downright hostile even in public settings. John could not explain what seemed to be sparking the fires that constantly flared between husband and wife, though the more he observed of their relationship the more he grew thankful for his own position within the household. Even if there was strife between the parents, well at least the children would be exposed more to the mild mannered serving staff than the firecracker parents they were born to. 

Dinner was an equally silent affair as was breakfast, so melancholy that John almost wanted to leave the table early to avoid the glares that were being passed from brother to brother across the platters of food. Something had happened throughout the day, he could tell by the looks of accusation that business was not going nearly as smooth as either man wanted. Though no one wanted to talk about it, and evidently everyone who was not immediately directed to the affair was much too afraid to question. Thankfully Sherlock excused himself from the table early, bidding the table farewell for the night and brushing his hand against his wife's shoulder, more regretfully than would any typical goodbye would mandate. Perhaps he was guilty for having to leave, or more accurately he was feeling guilty about what he was going to do when he was gone. John turned in his chair so as to watch the man leave, the long figure walking carefully through the doors and having them shut behind him with the obedient servant's hands. For a moment longer there was silence, though finally the air began to soften between the guests around the table. It would seem as though Sherlock's bad mood was bringing all the rest of the house down, and with his eventual departure John could at least breathe a small sigh of relief.
"Back to business then?" Mary presumed, looking towards Irene as if she held all the answers to her husband's affairs. The woman sighed heavily, her bedazzled sleeves dangling very close to the puddle of gravy on her plate as she held her hands clenched underneath her chin.
"Yes, back to business." Irene mumbled at last. "Though I wish he did not have to go."
"His work is more important than any of you could know." Mycroft protested, butting into the conversation with his expertise upon the subject. John looked towards the man curiously, realizing that Mycroft may very well be the only one in the room who knew the exact business that Sherlock attended in the evenings. Perhaps he would enlighten the rest of the room so as to get them all on the same page of this already complicated novel?
"May I ask what he does?" John wondered, to which Mary flicked a desperate hand in his direction as if to silence his lips before they had the chance to embarrass them all. Unfortunately her gesture was too late, for John's question hung within the air so thickly that it may very well be spotted with the naked eye, sitting unabsorbed and unanswered as the black eyes of Mycroft Holmes continually glared across the table to his interrogator.
"Business affairs, Mr. Watson. That is all you must know." Mycroft mumbled. "The running of an empire is a much more delicate matter than anyone realizes. You should be thankful that Sherlock has not combusted in the past week."
"So stressful? Well perhaps he should take a day to relax, perhaps take the children to the beach?" Mary suggested, looking around at her companions as if trying to gain some more enthusiasm for the idea. Even the children didn't look enthusiastic; as if they knew the moment the words left her mouth that Mary was only speaking in fantasies. There was no such thing as a day off for a railroad tycoon, especially not within a crisis like the one the brothers were currently facing. Based entirely upon the precedent of the first moments of dinner, John hadn't expected the rest of it to be very eventful at all. Even though he enjoyed being right the man was still disappointed when he slouched out of the dining room without another word of conversation, feeling the misery of the Holmes family beginning to rub off on him like some sort of contagious disease. Was it impossible for a ray of sunshine to penetrate these electric lit halls? Would there ever be a smile to cross Irene Holmes's face, would there ever be a laugh from her children? Perhaps that was his purpose here, not only to give the children their education but also to save this family from themselves. Perhaps a happy go lucky tutor was exactly the thing this household needed, if ever he could summon his original spirit in place of this morbid attitude he was currently faced with. John's evening plans only involved his current novel and a warm cup of tea, though as he made his way in the direction of his room he was intercepted by a wild shape flying from the servant's quarters, a humanoid figure that seemed to have leaped from the bottom of the staircase all the way to the top before John even had the chance to step across the doorway and escape to the other side. A collision was imminent, though John hadn't expected to be intercepted so softly by a pair of white hands, his shoulders getting caught between the iron grip of Victor Trevor as their chests bumped softly together and their feet scuffing upon the other's toes. John gave a little noise of disapproval, trying to worm his way out of the grip as quickly as he could to avoid any elongation of this rather awkward situation. He didn't like to be so close to the servant, especially not within a range where he could feel Victor's breath escaping from his parted lips!
"Ms. Morstan told me you've been seeing ghosts." Was Victor's only comment, finally letting his grip relax when he felt John's whole body weight shift away from him anxiously. Thankfully the man got the hint and allowed John to stumble backwards, recollecting himself and shivering to erase the indentations of those surprisingly strong fingers upon his skin. There was a curious smile upon the servant's face today, as if he had been looking forward to their 'chance' meeting.
"I...well I might have been seeing things." John managed at last, pushing his fingers through his hair in a strange and almost instinctive reaction to the glowing of Victor's bright and distracting eyes. Oh this household, this ridiculous household! Filled to the brim with beautiful people but deprived of any compassion or love!
"You also might not have. You described a blank face, perfectly white?" Victor guessed, leaning up against the door frame with all of his weight shifted upon his left shoulder and his legs crossed delicately beneath him. John nodded quickly, not knowing what else would be useful to say.
"And he was naked." John added quickly.
"Naked? Well, I did not know we had such a scandalous creature within our midst!" Victor chuckled.
"You believe me then? Mary didn't." John murmured.
"No I believe you, certainly. But I do wonder, Mr. Watson, if this really was a ghost you saw at all. Why not consider it a person, a living thing?" Victor suggested, tapping his long fingers against the door frame and tilting his head in interest.
"Well it couldn't have been a real person. I don't think anyone is in the habit of walking around in such a state." John pointed out with a bit of a frown. Victor merely chuckled, at last straightening himself up and stepping closer to John once more.
"So sure, Mr. Watson?" he muttered, lifting up a finger to touch upon John's chin. The tutor accepted such a gesture simply because he didn't know how to politely avoid it, though the feel of Victor's finger was an altogether unappreciated experience. John didn't like human contact very much, especially when it was used in such a seductive fashion. If John was hearing correctly there was a touch of flirtation in Victor's voice, a small almost musical fashion to his words and a heavy, inviting look to his curved smile. It was only when his touch fell away that the servant excused himself, declaring that he was needed in other parts of the house before he made his way carefully down the hall, leaving John to stand perfectly aghast where he was left.