"How much do you know about the Holmes brothers, if I may ask?" Greg wondered at last, releasing another long puff of smoke and eyeing John with a peculiar curiosity. By now this wasn't so much of an invitation, more like a casual inquiry. John cleared his throat a little bit, finding this question very easy to answer.
"Not much at all." he stammered. It was the regretful truth, even though John had lived within their walls now for a little over a month. He knew their children, knew their family, and yet aside from their faces and names he was lost. The Holmes family was deliberately secretive, owing perhaps to their many secrets which were better kept safe.
"And what about this club, how much do you know about The Dollhouse?" Greg wondered. John's face reddened this time, as he was more humiliated than surprised with such an abrupt and targeted question.
"A little bit." John admitted finally, feeling as though it was be useless to lie when he had been intercepted at least twice outside of its doors. Who knows how long Greg had been stalking the place, watching him going in and out to his many visits to his Doll?
"Well it may surprise you to learn that there's a connection between the two. Perhaps they are occasional costumers, but the Holmes brothers own this establishment. All of your payed money is going right back into their pockets, as if it never left." Greg chuckled. John blinked, feeling his fingers fall out of his pockets and grip along the gritty cement which held the bricks together. He stared at Greg's face, trying to watch that cigarette twitch in between a conniving smile. And yet he didn't show any sign of humor, he didn't seem to laugh. John hadn't known Greg very long, though he seemed like the man to give up a joke at least a minute after it was told, just to appreciate the longevity of the confusion. It felt as though a minute or two passed, and still John's face was blank, and still Greg was watching him with that look of concern. As if he was worried his witness had suddenly blacked out and managed to stay standing.
"I didn't...I didn't know that." John muttered. "But how can I trust that you do?"
"I'm a police officer, one of the main men in charge with breaking up establishments such as this." Greg admitted with a grin.
"Not very good at your job then." John muttered absentmindedly.
"Startlingly good, actually. You know how hard it is to catch men like them? All of these years you couldn't find a single thing, you couldn't prove any of it. The prostitutes, the tax evasion, the bar fights. None of it could be traced back to those brothers if you tried. Though finally I've got them, a murder, blood on their own four hands! I cannot wait to see the looks..."
"You're planning to arrest them for a murder? I thought you said the man was missing, not ever proven dead?" John pointed out, interrupting Greg before he began salivating at the thought of the Holmes brothers in handcuffs.
"Well...well yes. I suppose we haven't found anything yet, but the sheer fact that we've got some place to start is more than I've ever gotten." Greg admitted. "That's why I need you."
"Like I said, I haven't seen anything." John insisted, holding up his hands defensively and finding it much easier to echo his past lie. At first his tongue had been tied within his mouth, unable to utter the falsities that were at that time necessary. Now it felt more natural, as if suddenly he had a moral ground to stand on. The way Greg taunted wasn't a character trait he appreciated, especially when the man seemed to so blatantly ignore the lives which were dependent on the Holmes brother's incomes.
"I wonder if I can convince you to look closer?" Greg wondered, his voice upturning to further demonstrate his unprofessional connotations. John remained quiet, hoping that his silence and his blank eyes would prompt the inspector to further explain. As of now John was sure he had looked close enough at those strange brothers, he had seen all he could ever want to see.
"I'm imagining they keep very neat records, somewhere in that house of theirs. I'm sure they document all that they do, in the form of letters or numbers or correspondence. I'm sure somewhere there will be a letter from Moran, some sort of promise for a meeting, something that would trace him to those brothers the day of his disappearance." Greg proposed.
"Why do you so immediately suspect the Holmes brothers? There are a million people in this city, why narrow your search so quickly?" John wondered doubtfully.
"Because he had business with them, Mr. Watson. And those brothers funnel all of their business through here." Greg insisted, giving the opposing wall a quick nod so as to clarify he was talking about the Dollhouse. John swallowed hard, remembering the man who was probably pinned beneath another at this very moment, though perhaps waiting on one specific customer to walk through the doors. Was it true that such a specimen was on the Holmes brothers' payroll? Was it possible they knew who was under the mask?
"If they were found to be doing illegal things...what would happen to the club?" John wondered apprehensively.
"Shut down of course. That's been the goal of the operation all along, to get as many whores off the street as we can." Greg assured. John nodded very faintly, hardly even tilting his head to show his agreement all the while his heart had begun to pound with newfound enthusiasm.
"And the whores, what will happen to them? Will you arrest them?" John wondered, his voice nearly choking him as it spit out as many words as he could manage at a single time. Perhaps his excitement was too evident, for Greg snatched his cigarette out of his mouth and gave a large, uninterrupted smile.
"So that's why you've been here so many times. Got a whore of choice then, do you?" Greg chuckled.
"What will happen to them?" John repeated again, feeling as though he was in no place to deny it. Greg sighed at last, shrugging his shoulders before dropping his cigarette to the dirt and smashing it under foot. For a while both men watched the smoke rise, watching it curl in a beautiful spiral before dissipating into the already filthy air around them.
"I suppose they will run free. The club will be shut down, their employers imprisoned. Once you've got the big fish in the net there's no time to round up the anchovies." Greg admitted, watching John's face for his most immediate reaction. John tried to stay neutral; he tried not to let himself get overexcited about the prospect of freedom. And yet the idea was too good not to fantasize, in fact he let his mind wander right here in front of the inspector himself! John allowed himself to imagine the Porcelain doll walking free, peeling off that mask for the last time and leaving it behind. He imagined looping arms around the other man's, now cloaked in a fine suit with his natural hair released from beneath the oily smear. He was a man, he was beautiful, and he was following john home. They would walk arm in arm through the busy streets, braving the walk without ever taking a cab merely to appreciate the other's presence. John could be his savior, he could take him under Mr. Holmes's roof, hire him as a valet, as a footman, as a piece of art. They could share a bed, night after night, just tangled in each other's arms. They could have a life together...they could have a life.
"You're saying a life for a life? I give you Mr. Holmes and you give me..." John let his voice trail off.
"All of them, if you wish." Greg promised. Both of their voices had now grown to sound excited, as their own personal goals began to materialize in front of them in a mutualistic deal. Suddenly they could both be better off, Greg with his big fish on the line, John with his beautiful accomplice forever by his side. As the enthusiasm mounted John almost blurted out all he knew, he almost recited the whole conversation he had overheard, he almost described the position of the hatbox, now lost in the woods! In fact he had to bite his tongue before he said anything too rash, intelligent enough to at least realize that Greg was playing to his fantasies, realizing he had struck a most excited nerve. Certainly the promises he made were hallow, at least in the moment. It would take some more thought; though John had a feeling he'd have all the time in the world.
"Can I have your business card?" John asked at last. "So I can tell you if I notice anything odd?" It was a request used to buy nothing but time, for Greg had his gun and John had the perfect bullet. It was a hesitation with the trigger finger that he needed the most, especially when the barrel was pointed down Sherlock Holmes's throat.
"You can have my bank account number if it'll help." Greg chuckled, though he pulled out his card instead, a simple little design that displayed his office number within the police station and the best phone with which to contact him. John nodded, figuring there was no way he would be allowed to use the Holmes family phone to dial the police station and schedule their executions. Whatever meetings he had with Inspector Greg would have to be in person, preferably in an area where there would be no witnesses. Even now John could feel eyes upon him, though when he looked left and right it appeared that they might be alone.
"I'll um...I'll look." John promised at last, receiving the business card with trembling fingers and tucking it safely into one of his pockets, one which would not spill if tugged too aggressively further on in the night.
"That's all I need you to do." Greg assured, tipping his hat and giving a quick little smile of encouragement. "You can be part of the change, if you'd like to be. Tycoons are a thing of the past, and I'm here to stop them."
"I haven't got a problem with tycoons." John admitted quietly.
"That's because you're on the better end of their payroll. Those Holmes brothers wear halos, if only to hide their horns." Greg promised. "Keep in touch, John Watson."
"I will." John promised, nodding again as Greg turned upon his heel. The inspector didn't manage a proper goodbye; instead he sauntered out of the alleyway, as if it was a perfectly normal spot to emerge from before the sun had even set. 

It was unusual for John to turn so rapidly during his time spent with the Porcelain Doll, though as the man paced his usual circles around his naked body John took to turning with him, following his gaze through the mask and trying to spot any twinkle of a human eye behind the dark circles which were bored into his flesh. The Doll was still draped in his robe, this time hanging loosely over his body with the cord already abandoned, hanging between its fabric loops and dangling unevenly across the carpet as he tread.
"What is on your mind, Mr. Watson?" the Doll asked at last, capturing the side of John's neck within his hand so as to steady the both of them from their tiresome circles. It was a firm grip, unyielding but soft to the touch. It was appreciated, and John felt no choice but to press his own hand against it, so as to secure those fingers into his skin. Together they stood anchored, connected, and John even wondered if he saw the mask relax, as if the Porcelain had shifted in a more content face despite its original expressionless molding.
"If..." John faltered for a moment, wishing he had a name to formally address his companion with. "If I could free you, if I could go to your boss right now and tell him you quit, would you let me?"
"You act as if I am in bondage." The Doll reminded him.
"Are you not, in some capacity? Bound to your work? This is your livelihood, is it not?" John wondered. The Doll laughed, beginning to twitch his fingers and wiggle them out from underneath John's grasp. Thankfully he did not withdraw his touch; instead he merely slid his palm across John's chest, as if to appreciate the heartbeat that was drumming faster behind his ribs.
"I wish it was so easy." The Doll sighed regretfully.
"Say then...say something happened to your boss. Would you be glad for the opportunity to leave?" John clarified at once.
"Why the sudden obsession with my employers?" the Doll wondered curiously, to which John swallowed a bit nervously, suddenly realizing that the two of them had at least one thing in common. They both worked under the Holmes brothers.
"Would you want to be free?" John clarified at last, figuring there was no time to explain himself. He wasn't about to spell out his whole plan, not when a slip of the tongue might alert the Holmes brothers not only to plot against them but also to the man who was doing the plotting. John knew that even a quick discussion with an investigator was enough to get him in trouble with the brothers, though spreading his elaborate plan to any listening ear might be even more explosive. As of now he must be vague, just to make sure that everything would work out the way he had planned. There seemed to be more laughter emitting from behind the mask, and yet John could feel no humor between them. He knew that whatever emotion was portrayed behind the porcelain, it wasn't joy. It was more irony, more misery. It was a laugh that was emitted from a pair of hopeless lips, those which knew better than to believe in any miracles. Yet finally the Doll dropped his hands, taking John around the waist and pulling him close, with his thumbs locked into John's hip bones and his fingers dangling across his bare and untouched skin. John trembled, biting down on his lip and remembering just why he would want this man freed in the first place.
"Yes, Mr. Watson." The Doll admitted at last, drawing their bodies closer and hovering his mask just inches away from John's neck, so as to allow his exhaled breath to escape the mask and dance upon John's ear. "I should want to be free."
"Then I shall free you." John promised, taking the man's head within his hands and working his fingers deeply into the molded hair which was slicked precisely to the base of his skull. His thumbs pressed down upon the porcelain, digging into the sculpted cheeks, pulling the man's high standing head down so as to settle their foreheads together. From here John hoped he might be able to stare through the eye holes, he hoped he might get a glimpse at the familiar coloring of the Porcelain Doll's milky white skin. Though there was only darkness, his own head blocking out whatever light source hung from above them, making it hard to even decipher where the dark holes were carved out of the shadowed mask. And yet the feeling was all together intimate, despite not being able to see the man he shared the moment with. He settled the cold porcelain to his own skin, exhaling into it and listening as the Doll's own breath rattled within the material. He was breathing heavily, though without much exertion at all. It was another clue to John's everlasting theory, another reassurance of his ultimate goal. The way the man was breathless, the rate at which his heart had begun to beat... well he must be in love. A simple touch, a moment of humanity that was shared between the two of them, and here the ever confident whore's knees had begun to shake.
"If I could free you, would you come home with me?" John whispered anxiously, pressing his fingers even deeper into the man's scalp, running his nails through the controlled and greased hairs, trying to ignore the thick leather strap which separated the two of them. It was ever so possible to work the clasp, if he could distract the Doll he may even be able to unhook it...
"I would have nowhere else to go." The Doll muttered in return. It was a strange response, but one which resonated within John's heart none the less. Somehow the answer nearly moved him to tears, and his heart began to swell with the promise of claiming this beautiful creature to be his own. He breathed heavily against the mask, occasionally pressing his lips against the molded mouth in hopes that the next time he tried would be the first time he met human skin. He hoped that with enough kisses, enough presses, the mask might shatter and reveal his lover.
"I would have you every night, if I could." John promised. "But more than anything I should like to fall asleep in your arms, and wake up with your face pressed against the back of my neck. Your real face, sir. I would like you to kiss me without any interference."
"Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Watson." The Doll warned. "Perhaps I am a troll behind this mask? Have you ever considered that?"
"You could not be, and even so I would not care. I've managed to fall in love with you despite not knowing your face; I'll take my chances with what hides behind." John assured.
"You have fallen in love?" the Doll clarified, with such a surprise that his voice nearly trembled.
"Yes." John agreed, unapologetically. Again he kissed the mask, trying to summon the man to reveal himself from behind it.
"I've heard that before, from countless other men..." The Doll stammered, pressing their bodies ever closer as he lifted his hands to John's chin, framing his face by enveloping his neck within his long fingers and pulling John's eyes up for farther investigation. "But from you I do believe it. From you I sense sincerity."
"Could you come to love a client?" John whispered in return. "Could you ever love me in return?"
"I had never been faced with the option, Mr. Watson. You never gave me a chance to refuse."
"Is that a yes?" John's words were now choked with emotion, tears welling in his eyes and making it almost impossible to utter a word. A thousand syllables wished to push from his lips, though at the moment all he could do was stare, keeping his mouth shut tight so as to avoid breaking into a loud, emotional sob.
"What does it matter if a prop has fallen in love or not? A plaything?" the Doll whispered.
"You're more than that to me." John promised.
"How could you know?" the Doll questioned.
"I couldn't, but I feel it. If you took that mask off right now I would love whoever was behind it. I promise you, I would love you." John insisted, letting his fingers fall from the Doll's hair to the outline of his mask, trying to press his fingers underneath the material and fell the construction of the man's face.
"I've never been a betting man. I don't think I will start now." The Doll whispered in response, quickly pulling John's arms down by his wrists, pulling his hesitant fingers away so that they didn't get the chance to explore any farther. John allowed his face to downturn into a frown, though before he was able to mourn for his lost opportunity the Doll had already looped their fingers together, beginning his ever familiar stroll towards the bed which awaited them. John followed in his wake, his feet dragging a little slower through the now well-worn carpet, merely a week's worth of foot traffic already mashing the fibers into their submission. John was not the first of tonight, and he would not be the last. Though perhaps he could mean the most, night after night, until he was the only costumer the Doll would admit. Maybe one day when the doorman began to knock, the Doll would tell him to leave them alone.