Come dinner time they had all somehow managed to lie across the bed like sardines, talking about who knows what so effectively that Sherlock had nearly forgotten the treacheries that were going on as they spoke. Sherlock lay in the middle, however Molly was minding her space and Victor certainly was not, for he lay nearly on top of Sherlock with his head on his chest, talking right over the man so that Molly could hear him more clearly. It was like some sort of demented sleep over love triangle, in which no one really got the man they were seeking, for that man was very much in love with another man. They talked about Molly's vacation mostly, she told them about all the drama that was going on within her friend group, the marriages, the divorces, the friendships gone sour. She always seemed to be the pinnacle of all of the small scandals, people would go to her for help and she would take their sides, only just before telling everyone else what was happening behind her confidant's back. It made for good story telling, however little did Molly know that she was lying next to two of the men who held the ultimate scandal in their hands, two men who would never admit such a thing as long as her mouth was still working. During dinner Mycroft was quiet, Sherlock kept noticing that he was looking at him with much curiosity, looking between the two of them as if looking for something in particular.
"How was your trip?" Mycroft wondered finally, evidently despising the awkward silence that had befallen the large table seated for three.
"Oh it was lovely, but cold. It's a rather odd time of the year for beach vacations." Molly admitted with a bit of a shrug, poking at her roasted duck without much of an appetite. She seemed to sense a tenseness, and with Mycroft's small hums of dissatisfaction and Sherlock's pursed lips there wasn't much to do except eat and try to look as though everything that wasn't happening around the table wasn't bothering you. Sherlock was more curious with Mycroft than with Molly, the man seemed to know something was amiss, he seemed to be watching Sherlock with a curiosity that was unlike him. Did he know something he shouldn't...had he somehow figured out about what had happened behind closed doors?
"Well I say with confidence that you missed nothing here, at least nothing that you would be concerned with. The house was quite empty without you." Mycroft admitted with a sigh, shoveling some more food into his mouth and sitting in silence. He seemed to be the only one with an appetite tonight. Sherlock couldn't eat because of the weight of the secrets on his shoulders; they almost seemed to be contracting his stomach in an unhealthy way, almost preventing him from nourishing himself until he found it in himself to confess the horrible acts he had committed while Molly was away. So maybe he had to ease the load, maybe Molly shouldn't know of his unfaithfulness, but maybe he should let her in on the secret that built onto all the more secrets, the reason Sherlock held her at a minimum safe distance, and the reason her kisses and touches were vile to him. The truth about Sherlock's sexuality may just relieve some of the pain that was pressing down on him and restricting his health. How would she handle it, would she accept him for who he was or would she be revolted? Was Molly going to run her mouth and blab to the newspapers or was she going to take the secret in her stride and keep it under lock and key? Was she going to respect Sherlock's secrets, did she already know them? Sherlock looked over to Molly suspiciously, who was now having a very forceful conversation with Mycroft, her diamond earrings sparkling almost tauntingly from her ears. Yes, so it must be, she had to know or Sherlock would most likely die from the pent up misery of keeping a secret of such magnitude locked up in his brain and on his shoulders. 

 "I think I'm going to tell her." Sherlock whispered as he lounged uselessly in the bubbly water of his bath, keeping his head on the brim as the rest of his body drowned in hot, soapy water. The darkness had already overtaken the window pane and it was fogged up with the moisture and heat from the inside, the door remained closed and Sherlock was quite sure Molly was in the bedroom reading, she certainly wouldn't hear them, there would be no witnesses. 

"Tell her what my Lord?" Victor asked in a startled breath, his fingers pausing as they lathered shampoo into Sherlock's curls.
"Tell her about me. Not about him, that is too much...I just think she has the right to know. These secrets Victor, they're killing me." Sherlock admitted heavily, leaning into Victor's touch ever so slightly to cue him to continue.
"I'm afraid she might tell her friends, she might tell your brother." Victor murmured, sounding beyond terrified of such a confrontation.
"Oh Mycroft knows everything, I'm sure he does. He's much too intuitive to have something such as this pass under that large nose of his." Sherlock insisted. Victor sighed heavily, almost as though he knew a bit more on this subject than Sherlock realized, and yet he stayed quiet.
"Do we trust her enough?" Victor clarified.
"I do." Sherlock agreed with a slight nod. Victor sighed heavily behind him, evidently he didn't fully appreciate the rash behavior Sherlock was beginning to display, but then again it was Sherlock's secret, was it not? It wasn't as if Sherlock was disclosing Victor's secrets, it was his, and he could do what he liked with it. John didn't even have to be brought up; no Molly would never be able to put that together, not unless she caught them together, somehow. Sherlock had to keep that part of this a secret purely because it was John's to share as well, and he was quite sure that John wouldn't appreciate such a fact being known to a woman he barely even talked to.
"And if she asks of me?" Victor wondered nervously.
"What do you want me to say?" Sherlock asked, trying to crane his neck to see his servant where he sat above him. Victor sighed heavily, tapping Sherlock's head so as to submerge him and when Sherlock had reappeared from the suds, his hair clean and his face dripping, Victor was already at the sink, washing his own hands free of the lilac smelling shampoo.
"I don't think it's any of her business to know of my...admiration." Victor admitted.
"Is that what you're calling it now?" Sherlock asked with a laugh, to which Victor just sneered, turning red all the same. Sherlock just rolled his eyes, lounging on the side of the tub and reaching out one of his soapy arms to Victor, who just pursed his lips doubtfully before taking his fingers reluctantly. Sherlock immediately pulled him closer, making the poor boy trip over his feet and sit down hard on the side of the bath, nearly toppling in himself if Sherlock hadn't steadied him. That was certainly the last thing he needed, his servant caught bathing with him.
"I think there are much better words to use, Victor, when talking about your love for me. And yet I will not use them, not to her at least, if you do not permit me to." Sherlock instructed, rising ever so slightly out of the tub to let his face draw nearer to Victor's in an almost playful way. He always found it quite amusing to toy with Victor's emotions, to watch the boy's face grow red and feel his heart beating ever so quickly in his poor chest.
"I don't think she would appreciate it." Victor decided finally, staring fixedly into Sherlock's eyes and looking as though he would do anything to inch closer...
"Call it what it is Victor." Sherlock instructed in a taunting way, a smile coming across his face, one which Victor did not notice. The poor servant was staring so deeply into Sherlock's eyes that Sherlock almost wondered if he was seeing much more than his own reflection in the pupils, was he seeing Sherlock's soul, his thoughts, his sins?
"What, love?" Victor wondered in the scarcest of whispers, his voice barely evident over his breath, barely annunciated, barely understandable.
"Yes, love." Sherlock agreed. Victor took a deep breath, and just as Sherlock was ready to lean away Victor dropped his hands, he got to his feet and he shook his head, looking pained to the point of agony as he crossed his arms and stood with his back towards Sherlock, staring at the floor and closing his eyes for a brief moment.
"I hate how you toy with me my Lord. I understand that you do not share my love; I do not understand why you keep trying to convince me that you do. Does it entertain you, watching my heart break every time you draw away?" Victor wondered heavily. Sherlock just smiled, shaking his head and watching his moody servant as he struggled to keep his back to him; surely it was difficult for that poor boy to pretend to be angry after such an occurrence.
"Oh Victor, on the contrary. It entertains me to watch your heart beat; it's the most beautiful thing Victor, to see you so passionate. It reminds me of how human you really are." Sherlock reminded him with a smile, staring at the back of Victor's head and just waiting for him to turn around.
"I cannot say the same about you, my Lord." Victor whispered. Sherlock hummed in agreement, not quite sure what Victor meant by that but for now he did not necessarily care.
"Not beautiful then?" Sherlock guessed, getting up very slowly from the bath, making sure Victor still had his back turned, and pulling a towel very carefully around his waist.
"Not human. I see you as a God, my Lord, beautiful beyond the point of possibility." Victor admitted heavily, still very unaware that Sherlock was moving ever closer, clothed in nothing but a rather harsh looking towel wrap.
"I am very far from a God, Victor." Sherlock whispered right up to the boy's ear, finally letting his arms encircle the poor servant, holding him in his arms momentarily and feeling that shiver go up Victor's spine.
"Here you go again, my Lord." Victor murmured, however he was powerless to do anything except lean back into Sherlock's bare chest and breathe in the aromas of the shampoo against his hair and skin.
"What is it that would make this complete?" Sherlock wondered. "I do not want your heart to break again."
"Don't even...Sherlock this is madness." Victor insisted. Sherlock hummed in agreement, pressing his warm lips ever so experimentally against Victor's neck from behind, very gently, as if in some sort of dreamlike state. He did not know why he even bothered, for his heart surely didn't beat for Victor, however he felt almost responsible for the boy's wellbeing, for the health of his heart and the blossoming of his future feelings. Victor had grown up with the same weighing secrets that Sherlock carried now, and as he finally understood the immensity of such a load he could not help but pity the poor servant who had lived with it on his shoulders for as long as he could remember.
"Madness, yes." Sherlock agreed in a mumble. Victor finally shivered, and with that he shook Sherlock's arms away and took a step back into the wall, turning to face his master with the greatest tinge of regret. This was the moment he had been looking forward to all of his life and yet here he stood, rejecting it.
"I will allow you to be unfaithful to your wife, to whom you harbor no love, and yet to kiss me while you gave John Watson your heart, it is disgraceful in another sense entirely. With all due respect, my Lord, how dare you?" Victor whispered, his face going completely white as Sherlock stepped back with a sort of grin. Victor was right of course, oh Victor was always right, and yet for some reason Sherlock hated it when he brought up a good point. And suddenly Sherlock felt very silly, clad in nothing but a towel and standing before the man he had grown up with, befriended, and rejected. How could he turn his back on a love that he had already, with the man who he had already sacrificed so much for? But no, with Victor there was no love, there was the emotion John Watson hated the most, there was pity. Sherlock's heart did not beat for Victor and yet he wanted to keep Victor's beating for him, he was being selfish, and he was using his beauty to keep Victor very much enchanted. It was an unthinkable act, and thankfully Victor had realized it before Sherlock had made a great mistake yet again.
"You are right of course...I don't know what came over me. You have my sincerest apology." Sherlock muttered, letting his head drop in shame. Victor was silent for a moment, almost as though he didn't know what he was supposed to do now. This may have been the first time he had ever stood up to Sherlock like that; the only time he was ever brave enough to fight back against Sherlock's batting him around like a cat with a mouse.
"You should go, tell her, and leave me out of it. If she asks, say nothing." Victor suggested firmly, finding Sherlock's bathrobe on the hook and thrusting it at the man's chest. Sherlock caught it in surprise, nodding nervously before looking about the room for something a bit more modest to wear underneath.
"I'll leave you to dress, my Lord. I'll leave you for the night." Victor decided finally.
"Thank you Victor." Sherlock agreed, bowing his head respectfully to which Victor simply glanced over him, finally feeling as though he had the upper hand in this relationship.
"Goodnight Sherlock." Victor muttered, and with that he grasped the door handle and let himself out, walking off into the bedroom and leaving Sherlock there, alone in the bathroom, to dress and towel off his hair to the best of his abilities. Oh what a rash fool he was becoming, did love and faithfulness mean nothing to him? A bit of honest was going to be good for him, a confession was exactly what he needed right now. Molly deserved the truth and the truth would come from no one but Sherlock, who was beginning to hunch with the excess secrets that weighed upon his back every minute of every day. When Sherlock thought he looked decent enough he stepped out of the bathroom, the soft gurgling of the bathtub drain making a rather strange chorus as he made his reappearance.
"There you are Sherlock, it's been ages." Molly said with a laugh, shutting her book yet not setting it aside, almost as though she expected him not to pay her any attention.
"Molly, I think there's something I need to tell you." Sherlock decided finally.
"Oh? Does it have anything to do with bath time then? Victor seemed a little bit upset." Molly guessed, setting the book aside finally and bringing her knees to her chest, the blankets straining to cover her as she raised her eyebrows knowingly.
"No, not with...no it has nothing to do with Victor. It has to do with me." Sherlock admitted finally, shaking his head rather anxiously and walking over to the bed. He sat down heavily on his side; however he inched ever so closer, holding around one of his arms so that Molly could lean into him, almost like they were a proper couple.
"Oh, you're really getting brave there." Molly laughed, however she certainly didn't complain. This was the closest he had ever allowed her to be, and yet it wasn't hurting them, shockingly Sherlock wasn't dissolving at her touch, he wasn't melting. Maybe she could even appreciate it, for now, before she finally realized that she would never be more than a friend to Sherlock Holmes.
"Molly, being married to you has been wonderful, it really has been, and yet I think you wanted more from me, more than I've been able to offer you." Sherlock admitted. Molly hummed in silent agreement, nestling the top of her head into Sherlock's neck and smiling softly.
"Well, I would agree that we don't have a traditional relationship of course. I see nothing wrong with it of course, it's just, well, not exactly what I had in mind." Molly admitted. Sherlock sighed heavily, nodding because that was exactly what he had expected as her answer.
"You've been a good wife, and a good friend." Sherlock assured, creeping ever so slowly towards the conclusion he was seeking to address, however as he veered closer everything in his mind begged him to turn away, he was terrified for her reaction, he didn't want to be outed unintentionally, should his secret hit the newspapers he didn't know how he could live with such a scandal.
"Yes, I know I have." Molly agreed, to which Sherlock could only laugh, partially with surprise, partially with agreement. Molly had never lacked confidence, that was for sure.
"And I know I can trust you, am I right in guessing that much?" Sherlock asked nervously, his breath coming much shorter and much quicker now, for he felt as though he was veering towards the end of a massive chasm, one that dropped right off into Hell.
"Yes of course you can trust me, you are my husband now, and your secrets are mine." Molly assured.
"Who said anything about secrets?" Sherlock wondered quickly, to which Molly just laughed, laughing as though she was leaning against a complete moron.
"Well you said you needed to tell me something, and now you're asking about trust? Surely it's something important." Molly guessed. Sherlock could only smile, for she was right of course, she was always right.
"Yes well, maybe you see more than I credit you for." Sherlock agreed with a laugh.
"Oh come now Sherlock, out with it. Do not build up all of that suspense only to go off topic." Molly insisted, squirming in anticipation with the largest of smiles on her face. Oh Sherlock surely hoped this didn't break her heart...
"Molly, the reason I cannot kiss you, the reason I cannot come close to you, the reason I cannot love you..." Sherlock took a deep breath, shaking his head in agony, for this was so much easier to admit to someone who understood. Victor's confession had preluded his, and his confession to John had nothing to do with words, it had only been actions, this was so much harder! And she understood, she had to understand.
"Yes?" Molly murmured, sounding as though she already knew what was coming next. Sherlock took a deep breath, shaking his head and just deciding to say it, to rip the words out of his mouth like he might rip a bandage off of his skin.
"Molly, I'm a homosexual." Sherlock breathed finally. There was silence, and for a moment Molly stiffened against his chest, taking a breath and releasing it very slowly, almost as though she had to process such a statement, almost as though she didn't understand.
"Yes I know." Molly admitted finally, in the smallest of voices.
"You know?" Sherlock clarified, drawing away ever so nervously before she eased herself back into his arms once more.
"Oh Sherlock you really do overestimate your ability to keep a secret. I've always known, I do believe, ever since you sauntered through my doorway when I invited you to my first gala. Of course it had been nothing but a mere suspicion, for I knew nothing but rumors of homosexuals and I thought that when you married me, oh I thought that you might've changed, that or I had been wrong in my presumptions. And yet these months of being married to you, well it's only been too obvious. Your distance from me, your closeness with Victor, your comfort with that boy, well I don't think there could be any other explanation than the one you just provided me with." Molly assured, talking as though this was no more of a secret than the color of Sherlock's hair or the beauty in his face.
"I just, Molly I'm terribly sorry, I know that you may not be willing to have me as a husband, I know that it might be..."
"Oh just stop it right there Sherlock, don't be preposterous. You think I love you just because I think you can love me back? Oh well then you have no concept of love my poor, foolish husband. It is not your lips that I need, or your body, gosh Sherlock all I need is your companionship to be satisfied. Oh who cares if you love men, and who cares that I just happened to be a woman? Marriage can be unyielding friendship; I know that you love me in your own way, not a physical way of course but a spiritual way. As long as I have that love, and that faithfulness, well then I am satisfied." Molly assured with a soft smile.