"What am I to do? Where should I go? I cannot marry a woman Victor, I cannot let myself be wasted on such a horrible companion, how could I..."
"Sherlock it will be alright, it will be." Victor breathed in assurance.
"It's not going to be alright." Sherlock insisted, pushing himself away from Victor and stumbling on his feet, falling into his bedpost before steadying himself with two reluctant hands. The very idea of losing his love, losing his heart, to a woman who had no business with it in the first place, well it was almost insulting! All of his beauty, all of his passion, and to see it go wasted with a woman who didn't deserve but a hair on his Godlike head! Why could he not love who he wanted to love, marry who he wanted to marry, why could he not let his destiny be fulfilled with the man who clouded his dreams and inhabited his deepest, darkest thoughts?
"Do you get to choose?" Victor wondered, approaching Sherlock very carefully and placing one of his hands reassuringly on Sherlock's shoulder, all the modesty of the morning having disappeared. Now it would seem that whatever space had been carved out between them had been filled in, and now they had become closer than ever. This was what the sharing of secrets was supposed to achieve, was it not? And yet what a dismal way to form a closer bond, what a terrible time to mend the strings they had plucked apart not long ago?
"I'm not sure, he said nothing, I ran before he could explain himself, and yet Victor I know he will not let me marry John, he would never understand!" Sherlock exclaimed with a sob, settling his white forehead against the wooden bedpost and heaving in breathes of desperation.
"No, whatever you do my Lord, do not breathe a word of your desires to Mycroft. Homosexuality, no matter how normalized it might be between you and me, is still looked upon as wrong. You will be arrested for it." Victor reminded him. Sherlock winced and yet he nodded, yes he knew of the consequences his heart's disfigured desires would thrust upon him.
"I must choose a woman who will understand why I am unable to love her; I must choose a woman who will understand when I explain my disinterest, my situation. In public we will be together, arm in arm, dancing and laughing like the best of friends and lovers, and yet at home we shall have different beds, we shall keep our distance, I do not want her poisoned lips anyway near my own!" Sherlock exclaimed, throwing himself away from the bedpost and storming with new found determination to the other side of the room without purpose.
"Most women will not understand the complexity of a homosexual's heart my Lord." Victor warned fearfully.
"How do you know that Victor? Have you told one before? Have you even talked to a woman before?" Sherlock demanded in a snap, turning on Victor with an unnecessarily angry glare. Surely none of this was Victor's fault, and yet for some reason Sherlock found his trying to help to be more irritating than the actual problem on hand. Did Victor not understand that this whole ordeal was helpless, that Sherlock was powerless to do anything but submit to the overwhelming force that was being trained on him? Society's expectations and the whims of his dominant older brother, well surely Sherlock was nothing but a pawn in this everlasting game of chess?
"I can only assume that they would not understand." Victor corrected in a slow voice, as if he thought that his own calm words might ease the redness that was emerging in Sherlock's previously very pale face.
"Well I'll make her understand, and if she does not then I'll make her. I can only imagine there are some women who love women, maybe I could find one of them, and we can never touch each other or look at each other once in our haphazard relationship?" Sherlock suggested excitedly, looking at Victor who shook his head very slightly, training his gaze upon the carpet as if he predicted some degree of hopelessness in Sherlock's words.
"My Lord I apologize if this may sound harsh, but I do not think that there is any person, male or female, that could love anyone else if you are part of their everyday life." Victor said slowly, closing his eyes for a sorrowful moment and letting Sherlock process all that was going on.
"That's it then...I'm jumping." Sherlock decided flatly, rushing over to the balcony doors to find that Victor was just in time to stop him, pulling him once more away from the glass and throwing him like a rag doll upon the bed.
"My Lord there are better ways to handle this, marriage to a woman you do not love is no binding contract!" Victor insisted in a sort of yell, standing over Sherlock as if he was going to be sure Sherlock didn't get off the bed without his permission. And so Sherlock lay in the mess of blankets and pillows, staring up at his servant hatefully and crossing his arms like a pouting child.
"Not a contract then? Not a golden ring, and wedding vows, and promises to God, and accompanying her throughout every aspect of my life, sharing my house and my bed?" Sherlock growled.
"You'll just have to, well...branch off from her." Victor suggested rather timidly, dropping his voice almost regretfully, as if he didn't want to say what was on his mind and yet he knew that it was supposed to be heard. Sherlock sat up cautiously, staring at Victor with wide eyes as he realized exactly what he was suggesting.
"You mean be unfaithful to a woman who has never done me wrong?" Sherlock whispered in clarification.
"If you do not intend on her being your wife and yet she wears your ring then she is doing you wrong, she is caging your heart when you intend on it roaming free." Victor assured.
"But that would be to break my vows." Sherlock reminded him.
"Not if you do not mean them when you speak them." Victor murmured, standing above Sherlock and looking down upon him with an almost apologetic glance. Sherlock took a deep breath, the first calm breath after so many panicked ones. So maybe this was the solution, an affair that was planned out before the engagement was even put into place. Sherlock got to his feet very quickly, taking a deep breath and running his fingers through his curls as he paced about the room, thinking about what Mycroft was making him do and about what Victor was suggesting he do. Could an affair really work, could he pretend to love a woman while loving John beyond her line of vision? Would it be possible to hide his hatred for his wife? And would John be aware of the unfaithfulness while he partook in it? Would he refuse to assist Sherlock on his sin? Sherlock shook his head fearfully and sank back down on the bed, staring at the unwritten letter that he had already addressed to John Watson. Oh how he wished this could be as simple as it had been last night? When all he had to worry about was the shame of being turned down? Now he was fighting a battle of morality and good nature, he was trying to cheat his way out of the miserable system of marriage and find his own love, his own path of life. Could he ever find a wife that would understand his situation if he explained it to her, or was he cursed to forever hide his desires and love a woman while yearning for a man who waited for him when she had finally turned away? Was Sherlock capable of lying to a woman he had promised to love, and was he capable of sacrificing his money, marriage, and social status all for a man who may or may not return his love? 

  It was to be Molly Hooper. Sherlock had decided not long after he realized his predicament that there was only one woman who had the slightest chance of understanding his peculiar heart, for she had already suspected it the night that he had reluctantly initiated their first (and unfortunately not last, it would seem) kiss. Who else could it be, she liked him and occasionally he could tolerate her presence, so maybe she wasn't the calmest of women, nor the quietest, nor the most tolerable, nor...well, let's just say she had her flaws. But who else was there to choose from? Certainly Sherlock has had suitors before, women who thought that they could win over his heart with nothing but a pretty face and eyelashes that batted at him almost insanely rapidly. Janine, possibly, his first and most horrible kiss? No she was much too obnoxious, she had kissed him without his consent and had made him cringe at the mere mention of her name, no Janine was too forward and too air headed. Maybe he could marry Irene Adler, that journalist who thought that his business was her business? Well obviously not. If he tried to explain to her why he couldn't love her she would publish it all in her next publication, surely she would be ever so willing to sacrifice the secrets of their marriage to the world for a reasonable sum? Oh and all those other girls, those nameless girls who had frolicked after him and tripped over themselves while trying to ensure that it was their hand he was kissing, oh they meant nothing to him and they will continue to be mere ghosts of his past interactions. No it had to be Molly Hooper; she really was the only woman in his life that had any slight potential to be the woman he married. Oh but he didn't want to, his simply didn't want to! Marriage became something that loomed over his head like an imminent weight, he knew that as soon as the vows were exchanged it would come crashing down on his shoulders and break him! He felt as though it was a chain with a weight on it, tied to his ankle after he was thrown into the sea. It would drag him down and fill him up with misery and discontentment until he had nothing more, simply vows that meant nothing but restraint and empty wishes, long forgotten in the shadow of matrimony. Sherlock spent the first couple of days crying, waiting until he was all alone before he sat on his bed and stared absent mindedly at the carpet, or out the window at the rocks and ocean below. He couldn't help himself, he felt this aching pain that was forcing itself up his throat, and with every breath it crept forward evermore before he was finally able to release it, letting it out through strangled sobs and agonizing cries. And sometimes he cried to Victor, to that poor boy that had to watch as his master's heart broke, all while still trying to clean up the mess his own shattered heart had made in his life. They were both scarred now, both broken, and suddenly Sherlock felt as though their heartbreak was what potentially connected them, it brought them closer together in a time where everyone else drifted farther away. Sherlock knew that victor wanted to comfort him, and yet he was also quite sure that the forceful marriage had come as something of a relief to Victor. The poor boy longed for nothing but a return of the love he so feverishly felt, how he had always felt according to him, and after being rejected for the love of another man it had damaged him in more ways than one. Surely the satisfaction of seeing his intended replacement being carried away by the changing winds was pleasurable, Victor would undoubtedly love to see John long forgotten and replaced by a soulless relationship, a loveless relationship, where at least he would have no competition for the whole Sherlock's heart. And yet the boy comforted him, he let Sherlock rest his head on his shoulder and weep, he talked Sherlock through his fits of uncontrollable emotions and even tried to think of ways to make it all work. And yet it was all in vain, no matter what horrible theories Victor came up with (some even ended up with Molly 'accidentally' drowning in the ocean) there became a rather reoccurring theme of inevitability. That was simply that there was no compromise, it was either marry Molly Hooper for the money, the heir, and the responsibility or out himself to the world and accept the social denouncement, the debt, and the absence of a Holmes family heir on behalf of a healthy and mutualistic relationship. It was almost a tradeoff he was willing to accept, for he cared not for his finances, his social status, or the future of his family tree, and yet it was not in his hands anymore. Mycroft was leading this parade, he was controlling Sherlock like a puppet on feeble yet expensive strings, telling him what to do, who to marry, and how to live his life. And so invitations had been sent out, labeled, addressed, stamped. One to Molly Hooper. One to John Watson. One to the rest of the clientele on the Holmes' go to party list. For this was to be an event, Mycroft made sure of that, for a marriage was never official unless it was overseen by at least the entirety of the upper class population. The ring sat in an old box upon his dresser, waiting for its chance to be opened and containing one of their heirloom engagement rings, crafted many years ago and worn by many of the Holmes women. Sherlock hated to have to pass it on himself, however there was a light, a single spark of excitement, that presented itself this evening. 

"I have decided to do something quite rash." Sherlock announced to Victor the night of the party.
"Something rash, my Lord? More rash than proposing to a woman for whom you feel nothing?" Victor guessed rather bitterly, tugging at his coat sleeves so that they concealed the cuffs of his white collared shirt. They were standing in front of the mirror and doing up their ties, as they normally did, and yet there was an air of finality to tonight's preparation. They both knew that Molly's presence in their lives would change things drastically, and surely she would not appreciate the little dress up parties Sherlock and Victor partook in. The intimacy between servant and master would surely not be appreciated by his new wife, and so everything they did tonight and tomorrow morning had the potential of being their last time.
"Yes Victor, I have decided...well. I will not be unfaithful to my wife; it is not within me to go against vows made to the Lord and to Molly, no matter how unwilling I am to say them. And yet I cannot live without knowing what it might be like to love who I want, I cannot go on without knowing how satisfying it is to kiss someone for who my lips were meant. I still have yet to christen myself with the love I deserve to receive, and tonight, I suppose, is my last chance to experiment. The sun sets on a single man this evening, and tomorrow it will rise on a man restricted by a golden band." Sherlock murmured, all to Victor who was watching him with pained blue eyes.
"And so you intend on admitting your love to him?" Victor whispered, not able to bring himself to pronounce the name of the man who had stolen the light out of his very soul.
"I plan on a guiltless and unburdened truth, hopefully accepted and rewarded. I do wish to have one kiss, one which is desired by both myself and the other man." Sherlock admitted. Tonight, as usual, Victor stood before Sherlock with his fingers gently doing up the small bow tie (it was decided that the bow tie would be more favorable for this evening) and yet he let his hands linger. He very obviously set his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, so obviously that Sherlock decided that it wasn't to be secretive at all. Victor let his head drop, staring at their feet so that his head could rest itself rather uncomfortably on Sherlock's forehead, a form of intimacy that the two had never dared try before now. For a moment it seemed as though Victor was leaning all of his weight onto Sherlock, and for a moment it was all they could do but breathe quickly, nervously, for neither of them knew what to expect.
"My Lord, I could be that man." Victor volunteered in a breath, his hands lingering on Sherlock's shoulders yet very slowly moving towards his neck, as though he intended on cradling Sherlock's head during the kiss he thought was sure to come. And for a moment Sherlock was tempted, for a moment he realized that a kiss so long overdue as this one may just be the very kiss he sought. Victor was eager and Sherlock was not unwilling, it would be more of a kiss than any of the other kisses he had shared, at least this one would be consensual. And yet the desire for a kiss with the man he had set his heart upon was enough to convince him otherwise, that Victor's kiss would be nice and yet it would dampen the magic of John's. If Sherlock was really to appreciate the kiss of a true love he would not want to be able to compare it to anything that may be considered adequate, for that kiss would be the only kiss he could store away in his mind for the years to come, the only kiss that he would enjoy, the only kiss he would want to remember. And yet Victor took Sherlock's contemplative silence as something of an invitation, and he very slowly began to ease his lips towards Sherlock's, their breaths intertwining for a precious second and Victor's cold hands suddenly enclosing around Sherlock's neck in a gentle form of strangulation. Sherlock could feel Victor's heart beating in his hands, he could hear it beating in his chest, and yet he could do nothing but pull his head away ever slowly, tilting his mouth away in a very timid act of decline. And with that he could feel Victor's heart stop.
"My Lord..." was all Victor could utter out, all that his hastened lips could provide, as they were preparing not for a word but for a kiss, one they had long awaited.
"Victor, I apologize, yet I cannot." Sherlock insisted, feeling Victor's hands pull away from his skin, the boy turned, trying to hide his face and yet the mirror clearly depicted his broken figure, his hand held up to his mouth as he tried to contain his sobs. The tears were quite evident.
"I must go. The guests will be arriving shortly." Sherlock murmured to Victor's back, seeing that he could offer the poor boy nothing more than prolonged pain. And so with trembling fingers Sherlock picked up the ring box and dropped it heavily into his pocket, shuttering with its weight and drifting to the door in all of his pampered beauty. He cast one last look to Victor, who was now shamefully wiping his cheeks with the sleeve of his dinner jacket, the last of his heart shattered at his feet.

"I am sorry, Victor." Sherlock repeated, and yet he received no reply. And so what more could he do except open the door and step out into the hallway, basking in the smells of delicious food from the kitchens and listening to the faint sounds of the orchestra as they began to play to a ballroom full of dancers?