Not A Thing You Get To Choose

Nothing Extraordinary Anymore

It was Saturday when Sherlock decided to seek out employment; it was Saturday when he finally went to the Watson household, looking for someone who might accompany him through the busy streets. It was a shame that the police, the very people that were supposed to protect commoners, where the very people that Sherlock had come to fear, and yet it was necessary for him to precautious. It was obvious that they were corrupt; they were led by one of the sickest men in the history of all mankind, and of course he just so happened to be the very man who had an eye for Sherlock. He couldn't tell, however, if Victor's sudden infatuation was even something of love, or just another way to display his control. Surely there was no better way to terrify someone than to show them that you could do anything to them and they'd be helpless to stop you? Victor had made that quite clear the day when he came to raid the house, he made it clear that Sherlock was all together defenseless when faced by him. And yet what was Sherlock to do? He had the power to stop him, he knew a simple spell that would certainly ensure Victor wouldn't have any more romantic pleasures in his life, he also knew a way to stop his disgusting heart from beating, and yet it was just a matter of whether or not he was daring enough to take the life or not. It all depended, of course, on whether or not Sherlock was daring enough to use magic in front of him. If Victor saw with his own eyes the very thing he was trying to condemn Sherlock for then the case would be lost, and Sherlock would be in no position to deny any accusations. He couldn't use magic to defend himself; it would have to be a spell that ensured Victor never spoke again...or never breathed. To kill an inspector was certainly a punishable crime, and yet Sherlock was starting to suspect that it was a necessary one. Victor was on to something, he knew something that Sherlock didn't want him to...he knew purely because he had mentioned 'him'. Sherlock being with 'him', almost as if he knew Sherlock's lover so casually that he could dare use pronouns. He didn't want to endanger John in anyway, and yet he was beginning to feel like there was something coming, something he certainly didn't want to pass. Sherlock arrived at the doors reluctantly, for he still wasn't sure who would answer the door. If it was someone other than the parents he was sure he'd be fine, and yet if it was the distraught Mr. Watson, the one who had hired Sherlock to stand before his crowd and kill his son, well Sherlock was probably going to be kicked to the curb. And yet he had no time to dilly dally, for the streets were still empty and it would take one passing glance from someone in a police hat to flag him down and drag him over... Sherlock knocked loudly, his knuckles rapping against the wood and leaving him immediately in silence, waiting to hear the approaching footsteps, waiting finally for the door to be pulled open, and to be met with a face that he recognized, thankfully...
"Back again Sherlock?" Molly said with a little smile, leaning on the door and looking back into the house so as to make sure no one important was listening in on their conversation.
"Well yes, I hope my presence isn't unwanted." Sherlock said in a little mutter, to which Molly just giggled, as if the very thought of him not being wanted was unheard of.
"Well of course you're wanted, in fact I think Master Watson has just woken up, would you like me to send him a message or would you like to go disturb him yourself?" Molly wondered with a smile.
"Oh, well you know me Molly; I'm a simple person, peace-loving..." Sherlock just laughed, shaking his head sarcastically and grinning widely. "On the other hand, do you have some sort of trumpet? Or maybe symbols?"
"Well we do have a triangle, I know where that is, next to the piano. I could certainly help you lug that up, however it's not too loud and I'm sure he would notice your presence much quicker than you could play a note." Moly murmured.
"Oh I'll just lead the way, we'll leave the orchestra for another time, when we're more prepared." Molly decided, and Sherlock nodded along confidently.
"Yes, an excellent idea." Sherlock agreed, and with that he stepped inside of the very elegant house, becoming so used to its beauty now that he barely even stopped to awe over it. And so he followed Molly up the familiar path to John's bedroom, finding that the rest of the house was very much asleep as they ventured down through the hallway filled with elaborate paintings of very dignified looking members of John's family. John was in his room, as predicted, and yet it took quite a number of knocks before finally he called to come in. Molly opened the door politely, and yet instead of letting her announce his presence formally Sherlock just stood on his tiptoes so that John could see him from where he lay, still in his blankets and looking exhausted.
"Master Watson, a gentleman here to see you." Molly said formally.
"No gentleman comes knocking at this hour." John insisted with a laugh, for he could now see that it was Sherlock who was at his door and not some actual distinguished person.
"Good thing I'm not very gentle then." Sherlock giggled, making both members of his audience didn't find his play on words very amusing.
"You're one of the gentlest people I know; my goodness Sherlock a gust of wind could topple you!" John exclaimed, however he finally sat up in bed and frowned at his new guest, seemingly unaware that he was shirtless and therefore extremely distracting.
"Well I'll let you two be then; surely this isn't my place...whatever this even is." Molly said almost nervously, bowing her way out of the room before scampering down the hallway, as if she could already sense the impending intimacy. And yet Sherlock wasn't really here for that, it wouldn't be a drawback of course but he had a more business oriented goal.
"Sherlock I'm glad you came, actually. I wanted to show you something." John muttered, sitting up evermore and bringing his bare arm into focus. Sherlock walked slowly towards his bedside, as if wondering what could be so interesting on a meager arm.
"See right here? It's a papercut, here on my finger. I was opening letters the other day, and it still hasn't healed. It hasn't even closed. There was no blood, and yet I've been putting all sorts of creams on it, I've been covering it, and yet it hasn't even attempted to heal. It's almost as if my skin can't heal, it's almost like my skin is...inactive." John murmured, studying his hand with a frown.
"Does it hurt?" Sherlock wondered, sitting down on the side of the bed and taking John's hand in his own, observing the cut in question and seeing that John was right, it hadn't healed, it seemed as though it had just been cut open moments before.
"No, it doesn't hurt." John admitted finally.
"Curious." Sherlock mumbled, not really wanting to come to grips with what this obviously meant. It confirmed their suspicions that John wasn't actually as human as they would've liked, he wasn't healing and he wasn't feeling pain, both of those aspects were rather vital in the human experience. Maybe his body wasn't functioning exactly as they intended it to after all.
"Sherlock I'm worried, goodness there are so many things on my mind right now..." John groaned heavily, leaning forward in quite some contortion so as to dangle his arms off of Sherlock's shoulders and groan heavily.
"Well I've got just the thing that might make your day!" Sherlock said in mock excitement.
"And what is that?" John asked anxiously, suddenly looking hopeful for what the day might bring.
"Job hunting!" Sherlock exclaimed, making John groan once more and fall back onto Sherlock's shoulder in disgust.
"Job hunting? What a bore." He groaned.
"Oh no, it'll be quite fun, we can make up my skills, make up some references, some job experience, it'll be fun." Sherlock insisted with a giggle.
"Ah yes, well you were...magical...at your old job." John teased, chuckling a little bit all while Sherlock suddenly felt to slap him over the head.
"What a horrible pun." He murmured.
"And why do you need me for this?" John wondered, still too lazy to look Sherlock in the eye at the moment.
"Because I just don't feel safe on the streets, not alone. Something happened the other day, it was enough to scare me into taking a buddy everywhere I go." Sherlock admitted with a heavy sigh.
"Am I allowed to ask what it was?" John wondered nervously. Sherlock sighed heavily, leaning his head very gently against John's and shrugging indifferently.
"I don't think you'll want to." He murmured somberly. John just straightened up now, regaining his attention as he realized there was a slight tremble in Sherlock's voice. He was always so protective, that was just one of the many things Sherlock loved to dearly about him.
"Has it got to do with me somehow?" he wondered nervously. Sherlock sighed heavily, shrugging and looking down at his feet for a moment, trying to find a proper way to phrase such an atrocious happening.
"It's about Inspector Trevor...the one who tried to hang me before. He came to my house, the other day; he tore the place up, looking for who knows what... I suppose I angered him in some way, he pulled me outside, he um...he kissed me, forcefully. If Mycroft hadn't shown up I don't know what could've happened, I don't..." Sherlock took a deep breath, shaking as he suddenly remembered all the horrendous feelings that went along with such an attack.
"Sherlock, oh Sherlock I'm so sorry." John breathed, leaning forward to take Sherlock's head in his hands, and yet instead of kissing him he just held him there, safely, securely, he ran his fingertips over Sherlock's cheeks as if trying to wipe the ghosts of the tears that had fallen because of such an occurrence. And although it didn't erase the memories it did help to ease them, it did help Sherlock remember that for all the cruel people in the world, there were still good ones.
"So you can see why I don't want to be alone." Sherlock murmured, to which John nodded, leaning forward and kissing Sherlock very gently on the forehead, like a mother trying to calm her scared child, and like a child Sherlock trembled into his arms, falling against his chest and resting his head safely on John's soft shoulder.
"I understand...of course I do. And of course I'll accompany you." John assured quietly. "And know Sherlock, just know, that if he ever approaches you again, that if he even so much as tries to touch a hair on your head...I'll kill him myself."
"You'll have to wait in line." Sherlock whispered, and yet it was a very short line, composed of only Sherlock and Mycroft, surely John could get his share towards the end. To be perfectly honest it was just good to know that someone else was on his side, someone else was looking out for him, someone else cared...For with John's promise came the everlasting reminder of what real love was, and what real love was supposed to be. Nothing forceful, nothing without consent, nothing harsh. Certainly whatever emotions Victor had were twisted ones, contorting his obsession with seeing Sherlock hang into a romantic passion, something of anger consorted into sick lustfulness. It was disgusting, and it was everything John wasn't. And that was why they were together now, after so much happening all at once, that was why after life and death itself they were still able to hold each other and feel safe, feel protected. Real love was drastically different, and it was what occupied Sherlock's heart and John's heart, that is if John's heart was still managing to beat.