Heir Apparently

Just Answer The Questions

"Can I ask you a question Victor?" John wondered. Victor looked up at him in confusion, but nodded slowly, as if worried what lay on the opposite end of this conversation.
"What's your obsession with Sherlock?" John asked. Victor forced a smile, looking down at his writing as if to avoid eye contact before looking back up at John, his eyes flickering this way and that.
"I don't have an obsession, I was sent here to protect the prince, to question anyone that came close." Victor pointed out.
"Yes but why Sherlock? Don't you want to ask what kind of conversations I have with the royal family at the breakfast table, I sat next to the king yesterday morning, I talked with the queen. I've poured orange juice for the lot of them and talked to Mycroft about my time in the stocks, now what makes you think I've only talked to Sherlock?" John wondered.
"Is this a confession Mr. Watson?" Victor asked, looking a bit worried. John just shook his head, happy to have the superiority in the room. Victor was uncomfortable now, because now John was the one prying away at his secrets.
"Tell me Victor, what are your feelings for Sherlock Holmes?" John asked, leaning forward in his chair threateningly. Victor just blinked, twirling his quill once before spearing it onto his paper, the sharp point cutting clean through the parchment and covering the wooden table with ink.
"What happened once you walked into the ballroom?" Victor wondered, going back to his original questions without a care of John's.
"Answer the question Victor." John insisted.
"That's Mr. Trevor to you." Victor corrected.
"Answer the question." John repeated. Victor's expression didn't change, but then again he had looked panicked throughout this entire question, so that shouldn't mean anything.
"I don't have any feelings towards our prince. I respect him for the most part, I would do anything to protect him, and I want him to be satisfied with my work. That is all, we have a professional relationship." Victor assured. John nodded, staring at Victor and trying to dissect his secrets, trying to solve whatever puzzle he was hiding in his brain, in his heart.
"After we went into the ballroom I got my prize, I thanked the king, he congratulated me, and I went to dance with Mary. Except I'm a terrible dancer so she went off...to dance with someone else." John said rather quickly. Victor nodded slowly, taking more notes, regaining his posture and facial expression as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened in this interrogation, I'm sorry, interview.
"And when the king died, who were you with?" Victor wondered.
"Sherlock." John said quickly, trying to sound as guilt free as possible.
"With Sherlock, yes, and why were you with Sherlock? Did you leave the dance floor?" Victor wondered.
"No, he was trying to teach me to dance. He knew that I was a terrible dancer, he noticed that Mary had left." John muttered. Victor nodded, looking rather proud of himself once more as he took down another note.
"Why would Sherlock bother trying to teach you to dance? Why would he want to help you after you publicly humiliated him? Why would he want to interact with you at all, considering what you had done to his reputation not hours before?" Victor wondered.
"He's forgiving, I guess. He saw it coming, he couldn't blame me." John shrugged.
"Those are two different answers Mr. Watson, neither of which are convincing enough." Victor pointed out. John sighed heavily, but shrugged, trying to tell this moron that he didn't know everything.
"If I knew everything that went on in that prince's brain I think I would go insane." John decided.
"I don't think it's his brain that's the problem here." Victor muttered very quietly, mostly to himself.
"What do you think it is then, huh? His hair?" John wondered. Victor just looked up at John with a rather twisted smile, as if he pitied John for some reason.
"John I've been many places, talked to many people, and learned that there is more than one way to live your life. More than one mindset to happiness. I think, with some simple information, with one meager little fact, we could solve all of our problems and answer all of our questions about our Prince Sherlock." Victor decided. John blinked, trying to tell Victor to go on.
"Well, alright, what is it?" John wondered. Victor just laughed, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head in amusement, as if John's obliviousness was just sad.
"Just know this, John Watson, there is another option." Victor decided with a smile. John stared at him blankly, trying to figure out what that could possibly mean.
"Another option for what?" John wondered.
"You can go; I have no further questions for you, for now." Victor assured, waving his hand carelessly towards the door.
"Don't be dramatic; tell me what I need to know! I'm just as confused about Sherlock as you are!" John insisted.
"Goodbye Mr. Watson." Victor insisted lazily, as if he simply didn't have time for John's childishness. John sighed heavily, shaking his head in defeat and getting to his feet.
"Goodbye Victor, good luck with your investigation." John snapped, the only thing he could think to say.
"Oh I will Mr. Watson, I will. I'll be seeing you soon I'm sure." Victor decided, dotting the end of his sentence before resting his quill back in the ink. John sighed heavily, but left the room, walking into the hallway where his soldier escort was waiting for him, as if he were planning on going straight from Victor's room off to Sherlock's to kill him. It was all a big waste of time; even though no one knew John was the assassin he still wasn't going to kill Sherlock at a time like this. He wasn't even carrying his knife anymore; it was buried underneath his mattress, a spot where hopefully no one would think to look. When John returned to the servant's quarters everyone was looking extremely drowsy, bored even. John expected them to be having a grand old time, no work to do, no royals to serve, they had their first day off since who knows when? But everyone looked miserable, with both the hangovers they were experiencing from the partying the night previous to the distress for their king, the servants were gloomier than John had even seen them, and nothing he could do seemed to help. After being torn from his bed for a stupid interview, John didn't feel much like sleeping anymore, so he sat on his bed and stared at Greg for a while. Greg was reading, and obviously he was very aware of John being an annoying pest, but for the time being Greg insisted on keeping his nose shoved in his book, as if hoping John would entertain himself by doing something else in this concrete barracks of boring, tired servants.
"I think you're going to get called down eventually." John said, trying to start some sort of conversation. Greg hummed in agreement, flipping to the next page of his book carelessly.
"I mentioned your name." John added, hoping to get some sort of response.
"And why would this assassin hunter care about me?" Greg wondered. John smiled happily, finally, some responsiveness.
"Well, I said that you went to the ball with Molly, and she's Sherlock's friend, so he'll make some connections." John said with a shrug.
"Victor...Trevor." Greg muttered under his breath, as if he were trying to see just how it felt to pronounce such a name dramatically. "The servants say he's responsible for a lot of servant deaths in other kingdoms, apparently he suspects us more than anyone else."
"Well he certainly suspects me, not that I would ever want to kill a royal. I'm not even from this kingdom." John pointed out, tapping his feet against the ground in thought.
"Well exactly, you work for the Adlers; you'll do whatever they want you to do. If I were looking for an assassin I would look for someone new, in the last year at least, who has a lot of connections to the royals and to the victim. You're a prime pick John, especially considering how the two of you first met." Greg pointed out. John nodded; he knew that he would be obvious, especially since it really was him trying to do the killing.
"I would never want to kill someone though; I'm too soft for that." John insisted.
"I know." Greg assured, closing his book with a snap and sitting up so that he was cross legged on the bunk. "And that's why I don't suspect you. If this Trevor guy knew what we knew, he'd never even dare to call you down to his torture chamber."
"Yes well, obviously he doesn't know me. He seems to have it out for me for some reason; like he thinks I've only befriended Sherlock to kill him. He's completely obsessed with Sherlock." John admitted, picking at a loose thread in his blanket thoughtfully, thinking back to the crazed look in Victor's electric blue eyes. He could see that boy panicking right now after John asked him about his feelings, almost as if... "You don't think he fancies him, do you?" John wondered. Greg looked up at John in confusion, as if he didn't understand the question.
"I think you've got some gender mix ups there John." Greg pointed out. John shook his head, repositioning himself on the bed so that he looked more serious.
"No, I'm being serious. You should've seen him Greg, he was like, psycho. I asked him why he was so obsessed with Sherlock, he panicked, he actually impaled his desk with the quill. And he told me afterwards that there was another option, another road to happiness or something like that." John pointed out.
"So that means he's in love with Sherlock?" Greg asked, as if trying to tell John just how ridiculous he was sounding.
"Ya I mean...I don't know. It would make sense I think, it would explain a lot." John pointed out.
"That's homosexuality John, that's illegal, not to mention immoral, and just plain wrong." Greg insisted, going back to lying back on his bed and flipping open his book once more.
"But it's not impossible." John muttered, more so to himself. He lay back on his pillows again, staring at the ceiling and suddenly envisioning Victor and Sherlock, locked in an embrace, their lips just hovering over each other's, fear and unknowingness in both of their eyes. John shook his head violently, blinking a couple of time before the image was wiped from his mind. Greg was right, that was wrong, that was just...ew. Besides, the two of them wouldn't look good together at all. Sherlock deserved someone better, someone kinder and wiser and shorter. Maybe even someone blonde. Maybe someone that looked and acted a bit like John.