I Know Your Face

A Visit From Victor

    "John where are you off to?" Mrs. Watson called down the hallway. John laughed rather nervously, hoping she wouldn't come out to kiss him goodbye or anything.
"Oh um, off to Greg's!" John called, trying desperately to remember if his parental excuse was Greg's or Mary's. Nevertheless, it shut her up.
"Alright then dear, is it a sleepover?" She wondered. John just laughed, if only, right?
"I don't know, probably not. I'll be back late though." He decided, checking his hair in the mirror once more. Mrs. Watson was moving about the kitchen, the whole house smelled of a delicious cheery crumb cake, a delicacy John would have to try another time. He didn't want his mother questioning him as to why he was wearing mascara.
"Well, you be good then, no goofing off, no getting arrested." She insisted.
"I'll do my best." John shrugged with a laugh. "Bye!"
"Bye dear." Mrs. Watson called, and with that John slipped out the door. The sun had already sunken beneath the horizon; it was a cold, cloudless night, where John could see all of the stars twinkling in the inky blackness above. The moon hung over the sky like a large emo sun, providing a very silvery light to wash over the landscape. John liked the world when it was dark; it made everything so much more peaceful, so much more calm. John unlocked his car and started the journey over to Sherlock's house, having the address on a piece of notebook paper, one that had been taped to Sherlock's locker. He had to park a couple of blocks down because as far as Sherlock knew he didn't have a car, and if he was seen driving John's car under John's license, well, it wouldn't take a detective to figure that out. Even Sherlock could put two and two together. As John navigated through the maze of narrow allies and parked cars he made sure to practice his Victor voice, telling himself just where to go as if he were his own gay Siri. He had no idea what the plans were, a date at Sherlock's house didn't seem like the most comfortable situation, but nevertheless this was the awkward meet the family stage, and so he had to just grin and bear it. Sherlock, however, could never meet Victor's parents because they didn't exist, so John had to think about some sort of excuse that would justify the lack of parental supervision. This was probably going to be a meet and greet, a little hello family this is my new friend, and then they would go up to Sherlock's room and snuggle on his bed and exchange sleepy little kisses while a nerdy movie played in the background. At least, that was John's picturing of this encounter, but knowing his track record, well, he was probably wrong. When he parked the car and started his adventure to the house he was very happy he had worn a jacket. He unearthed it from the dark depths of his closet and this, along with the blue sweatshirt and the snazzy checkered shirt he was wearing, would now be specifically Victor clothes. John could never wear them to school or out in public unless they had a wig and glasses to match, otherwise Sherlock or someone else who had the honor of meeting Victor might start to suspect foul play. He shoved his hands in his pockets, making his way up the sidewalk and watching as his breath turned to fog in front of him, the cold air nipping at his now rosy cheeks. But it wasn't unpleasant, no; dispute the cold that was coming in through the gaps in his jacket there was enough warmth in his heart to make sure he didn't freeze. He was so excited to see Sherlock again, his heart had been whining ever since they had parted that Tuesday, ever since that kiss his lips had been tingling, begging for more. There was a severe chemical imbalance when Sherlock wasn't around, something that threatened not only John's physical wellbeing but his mental health as well. Without Sherlock it felt as his mind was going to explode, all of these things he had to do to ensure his future with Sherlock was settled for now, all of these things he was sacrificing, all the lies. But it was worth it, simply walking down the street and searching for the address on the paper was enough to justify all of this sneaking around. John stopped in front of a house, built right between its neighbors like all of the other houses around here. A rowhome. It was painted white but it was obvious that the paint was old; there were some places where it was beginning to peel. John sighed, stepping up onto the tidy porch and knocking rather apprehensively on the door. There was a shriek from inside, obviously someone calling for another to get the door. John fixed his hair, fixed his posture, and prepared for the voice. He was no longer John, he was now Victor. The door opened, and as soon as he saw the face staring back at him he almost took a step back in terror. It was Mycroft, dressed just as fancily even though he was in his own house. This seemed to be a reoccurring theme with the Holmes family, they all dressed very nicely. Mycroft's eyes scanned John suspiciously, but he didn't look suspicious, merely confused. John could breathe a little bit easier now, suspecting that Mycroft had been fooled.
"And you are?" he wondered dryly, looking as if he knew exactly who John was, he just wanted the pleasure of hearing it from someone else's mouth.
"Victor!" said an excited voice from behind him, and finally Sherlock appeared in the doorway.
"Is this your..." Mycroft cleared his throat a little bit, a small smile appearing on his thin lips. "...Friend?"
"Yes Mycroft, it is." Sherlock snapped, elbowing his brother out of the way so that he could take up the whole of the doorframe. John heard a rather haughty huff, and finally Mycroft's retreating footsteps assured him that he had made his dramatic exit. Sherlock looked wonderful, as usual. He was wearing his usual outfit but with a purple shirt underneath, with fancy polished dress shoes and hair that looked as it he had tried to style it. He looked magnificent, and for a moment John could only stare. As soon as they were alone, however, Sherlock suddenly saw it necessary to focus his attention on his shiny shoes, his cheeks blushing nervously.
"Hello Victor." He muttered. John just smiled, his love for this simply overwhelming all sense of logic. He really just wanted to sweep Sherlock into his arms and plant a long awaited kiss on his lips, but he knew that would be foolish. He knew that he had to be patient, he had to go slowly. It was like driving a car at twenty miles per hour. You went slowly, at times almost painfully slow, but eventually you reached your destination, and once you arrive you're happy that you were able to observe the scenery along the way. John just had to ease his foot off of the gas pedal and enjoy the ride, so he stood on that porch staring at Sherlock and didn't take a step closer. He just smiled.
"Hey Sherlock, it's nice to see you again." John said. Sherlock looked up at him cautiously, as if worried he weren't allowed to glance, and John just laughed, crossing his arms and shivering a little bit. That nice warm house looked awfully nice right now.
"Do you want to come in? Dinner is almost ready." Sherlock offered, standing out of the way so that John could come inside. Dinner? John stepped rather reluctantly into the threshold, and Sherlock shut the door behind him, trapping him inside for the next couple of hours. Not that this was a problem of course, he wanted to be here. As long as Sherlock was here he was perfectly happy to walk through hell, he just needed that beautiful boy by his side. The house smelled wonderful, like boiled potatoes and ham, a lovely meal to impress a guest.
"You didn't make this into a big deal, did you?" John whispered nervously, and Sherlock looked at him rather guiltily.
"Was I not supposed to?" he whispered back, his eyes filled with regret. John could only laugh, Sherlock's terror at disappointing him was so pure and so innocent that it was just amusing.
"You're fine Sherlock, of course it's alright." He assured. Sherlock nodded, letting out a nervous breath.
"Would you like to come sit down? I thinking Eurus put some tea on but I'm not sure, she was supposed to." He muttered. He led John to a very classy, very white sitting room. The walls were painted white with a golden trim along the edges, and all of the couches and chairs were white, as if they were trying their best to convince themselves they were living in a manor. But of course John wasn't complaining, it was no wonder Sherlock had such a superior view of the world, he was raised like royalty.
"And of course, no tea." Sherlock muttered, taking a seat on the far end of the couch and tapping his fingers nervously against the armrest.
"Is Eurus your sister?" John wondered, sitting down next to him but leaving plenty of space between, in case any wandering Holmes family members came poking in.
"Yes, sister, one year younger." Sherlock muttered, looking very uncomfortable. The sitting room was lit only with a lamp, which provided a very nice orange glow to the rest of the room .the only other light provided was leaking in from the dining room, where the sound of clinking china could be heard.
"How fancy are they making this?" John wondered, suddenly nervous that he wasn't dressed for the occasion. Sherlock shrugged, but obviously he knew. John suspected he had something to do with the planning.
"They're very excited; we've never had friends over before. They want to make a lasting impression I suppose." Sherlock said with a guilty shrug.
"You've never had a friend over before? Not even when you were younger?" John wondered, finding that extremely hard to believe. Back in elementary school everyone went to everyone's house, the whole class was always invited to birthday parties. How did Sherlock manage to alienate himself even at that young age?
"No, not really. Mycroft never had friends, so I suppose I caught on. And by the time Eurus went to school she had already decided she hated everyone. A rather destructive child she was." Sherlock admitted.
"That's very odd." John decided, looking at Sherlock and his family just a bit differently now.
"IT's not, you know, a bad thing though, is it?" Sherlock wondered nervously, looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation.
"Of course not Sherlock, of course not. You don't have to make sure every aspect of your life passes my inspection, I love you for you, no matter how quirky you may be." John assured. Sherlock just blushed a dark shade of red, shushing John very quietly and shaking his head. AS if on cue a girl in a nice red dress came shuffling in with a tray of tea, very nice white and flowered tea cups rattling in their saucers as she walked. John definitely saw the family resemblance; even though she was a girl she had the same dark hair, same pale skin, and same high cheekbones. And when she looked over at John her eyes sparkled with the same intelligence that Sherlock's did, in fact they were even a bit more luminous than both of her brother's eyes, as if she were, in a way, more intelligent.
"Hello." She muttered, setting the tray down onto the coffee table and observing John curiously.
"Hi." John muttered. "I'm Victor." There was a bit of a tense silence, and Eurus's eyes flickered to Sherlock, who was looking down at his shoes.
"Yes, I see that. Hello Victor." She muttered, a tone of amusement in her voice that made John suspect she knew a bit more than she should.
"Hi." John said again, not able to think of a proper response other than that. Something about this girl made him a little bit uncomfortable, something about the way she looked at him, as if she knew something, it made him want to look down at his shoes as well.
"Well you're not going to chat, are you? Go set the table with Mycroft." Sherlock insisted, shooing her away as she stood in the semidarkness, watching as John awkwardly smiled back at her. Finally Eurus just sighed, shaking her head and retreating back into the kitchen the way she came.
"Little brat she is." Sherlock grumbled, starting to pour two cups of tea very daintily.
"Doesn't seem to like me." John decided, glancing rather nervously to the door and expecting her to come around the corner again.
"Oh she doesn't like anyone, that's her charm." Sherlock said with a laugh. "Sugar?" John looked at him in confusion, wondering what kind of terrible nickname that was. He was thankful, however, to see Sherlock holding a small little spoon with a sugar cube on top.
"Oh, no thank you." John muttered. Sherlock nodded, adding two whole sugar cubes to the smallest little cup of tea and stirring it around thoroughly before finally sitting back and balancing the saucer on one of his hands. John didn't know how to drink out of a fancy tea cup; in fact he never drank tea, only iced tea, from a ridiculously large bladder bursting container that only cost him ninety nine cents.
"They all sort of look at you like you're some rare alien, crawling through our door." Sherlock said with a laugh. John nodded, not finding any humor in that at all, simply because it was true. They really must not be used to guests around here.
"Sherlock they don't...know, do they?" John wondered in a quiet voice. Sherlock's eyes widened as he took a sip of his tea, shaking his head violently and replacing the tea cup into its saucer.
"No of course not, I would never tell them such a thing." Sherlock assured.
"Then why do they look at us like they know something scandalous?" John wondered. Sherlock sighed, shaking his head slightly and looking at John very apologetically.
"They don't know we're like, together, they don't know any of that. They think that just the fact that we're friends is scandalous enough; they find it so weird to find me interacting with another human being that they ogle a little bit. It will pass in time." Sherlock assured.
"Alright." John agreed with a small laugh, sipping his tea. "But I'm sure if you meet my parents they'll ogle you a lot more."
"Your parents, will I ever meet them?" Sherlock wondered.
"Do you have a death wish?" John wondered, trying his best to keep Sherlock away from the house that didn't exist. Sherlock looked at him curiously, obviously not taking that as a rhetorical question.
"No of course I don't have a death wish." He said simply. John just laughed, shaking his head in disappointment.
"No Sherlock, that's not what I meant. My parents, well, they're rough people, they really are. I don't have any siblings but yet they still manage to forget about me, sometimes I wonder if they really know I'm there. I'm sure that the moment you walk in, boyfriend or not, something will get thrown at your head." John decided, thinking that was a likely story to keep Sherlock off of that imaginative doorstep.
"Oh Victor, I'm so sorry." Sherlock said gently, looking as if he wanted to do something to comfort him but didn't know what to do. John shook his head reassuringly, holding up a hand to make sure Sherlock didn't jump to any depressing conclusions.
"It's fine Sherlock, I've learned to just deal with it. And finding you has been the best thing that ever happened to me, you give me somewhere to go, someone to talk to, someone to..."
"Dinner's ready." Mycroft's voice said from the doorway, leaning against the frame and watching the two through the semidarkness. Thankfully he had cut John's sentence off, but still the two boys stirred anxiously, wondering how much Mycroft had overheard.
"Yes, thank you Mycroft." Sherlock mumbled bitterly, obviously insisting that his brother shoo. But Mycroft remained standing, looking as his sheer purpose in life was to make everything unnecessarily difficult for his younger brother. John got to his feet, finishing his tea off in a slurp and setting the empty cup and saucer back onto the tray.

    "You can just leave that there, Eurus will come collect it when dinner is over." Sherlock decided, waving his hand passively. John nodded, looking back up to Mycroft, who was still standing there.
"I don't think we were formally introduced, I'm Victor, Sherlock's friend." John said with a friendly enough smile, walking over and extending a hand to shake. Mycroft smiled a very superior smile, as if he were amused by John's attempt at manners. Nevertheless he shook John's hand with a very firm grip, as if trying to remind the boy who was boss.
"Don't bother with formalities Victor; he won't like you unless you praise him." Sherlock said, grabbing John's arm rather roughly and pulling him away from Mycroft's intimidating presence.
"I'm atheist, brother mine." Mycroft reminded him, but Sherlock just shook his head, leading John to the other doorway.
"That's only because he refuses to believe there's someone in this world superior to him." Sherlock grumbled. John could only laugh, but when he looked back he saw that Mycroft's shape had disappeared from the doorway, silently, like a ghost. This whole family had an air of mysteriousness surrounding them, enough to make John just a little bit uneasy.