The Mad House

Dream A Little Dream Of Me

John woke with something of a jump, nearly falling out of his chair as he was flung into the real world so abruptly. He looked about to see if anything had roused him, yet he saw that the house was just as quiet as he had left it. Sherlock was asleep on the couch, now curled in a tight little ball with his hands pulling his knees close to his chest. Nothing stirred, and so John had to wonder why he had woken with such a start. Perhaps it was just because his dream was concluded; perhaps it was because that was the end of the narrative and therefore the end of his use of sleep. Oh just when he thought he had solved one mystery, here came another one to baffle him. The idea that their past lives were so starkly different than their lives before, in which Sherlock was some sort of prostitute, living here in the house at the expense of a certain Mr. Trevor. Yet who was Mr. Trevor, if he even lived here at all? Was there another person to add into their adventures, someone who had been dragged back into existence on the command of the house, and plunged into the twenty first century with the rest of them? No, John didn't want to think of it like that. He didn't want to consider that dream as reality, for what on earth did it say about Sherlock, and about John as well? There was hardly any distinction of either them to their current self, especially not Sherlock. That sweet, innocent boy who now curled over the couch, well the idea that he might have served some unholy purpose all those years ago. To think that he might've sold his body to another man, just for a place to stay? Surely the dream was far from true; surely it was just John's imagination acting up again. No, just because Sherlock was feminine in nature doesn't mean that he's gay...certainly their appearances and names have passed over throughout the years, yet not every part of their soul has remained constant. No, surely not. John couldn't allow himself to believe such things as his mind wanted to display them. Maybe that was because he wanted to think a little bit better of Sherlock, and his morality. Or maybe John was just concerned with the dream...and the way the ending had made him feel. Perhaps he didn't like the idea of his dream self getting so worked up over a simple offer, and so tempted with how that offer might correspond to real life. And this dream, well did it have any similarities to the dream he had before all of this started? The one which had first shown Sherlock's face, in which a man had whispered sharply in his ear that it was quite alright to go into the room, and to observe Sherlock in such a state? These dreams, that photograph...John didn't like the way they were painting the occupants of this house. He certainly didn't like the messages they were trying to portray...the messages that might mean they were all living some sort of homosexual way of life. John sighed, turning over in his chair and noticing now that his headache had passed. It was as if such little sleep within this house had cured him of whatever aliments being away from it had inflicted. John felt well rested for the first time in what felt like ages. And that alone made him considerably reluctant to check his watch.
"Sherlock!" John exclaimed horrifically, blinking his eyes so as to make sure he was reading this correctly. "Sherlock get up!" he yelled, jumping from his chair and going to rouse the man who was still sleeping soundly. John shook Sherlock's shoulder, finally forcing some reaction out of the man. He yelled sharply, lunging away from John and retreating into the deeper folds of the old couch.
"God, John what is it!" Sherlock grumbled, his voice sounding tired and not very less irritable as before.
"It's five o'clock!" John exclaimed. Suddenly Sherlock's sleepy eyes narrowed into the expected look of fear, sitting up so rapidly that he almost smacked his head upon John's.
"You're joking?" he clarified quietly.
"No, I'm not joking. Why on earth would I joke about that?" John growled. Sherlock gave a great sigh, yet finally his shoulders relaxed and he fell back onto the couch in a huff.
"Well, if it really is five o'clock then it seems as though we have slept through our troubles." Sherlock decided with a groan. John shook his head, jumping to pull his jacket on and running about in a small circle to find his bag. "Why do you rush, professor? We haven't anywhere to be anymore."
"Says you, with no family to look after. I'm usually back by four, they'll be worried sick!" John exclaimed.
"Won't your wife understand?" Sherlock wondered.
"Not if I'm not there to explain it to her." John said sharply. Sherlock nodded, yet he could obviously see when it was past his time to leave. Surely he couldn't expect to lay about on that couch any longer, now that John had shouldered his bag and headed out the door.
"I had the strangest dream." Sherlock was saying as they marched out the front door and onto the porch, finding now that the cloudy skies had changed to rain.
"Yes, me as well." John agreed in some urgency, for he was trying to lock the door with that great big key all the while he was holding his cell phone to his ear, listening to the damning chorus of beeping. Either Mary wasn't picking up because she was angry with him, or rather she was so preoccupied with Rosie and with dinner that she couldn't hear or manage to pick up the phone.
"Yes, something about a billiards room. In fact I do rather remember seeing one when..."
"Mary!" John said triumphantly, for at last the buzzing had been interrupted.
"John where on earth have you been? My God I was about to file a missing person's report! You weren't at your work, I called Greg, your phone wasn't working and..."
"My phone wasn't working? What do you mean by that?" John asked.
"When I called it always said the number was out of service." Mary admitted quietly, her voice sounding broken, as if she had been crying for some time.
"Out of service? No, it's working fine that's preposterous." John muttered apprehensively.
"Where have you been all this time?" Mary demanded finally. John hesitated, looking towards the house and then towards Sherlock, deciding finally that it would be in his best interest to lie. If he told Mary that he had fallen asleep at the house, well then she would get all up in arms against the place. She already thought it was a burden, now this may be the final straw.
"I was out researching, with a student of mine. I'm sorry; we've been in the woods this whole time. I suppose I was just out of range, I hadn't thought to check the time until it was too late." John admitted with a sigh.
"Greg didn't mention anything about research." Mary scolded.
"Well I don't tell Greg everything." John defended, settling himself into his car while Sherlock got into the passenger seat, looking quiet and somewhat ashamed. Evidently he hadn't realized the consequences of John's absence, and was regretting ever underestimating the wrath of a wife.
"Evidently. Are you still out?" Mary asked.
"Ya, ya we're just leaving now. I'm sorry dear, I really am. I'll just drop the student off and then I'll head straight home." John demanded.
"Oh no, no don't be so rude! The poor thing is probably starving! Have him over for dinner, as an apology for making him run around in all of this horrible rain." Mary insisted. John sighed heavily, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel and hesitating to turn the car on just yet. The rain was coming down hard, thankfully providing just enough background noise so that Sherlock couldn't hear Mary's voice on the other end of the line.
"I don't know, don't you think that's a little bit pushy?" John asked apprehensively.
"Well if he's there, why don't you ask him?" Mary insisted, in that voice she used when she was solving John's problems for him- like a mother. John sighed heavily, for there was a very pressing feeling which was urging him to do anything but what she recommended. It seemed to him, no matter how fanciful it might sound, that to bring Sherlock to his home would be an amazing conflict of interests. No, not just interests, a conflict of worlds, of reality! If he really had lived in that house with Sherlock and how many other men, well certainly introducing Sherlock to his wife would be a wrong move? It would be clashing the two realities he knew and didn't, it would be challenging not just his way of life back then, but his way of life now as well. Yet all the same, he could hear his wife's quickening hum on the other end of the line, as if reminding him to talk quickly. In all honestly, Sherlock's presence in the house might lessen the blow of the punishment for being late. And so John sighed, holding the phone to his chest and looking over at where Sherlock sat in the seat next to him.
"My wife asks if you might stay for dinner." John said with a little grumble. Sherlock blinked in some surprise, looking a bit apprehensive for he obviously couldn't gauge John's expression.
"If I'm not a burden, well...does she insist?" Sherlock asked a bit nervously, his eyes narrowing in some suspicion.
"Whenever Mary suggests anything, it is rather an insistence." John agreed with a great sigh.
"Well then I suppose I can live without our cafeteria's lovely selection." Sherlock muttered, nodding his head for obviously he realized he had no choice in the matter. Now that he was properly well rested, he was surely too polite to refuse. John nodded, bringing the phone back to his ear.
"Ya, he'll come." John agreed.
"Oh wonderful! Wonderful, I'll set another plate out." Mary said excitedly, for she always did love to meet new people.
"Yes alright. Thanks Mary." John said with a little smile. "I'll see you later."
"Alright then, I love you John." Mary said in a teasing little voice, still like a teenager who put such meaning in such a commonly used statement.
"Ya, love you too." John agreed, and with that he ended the call, just to ensure she didn't have any other odd requests for him.
"Well then, to my house then." John said with a grumble.
"Sorry if I'm intruding on things." Sherlock muttered. "But I'm sure you know that it's hard for a polite man to say no."
"Oh you're certainly welcome. Your presence there will help Mary forget our tardiness." John assured.
"Yes, well then I suppose that's a plus." Sherlock nodded a bit quietly. He was thoughtful for a moment, staring out the window to watch as the house faded out of their vision while John started up the driveway.
You don't think we'll get headaches again, do you?" Sherlock wondered apprehensively.
"No, no I don't. I think it was mad at us for something." John admitted.
"That or it wanted to bring us there. It was depriving us of sleep so that we'd fall asleep inside. Maybe that was its plan all along." Sherlock suggested. John tensed a little bit on the wheel, looking at Sherlock for a split second before concentrating once again on the traffic. Now was the time when all of the cars hit the road, and it was no time for gazing.
"It wanted us to sleep there? Whatever for?" John asked apprehensively, for he knew at once what Sherlock was getting at. He meant the dreams...surely he had one too.
"Well when we're asleep it can feed us dreams, and never so vividly as when we're inside its walls." Sherlock pointed out.
"You had an odd dream then?" John asked nervously.
"I told you that, didn't I?" Sherlock asked with a little frown.
"I wasn't really listening." John lied, for he just wanted to keep this conversation focused on Sherlock. He didn't like the idea of the focus shifting upon him, and the dreams he had. He didn't want to discuss his topic of conversation at that table, with the straight forward, smoking Sherlock.
"Yes, I had a weird dream. Something so weird it could only be..." Sherlock hesitated, clearing his throat so as to disregard his previous sentence. "Well I can't but worry that there was some truth in it all."
"You saw something...disheartening then?" John presumed.
"I saw something that didn't seem quite right." Sherlock admitted.
"Hm, something that seemed to be from your other life?" John asked, looking over to where Sherlock was now blushing rather heavily.
"Something that seemed a little bit too...foreign. I suppose." Sherlock admitted.
"You mean not something you would normally do?" John presumed.
"Not something I would dream of doing." Sherlock agreed with a little shutter. John nodded, yet he could only guess that it had something to do with his own dream as well. Undoubtedly something which corresponded to Sherlock's little occupation. "You said you had a dream as well?"
"Yes, well..." John hesitated, smiling a bit apologetically. "I dreamt that I was a used car salesman." He lied quickly, for he didn't want to admit to having had a dream that corresponded with Sherlock's. The man would pry, he knew that for sure, and just as soon as John admitted the truth, that he had dreamed that Sherlock would have taken such a profession, and that he would invited John to join him in his bed...well certainly there would be an impossible gap between them! Yet all the same, now John had to wonder what Sherlock's dream had been about. Was it about John?
"You don't think my dream saw into the past, did it? You don't think there's any truth to it?" Sherlock asked nervously.
"I think a dream is just a dream." John decided finally.
"Ya, and a house is just a house, right? Nothing supernatural about it at all." Sherlock mocked, sounding very unconvinced.
"If you're so determined to classify your dreams as reality, then be my guest. But I really don't think that I had been, or ever will be, a used car salesman." John snapped. Oh even as he forced those words out he had to cringe, for he hated to keep things from Sherlock. This man was someone he was supposed to share everything with. This was someone, the only one in the world, who knew what sort of struggles John was dealing with. Then again, John knew in his heart that those dreams meant something. How else could he have dreamt of that picture, before he ever saw it? How else could he have dreamt of Sherlock, before he realized that he was a real person?
"Well I suppose you're right." Sherlock agreed apprehensively. "All the same, I can't help but worry that there's some truth in it all. I feel like we can take nothing too lightly, especially when it pertains to that house."
"That house is nothing to fear, Sherlock." John insisted, yet all the same he felt that same sort of press upon his chest, the one which took over when he was lying. That house was something to fear, that house was a force in itself, a vengeful being. Yet Sherlock just hummed, making no move to agree or disagree. He merely nodded, and went to looking out the window in that same sort of mood, that distant mood, in which John could tell he was lost in thought. 

Mary welcomed them just as sweetly as one would expect in a lady. She walked outside to greet Sherlock in the driveway; all the while John had recited the story to him many times before they pulled up. There was not to be any talk about the house, they had been out in the woods counting salamanders for Sherlock's final project, that was all. Certainly it was a story which had many gaps, yet Mary certainly wasn't going to question the complexity of the operation, nor was she going to pull out the master degree's curriculum to check. Sherlock didn't ask why there was to be such an elaborate ploy, rather than just the plain truth, presumably because he already knew the answer to such a question. He knew that the house wasn't a commonplace conversation, especially not for overtop of the dinner table. Sherlock was hesitant, yet all the same he put on his most polite face and got out of the car with a grin. John sat for a moment, watching through the windshield as Mary shook him by the hand and introduced herself. He watched with a rather sickened stomach, already regretting mixing his two lives so forcefully. And even now he felt a sort of protectiveness over Sherlock, feeling as though he was doing something wrong, endangering him in some way here. Certainly there was no physical danger...oh but John had to think what his fellow professors might think, if they found out he had a student over for dinner. Well it happened all the time; John knew that most professors and their graduates students were very close. Yet Sherlock was chemistry, wasn't he? That was way out of John's line of work; it was uncanny to make a friend outside of your department. Well then, John would just have to pray word of this never escaped. He just had to settle in, and enjoy Sherlock's company to the best of his abilities. After all, there were worst people to host. Certainly they had a sort of chemistry that was everlasting, considering how far it seemed to have gotten them. And so John got out of the car, covering his head with his bag as he rushed into the house to escape the rain. He found Sherlock and his wife already situated in the kitchen, seeming to have begun their small talk about Rosie, who was sitting in her high chair smashing Cheerios to a pulp with her fist. She liked to abuse her food, rather than eat it.
"Ah, there you are dear." Mary said with a smile, walking over to her husband and giving him a little kiss of hello. John felt a little bit embarrassed, for he really didn't like is wife fussing over him in front of guests, yet being as though his guest was Sherlock really made it all the more annoying. Mary was all dressed up, evidently having put herself together last minute so as to appease the guest. She tied her long blonde hair up into a braid, and was wearing a sensible purple blouse.
"Sherlock, make yourself comfortable, please." John said with a little grin, trying now to act like a proper host. Sherlock nodded, yet his coat was already missing and his bag was sitting by the door. Obviously John was a little late for the preliminary mannerisms.
"Lovely house you've got here." Sherlock said with a little grin. John just nodded, although he could only hope that Sherlock was thinking the same thing as him; that he's got a much better house someplace else.
"Thank you. It's nothing fancy, but then again, with a Professor's income..." John ended his sentence there, to which Sherlock smiled and nodded in understanding.
"Oh you'll move your way up I'm sure. As chair of the department, then who knows, maybe you'll even be president?" Sherlock suggested.
"Oh I don't think I'm suited for anything more distinguished than a professor. Especially when it means I can't go splashing about a creek and get paid for it." John pointed out.
"How old are you, Sherlock?" Mary asked, walking around the counter and widening her eyes while waiting for a response. Sherlock looked just a little bit taken aback, as if he was worried she doubted his intellectual abilities by asking his age.
"Twenty three, ma'am." Sherlock admitted hesitantly.
"Ah, good. Then I may offer you a glass of wine and not incriminate myself." Mary said with a little grin. Sherlock breathed something of a sigh of a relief, but nodded his head with a smile.
"Yes, wine would be lovely. Thank you Mrs. Watson." Sherlock agreed.
"And one for me, dear. If you wouldn't mind." John added quickly, for while his day hadn't been in the least bit stressful, he still felt rather drained.
"Ah, I'm your maid now, am I John?" Mary wondered.
"Well I can pour it myself if you think yourself above such a task." John responded a bit hotly. Mary shot him a warning glance, yet continued on getting three wine glasses from the cupboard.
"Not at all." she muttered, obviously trying to keep their quarreling to a minimum in front of guests.