The Mad House

Destinies Are A Funny Thing

Entry Six: And so I've learned the truth behind my company,the truth that seemed to make it all a lot clearer. The question now is, just what do I do with such information? Obviously it's not within my power to leave...even if I did feel as though that was the right course of action. Yet I know better than to turn my back on these people, even if they did have a peculiar taste in romantic partner. In the end I know it doesn't matter, who they love doesn't affect me one bit. Or maybe it does, maybe it just encourages that little voice in the back of my head, and that little impulse I have to hold my gaze just a little bit longer. Many times I find myself staring at Sherlock Holmes, this time with the knowledge that with just a couple of pounds he could be mine. A prostitute didn't care who their next companion was, a prostitute didn't care whose bed they end up in. Just so long as that partner could pay. Oh but what madness, those thoughts really weren't my own! I'm not sure what changed, well nothing, I think. Nothing changed within me. Yet all the same, I feel like a different man. Never in a million years would I ever have found myself debating whether or not to seduce a man. Never would I have considered it an option...not until I got to this house. Here were sins run wild, unchecked, and unregretted. Here of all places I can abandon my virtues, here among what I dare call friends. Victor wouldn't mind, I'm quite sure Victor would be happy to see me descend down to his level. Perhaps he finds it amusing when well put together men come to his house, only to change so drastically. To abandon their morals, and find themselves wrapped in the arms of a man. Interesting, how likely it was beginning to seem. Interesting how tempting that man was, and how he became all the more tempting with every passing moment. It might not be a stretch, anymore, to claim that I have fallen in love. 

Thankfully Sherlock arrived right on time, just soon enough so that John would not lose his mind any longer. With every passing minute he had become more anxious, yet it was a lot better to watch the clock count towards three o'clock than away from it. The question of what to say was a lot easier to answer than whether or not Sherlock was coming at all, and so thankfully as the clock struck three there was a knock at the door. His perfect timing definitely betrayed his own urgency, for John could only assume that the boy had been struggling with his own questions, he may have been sitting out in the hallway, agonizing for a while over what to say, and who owed who an apology. As soon as the door opened John straightened up in his chair, staring up at Sherlock and feeling as though his breath had been lost from his body. He felt entranced, in a way, as he stared up to the man who walked in. That beautiful man, who took each stride as elegantly as possible, and who was now closing the door softly behind him.
"Thanks for coming." John muttered a bit uncomfortably, now that Sherlock had made himself comfortable in one of the chairs that sat on the other side of the desk. He looked just about as nervous as John was, as if they were both struggling some with their actions of the other night. They both had regrets, perhaps all the while John was laboring under his own stupidity of yelling, Sherlock was also wishing he had never made some certain confessions. Well hopefully he didn't owe the argument to that confession; hopefully he didn't assume that John was angry at him only for his sexuality?
"Yes well, you seemed insistent." Sherlock grumbled.
"Is there any way I can talk you back into cooperation?" John wondered.
"It depends how well you convince me, then. How well you spin your argument of delirium." Sherlock decided, folding his legs and leaning a bit theatrically in his chair. John wondered if he had always lounged about in such a state, and he had just been too stupid to realize.
"Well you agree of course that such words were not my own?" John insisted.
"They did come out of your mouth." Sherlock reminded him.
"We live in a new world, Sherlock. Surely we know better than to believe what we see?" John insisted.
"That's rather romantic for you, Professor." Sherlock commented. John blinked, yet he told himself that Sherlock must mean a different connation than he had at first assumed, and decided just to move on.
"I think the both of us have to work together on this, on all of it. And I think it's rather silly to just abandon our search because of an argument." John pointed out.
"I'm not one to take insult very lightly." Sherlock reminded him. John sighed heavily, nodding his head all the while he took to tapping a pen rather anxiously against his leg. He hardly wanted to relive the argument long enough to defend it. The words that had flown from his mouth, well they were sickening! They were words he would never care to use in his normal life, especially to a man who he respected so highly!
"Sherlock I do give you my sincere apology. I know of course that your past life, whatever it entailed, was very much different than your current one. I can't speak for our pasts, either of them, yet I know that the man I am, and the man you are, may very well be much more respectable." John admitted quietly. Sherlock nodded, seeming just a little bit satisfied, yet his defensive posture did not break. He still looked as though he was expecting something more.
"I'll have you know, Professor, that in this life I am a virgin." Sherlock offered quietly. John hesitated, not entirely sure if he wanted to know that or not. Then again, it was a very good defense against the accusations John had been throwing around in their last encounter. John nodded, not entirely sure how to respond to that, feeling his throat suddenly beginning to get very tight. He knew his face was glowing, yet he did not want to bring very much light to that.
"Well then, obviously you have separated yourself quite well." John said quietly.
"Indeed I have." Sherlock agreed, now straightening up in his chair as if he felt he needed to sit a bit prouder. "Perhaps my past self had been desperate enough to use looks for money, I myself value education, and patience as well. Waiting for the right person."
"Yes, that is the way to do it." John agreed a bit hesitantly, feeling his throat closing a bit in anxiety. He knew that he wasn't in any position to make any suggestions, yet then again if Sherlock was waiting for the right person, and if John really was that partner he had all those years ago... No, what a terrible thought. John disregarded it, yet all the same his stomach was twisting in uncomfortable knots. He felt as though he ought to offer up some embarrassing information about himself as well, just to even out all of Sherlock's unprecedented confessions. He hated having to wallow in this boy's secrets, all the while leave himself as a closed book! Yet then again, his wife and child were explanation enough to how much he differed from Sherlock. And so John nodded his head once more, as if that action alone would be breaking through the awkward silence.
"I can't help but think, Professor, that there may be another one of us somewhere in this world." Sherlock suggested quietly, thankfully bringing it upon himself to change the topic of conversation before John had to say anything more on the topic of virginity.
"Why do you say that?" John wondered, just now picking up his eyes in curiosity.
"Well the dreams we've been having, that's all. They all seem to involve someone, another character in this great play of past and present." Sherlock admitted.
"Another character?" John asked nervously.
"Yes of course. My dream of the billiard room, well I was with a man who certainly was not someone I recognized." Sherlock muttered. John felt his heart drop just the slightest, nodding his head slowly. Well of course he might have known this was coming...if Sherlock had seen himself with John then he might have mentioned it before. Certainly John had been preparing himself for this confession?
"Yes, I too have had dreams. Yet I don't recall ever seeing his face..." John started.
"I have." Sherlock said quickly. "Do you have a pen?"
"I um...yes I should have one somewhere." John agreed, tossing Sherlock a loose piece of parchment all the while he dug around in the mess of papers for one of his pens. After a moment Sherlock got to drawing, looking quite focused in the task and therefore distracted enough to not notice John's staring at him. It was like a weight upon his shoulders, really, to sit here waiting for his competition to be drawn out on this paper. There was another man, then, someone that will arrive just to steal Sherlock away from him. Well of course John hadn't been treating Sherlock anything like a proper suitor should! And in the end, John was a married man and Sherlock had a shred of decency, nothing would have ever worked out. Yet there was something to be said about opportunity, and that little ounce of hope that stirs in your heart when there still was that off chance. There wasn't love in John's heart, at least none that he could properly recognize as of now. There was admiration, and appreciation, and of course just a sort of possession that could not go disregarded. He liked that it was just the two of them, he liked that Sherlock and he were alone against the rest of the world, and inside such a bond there must be at least some sort of unspoken romance. Yet now there was a change, now there might be something tearing them apart in the end. Sherlock's dedication to another man, Sherlock's partnership from the past. If John got lucky then the man would prove to not have survived the transition from past to present, this face that would be drawn now might have disappeared a century ago, when the house had been shut down. Yet what John already knew of his luck, well that was certainly not going to happen. He knew well enough not to count on his own fortunes, for in the end everything he wanted so dearly had a way of turning its back on him, and leaving him wondering what he did wrong to have disrespected Fate in such a way.
"Here he is." Sherlock said finally, handing John the paper so that he could take a look. He sighed heavily, turning it towards himself and looking rather grimly down at the face. It was undeniably beautiful, someone John would certainly have no fighting chance against. Perhaps this drawing wasn't entirely accurate, maybe Sherlock was playing up his beauty in his own hopes of getting matched up with someone as attractive. It was a perfectly sculpted face, something quite like Sherlock's except a bit more mischievous looking, with dark eyes that were obviously thinking many different things at once. There were no colors visible, yet his hair was swooped across his forehead in such a way that made it obvious he used a fair amount of product, and his thin lips were poised into something of a devious smile. John saw the face and knew at once that it belonged to the stranger he had seen in that feverish vision, that face that had been with Sherlock up atop that green table, most likely the billiards table from Sherlock's own dream. And so here it was, John's undoing. The crashing and burning of his hopes of perhaps being the only man in Sherlock's life, the only one from both of his lives.
"Very nice." John muttered. Sherlock nodded, taking the picture back with hesitant fingers and looking a bit uncomfortable.
"I don't know who he is, only that he seemed to be important in the grand scheme of things. I think it might be worth it to do some digging." Sherlock suggested finally.
"Digging?" John asked carefully.
"Well yes, certainly there's records on this house that we do not know of. Surely his name must be somewhere in history." Sherlock insisted.
"And you want to find him then? Find him today?" John presumed with a little accusing raise of his eyebrow.
"Well yes, don't you think that's what we're meant to do in the end? We're supposed to bring the old house back together, with all of its occupants." Sherlock pointed out. John nodded quietly, not entirely sure he wanted to believe that little explanation.
"Oh really? And this isn't just some...some expedition to find Mr. Prince Charming, hm?" John presumed. Sherlock gave a little chuckle of denial, his cheeks growing a bit red as he shook his head.
"Don't make me out to be selfish, Professor." Sherlock begged.
"Never." John assured quietly. "But perhaps just a little bit self-interested."
"I admit the idea of a soulmate is tempting." Sherlock admitted quietly.
"What makes you think he's your soulmate?" John asked with a nervous little laugh. Oh that word cut deep, and the connotations behind it even worse! Sherlock's little comment made it clear that he had already disregarded John as his option. He seemed to think that out of the two of them that had followed him through the ages, it was this mystery man that was supposed to be his partner. And not John, for whatever reason.
"Well the dreams, of course. We seemed to be quite keen." Sherlock admitted quietly, as if he was ashamed to even allude to such obscene passion.
"No offense, Sherlock, but you were sort of paid to be keen. Prostitutes can't be picky with whoever pays them. And there always could've been someone else, someone off to the side. A genuine interest, perhaps." John offered quickly, feeling the need to straighten himself up in his chair.
"Perhaps. But then again, perhaps not. I can't imagine that house would offer me an image if it did not mean something, yes?" Sherlock asked a bit hopefully.
"I never thought I'd see you this excited." John admitted finally, feeling the need to change the conversation before he incriminated himself anymore. Sherlock smiled a bit innocently, dropping his gaze to the floor as if he was ashamed to have betrayed himself with all of this enthusiasm.
"Not excited, per say. Just hopeful maybe, that I've been right to wait all this time to find the right person. Perhaps I knew there was someone, written into my destiny." Sherlock admitted with something of a quiet smile. John sighed heavily, yet forced himself to look a little bit appreciative as well.
"Quite so, Sherlock. Destinies are a funny thing, after all." John agreed. Sherlock nodded his head, looking down at his own drawing with something of an admiration in his eyes. John felt something of a pain in his chest, when he realized almost immediately that he had never noticed that same gaze aimed at him. 

 John didn't tell Mary where he was going, partially because it was not her business to know every detail of his life, and partially because he didn't want her following. It was a Saturday morning, their planned day of investigation, and Mary's presence throughout the whole ordeal would be nothing but bothersome. Besides, the house may not admit to any of its secrets if Mary was hanging about, wanting to know what was going on the whole time. And so as John stood by the mirror, in a practical yet not all together hideous outfit (he was trying to mind his own fashion choices, if he was now up against a beautiful man for Sherlock's attention) he tried his best to ignore his wife's pestering. 

"Where is it you said you were going again?" Mary asked anxiously.
"To the college." John said quickly.
"University, Uncle Sam." Mary corrected quickly. John sighed heavily, shaking his head and grabbing his hat from the hook where it usually sat. He anticipated there might be a bunch of digging about through the less desirable parts of the house, those that he hadn't dared explore until now. He didn't know if there was an attic, yet there was most certainly a basement, and who knew what was down there? He had boots on, just in case there was any water to be stepping through, yet all the same he had dressed himself sharply and properly. He didn't want to be caught looking a mess, even if it was a mess he had to wallow through.
"Well then, I'm going to the university." John said finally.
"Why?" Mary wondered, bouncing Rosie up and down in her arms. That baby had just finally quieted, and John was appreciating the silence that he could hear once more.
"Oh you know me, just catching up on grading." John lied with a sigh.
"You could catch up on grading here." Mary insisted.
"Ha, and listen to Rosie hollering? I can't hear myself think, much less read any of these horrific research papers." John teased. Mary sighed heavily, not looking overly pleased at John's inconvenience.
"You know she can't help it." Mary offered in the baby's defense.
"Yes, but thankfully I can avoid it. You have a nice day, Mary." John said with a little smile, kissing his wife and child goodbye as sweetly as he could manage before grabbing his car keys and heading out.  Sherlock didn't have a car, yet just as arranged he was at the proper meeting place. Since he lived in an apartment near campus, the staff parking lot was the perfect place to go and get him. It was empty as of now, and so there were no witnesses as John pulled his car up to the curb. Sherlock was sitting on the bench, draped in that long trench coat once more, and looking quite chilled. Just as soon as he clambered into the car he held his bare hands up to the heaters, sighing in relief and wriggling deeper into the folds of his jacket. 

"Cold?" John presumed, backing out and heading down the ever familiar route to the house. Sherlock sighed heavily, finally leaning back in his chair and pouting a little bit tiredly.
"My roommate was being a complete jerk last night." He said at last. "He hosted some sort of party, I hardly slept a wink."
"Up too late partying then? Man, those were the days." John said with a little chuckle.
"No, not partying! I was too busy wringing earplugs into my ears, so as to avoid their yelling. And then in regular intervals he'd come up and try to get me to join." Sherlock groaned. "I think he fancies me."
"Oh poor Sherlock, so many suitors." John teased, to which Sherlock just sighed, as if that really was such a bother.
"Yes well, sometimes it's nice just to hang out with a man who isn't so keen. It makes friendship only too complicated." Sherlock growled. "That's why it's nice to have you."
"Oh well, thank you. I think?" John muttered, feeling his face get a little bit hot in embarrassment. Well, there was a certain irony there, wasn't there? All the same, such an assumption must only be spawned from the wedding ring on his fingers, nothing more. Then again, it might be good that Sherlock knew nothing. For nothing was going to come out of it, no matter how passionate John might think he is. The rest of the ride was silent, probably for the best. John didn't want to say anything stupid, nor did he want to suffer anymore casualties from Sherlock's speaking of things he didn't know. Thankfully it wasn't an awkward silence; Sherlock seemed to be quite lost in his thoughts as he stared out the window, watching as the familiar woods began to thicken around them. When finally they pulled into the gravel driveway that house stood looming before them, yet there was a feeling of welcome all the same. John realized that it had been a while since he was last here, yet all the same there hadn't been any consequences for such time away. Maybe the house understood that there had been a misunderstanding, that or it knew John was intending to come back. John couldn't help but wonder if that argument had been the house's creation entirely. Surely if Sherlock really was promised to another man, then it saw some competition in his getting so close to John? Maybe it had decided that their relationship was building up too quickly, perhaps unfairly to his true soulmate. Oh how infuriating that was, to suspect that the very house was working against John as well!
"Oh this lovely place." Sherlock grumbled, not sounding too enthused as he followed John up the staircase and onto the porch.
"Home sweet home." John agreed, fitting the key into the lock and pushing the door open.