The Mad House

The Man In The Mirror

John set Rosie down on the bed in something of a disturbed urgency, unsure whether or not he should call a doctor. And yet if the whole world had been stopped in their tracks, well certainly no one would be in any position to help him? The only ones who might be awake were Sherlock and Victor, off somewhere in their own seclusion...no John didn't dare interrupt them. He knew that there was only one other thing moving in this house, one other thing besides himself...John took a deep breath, staring now at the wall as a shadow crept along it, slithering just underneath the paint as he watched, headed now to the closet with its open door. John stepped towards the closet nervously, staring into the mirror and seeing something that wasn't quite right. It was him, certainly it was...and yet it wasn't him. The man in the mirror was much more pale, much more thin. He wore a tattered old suit so as to keep up reputation, yet he looked weary and tired, his eyes were heavy and his posture was rigid. It was him, no doubt about it. Yet it was him from before... John moved closer, yet the apparition remained still. He touched his finger up against the glass, and yet the other man didn't mirror his movements. It remained still, unbothered, and rather inconvenienced.
"What's happened to them?" John whispered, staring directly into his own eyes, yet not recognizing them as he would in a real reflection. No, they were foreign to him. Fearful to him.
"Nothing too permanent." The man assured, in a voice that was exactly like John's. It wasn't vocal; the thing was speaking to him inside of his head, like the voice in the back of his mind. It made John wonder now if he had ever had control over his own head, or if he had always been piloted by the thing he saw now.
"Are they dead?" John whispered in something of a trembling voice, realizing just now how much power this house had over him. Realizing now how he was so pitifully at its mercy. The life he had beside it, the life he thought he had made for himself...well how easily it could be halted! How easily that place could call him back!
"They're stopped, for now. Once I will it, they'll come back." The thing assured. John stared at himself suspiciously, seeing within those eyes a certain fire that he had not yet seen within himself. Seeing a conniving drive, the ability to kill, and to get his own way no matter what the cost.
"You're me?" John whispered in clarification.
"You're me." the thing corrected. "But as of right now, you've proven to be something of a disappointment. All the rest never gave up so easily."
"The rest? What are you talking about?" John asked miserably, shaking his head yet knowing there was no proper way to avoid this conversation. There was no way to get out of this, that is if he ever wanted his family back to normal again.
"I'm saying you're the first to just let him go, so easily...without a fight." The shadow warned. John stared at it for a moment, his brain turning over inside of his head, trying to determine what that meant. Mrs. Hudson had told him that the house had not been opened since it had been condemned...if that was true how could there have been more of him? If no one had opened that house, how was this shadow figure just now claiming that he was not the first, nor the second...how could it claim that John was just another one of his reincarnations, the most recent in a long line?
"You're saying I'm not the first?" John whispered in clarification.
"No of course not, I'm the first. The original, the one who made all of the mistakes. All of you, well you're simply driven with my own madness. I'm the reason you keep coming back." The shadow insisted.
"But I'm not going to continue the line; I'm not going to give the house its satisfaction. I'm married, I'm through with Sherlock, I'm not..."
"It's not so simple, John. You can't just walk away from your own destiny." it corrected.
"I can and I will. I've got a life here, I love my wife and my daughter, I'll break the chain by ignoring it!" John defended, looking back to where his family lay stone cold, and motionless. His argument wasn't very strong, not now that what remained of his life was so still, and so unimpressive.
"If they're the issue, John, they can be removed. Your destiny is not to give Sherlock up; it's to win him over. Can't you see that the house was always on your side? It saw your love, it saw the purity in your heart, and it wanted the best for you." The other John insisted. "You're meant to have him."
"No, that's not true. He picked Victor, all of these times he's chosen Victor over me." John reminded him.
"And that's the flaw, that what's been so difficult for the both of you. You're not strong enough to fight back, nor is Sherlock smart enough to realize he's given up the most precious love he could have. Together you decide upon a fate that is miserable for you both. The house just wants to see you smile again. The house loves its occupants, and it wants them to love each other. Properly." The other John reminded him.
"It's impossible; he's already given me up." John defended.
"Or have you merely given up on him? Look inside of your heart, our heart. Do you really think there is any space for your wife, when after all of these centuries; it has been completely at the mercy of Sherlock Holmes? Do you really find it inside of yourself to just give him up?" That John growled.
"I love her." John defended.
"And you love him, more. More than anything in the world. You can't deny what has already been set in place, something as set in stone as your own existence, something as unavoidable as destiny." The other John insisted, his eyes flaring up with such a passion that John almost couldn't deny him. He couldn't find it within himself to try to fight back, for with every word that apparition spoke, John found it within himself to agree. He found that he could do nothing else but agree, for it would be only too foolish to argue with another version of himself. Someone who had the same priorities, and the same feelings. Yet someone who was stronger, evidently, someone who hadn't given up.
"Has there ever been a version where he loved me back?" John whispered.
"He loves you in all forms of his existence, yet he is caught now between the sweet words of Victor Trevor, and the cowardice you display. You cannot get him back from that beast if you do not fight, if you do not remind him that you are who he's meant to be with." The mirror insisted.
"So I have to win him back?" John clarified.
"Break the chain, John. I have sat back for too long, watching all the others fail. I just want to see us all achieve happiness; I want to see us all fight back for what we need to have. That beautiful boy, I remember his taste still...I remember his skin..." the other John sighed heavily, closing his eyes for just a moment and reliving his own accomplishments for a moment.
"Has he ever chosen us?" John whispered.
"If he had, I wouldn't be talking to you now, would I?" that John insisted. "Win him back...win him over. Only then will you be free of that pain inside of your chest...the one you have just now chosen to ignore." With that the mirror reverted back to normal, and John saw himself in the glass, his real self, looking just as dazed and confused as he felt. And as soon as that John disappeared the world came back to life, and the chorus of crying came like an angel's song, for his baby had woken. His life was back on track, so far as he could tell.
"John, what's Rosie doing here?" Mary's voice asked quickly, for she came to life just as soon as Rosie began to scream. She huddled the baby up close to her chest, staring at her husband as he continued to glare into the mirror, waiting for his own reflection to turn back to something so unfamiliar.
"I've got to go." He said quickly, grabbing his bundle of clothes and his briefcase before starting out the bedroom as fast as he could.
"Go where? Oh come on John, you don't need to be at work for another half hour!" Mary protested, checking the clocks which had just come back to ticking. No time had been lost in that entire ordeal, from the time John woke to the time the shadow vanished, yet still he felt pressed, he felt as though he needed to rush. Well certainly he was too late to stop what had happened last night, certainly he wouldn't been better off to have gotten that message from his past life way before he just absentmindedly gave way to Sherlock's infatuations. Yet he could stop it now, or rather he could start up his own campaign for Sherlock's heart. It really wasn't too difficult, channeling that anger again, and fixating it all on Victor Trevor. That rat was going to learn the hard way that he couldn't just have everything he wanted. John was the master of that house before he strolled in, and that was only by John's invitation! He needed to learn his place, and realize again that Sherlock's heart was not his own by default. It was time to get it back; it was time to follow the path destiny had paved, and follow the pulling of his heart to its final destination.
"I'm going to the house." John said finally, and with that he stormed out the door and started his way down the familiar route to his house...his home. The place was dark when he first arrived, and yet there was Victor's rental car, still parked in the driveway. Well that didn't mean much yet, considering he was supposed to stay there for the whole of his little vacation. Yet who else was staying with him, well that was the question. It was Sherlock's whereabouts, not Victor's, which concerned John the most. And so John pulled his car up close, jumping out and letting himself in with the large key he still kept stowed away in his pocket. The house was warm inside, as if someone had turned on the furnace downstairs, and the entry way was alive with the sound of a record player. There was a fast opera song playing, something which set a rather dramatic mood for the scene which was about to unfold.
"Victor?" John called out, shutting the large door behind him and meandering towards the music, presuming that he would find the man there. As promised, the record player was set at one end of the kitchen table, and at the other sat Victor Trevor. He was eating what looked like Cheerios out of a delicate china bowl, sitting in that large table which was set for only one. John couldn't help but heave a sigh of relief, for there didn't seem to be any signs that Sherlock had stayed the night. Then again, Victor liked to play with hopes, didn't he? He had in their first encounter, back a century when he had allowed his future fiancé one night with John, just to give him the taste of passion before dragging the man back again into his own arms.
"Hello John." Victor said quietly, sipping wine from a gigantic glass even though it wasn't even seven in the morning.
"Is Sherlock here?" John asked, getting right to the point. He didn't want to small talk, not anymore with this monster. Perhaps throughout all of the years he had hated him, perhaps now John just wasn't trying to hide it anymore. And Victor, of course, was going to play along. He seemed to like a battle of nerve, considering he was unnervingly calm in any situation. He always liked to play games, simply because he expected to win every one.
"Why would Sherlock be here at such an hour?" Victor teased, swirling his wine again before setting the glass back on the table with a smooth move of familiarity. It was rather unnerving, to see him sitting at the head of the table. It seemed so appropriate that it was almost hard for John to keep up his own confidence, it seemed as though Victor was taking his rightful throne over this kingdom of their pasts, presents, and futures. The house seemed to adapt to him better than the rest, it gave itself more life in the wake of his presence, it seemed to embrace him like a long lost son. And he was giving it the life it deserved, was he not? Living again in its walls, giving it heat, and music, and company. Well of course Victor was the house's favorite, simply because he was the only one who treated it like a deserving equal. Yet that said nothing on Sherlock's behalf, that said nothing about who the boy would choose.
"You know full well why he'd be here." John growled. "So is he?"
"Interesting thing, you mentioned at the airport. Mentioned that Sherlock was a virgin." Victor interrupted, pushing aside his bowl so that he could grab a cigarette from his pocket. For a moment he busied himself lighting it, keeping suspense hanging so thickly in the air around them.
"He didn't want you to know that." John muttered quietly.
"Well, I do know, thanks to you. It did come as a surprise, considering the Sherlock I knew all the way back then was anything but. He was quite familiar with men, men of all sorts really. Familiar with money." Victor admitted quietly, puffing a large cloud of smoke in John's direction and leaning back into his chair with something of a grin. He seemed pleased with himself, almost as if he could tell how furiously John's heart was beating, and how his fists were clenching. There was a fight or flight response building up inside of him, something which was simply begging him to smash that large wine glass into Victor's pretty face.
"You talk as if you were there." John pointed out.
"I was there. As were you." Victor reminded him with a little wag of his finger.
"But it wasn't actually me, I'm just another version. As are you, you're the modern day adaptation; you're just one of many reincarnations." John corrected, remembering how the shadow in the mirror had talked of many versions of their reality, alluding not only to one other life, but multiples.
"But I remember it all, John. Every part of it, every twist and turn in our complicated lives. Every tremble, of our friend's body against mine." Victor whispered. John faltered, feeling the need to tell Victor just how much he knew, that dream he had of Sherlock, and how he now remembered an equal amount of intimate encounters. Yet he quieted, for he wanted to know not what happened years before, but the night before. He wanted to know if Sherlock was just as innocent now as he was before John left him alone with this foul beast.
"Victor, is Sherlock here?" John growled.
"No." Victor said finally, tapping his ashes into his bowl of cereal and continuing smoking. "No he left last night, on the claim of something as unimportant as education."
"He's a graduate student." John pointed out, trying to hide his breath of relief. Of course Victor's confirmation only solidified John's original suspicions, for he felt if Sherlock had been with this man, then he might have felt something. Something akin to being stabbed in the chest.
"And you are a professor." Victor mumbled, staring up at John with very curious blue eyes. "I do remember that being your aspirations, even back then. You took a certain interest in the pond."
"Don't talk like that, Victor. Don't talk like you're some sort of medium." John growled.
"I'm not a medium. I don't claim to know anything more than what I've ever known. Yet in all of these lifetimes, I've discovered a lot. I've seen a lot, that constant loop." Victor chuckled. John hesitated, for he was just about ready to turn away. However Victor tempted him now, as the man was obviously intending to do. Victor wanted to make John eat his words; he wanted to make him ask for something, to beg for it. The conclusion. Victor knew what happened all those years ago, and what was still happening, what was destined to happen. And of course, the very idea of the ending had been on John's mind ever since he saw that original portrait. Victor wanted him to ask, his eyes were sparkling with temptation, begging John to absentmindedly admit to needing him. He wanted to establish his dominancy over this entire lifetime, simply by making John ask him to use his all knowing eyes. And yet he couldn't do that, no there was certainly some better way to get his information than to play to Victor's tricks. And so John gave him a quick smile, and turned away back towards the door.
"Well then, I'll see you when I see you." He decided finally, and with that he made his way back to his car, with a newfound fire inside of his heart. A newfound determination to get what was rightfully his. Now of course this confidence was all owed to the mirror's assurance that his love would be returned. He was apprehensive to say the least, for he had never quite believed that Sherlock had any hidden feelings. Even after the affair in the hotel room, he was still apprehensive to admit to himself that he might have a chance. And now, with Victor...well certainly John was simply in the back of Sherlock's mind, and his heart? Certainly he wasn't in any position to stroll back into his life and reclaim him as his own? Yet he had to try, if that was what would break them out of this constant loop then he had no choice but to liberate them all. If Sherlock's love was what would free them from the chain, well certainly he wasn't going to complain. In the end it was what he wanted most desperately anyway. Now he just had a reason to pursue it, he had a reason to forge ahead and tell himself that he was doing the right thing. For he loved his wife, and his daughter, yet he knew that he loved Sherlock more. He knew that boy was his destiny; he knew that boy was the only thing that mattered in the end.