The Mad House

Destiny Vs. Domesticity

Entry Eleven: I'm afraid this will be the end of my journal, however brief it may have been. I have done something rash, and I am too afraid to suffer the consequences of my actions. I am afraid of police, yet much more afraid of the house itself. I feel its retaliation already; I feel it putting thoughts into my head. Oh terrible agony, the house tempts me to wash their blood from my hands with a wave of my own! So be it then. I suppose my soul has nowhere else to go, not anymore. I suppose if this house is not a place for me to live any longer, it can still be a place for me to die.

John trembled fearfully, clutching up the journal in his hands and positioning himself to throw it across the room in disgust. Yet something stopped him, a force of reconsideration that was almost as strong as a physical arm holding his own down in protest. As soon as he willed himself to throw it he found that his arm could not move, and his hand clenched so protectively over the journal that he could not find the strength to dispose of it. Instead he brought it back onto his lap, staring over the entry for another moment before flipping to the next page, finding that it was empty. The whole rest of the journal was empty, that truly had been the last entry. And so what did that mean, what had John done before this? Whose blood was on his hands, and what did they do to deserve it? More importantly, had that really been his end? Was he destined to take his own life in this house, to reopen those scars across his arms in reconcile for the evil things he had done? Oh this house, this accursed house! This was the ending they were approaching, wasn't it? This was the ending that would be expected of him. A murder and a suicide, all for the sake of love. And so this was how it ended, this is how the loop began once more. This was how to revisit the past, to correct mistakes...to start over fresh. The power of return was in John's hands, all he had to do was to kill for it.

Sherlock was absent from his office for the whole day, which seemed rather predictable considering what had happened here previously. Of course the boy might be too ashamed to look John in the eyes, now that John had claimed that special piece of innocence from him. All the same, John might've felt a little bit more relieved about the entire process had Sherlock been able to face him once more. It wasn't worth it if the boy would ignore him for the rest of his life; it was no fun if that climax was the end as well. And so John waited, grading his papers for a while before turning the pages of that old journal again, reading over his own entries until his eyes tired of reading the same words over and over again. And yet he could not focus, he could not think of anything except his own life, and how easy it might be to hit the reset button. It wasn't as if his life had been completely messed up, in all honesty he had a great deal of what he desired. He had a life, a wife, and a lover. He had a steady job and a decent income, and a child who was relying on him for protection and funds! And so he wasn't ready to back out just yet, no he needed to focus on fixing the little problems which had erupted into his life, those little incidents which he was not yet good at confronting. For starters he had to fix things with Mary, for if he ever wanted to supply Rosie with the parental guidance she needed from a father, well then he had to make sure he was there for her in all stages of her life. One night of absence wasn't going to do much to hurt her future, yet if John somehow found himself removed from the family for a long period of time, well she might go throughout her life without him knowing. He had the potential to miss her first word, or her first step, or another one of her radiant smiles. John wasn't prepared to give up his child for the house's sake, and in order to keep that baby close he needed to keep Mary at least an arm's distance away. He needed to be there for her, no matter how foolish he had acted. And yet it wasn't foolish, was it? He had Sherlock now, that was what was necessary. So long as he kept Sherlock in his heart and they all lived to a ripe old age John would be free of this curse, he would be free of whatever reincarnations the house wanted to throw at him. The goal was to end the madness, to settle into themselves and figure out who was destined to love who. The goal was to give the house peace, even if it was working so hard to stir up chaos. Three o'clock came and went, and all during John's office hours he did not see Sherlock once. A couple of students came in to consult him, and Greg came in to bother him about never saying hello yesterday, yet in the end John felt more lonely than ever. He felt as if he had done something to wrong Sherlock, or perhaps to scare him away. And yet that whole thing, it was mutual! It wasn't as if John had pressured Sherlock into anything, and it wasn't as if Sherlock had tricked John into anything either. It was mutual, consensual, well surely there was nothing to be ashamed of! And yet why was he staying so far away, if he had nothing to hide from? By the end of John's time at the college he hadn't seen anything of Sherlock, and so he had to assume that the boy was neck deep in work to do, that was the only possibility that eased his nervous stomach. John didn't dare consider any alternatives, such as if Sherlock had gone to the house for Victor, or even if he had gone back to his apartment just to avoid any chance encounters with his professor. And so John decided not to wait up, if Sherlock was going to come he would've been here at three o'clock on the hour, and now that it was five John decided he ought to just go home and try to fix whatever he had broken the day before. Surely there must be a way to talk Mary into understanding, to get her to believe that he had been with Sherlock just for the wellbeing of the group? Well surely she wouldn't believe him, surely she wouldn't understand! He knew it was a losing battle, but he was going to fight it nonetheless. He had so many things on the line, so many precious memories that could be lost if he allowed this feud to continue. And so he thought it best to snuff the flame before it turned into a fire, and so he drove home reciting what he would be saying in his head. He had the journal at his side, the journal with dates in the margins if he needed to use them as proof. Mary was skeptical of course, and yet John had enough evidence between his own journal and the picture of Sherlock to try to at least convince her halfway. When he pulled into the driveway Mary's car was there, as expected. There wasn't anywhere she would go, with her being on maternity leave for a long while so as to take care of Rosie. John pulled into the driveway and grabbed his bag, clambering into the house and calling out his arrival for the house to hear. He found Rosie taking a nap on a mat in the living room, lying under a soft fabric mobile with cartoons playing on the TV behind her. John didn't want to wake the baby, yet still he lingered over her with a smile on his face, appreciating that the little girl on the carpet was something of his own creation, his own flesh and blood.
"I'm surprised to see you." Mary's voice said from behind him, having managed to sneak up behind John with that horrible frown upon her face. She had her arms crossed, and in one hand she held a glass of wine. She looked tired, her eyes bloodshot and her face puffy, as if she had spent her free time crying. John's heart softened when he saw the wreck she was in, and yet he could do nothing but shrug as innocently as possible.
"Wasn't going to leave you two alone forever." He admitted finally.
"Where'd you go last night?" Mary asked in a snap.
"To the house." Johns aid truthfully. "Sherlock wasn't even there; it was just Victor and I."
"Should that be some sort of relief to me, that Sherlock wasn't there? Just because he wasn't there doesn't make any of this any better, you went ahead and f**ked someone else, how am I supposed to live with that?" Mary growled, sipping a lot of her wine before wincing and staring him straight into the eyes.
"If you'll just let me explain, if I could sit you down and talk it out, there's a reason for everything." John assured.
"A crackpot theory about immortality! John I don't want to hear you blame your own problems on a stupid house, it's not the house's fault, it's yours!" Mary exclaimed.
"I have proof! Look here, look..." John through his bag down onto the couch, grabbing out the old journal that he had found on his bedside table last night.
"I don't want to see your proof! This isn't a joke to me, this isn't just..."
"Look here." Joh interrupted, flipping to the first page and thrusting the book into her eyes. "That's my name, printed in the corner. My name and the date 1907. I found this journal on the bedside table in the house."
"Yes, and it's your name on that ancient lease, too! If I thought that would've made any difference I'd have believed you by now!" Mary exclaimed.
"But it's me, it's not some ancestor it's me! Look here, the first entry! The master of the house is a peculiar man, Victor Trevor. He's tall, he's got brown hair and blue eyes..." John began.
"That's not proof! It's just another coincidence!" Mary exclaimed.
"But you saw Victor, at the airport you saw him! He's got those same features!" John exclaimed.
"So do a million other people! I'm sure I can go back in history and find ten ladies with my name and my vague descriptions! It doesn't mean I'm reincarnated!" Mary exclaimed.
"And here, The whole house is empty, save for the servants, myself, Mr. Trevor, and his friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You're telling me that somehow both my name, Sherlock's name, and Victor's name all just happened to be in that same house?" John exclaimed.
"Families stretch back eons, who knows how your families overlapped?" Mary defended, although her voice was beginning to strain, her own arguments were getting weaker and weaker.
"But my family isn't even from here! I'm American, and Victor is from Paris! It's impossible that our families had all been here at one time, impossible." John insisted.
"Well if you're destined to be at that house, why aren't you from here? Why weren't you born just a block away?" Mary defended.
"Who knows, maybe something went wrong? But the job opening, me moving here, it cannot be a coincidence!" John defended.
"I believe in the power of luck, not in the power of ghost houses." Mary grumbled.
"Now look, wait, look here!" John pulled the photograph from his bag, having put it in there after their trip in case he had to stare at it between classes or something. It just felt wrong to leave the thing behind, and thankfully it was here on hand. "This is a photograph I found on the mantle, before I even met Sherlock! This was how I knew who to look for; this is why I confronted him in the first place!" John thrust the picture at Mary, who took it with shaking fingers. Her eyes went wide, and yet her scowl deepened. She understood now, she had to understand, that she had been beaten.
"This is disgusting, you dare keep this picture in your bag, all the while..."
"But it's ancient! Surely you can see that, it's old, it's falling apart! This isn't Sherlock as we know it; this is Sherlock from the last century! But it is him, it's uncanny! He proved it to me; see that freckle there on his neck? Sherlock's got the same one on his neck, it's..."
"Of course you'd know where that freckle was! Oh you fiend, I've never been more disgusted!" Mary exclaimed, and in something of a fit of rage threw the picture as hard as she could at her husband. He was too taken aback to catch it, and so the frame bounced against his chest and fell to his feet, shattering the ancient glass over his shoes. Rosie woke with the bang, and her screams mixed with John's as he fell to his knees and tried to salvage the picture itself from the mess of destruction. The shards of glass ripped through his fingers as he turned the shattered frame over, almost giving a cry of anguish as he found the picture speared straight through the chest with an equally lethal shard of glass...destroying it. An ancient photograph, the proof that would have led the future generations of Johns and Sherlocks to figuring out the truth about themselves...nearly destroyed beyond recognition.
"No, it's...Mary HOW DARE YOU!" John exclaimed, pulling the picture from the frame and holding it against his chest of protection. Tears began to well up in his eyes, for he felt as though Mary had destroyed something much more important than just a photograph. She destroyed memories; she destroyed the evidence of their first life, the most important one! The image of Sherlock was ancient, irreplaceable, and invaluable.
"John I can't take this, I can't take this anymore." Mary exclaimed, shaking her head in exasperation and fighting back her own tears in the process. "Leave that house, leave this town. Never speak to them again, never come back here. Forget about your conspiracy and move away with me."
"You know I can't do that! Not when we're so close to..."
"Or I'm getting a divorce." Mary threatened finally. John felt his jaw drop, staring up at his wife as his face grew pale. His fingers still clutched to the photograph, and yet he fell back onto the floor so as to sit and process what sort of decision Mary was offering him. Here it was then, the final decision? Whether to live up to his own destiny, or to live the way he had intended to before. And yet to leave the house, to leave Sherlock...what would be the repercussions of that?
"I..." John began, and yet his voice cracked, and he couldn't manage another word.
"Give me your answer in three days, John, or else I'm leaving you and taking Rosie with me." Mary growled, and with that she went to scoop up the crying baby, leaving her husband sitting in the shards of glass on the floor, his eyes broken as well.

It wasn't as if John could stay anywhere near Mary, not now that the very sight of her broke his heart all over again. The threats she held over his head, well of course she knew just how to get her way! All the same, he couldn't go back to the house either. John couldn't let them know of his struggles, for he still didn't know what he was going to do. He didn't know if this was going to have to result in goodbye. And so he went to the bar, the only place he knew he could sit in silence and drink, the only place he knew that he might not be bothered. And so here he sat, lamenting by himself in a back booth, and downing beers one at a time to dull the pain which had flared up inside of his heart. Of course Mary knew all of the right buttons to push, she knew what John loved, and what he couldn't bear to lose. She knew that he wouldn't turn his back on his child; oh she knew he was too good of a person to do that! And yet she didn't understand how much this house meant to him, how much these people meant to him! Sherlock and Victor were just as much a part of himself as were both of his legs, he couldn't just leave them behind, not after all of this! And the house, oh he could only imagine his punishment if he left the house behind. It would be screaming in his head for the rest of his life, it would never let him rest! Yet along with that was his wife, his child...if he wanted to be a husband he had to let that house go. If he wanted a future, he had to let go of his past, each and every century of it. John let his head hang into his hands, closing his eyes for a moment and seeing that shattered photograph, that horribly deformed thing. A shard straight through that boy's heart, inflicted there by Mary's violence. Surely that was some sort of foreshadowing, wasn't it? Mary was going to force John to break Sherlock's heart; Mary was going to force John to break his own heart! He would have to leave that precious boy behind, the one who made his heart glow, the one who gave his life meaning! All of this, it would be left behind! His entire life uprooted, his entire past abandoned. Well of course this was all his fault! Obviously he wouldn't be able to keep his entire affair secret forever, and yet a really bad way to keep it secret was to tell his wife as soon as it had begun. Oh why had he tried to be so moral about it, why did he think Mary would ever be able to understand what he was going through? Surely she was as close minded as a locked door, she would never see that his affair was not only based on love, but practicality as well? Well of course there was some offense to be had, considering John almost blatantly admitted that he loved Sherlock Holmes much more than he loved her. That had never been more true, John really did love Sherlock more. He loved him more than anything on this earth, oh that boy was a masterpiece, something made to be appreciated! How could he simply abandon him now, now that he had taken the boy's innocence, and given him his heart in return? John drank down the last of his drink and picked up his phone, knowing that it would be so much easier just to call Sherlock and ask him to meet. Surely Victor couldn't know anything about this; he couldn't know that John was on the brink of leaving them both. Yet he wanted Sherlock to be part of the discussion, he wanted him to have a say. Or maybe John just didn't want to be alone, deep down inside. Maybe he just wanted to look Sherlock in the eyes once more, and see what his heart told him instead of his brain. And so John dialed his number, surprised how instantly the boy picked up. It was almost as if he had been sitting around, waiting for the call, for as soon as the first ring sounded he heard the telltale click on the other end of the line, before Sherlock's deep voice came in.
"John?" he muttered quietly.
"Sherlock, God it's so good to hear your voice." John admitted in a little mutter, smiling despite himself and ducking his head in slight embarrassment. He didn't want the other patrons of this bar to see him getting all flustered, just by the sound of his name being uttered on the other end of a phone call.
"I'm sorry I didn't see you today, I've just got so much to do and, and well I thought it best to focus on school for a while." Sherlock mumbled quickly, spewing out excuses as if John had been waiting for one.
"That's a good idea, of course. But it's not why I called, I've...well I've got a problem. I think I want a second opinion; or rather I want to talk to you about it in person. Could you meet me at the bar down Main Street?" John suggested.
"What kind of problem? Is it serious?" Sherlock asked immediately, obviously having disregarded John's request to meet in person.
"I'll explain it all; I'd just like to look you in the eyes when I do." John admitted quietly.
"Ya, ya alright. Bar on Main Street, I'll um...I'll do my best to find it. Expect me in a half hour." Sherlock muttered.
"I'm in a booth in the back." John added.
"Okay." Sherlock muttered. "I'll see you then."
"See you then." John agreed, and with that the line went dead.