The Mad House

We Have To Start Over

"Mary, I'm home!" John announced rather unceremoniously, for he wasn't entirely expecting her to be welcoming. All the same, she appeared from the top of the stairs with something of a look of relief on her face.
"Where have you been?" she growled, descending the stairs with that scowl. "Probably off somewhere with your mistress."
"I was at the house, and don't call him a mistress." John growled.
"Not denying it?" Mary presumed.
"When have I tried to lie to you, Mary? When have I tried to keep secrets?" John demanded. Mary pursed her lips, pausing at the end of the staircase and crossing her arms in annoyance. Obviously she didn't like the idea that he should get a good word in for himself, especially one that she had no chance in arguing against.
"What are you here for?" Mary asked sharply.
"To see Rosie, and to give you this." John admitted, holding up the unmarked, sealed envelope. Mary looked at him suspiciously, obviously wondering what could be in such a letter.
"And what is it?" Mary wondered.
"It's a letter, of sorts. It's for you to do with what you want, but only after these three days are over. Promise me you won't open it before then?" John insisted. Mary eyed him suspiciously, her eyes looking as though she had already sorted out the purpose of such a thing.
"Is it a goodbye note?" she presumed. "Will you be gone is that...is that why you're back? To say goodbye?"
"Mary, don't worry. I haven't made a decision yet, but rest assured. After anything that happens, know that I'll always be back. I'll always come back." John assured. Mary shook her head, yet stormed up to her husband and ripped the letter rather unceremoniously from his hands.
"You're too despicable, John. To not have made your choice yet, your family over your lover..."
"Over my density, Mary! Don't you see this whole family was premature, don't you see that it wasn't supposed to happen at all!" John exclaimed.
"Go and see your daughter, then. Go and tell her that she's just a mistake." Mary grumbled, throwing John's will onto the dining room table and disappearing into the kitchen to sulk for a moment. John was happy that she wasn't going to linger about, for John was going to have to tell his daughter goodbye. He knew that wasn't just going to be emotional, but it would also be very telling as well. And so he mounted the stairs, going first to his bedroom to retrieve the pistol that was under his dresser. It was a nasty thing, loaded with all eight rounds and ready to be fired at will. One of these rounds would go into his most beloved Sherlock...John closed his eyes for a moment before closing the cylinder and stuffing the weapon into his waistband. This was not a thought he wanted to struggle with for too long, for he knew it would be pointless to doubt himself. He had thought of every single possibility, and not one of them ended with life and happiness. The best case scenario involved John living at that house, yet with such a load of guilt hanging over his head that he might be crushed in the process. No, this was admittedly extreme, and yet it was the only way. John sighed heavily...this was the only way. John moved into Rosie's bedroom, finding the little girl was still in her crib. She was supposed to be napping, yet her eyes were open and upon the sight of her father she began to wave her little arms, as if she had missed him for a long while. She was so small still, fit in her striped little onesie with those wild baby hairs beginning to grow on top of her head. The sight of her warmed his heart, yet also brought about an intangible amount of sadness. John smiled at her, reaching down and taking her into his arms. She was getting heavier, that was for sure, and a lot more squirmy.
"You be good, yes darling?" John muttered, bouncing the baby up and down so as to get her giggling. "You be good for your mother, as you grow older. Don't give her too much of a hard time, do your chores, and stay away from guys in leather jackets. Go for the more sophisticated ones, ya? The ones in sweater vests." Rosie didn't respond, of course, and yet John felt as though it was his duty to supply the girl with the knowledge necessary, the knowledge she'd use going down the road. "Your mother will be good to you, I know she will. And know..." he hesitated, "Know that I love you so much. Know that I'm doing all of this for you, I'm doing all of this because it's just too hard to leave you behind." Rosie mumbled a couple of sounds, and for a moment John just held her close, feeling his eyes begin to well up with emotion. He didn't want this to be the last time he saw his daughter, but at the same time he knew that it must. He had to live on; he had to complete his destiny no matter how many people he left behind.