The Madness Was A Man

Dead And Confused

Sherlock froze for a moment, before at last looking towards Irene to see the same look of confusion on her face that he undoubtedly wore.
"Well that can't be, this is nearly eighty years ago, and none of the staff seem over forty." Sherlock pointed out.
"Of course there must be something wrong, maybe they just filled in names in this page as a mistake." John offered, though he had chosen to ignore that the same sort of handwriting had scrawled the date in the upper right corner. The ink was the same, the apparent age was the same...these names had to be as old as eighty years, yet they reflected onto the serving staff that currently waited about the house. It was impossible!
"Each and every one of these...well almost every one. I know Clara, and Rosanna, and Alice! All three are the maids which tend to the house, the fires, the beds. Arthur is in the kitchen, here's Sam from the kitchen as well! And our head butler Thomas, well perhaps he's old enough to coorespond to this date but surely he would have had to be a toddler!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, shaking her head in confusion while she looked up at Sherlock for some sort of answer.
"I don't know the staff very well at all." he admitted finally. "They could be ghosts for all I know...but if they are they certainly do good work."
"They're not ghosts, there's no such thing." John interrupted, though Irene and Sherlock both donned a rather unfriendly frown. John sighed, looking out through the window as if to get a glance at the house where it stood beyond the yard. Could it really be operating under the control of the dead?
"This is impossible, there's a mistake. Or maybe even a practical joke! To suggest all of these people still work here means that they are all either dead or immortal, and both of those are quite unlikely." Mrs. Hudson pointed out.
"Unlikely or not, what are our other options? I mean seriously, no one would play so stupid of a practical joke, memorizing the names in a book that hadn't been opened for a hundred years?" Irene exclaimed, shaking her head in doubt while perusing her lips with some sort of new theory. "No, no there's something else going on here."
"Are there any names there you don't recognize?" Sherlock wondered, thinking back to his dead butler and wondering if he might be on the list. Yet surely if the serving staff was some sort of undead army this butler wasn't a part of it, he didn't do his job any longer. Perhaps he was trapped in the past as well, yet his past was different from theirs. While they were dedicated to service he was instead obsessed with love, and was therefore forced to relive his own affairs again and again. Or maybe he was the only one of the bunch with a free mind, and therefore was unwilling to wait on the generations spawned from his probable murderer.
"Yes, well some names aren't quite familiar. This boy Victor Trevor doesn't ring a bell, nor does Mrs. Anne Sawyer. Then again they may have been fired before the casualties occurred." Mrs. Hudson suggested.
"So you do think it was a tragedy?" Sherlock clarified excitedly, causing Mrs. Hudson to hold her tongue rather shamefully.
"I merely suggested at the fact, my mind is not settled on any option just yet." Mrs. Hudson insisted, though she looked at the registry once more with a very troubled look.
"Ghosts only come back so brainless if their death was sudden." Irene announced. "And if they're all in such a state, well they had to have died together."
"But my grandfather only killed one!" Sherlock defended.
"And who told you that, hm? Your Aunt?" Irene insisted. Sherlock frowned, not willing to admit just yet that Irene had a point. Well of course Agatha wasn't going to tell him the whole truth, in an attempt to make her father sound a little bit more sane.
"There are stories, I've heard many versions. Some say he killed the whole house, even the children." John admitted quietly, sinking down now into one of the kitchen chairs and cradling his head within his palm, looking so perplexed that he may very well have a migraine.
"Well that's not true, my father was alive and well." Sherlock pointed out, to which John merely shrugged.
"So what's our theory here? An army of the undead servants?" Irene presumed, though with all seriousness. As if the words coming out of her mouth did not sound nearly as idiotic in her head.
"I'm not sure that sounds very believable at all." Mrs. Hudson muttered.
"Give me another theory then, and we'll work off of that as well." Irene offered, turning her fierce black eyes on the poor old woman, staring so intensely that Sherlock was nearly tempted to tell her to back off. Mrs. Hudson offered nothing, she merely huddled into her own crossed arms and looked very timid, as if Irene was a force that she was not prepared to handle today.
"Well perhaps...perhaps we could interview them?" Sherlock offered. "I mean the servants are all still here, I'm sure they'll know something."
"I suppose we could try that." Irene agreed, nodding her head stoically. "You could question them on official matters, saying it's for your Aunt's..."
"No, no I can't be the one. The maids are terrified of me; they won't even look me straight in the eyes." Sherlock admitted, remembering back to when that poor woman had called him a demon straight to his face, as if he had ever done something wrong her.
"Have you done anything against them?" Mrs. Hudson wondered, now looking very interested as it was her own staff's behavior which was in question.
"Not that I know of." Sherlock assured, though he was about as perplexed about the whole ordeal as anyone else might be. The room thought for a moment, before at last John looked up in some excitement. He looked as though he had just been slapped in the face by the God of knowledge, and had just put two and two together rather painfully.
"Sherlock, didn't you mention that you look just like your grandfather?" John suggested. "Well maybe they're afraid of you because you killed them...or at least you look a little too much like the man who did." Sherlock's face broke into a smile, oh it wasn't because that was good news, no it was just because it was exactly the sort of input he was expecting from such a clever boy. John had never been more attractive than in that moment, when he spewed out the very information that might prove once and for all that Sherlock's theories were not insane at all. No in fact, they were beginning to be probable.
"John you're brilliant. Positively brilliant." Sherlock breathed. "They all must think I'm my grandfather, the maids are afraid, the butlers are passive aggressive...and the one butler..."
"The one who kissed you." Irene clarified.
"Who what?" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, having not heard that side of the story just yet.
"He's just as confused. There was a love affair, there had to have been." Sherlock announced, slamming his fist on the table in his own confirmation.
"Well what are we supposed to do about that?" John exclaimed. "If there was or wasn't...well how do we stop you from going crazy?"
"We keep going! If this man was the one who drove my grandfather insane, and my father, and me...well we have to find out who he is!" Sherlock insisted excitedly.
"And then what, we kill a ghost?" Irene suggested with a little bit less enthusiasm. Sherlock sighed, thinking for a moment about what came after his new bout of research.
"We'll look into that as well." He offered with a shrug.
"A trip to the library then?" Irene suggested.
"I'll drive!" John volunteered immediately.
"I'll stay. You young kids are talking crazy." Mrs. Hudson admitted, shaking her head as if she just couldn't follow any longer.
"Can we keep the registry?" Sherlock asked. Mrs. Hudson looked at it rather mournfully, as if worried the moment she handed it over to him it would suddenly become destroyed. Yet there seemed to be no polite way to deny the heir what he wanted, and so reluctantly she nodded.
"Be careful with it, will you? That holds the whole of this house's history. And it's secrets, apparently." She muttered, though as Sherlock picked it up he handled the old book with the utmost delicacy.
"Of course I'll be careful with it. It's my roots as well as yours." He assured, to which Mrs. Hudson smiled sweetly.
"Go along on your scavenger hunt then, and be sure to tell me if I really am in the command of the dead. That would be...well it would be quite amazing actually." She admitted with a little grin. John chuckled, getting to his feet and starting the small parade out the front door. They made their way to the stables now, to fetch one of the carts which might be able to take them into town. Yet just as they were crossing the lawns Sherlock heard a rather foul screech coming from the house, and all three of their small party jumped so high in the air they may just have taken flight. It was a terrifying sound, come straight from the mouth of the most terrifying woman on the property, dead or alive.
"Sherlock Holmes, what on earth are you doing?" Agatha shrieked, marching up the lawns while her multiple skirts bustled out from underneath. Sherlock shuttered, holding the book rather defensively to his chest as if to ensure the woman didn't steal it from his grasp.
"I'm going to town!" Sherlock defended.
"Certainly not in the company of...of this man?" Agatha insisted, jabbing her knobby finger at where John stood with his arms crossed.
"Well yes, he does drive the carriages." Sherlock defended, not necessarily looking forward to a squabble with his old aunt. He had to wonder just what her story was, if she knew anything at all about her serving staff, or if she was even dead herself.
"I don't approve, Sherlock. Not when Ms. Adler is here." she insisted.
"Oh I am quite excited to go to town!" Irene assured, regaining her lady like posture and her high pitched voice. "Sherlock's told me all about the history behind it, well it's fascinating!"
"History? There is no history there." Agatha growled, which was quite akin to what John had admitted to when they first went to town. The only history in this whole county was under their feet, inside of this book, and pumping within Sherlock's unfortunate blood.
"Political history." Sherlock corrected. "And Irene certainly loves everything about...Parliament."
"Yes! I do just love politics." Irene managed, though it sounded as though she had to spit those words out, words which may have never been spoken before. Agatha thought for a moment, though all the while she pondered what she might allow her eyes were looking very narrow and suspicious, as if she was too cunning to fall for whatever prank they were attempting to pull.
"Perhaps another day, Ms. Adler. It is getting too late for any excursions, and I promised your parents to have you back by five o'clock."
"But Mrs. Holmes, it's not yet three thirty!" Irene protested.
"Yes, but by the time you get to town it'll be four, and by the time you get back four thirty! There simply is no time!" Agatha defended, to which Irene looked a bit pouty. Sherlock admitted that Agatha's argument was fair, yet he still found it rather inopportune that she should have a time restraint. Then again, Agatha didn't know that the three of them were now embarked on a mission. She thought that Irene was merely here to fraternize. The girl thought for a moment, before finally taking Sherlock's arm (rather forcefully between the book and his ribs) and gave a brilliant smile to the hostess.
"Well then, I'm sure the house has enough history to bide my time. Do you have any good stories to share with me, Mrs. Holmes?" she asked hopefully, to which all three young pairs of ears were perked anxiously. Agatha looked quite afraid, as though she never intended to be approached so abruptly. Yet she stuck to her usual pattern, the one of avoiding all questions she'd rather not answer.
"I don't like to spread gossip." She muttered finally, and with that she turned on her heel quite difficulty in the grass, marching part of the way back towards the front porch before she looked back and made her last proclamation. "And I don't want that stable boy anywhere near the house!"
"John? Oh well certainly he shall come! He's the one who knows all about it!" Irene protested immediately. Sherlock sighed rather thankfully; though he stood stagnant and let his supposed suitor do all of the arguing. The relief came when she stood up for poor John, who was standing rather lamely a couple of steps off of the 'couple'. Agatha scowled, though did not say anything more. She marched off to mind her own business, and the three of them waited until she had gone off before they recollected to make use of their last couple of hours together. "Well what are we supposed to do now?" John wondered, crossing his arms rather defensively as he looked back to Agatha's retreating back. 

"Who does she think she is, that witch?" Irene grumbled, shaking her head before yanking her arm out of Sherlock's grasp.
"Perhaps she's dead as well." Sherlock offered, to which they collectively shrugged. It seemed much more likely that Agatha was some sort of ghost than all of those easy going (mostly) maids and butlers.
"Let's check the attic then, that's where most people hide the things they don't want to think about any longer." Irene offered.
"There's a bed up there." Sherlock said immediately, to which they both stared at him, seeming a bit taken aback. "Well maybe it was my grandfather's!" Sherlock defended after a moment of humiliation.
"Perhaps." Irene agreed finally. "Either way, there must be some other parts of history they wouldn't want to part with, no matter how embarrassing."
"Love notes." Sherlock offered.
"Maybe even some documentation on the servants, and what happened to all of them." John agreed.
"The attic it is, then." Irene agreed, starting off towards the house while both Sherlock and John lingered behind a bit worriedly. Irene turned just as soon as she realized she was not being followed, that scowl on her face matching only Agatha's when she found herself disappointed.
"Oh what are you two waiting for?" she demanded, her face looking very sour indeed.
"Agatha said I'm not allowed near the house." John pointed out a bit nervously, while Sherlock nodded his head in quiet agreement. He didn't want to see John fired, even in the name of exploration.
"I'm a guest of the house, and whatever I say should be gospel if she's anything of a decent hostess. You'll be our tour guide; it's not too far from the truth." Irene insisted. Sherlock hesitated, looking at John and remembering again the punishment which was supposed to be in store for them if ever they stepped out of line. Then again, the punishment which would be inflicted for discovering the truth about this old house would be much worse than mere job loss. Something told Sherlock that if Agatha got wind of what they were searching for there would be more repercussions, more serious consequences. She seemed to be a woman who liked to keep the past buried, no matter what problems its reveal could solve in the end.
"Well alright." John agreed finally, deciding that he was a bit more afraid than Irene than he was the lady of the house. Sherlock rather disagreed, yet he felt he had no choice now but to follow his friends into the house, the house which held more secrets than its foundations could ever support. He was the only one who knew the way to the attic, and so he led the way through the startlingly empty hallways. Usually there was at least someone stirring, tending to the fireplaces or making the beds on one of the many floors. Yet today nothing stirred, no one moved, and each and every floorboard was quiet. It was almost unnerving, making Sherlock wonder if the servants were beginning to get nervous. It perhaps they had realized they were being discovered, and wanted to avoid direct confrontation for as long as they possibly could. Sherlock opened the door to the attic and walked very swiftly up the dark stairs, illuminated only by the gaps in the vents before he could at last reach the light switch. The single bulb flickered on, and all three of them filed into the attic and closed the door behind them, so as to ensure their conversations would not drift farther into the rest of the house. It was still a very eerie place, though Sherlock had to admit that he was a lot less intimidated by the shadows when he was in the company of others. Irene's strong personality was enough to keep even the dead at bay, and Sherlock liked to have john's comforting arms to run in to when needed. All in all, the two made an excellent support team, even up against things they could never touch or defend themselves against.