The Madness Was A Man

Now The Spirits Come To Play

"Sherlock, I must declare that you have lost your mind." Agatha whispered, letting loose a very maddened sounding chuckle, one which made her sound much more crazy than she claimed Sherlock was.
"I haven't lost my mind, I've regained it!" Sherlock exclaimed. "You've been lying this whole time, keeping the truth from us while setting us up like pigs on display!"
"You must get rest, you must mend that mind of yours before you let it get out of hand!" she exclaimed.
"Agatha, he's perfectly well." Mycroft insisted, though he didn't sound entirely sure. He sounded, well, reluctant. As if suddenly he was remembering all of the strange things Sherlock had done and said over the last couple of months, all of these behavior changes and mood swings. As if he was realizing now that the house had changed his brother much more than he had at first realized.
"In bed, Sherlock. Get to bed!" Agatha insisted, turning to the closet and taking up the bedsheet rope in her ancient hands.
"I'm not going to bed, I'm healthy! I'm not crazy...YOU ARE!" Sherlock screamed, though just as soon as his voice raised an octave Mycroft took him by the shoulders, staring him into the eyes with some unprecedented urgency.
"Sherlock, maybe you ought to do as you're told." He recommended softly, brushing the curls from his brother's face and trying to help him up to his feet.
"Oh don't be such a kiss up Mycroft. I'm not insane." Sherlock growled, slapping his hand through the air yet finding it deflected just as quickly. He tried to fight back, yet he found himself ultimately powerless.
"But sleep would do you well." Mycroft insisted anxiously, patting Sherlock's hair once more, as if that was supposed to calm him down or something. As if that would lower his defenses enough that he might cooperate with his Aunt's devilish plans. Even now she was unknotting the rope, though keeping the sheets twisted as if with the intentions of reusing them for her own purposes.
"Get into the bed, Sherlock, and we'll make sure you get proper sleep." She whispered, her voice now just a mere breath through her disheveled makeup.
"She's going to kill me." Sherlock exclaimed, now scooting as fast as he could away from his brother, who seemed now under some sort of spell. He seemed to have the intention of helping that devilish woman, instead of helping his brother escape! Could he not see that she was plotting something, could he not see that she was going to kill him? Yet just as Sherlock tried to escape Mycroft grabbed onto one of his legs, pulling him as furiously as he could towards the bed. That man was a lot stronger than Sherlock gave him credit for, for even as hard as Sherlock kicked and fought he kept pulling, until at last Sherlock was dangling off of the bed, with his limbs just perfectly exposed for the first of the knots to be tied. His arm was tied off first, to the bedpost nearest to the door, so that he was to lie backwards. All he could do was protest; all he could do was screech. Yet Mycroft had joined in the fight, he was holding Sherlock down with all of his immense weight while Agatha pulled the first knot so tightly against Sherlock's wrist that it dug painfully into his skin.
"NOOO, MYCROFT GET OFF OF ME!" Sherlock screamed, kicking and gnashing his teeth, though they managed to restrain one of his legs as well, so that all he could do was whip around with one half of his body while the other remained perfectly immobile.
"You've fallen under the same spell as your grandfather, you've spoken that name and surely he's coming for you. Surely he's already been here." Agatha whispered, pulling Sherlock's arm and tying it off on the other side, so that his limbs were stretched around him in an X shape, stretching him hopelessly thin and exposed. This was just what they were waiting for, was it not? This was what the spirits wanted with him, complete helplessness, completely at the mercy of whichever paranormal visitor wanted the first piece.
"You're afraid of what I'll become, aren't you?" Sherlock growled, thrashing against his bonds but finding them quite secure.
"I'm afraid of what you've already become. I'm afraid of how many footsteps you had taken along the path of your ancestor." Agatha whispered back, stepping back to admire her handiwork. Mycroft stood beside her, his eyes glassed over as he stared upon his helpless brother, now screaming and fighting against the thick ropes with all the strength he could muster. Yet it was a hopeless battle, and even now he could hear that laughter coming from the corner of the room. He was defenseless, now it was time that the spirits came to play.