Let The Shadows Win

Where The Bad Children Go

John POV: The house was silent, as he had expected it to be, when John walked inside. He set his keys on the peg where he always did, and came in through the garage. Well of course the first thing he noticed was a great big blue tarp poking out from the hallway, and that was the first thing he deemed necessary to investigate. All else seemed normal, for usually by this time Rosie and Sherlock got bored of each other, and parted ways to do their own thing.
"What on...what happened to the bloody wall?!" John exclaimed, coming around the corner to see what he knew to be Victor Trevor's face, painted in a great mural next to the kitchen. It was something of an insult to him, for his painting had been hidden on the ceiling while Victor's had been displayed in the middle of the hallway for everyone to see at all hours of the day. And besides, Victor's looked a lot more...well emotional. A lot more beautiful. But john thought Sherlock had let that boy go; he thought that finally his heart had been closed off to anyone else who wasn't John! How dare he paint this atrocity of a boy after had had pledged his heart and soul to John!
"Sherlock!" John yelled, calling out through the house to see where that man might be hiding. "Sherlock what did you do to the wall?" There was no response, and even after John investigated the kitchen and living room there still was no sign of his family. They must be upstairs then, probably asleep considering that Sherlock claimed to not have slept a wink last night. Well, then maybe he just ought to be quiet and mind his own business. That or he could just head off to the hardware store and buy some nice white paint, the shade that would cover up this atrocity. John glared at the painting as if it had personally offended him, which in a way of course it had. Yet he knew that it must serve a purpose, for with closer examination the blue eyes were staring directly and powerfully at the basement door. Almost as if they were challenging whatever wanted to come up. John sighed heavily, and was just about to turn towards the couch when he noticed that he wasn't alone.
"You like it then?" Sherlock asked, descending from the landing of the staircase with a proud smile upon his face. John looked over at him in an exasperated way, for not only did he dislike the painting, but he very much disliked Sherlock's desire to constantly make a dramatic entrance.
"It's um, well it's alright." John managed. Sherlock nodded, tapping his walking stick upon the ground as he hobbled, a smile on his face that really was quite unusual to him.
"I thought it was necessary, to keep that basement door safe. To keep it locked in another way, from the darkness." Sherlock admitted. John blinked, noticing only now that Sherlock looked quite different. For a moment he couldn't tell what it was, for his hair was just the same and his posture hadn't changed, and then he realized with something of a start that it was the clothes that looked so foreign. Sherlock wasn't wearing his usual black slacks and jacket, no today he was wearing what looked to be some sort of pinstriped suit, with a black vest and even a patterned tie to match! He was...well he looked dashing of course. Yet it was unnerving to see such a vibrant change in attire, especially when John didn't know where on earth he had acquired such a wardrobe from.
"You look awfully snazzy." John commented. Sherlock grinned, spinning on his heel so that he could show off every aspect of the outfit.
"Very snazzy, I do agree." Sherlock grinned.
"Who's clothes are they? I don't recognize them on you." John asked, stepping forward so as to reach out and feel the material, to see just how expensive this new suit was. He had expected it to be soft, for the clothes must have just been bought? Yet they were course and rough, as if they were old clothes, as if they hadn't been worn for a very long while. And so Sherlock hadn't gone shopping...
"They're mine of course." Sherlock assured.
"They're Mycroft's...aren't they?" John clarified, his expression dropping from confusion to concern as he realized finally what made him so uncomfortable about his fiancé's new wardrobe.
"You forget, John, that everything that was once my brother's is now mine." Sherlock reminded him, a smile creeping up onto his face once more, as if he was considerably proud of remembering such thing as inheritance.
"Yes but his clothes? Even for you, that's a little bit extreme. I thought you were scared of Mycroft recently?" John clarified with a bit of a nervous laugh, for there really was something unnerving about Sherlock's new appearance. Something that didn't quite fit him.
"Yes well, things change. I decided that the best way to control a brain is to take it over...and so that's what I'm doing. I'm taking control of my brain, I'm powering for myself now. Because really, only I know what's best." Sherlock said with a confident little grin, a grin that made John smile right back.
"Well that's the sort of empowerment I like to see!" John exclaimed proudly, to which Sherlock just laughed, nodding his head a little bit timidly. He began to look John over, examining him with that familiar hunger in his eyes, the sort that made John confused as to whether or not Sherlock was going to kill him or love him. Yet that answer was made obvious, of course, when Sherlock dropped his cane against the wall and took John surprisingly powerfully into his arms, wrapping him with strength he never seemed to possess until now. John laughed, falling into the wall and pulling Sherlock down with him, unsure of why he deserved such passion at this time of afternoon. For a moment Sherlock just breathed, staring at John as if he still had never processed that such a masterpiece of man was his own to cherish.
"You're beautiful, John Watson." Sherlock managed, his lips turning once more into that unfamiliar smile. "And you're mine." He added, kissing John now with a passion that really was uncanny. Yes of course John always appreciated such gestures, yet even now Sherlock kissed John as if he hadn't kissed someone in the whole of his existence! He kissed him almost as if he was trying to force every bit of passion out of both of their hearts, as if he was trying to absorb the love that he had never yet received. There was something very attractive about it, yet something terrifying and unknown all the same. Finally John had enough, for Sherlock was beginning to get very physical, and of course Rosie was still lurking about. Who knows where she got to at this time of day, and if she was possibly watching right now? And so John pulled away, he pushed Sherlock just a bit with his hands, as if to signal that enough was enough. And Sherlock, being the obedient man he was, halted just as soon as John insisted.
"Come on then Sherlock, save it for later, ya?" John insisted with a teasing little grin, pushing Sherlock away now with all of his might so that the man stumbled away, grabbing at his cane so as to steady himself and looking very pleased, if not very surprised, with his own actions.
"Yes of course I can save it for later, Mr. Watson." Sherlock agreed in an almost snakelike tone, nodding his head slowly before taking a step back and recomposing himself. John nodded, feeling very uneasy as he looked over Sherlock once more, still not able to get used to such clothes. They had such an aura of Mycroft to them, and maybe that was just it. Maybe John was sensing a sort of evilness in Sherlock simply because he was wearing those clothes; maybe the mere presence of such garments twisted his mind into thinking that a little displayed affection was suddenly something of a crime.
"Where'd Rosie get to?" John wondered, walking over towards the staircase and craning his neck so as to see into the hallway. Everything looked well and undisturbed, yet there was still something in the air that he could not get over, the sort of stillness that had been present when he first found his wife to be gone. Sherlock still lingered in the hallway, leaning up against the wall and smiling at John in a way that alluded to the fact that he knew something John didn't. He smiled in a sort of way that made John worry about what might be getting him so happy.
"Is she upstairs?" John asked a little bit nervously, for that smile on Sherlock's face was something he had never seen before, a sort of grin that had never stretched out on Sherlock's lips. He didn't recognize it, yet everything else about Sherlock seemed to be normal. It was obvious that Sherlock was still himself, yet with his brain in the condition it was, well who knew what sort of deliriums were in play here? John put his guard up just a little bit, however he knew that if Sherlock ever set out to kill him that he would be successful. There was definitely a sort of knowledge there, and Sherlock was a sneaky fellow when it came to going about his murderous agenda.
"Rosie was very rude to me today, John. She took my walking stick, and went running around the house telling me to leave." Sherlock said with a disapproving little tone, sighing as if such behavior had to be met with certain consequences. "She even pushed me down the stairs."
"She wouldn't..." John faltered, for honestly he didn't know what his daughter was capable of after she developed this newfound jealousy. Rosie was cunning, like her mother, and very stubborn like her father. She inherited the worst of their traits, and had developed into her own sort of unstoppable force. Surely John was in part responsible, yet he never would have taken in account that she might get violent. He would have to have a talk with her then, about how to better control anger and strong emotions.
"She was very disobedient." Sherlock muttered once more.
"Ya but, where is she? Upstairs?" John wondered again, for the restatement of Rosie's acting out really was doing him no good. In fact with every allusion to her misbehavior John got even more worried, for he never knew what sort of punishments Sherlock had up his sleeve for occasions like this. He's killed for a lot less before.
"No." Sherlock said simply. John nodded, for that really wasn't much of an answer.
"What have you done with her Sherlock?" John wondered, stepping closer now to the man in his own interrogative way. "Where have you put her?" Sherlock was quiet for a moment, he let John approach, his eyes flashing in an almost dangerous way as he straightened his tie proudly. He was acting odd, in a way that John did not recognize, and in a way that he found severely threatening.
"I put her where the bad children go, of course. I put here were all who do me wrong pay their consequences." Sherlock admitted in very quiet voice, a slight smile creeping up onto his face just as John began to process where that was. And in a rush of fear, protectiveness, and adrenaline, he shot off like a rocket down the hallway, throwing open the basement door to hear that freezer humming once more, humming to allude to the fact that it was on, and very cold inside.
"My God!" John exclaimed, turning on the light and racing down the stairs to the freezer door.
"DADDY!" Rosie was screaming, pounding on the door to the freezer without much avail. It was locked from the outside, as Sherlock liked to keep it when he had captives inside. The man himself stood at the top of the stairs, leaning heavily on his walking stick as he watched John pry open the freezer door, his freezing daughter tumbling out immediately into the warmth and falling in a shivering ball into his arms.
"Rosie are you alright? I'm so sorry, I didn't know..." John could only stumble on his words, for he held Rosie close and almost felt the need to burst into tears. Her skin was freezing, and where she had been crying was almost crystalized into icicles. John knew of the freezer's capability, he knew just how cold it can be when you never knew when you were going to escape. He himself had been locked inside, banging on the door and waiting for someone to let him out. Yet that night Sherlock had been his hero, and now...well now Sherlock might just be the villain.
"He locked me in there, Daddy he pulled me down the stairs by my hair." Rosie said with shivering, crackling teeth.
"Let's get you cleaned up, come on then Rosie. I'll run you a nice warm bath, and I'll talk to Mr. Sherlock. I can't have him doing this." John said sternly, looking back up to where Sherlock was still standing, looking astoundingly proud of himself. Rosie nodded, wrapping her cold arms around John's neck as he hoisted her up into his arms in a protective sort of way.
"Daddy do you still love him?" Rosie whispered into his ear, quiet enough so that Sherlock wouldn't hear as John started up the stairs.
"Yes of course." John assured, to which he felt his daughter sigh in regret, almost as if she had spent that time in the freezer hoping that would be the last straw. Yet the straws were now beginning to dwindle, that was for sure. John pushed past Sherlock in the doorway, he didn't want to look at him because he knew that he was still smiling, and without a word he took Rosie up to run her a nice hot bath with extra bubbles. When she was situated and thawing John made his way back downstairs, already thinking up what he could possibly say that would justify this anger. Sherlock may have been put on babysitting duty, but there was a certain line which you are not to cross when you were put in charge of someone else's child. Punishments should only go as far as time outs, under no circumstances was it okay to put a child in a walk in freezer! It didn't matter if she really did push him down the stairs, which of course was punishable enough and deserved a stern talking to; however Sherlock's actions were equally unjustified. And that of course was what he planned to talk to him about tonight. When John arrived downstairs that opera music was playing loudly, and he found Sherlock sitting in Mycroft's armchair. It was an interesting place for him to perch, especially when that chair had almost been off limits for the entire time they had been here. No one dared invade Mycroft's space, yet tonight Sherlock sat in it so casually as if it really was his chair to begin with. And to see him now, seeing him basking in the aftermath of his potentially murderous decisions, sitting in that chair in those clothes, well for a moment John saw no difference between the man he loved and the brother he feared. For a moment the two Holmes brothers were almost indistinguishable.
"Sherlock how could you have done that?" John growled, marching right up to where the man was sitting so casually in his chair. Sherlock looked up at John with an innocent, almost bored expression, rocking his beautiful head along his neck before smiling once more.
"Did I not mention she pushed me down the stairs? Would you like to see the welt?" he wondered.
"No I don't...Sherlock I don't care what she did! You don't punish a child by putting them in a freezer!" John exclaimed, shaking his head as if he honestly couldn't believe the ridiculous lengths Sherlock was willing to go.
"What would you have recommended? I guarantee now that she will not be causing me anymore trouble." Sherlock said with an almost proud smile, as if now deemed himself the master of parenting.
"Sherlock there are many other steps you can take to ensure that she doesn't cause trouble! You could have given her a time out, or taken away her dolls, or not given her any desert after dinner. You don't give her hypothermia!" John exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air in some great show of anger. Yet still, Sherlock almost seemed to be amused by how much John cared. As if he thought it humorous that he thought this was such a big deal.
"Well then John, if it matters that much to you, I am sorry." Sherlock managed.
"If it matters that much...Sherlock she's going to be your daughter to! You're supposed to be a parent, not some cruel babysitter! We're supposed to be married, and along with me comes her! And if you can't handle her properly then...." John just shook his head, unsure that he wanted to finish that sentence because of the startling reality of it all. Yes he loved Sherlock, he loved him with all his heart, but oh at what cost?
"John I'll do better, I promise you." Sherlock said finally, now rising from his chair so as to take John's still trembling hands. Yet his skin was cold, almost unpleasant to the touch, and for the first moment John was properly scared of the man in front of him. He had changed, John didn't know how or in what way, but there was something strangely sociopathic about the way he handled himself. That ring still shone on his finger, yet just now John was beginning to wonder just what he had gotten himself into by asking this man to stay by his side forever. Was he destined to be trapped in this house for the rest of his life with this newly developed animal? Or was he just being paranoid, was there nothing wrong was this a lone incident? Truly Sherlock couldn't have changed so drastically in a mere day?
"I believe you, of course Sherlock." John agreed, softer this time. "But please, treat her with kindness. I know she's a lot to handle..."
"Just like you?" Sherlock offered, yanking his hands away from John's only to wrap his arms now around John's neck, pulling him close so that he could stare into his eyes with that ever familiar loving gaze.
"Just like me. Frankly, it's my own fault she's so stubborn." John admitted with a little laugh.
"I'll be fine, John. I've learned my lesson, no freezer." Sherlock said teasingly.
"And please, nothing that would border on cruel and unusual punishment." John pleaded again, yet this time he was beginning to smile. His love for Sherlock, well it was overwhelming in a sense. It was strong enough to overshadow whatever hiccups they may have, like this one here; it was strong enough to put a joyful forgiveness on whatever mishaps may occur. For in the end they were family, and sometimes not all families got along. And so, to make sure Sherlock understood that such a mishap was in no sense deal breaking, he pressed a kiss to the man's timid lips. And then another, until finally the kiss was returned, and once more they fell into their own little hurricane of emotion, until they forgot once more that such a house was still too small to allow them to be getting up to such antics in the living room. It only took a couple of minutes for Rosie to find them, and in all honestly John was sure that Sherlock noticed her first. Apparently she didn't like her bath, and so she had dressed a bit quicker than had anticipated and come downstairs to see if Mr. Sherlock would be kicked out or not. And that would be why Sherlock didn't mention anything if he had seen her over John's shoulder, yet at one point he pulled away and smiled a bit tauntingly, an occurrence John thought to be irrelevant as the kissing intensified after that. John was only alerted of his daughter's presence when he heard heavy footsteps racing back up the stairs, followed of course by distant wailing coupled with the slamming of her bedroom door. John pulled away in some nervousness; however Sherlock pulled him back with urgency.
"Well, now that we're alone..." Sherlock breathed, pulling John towards the couch and draping himself over it as he so often did. Yet John hesitated, still he had Sherlock's hand in his own, yet he knew that he should probably be checking in on his daughter at this point. He knew that he had some explaining to do, as well as some punishing to do, yet all the while Sherlock was anxiously unbuttoning his shirt. And so John had to pick between being a father or being a lover, and the temptation on one side was overwhelmingly more powerful. Eventfully the pull of Sherlock's arm yanked him down, and once he stumbled into Sherlock's pale bare chest he knew that there was no getting up any longer. And so he stayed, of course he stayed, sprawled out on the couch as Sherlock was already beginning to yank his tee shirt off over his head, muttering little things about his luck and about how beautiful his companion was. His little mutters made it even more impossible to leave, and so without hesitation John pressed his lips to Sherlock's, ignoring what must be the cries of his daughter in the distance, for this evening he made his choice between them. There was no question, was there? Rosie was the spawn of Mary Morstan, and Sherlock marked a time before any of that fiasco, before any of John's more permanent mistakes. The love that Sherlock offered was much more tempting than the responsibilities John had accidently trapped himself into, and oh was it ever so easy to just melt back into that man's skin again, and forget about the mistakes they had both made throughout the hours and throughout the years.