"Mary! I didn't expect to see you here!" John exclaimed, finding that it was rather easy to smile at his wife. Finding it was extremely easy to be relieved, even if she had interrupted him in a rather awkward moment. He gave her a big hug and a quick kiss, leaning over to pat Rosie on the head. The little girl managed a little smile, waving her arms as if she knew enough to be glad to see his face again.
"That's new." Victor muttered quietly, for obviously he was surprised to see John had any sort of life outside of the two of them.
"Well how could I resist welcoming you home? It's been awfully lonely." Mary admitted with a smile, taking John's hand before looking over to where Sherlock and Victor stood. "Sherlock, good to see you again. How was the conference?"
"It was wonderful! Yes I um...I learned a lot of new things." Sherlock said with some hesitation, nodding his head in enthusiasm. Mary didn't seem to find anything odd about his response, thankfully, and proceeded to look upon Victor with some enthusiasm.
"I'm sorry, I don't recognize you." She admitted.
"Ah, Professor Trevor, I apologize. I'm here to teach at the university, they needed a new art teacher." Victor said without missing a beat, extending his hand towards Mary to shake. She shook it rather excitedly, as if she too was able to notice just how beautiful Victor was. Oh not her too?
"An art teacher, all the way from Paris! I didn't know we had the budget for such things. Is that a piece of your art under your arm?" Mary asked, just now noticing the canvas that Victor was thankfully able to cover up with his arm.
"Ah, it shall be unveiled early next year, madame. It's not yet finished." Victor said quickly. John took a breath of relief, maybe something that was a little bit too obvious, for it caught his wife's attention and she turned her eyes back on him.
"And how was the conference for you, dear?" she asked.
"Oh it was boring; I really don't find all that stuff nearly as fascinating as Sherlock does." John admitted with a groan. "I'm just happy to be back on English soil."
"I couldn't agree more." Sherlock said with a nod. "John are you coming back to...to the hotel with us? Or will you be going with your wife back home?" John hesitated for a moment, knowing of course what would happen if he left Sherlock and Victor alone. And yet it was destined to happen, was it not? Sooner or later he would have to accept that Sherlock couldn't keep himself innocent for much longer, sooner or later he would have to accept that Victor would be the one. And so he would have to get it over with, like ripping a bandage from his skin, John would just have to let go.
"I think I'll head off with Mary, but Sherlock, do you mind if I have a quick word?" John wondered. Sherlock's ears perked up in interest, but he nodded quickly, looking over to Victor almost in some apology. Almost as if he hated to be separated by a couple more feet.
"Ya, alright." Sherlock agreed. John nodded, grabbing the boy by his shoulder and steering him off behind one of the baggage claims, which was large enough to shield them from the view of their partners. Hopefully Victor was carrying on conversation, so that their absence would not be missed. Sherlock looked a bit uncomfortable, yet John kept his hand on his shoulder, almost like a coach giving a pep talk.
"You're going to sleep with him?" John presumed, staring Sherlock straight into the eyes but putting his own desires aside. He told himself that it was over, this thing that had never begun. Sherlock turned a bright shade of scarlet, wiggling uncomfortably before shrugging an excessive amount of times.
"I don't know...I wasn't entirely planning on it. Not so soon I mean...I mean it's too soon?" Sherlock whispered.
"I don't think he understands time like that." John muttered. "He's a playboy, I'm sure as soon as I let you two alone he'll make his move."
"Is that...I mean you're okay with that? It won't kill me will it, he's not got any diseases or...well you're sure there's no way I can get pregnant? Will it hurt, I mean, does it...when he..."
"Stop alright, stop right there." John interrupted, holding up his hand in protest. "If you don't want to, tell him that. I'm sure he'll be alright with it. But if you do want to, well then do it. Don't worry about me..."
"Why would I worry about you?" Sherlock whispered anxiously. John frowned at him, yet refused to break this eye contact they had. It was rather refreshing to look into his eyes.
"Oh well that doesn't matter, I can just say that..."
"John you know that it could never have worked out between us." Sherlock interrupted in the smallest of whispers.
"Yes I know, and that's why I'm letting you go. Just don't do anything too quickly, don't fall for his charm without first thinking about what you want. I'm not entirely experienced in that field, but I'm sure you'll be fine. Just don't forget about me entirely, okay?" John insisted.
"I could never forget about you, John. Never." Sherlock assured, interrupting John as he opened his mouth to say a formal goodbye with a rather aggressive hug. It was a bit awkward, considering the height difference, for John was strained with holding up almost the entirety of Sherlock's body weight. Yet he hugged him back all the same, he wrapped his arms around that boy's neck and buried his face into his shoulder, trying to forget about the people who waited for them by the doors. For that brief moment he might have forgotten all of his hesitations, and all of the jealousy that was bubbling inside of him. He smelled that familiar cologne, he felt that familiar heartbeat, felt those curls upon his cheek. The heat of Sherlock Holmes was almost something he had gotten used to, now when he might never feel it again. And yet for that split second with his arms around Sherlock's neck, well perhaps it was a moment too short. For as soon as they fell apart John felt that crushing weight all over again, as if he was being torn away from the love of his life a second time, this time more painful than the last. And with a smile, without a word, Sherlock turned and started his way back over to where their obligations were waiting, John following behind rather slowly. He wasn't so eager to return to the world that was waiting for him at the door. 

 John fell asleep with his wife on his chest, listening to the soft whistling of her breathing as he lay away and stared into the darkness. He wondered who else might be awake at this hour, for a completely different reason. Instead of mourning love they were making it, somewhere off in that house that preyed on such passion. They were off living their destinies, while John was stuck with his own interruption, this road block that he had constructed himself and was forced to obey. Yet what else could he do, he couldn't return to the life he was supposed to lead, especially now when there was no purpose in it at all! Why should he want to go back to the house, now that there was nothing waiting for him there except heartbreak! He felt as though it was all over now, this puzzle solving, this destiny. Perhaps if he was brought back to change his fate then this was the perfect moment to step aside, this was the perfect moment to stay away from that bathtub, and to keep those marks on his wrists closed. He had so much to live for, and he knew that going back there might result in something far worse than death. He had a family to support, a wife to love, and a child to watch as she grew. He had no time for love stories that were interrupted midway, and artists who used their beauty to surpass the laws of destiny. No, this was where he was meant to be. This was where he wanted to settle down, to forget that he was special, and to forget those who had traveled through the centuries with him. And yet to let go, to let these emotions fade away from his chest, these feelings which would not leave him however hard he tried...anger and jealousy, love and guilt, responsibility and morality, well certainly he could not keep them inside of himself. Certainly he could not let his wife sleep upon his chest, the one that was torn apart with all of these emotions now; he could not settle himself back into this family knowing that he was some sort of monster. Never having acted upon the feelings, yet never having let them go. What could've been was still eating him up inside, because he knew if things had been different that he would have been prepared to leave this woman behind. This woman who loved him, and deserved the same respect in return. And that respect might just have to take the form of honesty. 

"Mary?" John whispered, prodding his wife ever so softly. She repositioned herself in some protest, as if she didn't want to be bothered with his little pestering.
"Mary, wake up." John insisted. Finally she began to stir, her eyes opening groggily as she looked up at her husband with tired, inconvenienced eyes.
"What is it?" she grumbled. John sighed heavily, shaking his head and taking her hand a bit apprehensively. And yet he knew that this was the right decision, he knew that this was what he was supposed to do.
"Mary, I love you so much, that's why I feel I have to tell you this." John whispered. Mary's eyes lost all signs of grogginess, becoming alert like a hawk's as soon as her suspicion was aroused.
"What is it?" she asked apprehensively, squeezing onto his hand a bit more ferociously, as if she was very discreetly begging him to keep his mouth closed.
"I almost had an affair...or rather I was prepared to." John admitted quietly. Mary blinked, repositioning herself so that she could stare her husband in the eyes. There was a sort of fire in her eyes, yet one that was not nearly as strong as it might've been if he had not admitted to it himself. There was also a spark of understanding, and of appreciation.
"What are you talking about?" she growled, now clutching his hand so hard that John was beginning to loose circulation in his fingers. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling tears form the longer he had to stare into her eyes, the eyes he had almost betrayed.
"I didn't, I only kissed him once in a moment of weakness but it wasn't...it never went anywhere. But it's internalized; believe me when I say we were destined to be nothing at all." John whispered in agony.
"Sherlock?" Mary hissed, yet she didn't sound as surprised as she ought to be. She sounded more disgraced than anything, as if she couldn't believe her husband was willing to give her up for another man.
"What I'm about to tell you...it's going to sound crazy." John grumbled.
"You already sound raving mad, so you might as well back yourself up." Mary warned, sitting up against the headboard and switching on the light beside the bed. John was just relieved she wasn't throwing things, or screaming...in fact she was a lot more calm than she ought to be. John appreciated that, and he told himself that he was doing the right thing. He told himself that this was the only thing he could do.
"Sherlock and I, and Victor Trevor too...we're in the wrong century." John began. "We're reincarnated, for whatever reason, and we're tied to the house I inherited."
"Are you sleep talking?" Mary asked quietly, her motherly concern kicking in just as soon as John began to discuss the supernatural as if it was a real thing.
"No, no I'm awake. But there are too many coincidences, Mary. We found death certificates with our names on them, we found a photograph with Sherlock's exact face, my name on the deed...and I've been seeing ghosts, and flashbacks, and horrible nightmares with Victor's face in them. The three of us, we've lived before inside of that house. The house has powers; it talks to us, shows us things, and keeps us coming back." John whispered anxiously. Mary stared for a moment, blinking as if she wasn't yet convinced. Well of course when it was spelled out like that, all of their evidence in just one sentence, well it sounded a bit crazy. And yet it was real...it had to be real. John just didn't know how else he might be able to prove it, without unearthing the documents in question.
"You're trying to tell me you're reincarnated?" Mary whispered.
"I'm trying to say I'm stuck in a loop, Mary. I'm getting pulled back in, and they're stuck along with me, and we don't know how to break this spell, and we don't know what we're doing wrong to suffer this torment. All I know is I'm doomed to live through the same things again, and in that past life, all the way back then..."
"You loved Sherlock." Mary presumed in the smallest of voices.
"I did, I do...I mean I'm cursed to! I don't know how else to describe it, I want to be faithful to you, you're my wife you're the love of my life it's just all of these centuries had passed and still my heart is pulling in his direction. But he's not meant for me; all those years ago he married Victor. And it seems as though he's destined to again." John growled.
"You can't expect me to believe all of this?" Mary whispered, her face growing quite pale as she reconsidered her husband's mental state.
"Well of course I can't. I haven't got any proof; I can't show you what's been going on inside of my head ever since that deed got mailed to me." John groaned. "Just know that I love you and...and I'm trying to fight off destiny to the best of my abilities."
"I don't know if you're a lunatic or if you're sweet. This is a lot to process..." Mary admitted quietly. "But in the end I think your message is clear." She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss, something of admiration, and of appreciation.
"I hope it's not real. You don't know how happy I'd be if this all turned out to be delirium." John whispered.
"Just stay true to yourself, John. Do what you know to be right, and don't keep any secrets from me any longer. Don't make up these absurd stories, thinking you're meant to be some sort of hero. Remember we're just the same, you and I, we're a team. Even if you're right, and you're some sort of time traveler." Mary reminded him.
"Reincarnated." John corrected.
"Oh what does it matter?" Mary muttered, switching off the lamp and falling back into John's chest. That was her last word of the night, which came as some surprise considering John expected something a lot worse. Perhaps her emotions would take the proper form in the morning, when she was properly awake. Or maybe she hadn't taken any of that seriously at all, and she didn't process his words as anything more than some sleep deprived ramblings. Either way John felt substantially better, he felt lighter, and by telling Mary and by her understanding, well he felt more indebted to her than ever. He felt more attached, more dedicated, as if he really couldn't go back on her now. Yet there was something along with that pressure, something that made him feel substantially better. He felt rooted into this timeline even more, he felt conniving enough to have avoided his own destiny by speaking about it with someone who thought him mad. For maybe he was going mad, just a little bit. And maybe this was just what he needed, some domestic life, some peace for once in his raving existence. To lie back with a woman who loved him, and try to forget the one he loved for just a moment. The one he loved, and the man who loved him. 

John woke before Mary, and yet she had rolled back over to her side of the bed and it wasn't too difficult for him to get to his feet without disturbing her. He walked down the hall to check on Rosie, who still had another hour until she had to wake, and looked in to see her snuggled up in her crib, safe and sound. He smiled lightly at her, and continued on down to the kitchen to get some breakfast. John sighed heavily, wondering just what Sherlock was up to, where he was and who he was with. Was he sleeping in Victor's bed, held in the warmth of that man's muscular arms? Or perhaps they were back at it, in this early morning light, kissing slowly and appreciating each other's solitary company inside the house where it all began. Or maybe Sherlock was alone, lying in his own bed yet wishing he was someplace else. Maybe he was pulling his blankets up to his chin, with his eyes open wide and staring at the ceiling, wondering if today might be the day he made it official with Victor. For of course it was only Victor that was on his mind these days, John was just an old memory, a useless fancy from way back then. He would never have the pleasure of preying on Sherlock's mind, not again at least. And so John sat by himself in this house, this place he had made his own, and ate what little granola he could manage with such a twisting stomach. Something felt wrong, yet he couldn't quite place it. He knew that he had time to get to work; he was up at his usual hour, and yet it was unusually quiet. It was six o'clock, yet there were no cars outside. There were no birds singing in his window, nor any news station broadcasting on the TV. His wife didn't stir; his daughter didn't cry...John looked about the house suspiciously, crunching on a cluster of granola as he noticed motion in the corner of his eye. Just the slightest fleeting movement, ducking away from his peripheral vision with the obvious intention of his coming to investigate. He thought for a moment, wondering just what might be tormenting him this morning, if not his own family. Was it smart to go look, or would it be better just to sit here, and finish his cereal? Obviously this was a conjuring from the house, something which was sent to bring him back on track. Perhaps if he just ignored it, it might go away. Oh it really was difficult to ignore something so exciting, something that was trying to pull him out of his bland domestic life and back into the world of adventure...and yet he had given that house up, he had given Sherlock up. It was Victor's task now, to lead that boy to his own destiny. It was John's task instead to continue on the path he had made for himself, long before he noticed the one that had been cut out for him all along. So he sat back, and continued to eat. He never noticed that the hands on the clock had stopped ticking, contributing to that eerie silence. He never noticed that the clocks never moved, and time stayed stuck. He only ever noticed that rustling near the hallway; he noticed the motion, and the humanoid shadow that moved back and forth in the attempt to spark up his curiosity. John finished up his cereal and dumped it into the sink, and as he filled it with water nothing struck him as odd outside. Not the silence, the barrenness of the roads that might've been full at this time. He didn't even notice that the sun, which was usually risen above the trees at this hour, was still settled down above the mountain, stuck it would seem, by a force greater than nature. John ignored it, and started up the stairs to wake his daughter. Mary was still asleep, probably because of her interruption in the middle of the night, and so John decided he would have to be the one to wake Rosie. He decided that today would be a great day to be a good parent. When he arrived in the baby's room she was still asleep, lay down on her stomach as she had been when he first checked. He opened the door softly and kept the lights off, standing over the crib for a moment and smiling.
"Rosie, time to wake up." John muttered. The baby was still. John sighed, going now to prod her, poking at her little arms so as to stir her awake. Yet still, there was no motion. Now panic was settling in, and with something of a shriek John took her up in his arms, noticing now she was a stiff as a rock, locked into the same position, not even breathing...
"Rosie! Rosie!" John exclaimed, holding the baby to his chest and trying to feel any movement at all, trying to determine if he had just lost his first child. "Mary help, Rosie's not waking up!" John screamed, rushing from the baby room to his own, to find Mary still asleep, still locked in the same position he had found her in when he woke...John stilled for a moment, holding his stiff child to his chest and poking at his wife, to find that she was just as rigid. She was motionless, unresponsive...John took a deep breath of panic, yet he was beginning to calm when he found that this wasn't death, it was something else, much more powerful. His family wasn't dead, they were frozen. The clocks weren't broken, they were frozen. And the sun...the sun wasn't stuck.