A/N Hey My Lovelies!!! Here is an idea I came up with a while ago after reading a prompt on Tumblr. I think I see potential for a full AU book with this so I may continue it on it's own. Let me know what you think. Enjoy<3
When John first moved into the flat, he didn't notice anything strange or amiss. This lovely little flat on Baker street, that came fully furnished and full of strange items. The landlady, Mrs. Hudson, told him that he could keep the furniture if he wanted, but he wasn't allowed to throw any of the clutter out. All she would say in explanation was that she knew the young man it all had belonged to and he might return for it one day. So, John left everything where it was. Its not like he had a lot of stuff to fill an empty flat.
He was living there for almost three weeks when things started to get weird. His tea would suddenly fall off the table, or the kitchen cabinets would slam closed if he left them open.
He brushed it off at first, his mind rationalizing the events by coming up with barely plausible theories. It was a breeze, or he moved too quickly. They didn't fit, but they were better than the alternative.
Then he came home to find one of the science textbooks flying towards his head.
"What the fuck?" He shouted as he hit the floor, covering his head and looking around desperately. There was no explaining this away. Once he was certain there were no more flying objects, he rose to his feet, chewing nervously at his lip.
He was too young for this, living in a haunted flat. He had exams coming up and he needed to focus.
"A-Alright, um, what's your name?" There was no answer, but the air in the flat suddenly got cold. "My- my name is John." He yelped as a teacup flew at him, shattering against the wall behind his head. "Hey! Stop breaking my shit!" He snapped, feeling his frustration rising. "This is my flat now, you can stay here if you want, but if you keep breaking my stuff I'm going to have to get rid of you. Deal?" There was silence, no more books or mugs flying at his head. John nodded and went about his day, trying to come up with a plan as to how to deal with his new flatmate.
"What am I going to do Greg?" John whined, dropping his head to the table with a painful thud. "This fucking ghost is getting worse." He had told his buddy Greg about his little ghost problem, and now he spent most nights at the pub with his friend.
"Maybe you just need to talk to him."
"I've tried that. It always winds up with me on the floor and textbooks being thrown at my skull. It found my gun Greg! My fucking gun! I had to hide it in a salted lockbox just to stop it from shooting the bloody walls."
"I don't mean you talk to him and piss him off-"
"How do you know it's a he?"
"How do you know its not?" John shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. "Anyway, what I mean is do like a séance or something."
"Really? A séance? What is this, a cheesy horror flick?"
"You are whining about a ghost shooting your walls and you are skeptical about preforming a séance?"
"Shut up." John sighed, rubbing his face with his hands and finishing off his pint. An idea struck him, one that he hoped would work. "I've got to get going. I'll see you tomorrow?" He dropped a couple of bills on the table and left, heading to the nearest office supply store.
"Alright, I have an idea. I want to talk to you, like a full conversation. So, I got you this," John held out a whiteboard and marker, hoping the ghost was listening. "You can use this to talk to me. I-I'll leave it on the fridge. I want to try to make this work, so just, behave, please?" He hung the whiteboard on the fridge and headed upstairs to bed.
When he came down the next morning, the whiteboard was blank. He sighed, rolling his eyes and going about making his morning tea. There was a rustling behind him and he turned to see the whiteboard marker hovering in the air in front of the whiteboard.
"Hey. What's your name?"
Sherlock Holmes
"Nice to meet you Sherlock. How long have you been here?"
What year is it?
"2014."
Twenty years
"Holy shit." John felt his heart break for the poor spirit. He couldn't imagine being trapped in a boring flat for twenty years.
I don't need your pity Dr. Watson
John's eyes widened, as he read those words.
Oh, don't be so surprised. I'm very observant.
"Fair enough. Why do you keep destroying the flat?"
You moved my equipment.
"Your equipment? You mean, all this stuff here was yours?"
Yes. Mrs. Hudson promised she would keep it for me. You moved it.
"Sorry. I can set it back up for you if you want."
That would be good. Thank you.
John went about setting up the lab, feeling slightly awkward knowing Sherlock was just there, watching him work. The ghost kept writing out instructions about how he wanted everything laid out.
"Wait, you are a guy, right? I don't want to assume anything."
Yes John, I am a guy. Now please plug everything in.
"Alright, bossy. I'm guessing you were a top."
What?
John flushed when he realized he had said that out loud. He plugged in the collection of cords, waving off the comment. The equipment roared to life and John grinned, dusting off his hands and turning towards the fridge.
He yelped and scrambled back when a man flickered into view in front of the fridge.
"Ah, much better!" The young man grinned, dusting off his shoulders and stretching his long, thin frame. He was tall, too thin, and unnaturally pale. His cheekbones were sharp and high-set, making him look less than human. He was gorgeous and John couldn't help feeling a little self-conscious.
"Y-You- how- what the-"
"The flow of electricity gives me the strength to manifest physically. Now, shut your jaw, you'll let the flies in." Sherlock winked and sauntered around the table to stand in front of John, a smug expression on his lips as he leaned down, a brush of frigid air freezing John's ear and making him gasp. "And for the record, I was more of a bottom." John blushed and stuttered as Sherlock walked away, running long fingers over the equipment.
John had a feeling this was going to be interesting.
Sherlock turned out to be an interesting flatmate, conducting crazy experiments and whining about being bored. John began to wonder what happened to his curious flatmate. He did lots of research on ghosts and quickly came up with a plan.
"Sherlock?"
"Yes John?"
"Would you like to go out with me?" The ghost froze, glancing at John with a skeptical look.
"I'm a ghost John. I'm bound to the flat, I can't just 'go out' like a normal human."
"I had an idea about that actually. You need electricity to manifest, right? What about a laptop plugged into a socket?"
"That might work if we could get me out of here."
"Well, were you buried or cremated?"
"Cremated, what wasn't donated to science, that is."
"Alright, so according to the info I found online if you don't have a body to return to, then you must be bound to something else. One of your old possessions perhaps? Something you would have been really attached to." Sherlock turned to face John, his eyes filled with curiosity.
"Under the bed. There is a small leather case. If I am bound to anything, it would be that." John nodded and scurried off to try to find the little case. When he found it, he unzipped it, gasping at the contents.
It was a set of needles and a small vile of heroin.
"Seven percent." Sherlock's voice came from the doorway, causing John to jump. "That was my solution. Just enough to stop my mind, but not enough to do any major physical damage." A weight fell over John's heart as he watched Sherlock rub at his forearm.
"You killed yourself." He whispered, standing and stepping closer to his ghostly friend. Sherlock blinked rapidly and nodded slightly.
"I just wanted everything to stop. You have no idea what it is like living with a mind like mine, telling you every dirty little thing it picks up about whoever crossed my path. So, I stopped it." John wanted nothing more than to hold the young man.
"Let's go get coffee." He whispered instead, smirking up at the ghost before passing right through him and running down the hall, ducking and laughing as Sherlock sent books flying at him.
They spent their afternoons at a small coffee house, giggling and deducing things about the other people in the shop.
As time went on, John found himself falling further and further in love with the strange Sherlock Holmes. He started doing research, hoping to find something that could help him be with Sherlock.
"What if we summon Death?" He asked one day, the question falling from his lips before he could stop it.
"Why would we summon Death?"
"Maybe he could make you human again." Sherlock hesitated, a sad sort of frown pulling at his brows.
"John, I-"
"Please, Sherlock. I know it didn't go so well the last time, but that was twenty years ago. And now you have me."
"Why?"
"Because I love you, and I want to be with you, and that is really hard to do when I just pass right through you every time I try to touch you." They never talked about their relationship, just kind of accepting the emotions that were there between them.
"John-"
"No, please Sherlock. Let me do this. Let me try to bring you back. Please." Sherlock looked terrified, uncertain as to how to respond. "I won't let you do that to yourself again Love, promise." The pale ghost worried at his bottom lip for a moment before looking up at John, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Let's summon Death." John grinned, he was going to find a way to be with his Ghost.