The gatekeeper wasn't during his duty, though instead of letting everyone through he had decided instead just to keep the door shut. Even when broken he was dedicated to his assigned job. Sebastian knelt down to tend to him, and at last the people on the sidewalk began to get infuriated, either demanding to be let inside or storming off in a huff. Perhaps they assumed their presence would be missed, though it was quite the opposite. John took up the clipboard, trying to let those inside who were allowed to enter, though at long last Sebastian smacked the thing out of his hands.
"John, I don't think you're helping here. The party is closed, don't let anyone else in. Lock the doors, if you must. I'll drive Greg to the hospital." He announced, getting to his feet now and handing Greg some more tissues to shove under his nose. John blinked, not entirely sure why he was being treated like the common enemy here. In fact, Greg hadn't even acknowledged his return, not even a single glance was spared in his direction! What had John done to have insulted them all so badly? He was quite sure that this little scuffle wasn't his fault; in fact he assumed he had handled everything nicely. So why was it that he was being treated like a villain? Despite John's insistence, Sebastian made it a point to drive Greg alone. He didn't think there was any need for another supporting friend to be there during the visit, and so John was left on the sidewalk, listening to the ever familiar scrapings of Greg's loud car as it made its way down the hill into town. He could see Sebastian's worried face from the driver's seat, his face screwed up and his eyebrows notched. For whatever reason he was shook up, though as the time began to pass John began to suspect that it wasn't Greg's fight that got his mind turning. There might be something else at play, something a bit more dire.
"Hey, do you want our names or what?" called a girl from the sidewalk, staring up at where John was leaned against the front door and looking grim. He sighed heavily, looking down on the group of what appeared to be field hockey players, all dressed in their most revealing outfits with their hair straightened far past their shoulders. He didn't answer, he really didn't feel the need, and so with a turn John let himself inside of the house, shutting the doors in the party goer's faces and locking the bolt securely. He wasn't really in the party mood at the moment; in fact he didn't feel it was necessary even to acknowledge those who were veering through the kitchen and through the living room, each one drunk out of their mind and tripping over their own feet. Instead John headed upstairs to mope, deciding that he would think over the night's occurrences alone in his room. And so instead of descending into the basement he grabbed hold of the old wooden banister, lifting each of his heavy legs up the stairs until at last he got to the second floor. He was just about to head off down the hallway when he heard the telltale creaking of a floorboard above, one of the loose beams that separated the third floor from the second and now posed as John's current ceiling. Someone was standing upstairs, poking around where they shouldn't be. Oh these drunken kids, could they not read the sign that was posed at the bottom of the stairs? No one was allowed upstairs, no one except the brothers of Sigma Eta. John made it his duty to maintain order, and so instead of minding his own business he instead decided to continue on upstairs, towards the rooms that basically no one saw except for the officers of the frat. It was darker upstairs, much more cut off from the harsh lighting of the lowest floor. What startled him was the silence, for while he had positively heard a floorboard creak it seemed as though the air was still, undisturbed by any human weight for as long as Sebastian had been away. John ascended onto the top most floor, arrived at the end of the long staircase to a rather short hallway, dotted with the doors of each of the larger bedrooms that occupied this level. There was a light above his head, though it was not turned on, and so the only light by which he could see was the pale light of the moon, shining inside through the skylight window above. John shuttered, feeling that an awfully ghostly presence was with him here. Perhaps it was not an actual ghost; in fact it was probably just two drunken teenagers hiding from what they could only assume was the frat's version of a security guard. It was no wonder they weren't making any noise.
"Hey, if anyone's up here I need you to go back downstairs. Only brothers are allowed." John called out a bit quietly, feeling rather silly at the moment. From the still air in this short hallway he felt as though he was only addressing his own shadow and that the only ears to hear his demand were his own. It was awfully lonely on the third floor. All the same there was what sounded like a shifting of weight, as if the intruder had grown tired of leaning so heavily on one leg in his hiding place. Suddenly a spark erupted in John, one that alerted him of what only could be a serious threat. He turned towards where he heard the noise, trying to make out a shadow in the midst of darkness. There was something, a distorted shape in the rightmost corner of the hall. A shadow, taking the shape of a human form... Suddenly there was a bang, so loud in this stillness that it sounded like a gunshot! John turned on his heel, falling towards the wall in his fright and watching as one of the bedroom doors quaked against the wall, having knocked its brass handle against the plaster in its momentum. From the room there went running two girls, clad in old white dresses, racing and giggling as they ran down the hall towards the stairs, each of their footfalls slamming heavily down onto the plush carpet until at last they disappeared. John clutched his chest, sliding up the wall and trying to force his body weight back onto his feet. His heart was racing now, his adrenaline pumping as his body tried to force him into action, all of his natural reflexes recognized his current situation as an emergency. Though there was no need to fight, nor to run. The girls had just been snooping around; surely they were a problem that had now been solved. John nodded to himself, still leaning against the wall with his left shoulder, trying to catch his breath and recollect his senses. Though just as he began to breathe easier, just as the fright began to seep from his limbs and strength return, well suddenly there was another feeling, something much more ominous than any sort of door eruption. He felt as though he was being watched, as if predatory eyes were veering nearer to him from behind...
"The girls do love to startle, don't they?" whispered a voice behind him, so close that John could feel breath upon the back of his neck, a hot sticky sensation. He turned abruptly, feeling as though he was now sandwiched between two unforeseen dangers, though when he took a moment to observe what would have been his attacker he saw what he remembered to be familiar eyes. All that could be seen of his companion were the eyes, glimmering different shades in the moonlight, though all the same a smile began to break out upon that smooth face, the glimmering cheeks folded and teeth were exposed. He was happy, yes. John's heart gave a lurch, though all of the fear began to melt away. This strange man had a healing effect on both the body and the mind, and for a moment John felt just about as safe as anyone could be.
"Evidently so do you." John muttered, finding the strength at last to hold himself up. The stranger smiled, as if he knew that he was guilty for such a charge.
"Perhaps I like an entrance." He admitted quietly, in that voice which sounded so rhythmic, more like music than any drab syllables. John nodded, feeling pressure now to say something intelligent in return. He was putting pressure upon himself to impress this stranger, though what the advantages of that were he could not say. For whatever reason, he felt as though he had to be on his best behavior.
"As much as I trust you, you're not really allowed upstairs." John said at last, nodding almost agressivley so as to make his point appear much more convincing.
"I was just looking around, I apologize for any intrusion. It's just been a long while since I've been to a fraternity house. They are just...wonderful." The stranger admitted in a breath, touching his fingers along the wooden panels that lined the lower half of the walls as if feeling for a familiar sensation.
"I agree." John muttered, not very helpful in his response but not knowing what else to say.
"How is Mr. Lestrade? Certainly that nose is not broken?" the stranger asked at last, beginning to walk slowly towards the staircase. His eyes lingered on John all the way down, and his gaze was a paralytic if nothing else. The boy could move with ease, sliding carefully down the hall all the while John was helpless but to stare, feeling as though he needed permission to begin following. A quick smile flittered onto the boy's face, though it vanished as he passed.
"He's at the hospital." John explained quickly, moving on his own now that the stranger's gaze was averted from him.
"He needn't go there. Dangerous to arrive in such a place with alcohol in your system." The stranger chuckled. "Not old enough yet, by American laws."
"I'm sorry, but how do you know how old he is?" John wondered, thinking for a moment and wrinkling his eyebrows. "Actually, how do you even know our names?"
"Because we've met before." the boy muttered, descending the stairs in a slow, monotonous fashion. His fingers touched along the banister very carefully, dragging slowly down the polished wood as his head lolled ever so softly along his neck. He seemed to be sighing, as though there nothing more pleasurable than walking slowly down the dirty carpet of the Sigma Eta staircase. John was motionless, stopped at his own command and quite wary of the man he was supposed to be following.
"We haven't." he debated. "I don't know you, I've never heard your name before."
"Haven't you?" the stranger wondered, pausing on one of the landings and turning carefully along the carpet so that he could stare up at his company. "You'll remember me when you hear it, I'm sure."
"And what is your name, then?" John insisted, feeling much more compliant now that he could stare off into the stranger's rather hypnotic eyes.
"Sherlock Holmes." He said proudly, a name that John had never heard before in his life. It was a name that didn't sound entirely real, though even as he heard the syllables he began to understand. No, he had never met this boy in his life. They had never been properly introduced, their paths never crossing before...though as unfamiliar as John recognized him to be, well there was something else. There was another feeling within his heart, something jumping for joy...
"Yes." John whispered. "Yes I remember you." 

Martha pushed the photograph back at Victor, as if she couldn't stand to look at it much longer. There seemed to be something evil within the frame, though she didn't seem to be very anxious to share. There was fear evident within her eyes, magnified behind her glasses as if she was beginning to realize that Victor's investigation was unearthing new evils, the very things she had tried to repress after her own search.
"That photograph was never in my collection. I have never seen it before." Martha explained quietly, shuttering into her office chair and looking apprehensively at the man who sat opposite. Victor hesitated, taking up the photo and looking at it once again, looking past the two boys who took center frame and trying to focus on each one of the figures in the background. Nothing looked out of place; nothing seemed to allude to tragedy. So what was Martha truly afraid of?
"Are you saying that this man came back and delivered a photograph? I mean, what's the point of it?" Victor wondered at last, shoving the picture back into the folder and clasping it tightly. Perhaps if the boys were not looking up at them from the film Martha would find it easier to speak.
"I'm not sure what his intentions were." she admitted. "But Victor, please heed my advice. These things aren't for meddling in; in fact I regret ever allowing you the chance to wonder. That house is dangerous, and this again is the final proof."
"I'm not afraid, I mean if this man really is back then he's trying to help me! See how he answered my question, not in words but in a photograph?" Victor reminded her. "Perhaps he wants to be remembered after all." Martha took off her glasses for a moment, rubbing her eyes as if to try to get herself to think straight. She looked helpless, as if all of her years of research were amounting to nothing. Perhaps she was wondering if she had gotten the house all wrong, perhaps she was realizing that there was no danger after all.
"He wouldn't help." she muttered. "But he must have an agenda. You might be wanted, Professor. You might be next."
"Next for what?" Victor asked quietly, now almost afraid to hear the answer.
"Next for a tragedy." Martha explained simply. "I'm going to have to take that folder back."
"No, no you're not going to do that. I've only just started I've seen...well I've only seen two photos!"
"I'm protecting your life, Victor, your life and mine! These things need to stay buried, they need to be forgotten!" Martha insisted, getting to her feet and snatching at the folder where it lay on the desk. Thankfully Victor was quicker than her, and in an instant he rescued the thing from her grasp and hugged it close to his chest. The woman hesitated where she stood, looking almost as maniacal as she had when she first tried to keep him from the documents. The papers themselves were maddening, and it would seem as though the man they alluded to was the driving factor behind each unforeseen emotion the two began to feel.
"I need to know, I'm not letting you deprive me of that." Victor demanded, getting to his feet as well, just to make sure he remained in a looming position over the old woman.
"Victor, he'll be the end of you." Martha warned. "He was so nearly my end, I cannot allow you to continue any farther! Not with a clean conscious."
"I'm willing to accept risk." Victor declared. "In fact, I'm glad to hear it. I'm glad to be a part of something, something much more entertaining than this boring job." Victor made that his last word, deciding that he ought to leave with such a powerful closing statement. And so he nodded, making for the door before the old woman could catch up. Thankfully the trample of students began to start down the hallway, a whole line of college kids arriving for their eight o'clock classes. Their gazes prevented any offensive action from poor old Martha, and as soon as Victor disappeared into their midst he felt as though he had successfully escaped her wrath. The folder was still hugged close, though as he took off towards the math building he suspected that he would have to take greater care of it. Now that Martha had turned her back on the buildup of information it would seem as though everyone wanted these memories forgotten, and if Victor wasn't careful then they would probably succeed. The arrival of the students only reminded Victor that he also had somewhere to be, for he had an eight o'clock class that he had almost neglected to prepare for. Thankfully he was the professor, and so no one would punish him for arriving late, though it was always rather awkward to go fumbling into a classroom still with his coat on, apologizing to the students for little extra wait. Well of course they didn't mind, their phones provided enough entertainment so that they didn't even notice a little extra time went by. Victor grumbled, grabbing out the class role roster and looking quickly through the names of the students, calling them out with his best pronunciation available.
"Oz, Lucy, Conrad, John..." the list went on, each one of the students nodding their heads solemnly with their gazes tilted down towards the carpet. Thankfully Victor had learned all of the names of his students as the month had progressed and was now able to identify them by where they sat in the classroom and from the rather shaky headshots the school had provided him with. When role call was finished, Victor set down his folders onto the desk with his most prized collection on the bottom, trying to ensure that no one noticed that it was in any way superior to the rest. But there was a difference, of course there was! Most were filled with papers, graded quizzes and various exams that Victor had yet to pass back to his struggling student. But this, well this was filled not with the declaration of idiocy but instead with the pursuit of knowledge, of pure, unrestricted knowledge. It was something a student would kill for if they ever knew of its true value...it was something even Victor would kill for. And perhaps that was what this man's intention was; he wanted men to go mad over it. But who was this strange man, this shadow with a voice and lips? Who had the power to invade a home without being seen, who could vanish into the darkness on cue just to terrorize a poor investigative professor? He may not be fighting so evil a force as Martha imagined, though it was no doubt that this thing was powerful. Perhaps he was not a man, though it would be too fanciful to assume that he was a ghost. The things of legend, the supernatural stories that children told each other just to scare their friends, well there was no truth behind it! No, this man was a human like the rest of them, a human with some excellent burglary skills and a few magic tricks up his sleeve. He was an expert at visual effects, and intimidation. He was not out to haunt any one, he was merely arriving so as to remind those who sought him out that he was a force to be reckoned with. Victor was not so gullible to believe that he was being haunted by a man already dead.
"Professor Trevor?" asked one of the boys in the back, a rather stocky kid with an old fashioned blonde hair cut. He looked excessively bored, as if he couldn't believe he was wasting his time in this math class when there were so many better things to be doing right now.
"Yes, John?" Victor muttered, blinking and wondering just where his mind had gone. In an instant he realized that he might not have been doing anything physical at all... just as soon as John's comment interrupted his train of thought he realized he had been standing stone still for as long as he couldn't remember, perhaps minutes had passed! The back of his eyelids were so entertaining that he had forgotten he had a class to attend to, and here were his feet sinking deep into the carpet, unmoved from when he arrived in the class!
"I'm sorry...I lost my train of thought." Victor admitted quietly, looking towards the clock to see that a good two minutes had gone by without his noticing. Each one of his class members looked entranced, as though they had never seen a professor just as disturbed as poor Victor did at the present moment. The man felt his cheeks go red, though there was nothing to be done for it now. Instead, Victor continued on with the lesson, trying to keep his thought processes where it belonged. He must focus on derivatives, not on some silly frat house. As interesting as the past may be, the present was much more important. His paycheck relied on his utmost attention, his curiosity only needed to think a little longer about the historical aspect of this college. Though what was history, when it really came down to it? Such a silly thing, to imagine that those who walked the streets of Stoke Moran had somehow vanished. Each footprint was engraved in the pavement, each memory breathed like a passing wind along the hills. Unbeknown to Victor, history was not a concern in this small town. History was ongoing, overlapping, and very much alive.