When Sherlock walked home he felt his cuts, still open, but not bleeding or very painful. They would still arise questions though, he was sure of that. He wasn't even sure that his mother knew what had happened last night, because he was sure his father wasn't too keen to disclose the details. When he walked through the door there was a squeal of relief, and for the second time in a couple of days he was trapped in an inescapable hug.
"Oh Sherlock, I was so worried, where did you go, what happened?" Mrs. Holmes asked breathlessly, holding him at arm's length. When she saw the cuts and bruises on his forehead, she gasped, her face going white.
"It's fine mom, it's fine." He insisted.
"Did he do this to you?" she asked in a muffled whisper.
"It's nothing." Sherlock protested, trying to escape her grasp. He simply didn't want to be pampered; there was no reason to be pointing fingers now that it was in the past.
"Oh, your father came running down the stairs after, he looked livid, but he just went downstairs, went to sulk I suppose." She decided. "What happened?"
"I was playing my violin, he tried to take it, I resisted, he smacked me on the head with a beer bottle." Sherlock admitted.
"Oh Sherlock!" Mrs. Holmes cried again, hugging him tighter this time.
"It's fine, I'm fine." He insisted.
"Where did you go all night? Who helped you?" she asked.
"I went over to Victor's house, the one who walked me home that night." Sherlock muttered, feeling his cheeks blush even though this really was a bad time.
"And he kept you overnight?" she asked.
"Yes, he was a good host." Sherlock agreed.
"Have you eaten breakfast yet?" Mrs. Holmes asked.
"Yes, his housekeeper made us omelets." Sherlock sighed.
"Victor has a house keeper?" she asked, now looking very interested in Sherlock's new friend.
"Ya, he's loaded, his father's a general, he lives in that big white house." Sherlock admitted.
"The one with the pillars?" Mrs. Holmes guessed, her face lighting up. Sherlock nodded with a small smile. "Oh, I simply adore that house! And such a nice boy, you should really make sure he doesn't slip away."
"I'll try my best." Sherlock agreed with a small smile. Just as Mrs. Holmes had said, Mr. Holmes only emerged from the basement for meals, which he took from the dishes onto his plate and then disappeared back downstairs. Maybe he felt bad for hitting his son, maybe he couldn't stand to see his family, maybe he just liked it downstairs. Either way, Sherlock was thankful for his absence, because that meant they didn't have to deal with him being a grumpy drunk. That night it was silent, and Sherlock spent a lot of his time mopping up the remnants of the shattered bottle, curtesy of his stupid father. When finally he changed his sheets and his mattress didn't smell like old beer, Sherlock settled into his bed. He was very thankful to see that his violin hadn't been damaged in the scuffle; apparently his efforts to protect it had been effective. Sherlock lay down in his bed, staring at the ceiling as he turned off the light. He wondered what it would be like to have Victor's life instead of his own. He'd be sleeping in a much nicer bedroom, with much nicer sheets and bed spreads and a more expensive ceiling to stare at. But Victor had been right; it didn't seem like luxury when you were all alone. Maybe the reason he was so desperate for a friend was because he had no family, he had no parents to watch out for him or to guide him in the right direction. The only thing Victor knew he had to do was join the army, and now Sherlock wasn't so sure that really was his dream. It was possible that the only reason he liked the military so much was because he was expected to. And as Sherlock stared at his chipped little drywall ceiling, he was thankful that he had at least one parent to watch out for him.

Present Day: As the sleepover with Henry was becoming closer and closer, John had been trying everything he could to get the ghost come out by itself. Unfortunately though, it didn't really seem interested in coming out, no matter how many bags of chips or sweets John used to try to bait it. He tried to talk to it, to try to discuss the letters, ask how it felt about things, even closed his eyes and covered his ears and asked the ghost to move his shoe across the floor, just to prove it existed without John knowing what it looked or sounded like. But alas, when he opened his eyes the shoe was just where he had left it, in the middle of the bedroom. So, on Friday afternoon, John, the gang, and Henry all met a his locker to walk down to the Watson house together. John would've loved this, all of his new friends over to his house, if only there wasn't that mousy faced boy tagging along, lugging around a big black bag full of mysterious ghost hunting instruments.
"So, have you ever actually seen a ghost?" John asked, hanging back to talk to him once they got to the long road near the field.
"No, but I've felt one. I went to this cemetery past dark, and all of the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. It's life changing." He insisted proudly.
"That does sound kind of, scary." John forced. Fortunately for Henry, the ghost in John's house was more than just a feeling; the problem was just getting it to come out.
"I will warn you though, this ghost of mine really doesn't like people. I've tried to talk with him before, and nothing has happened." John pointed out.
"Something probably was happening; you just didn't have enough equipment to detect it." Henry said matter of factly.
"Oh, yes, silly me." John muttered. He heard a snigger from in the group of people walking ahead of him, and saw Greg look back, looking very amused. When finally they got to the house, loaded down with their sleeping bags, tote bags, and ghost hunting equipment, John rang the doorbell. As if she was looking out the window and waiting, Mrs. Watson swung the door open just as soon as John's finger left the button.
"Why hello everyone!" she said excitedly. John noticed that she had put on her nicer clothing, done her hair, did her makeup, obviously she was looking forward to making a good impression. Her eyes flicked over the friend group and her smile wavered a little bit, looking at John with a wide eyed look that told him that he was in trouble.
"Well, come on in, I baked some cookies." She insisted. They all filed in, dropping their stuff at the base of the stairs for everyone to carry up later. John and Mrs. Watson, however, grabbed handfuls of stuff and starting being the pack animals of the house.
"You didn't tell me there would be girls." She hissed, so that no one could hear.
"Oh come on mom, we're all friends, no more than that." he insisted.
"I know, I know, but what would the other parents think?" Mrs. Watson insisted.
"These people have been friends for as long as they've been in school! The parents won't think anything of it!" John defended. Mrs. Watson sighed, dropping the stuff on the floor of his bedroom.
"Did you see Harry by any chance?" she asked.
"Course not. She'll come dragging in later, it is a Friday night." John pointed out.
"I know, but I'm still really worried about her." Mrs. Watson insisted.
"There's no point in being worried about her, she's proved many times that she can try to take care of herself." John debated, and with that he hopped down the stairs to join his friends. They were all sitting around the counter, picking the cookies off of the dish politely and chatting amongst themselves.
"So, what should we do?" John asked.
"Wait for when it gets dark out." Henry decided. John sighed, but nodded. He was kind of hoping to get rid of that kid before they went to sleep. Evidently he was like a bacteria, you could never really get rid of him. So they wasted their afternoon away, playing football out in the yard, watching movies and eating popcorn. Mrs. Watson had ordered pizzas for them all, so they ate all three pies easily. When finally the sun had set, they retreated up to John's room, which looked a lot more intimidating than they would all have liked. Henry seemed to be bouncing up and down excitedly, but, as according to John's instructions, didn't mention anything about the ghosts. When John opened the door he found that it was only he and Henry that walked in at first, all the rest of his friends lingered in the doorway, looking too afraid to step inside.
"Oh come on, it's not that bad." John insisted, turning on the lamp and shining a dull orange light through the room.
"It's pretty creepy." Sara insisted. Greg took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway, as if expecting to get brutally murdered the moment his foot touched the wood inside.
"So, this is an EMF, it records electromagnetic frequencies, and will tell us if a ghost is present." Henry said proudly, holding up what looked like a very technical stick of deodorant.
"Come on guys, we've got strength in numbers." Greg insisted. The rest of them filed slowly in, staring at the closet with fear. There was quiet beep, and everyone, including John, jumped right out of their skin, looking around in terror. Sara had jumped to Mike in fear, and was now clinging to his arm for dear life, as if a beeping sound would kill her.
"Oh, sorry about that." Henry said with an innocent smile, holding up the EMF, which was now glowing and beeping.
"Idiot." Sara mumbled, awkwardly letting go of Mike with a frown.
"This is an EVP, which stands for electronic voice phenomena; this will pick up anything the ghost says through sound waves too small for the human ear to hear." Henry announced, holding up a little box.
"So, if it says anything..." James clarified.
"We'll hear it." Henry insisted. "And then I've got all sorts of other stuff, a temperature gun to see if the temperature in a specific area had decreased, a heat vision camera that I'll set up, pointing to the closet, to see any paranormal entities that happen to appear, and a little heat alarm, if the temperature drops drastically it will beep loud enough for us to be alerted."
"Why is it all based on heat?" Jeanette asked curiously.
"Because ghosts are cold, a lot colder than the air around them." Henry said knowingly. John saw Greg roll his eyes, but Henry didn't seem to notice as he set up his little cameras and alarms.
"Where does one get all this ghost hunting equipment?" James asked.
"Online usually." Henry shrugged.
"Obviously." Sara said in a mocking tone.
"Do you have a Ouija board too?" Greg asked.
"No, I told you, those attract bad spirits." Henry insisted.
"What if this is a bad spirt?" John pointed out.
"It's not a poltergeist, we know that much. And obviously if it wanted to kill you or harm you, it would've done so by now. The only thing I'm curious about is what it will do with all of these people around." Henry muttered.
"Are you saying it will attack us?" Sara asked fearfully.
"Oh, no, nothing like that. I just want to see if it will hide or defend its territory." Henry said with a smile.
"That's attacking if I've ever heard it." John insisted.
"Okay, maybe a little bit like attacking." Henry shrugged innocently.
"Let's get this started, I'm already tired." Mike decided. Everyone except John and Henry were all clustered together in a tight little circle, their eyes darting here and there in fear.
"Now, you think this ghost is only present in your room?" Henry asked.
"I don't know. The only signs I've ever gotten were from here, ya." John agreed.
"From the closet?" he asked. John nodded, and everyone cast their fearful eyes on the closet, which loomed in the corner threateningly.
"Then let's have a look inside." He said with a smile. He flicked on the heat gun and EVP recorder, and everyone immediately went to the other side of the room.
"I thought you guys said you wanted to do this?" John insisted.
"Well, we were a bit braver then." Jeanette insisted.
"Now it's dark out." Mike agreed.
"Suit yourselves. I find this truly exhilarating." Henry decided.
"If I knew what that meant it might be able to convince me." Greg muttered. Thankfully Henry had been too preoccupied with the closet to hear him, because John really wasn't in the mood to hear a dictionary definition.
"Do you want to open it, or should I?" John asked.
"It's used to you; if you open it maybe he won't react as negatively." Henry guessed.
"Alright then." John decided.
"Be careful!" Sara called.
"Don't die!" James added.
"If you do die, say hi to my grandma in Heaven." Mike agreed.
"Or mine in hell." Greg decided. John just rolled his eyes at his friends' stupidity and grabbed the closet door handle; yanking the door open and making everyone flatten themselves against the back wall.