The two made their way out to the busses, walking home since it was a sort of nice day out. It was warm when the sun hit them, but when the wind blew they had to zipper up their jackets. John was very apprehensive about what he was about to show Greg. Of course, his friend had pointed out that John was carrying too many secrets, and one more person knowing about Sherlock couldn't be terrible, could it? Then again, Sherlock insisted that only John knew about him, that his secret was theirs to share. But then again, so were the letters, and Greg had read those too. So technically, Greg could be in on the little magic trick as well. John wasn't worried about how he would react, with the fact that John shared a room with a ghost, he was only scared about how Sherlock would react. What if Greg says something wrong or very much oversteps his boundaries? Would Sherlock attack him like he did Henry and Harry?
"So, what I'm about to show you is really secret. Like, top secret. So far, I'm the only one that knows." John decided.
"How come?" Greg asked.
"You'll see. But I'm sure you'll be fine to know, right? No telling anyone, no pictures, no videos." John insisted.
"Nothing of the sort, I'm great with secrets, just not so great at not knowing the secrets." Greg insisted.
"This is a bad idea." John sighed.
"Ya, but you'll let me see it anyway." Greg pointed out.
"Ya, I will." John sighed. They approached the house, pushing open the door and announcing their arrival.
"Mom, I'm home, I've got Greg with me!" John called.
"Oh, brilliant sweetie! I'm just starting with dinner; your sister is in her room!" Mrs. Watson called back, over the sound of breaking tiles. Obviously Mr. Watson was back to work mauling the kitchen.
"Alright, we'll be quiet." John agreed, leading Greg up the rickety old stairs.
"I heard your sister was in the hospital, what happened?" Greg asked
"You'll understand in a little bit." John sighed.
"Wait, this thing hurt your sister?" Greg asked in shock.
"Not really." John shrugged.
"Oh my god it's an alien." Greg muttered.
"It's not a bloody alien, don't be ridiculous." John insisted.
"What else can it be? Why are you so secretive?" Greg asked.
"Shut up and get in!" John demanded, pushing Greg into his room and locking the door.
"Alright, what I'm about to show you, tell me that you're not going to tell anyone else." John insisted.
"I promise." Greg assured.
"Promise you won't scream, or be overdramatic, or provocative." John insisted.
"I promise." Greg agreed, obviously feeling like some sort of boy scout or something.
"Alright, then, Sherlock, do you mind not making me look insane?" John asked. He looked around the room, and there was no sign of the ghost, and Greg looked very confused.
"Sherlock get out here." John demanded.
"You mean Sherlock is the one haunting your house?" Greg asked in shock.
"Sherlock Holmes, he already knows, come out so I don't look crazy!" John insisted.
"The trouble is John," said a voice, seemingly from nowhere. "You are crazy." Sherlock appeared right next to Greg, which made the boy jump a good five feet away, his face completely pale. Some might describe it as white as a ghost, but Sherlock's ghostly paleness was simply incomparable.
"That's...that's...you're..." Greg stuttered.
"A ghost! Oh my gosh, I have noticed! Thank you so much human boy." Sherlock sighed, looking very unimpressed.
"Sherlock shut up, you remember Greg, right?" John asked.
"How could I not, the boy who made fun of my letters." Sherlock sighed.
"I didn't, make fun of them per say, I might've commented a bit harshly..." Greg muttered. Sherlock so much as raised his arm, and Greg jumped back another five feet, into the wall with fear.
"No, please don't hurt me, I didn't mean to! They were lovely letters, truly!" Greg insisted.
"I like this one, he's like a scared little guinea pig. See, John doesn't cower in fear anymore, unfortunately I can't make him as scared as when he first moved in." Sherlock sighed.
"I wasn't that scared!" john insisted.
"Ya, not in the daylight, but you should've seen yourself cowering at night, turning on the light every so often. As if that would protect you." Sherlock laughed. Greg forced a smile, just to make sure that he was getting to be on Sherlock's good side. John just scowled, staying standing and trying to think. Should he introduce the two, is this a kind of handshake matter? Greg looked absolutely petrified, but Sherlock looked smug and impressed, as if he liked the idea that someone was finally afraid of him.
"So, you're Sherlock?" Greg asked.
"I am." Sherlock agreed. John sighed, he was so dramatic.
"So you knew Victor right?" Greg asked. Sherlock sighed, but nodded.
"I did." He muttered.
"So, tell me, how did he die?" Greg asked.
"Greg, no!" John snapped. Sherlock just tensed, at least, John thought he did, it wasn't easy to tell when his edges were all blurry.
"I don't talk about what happened to Victor, simply because I know less than you do." Sherlock insisted.
"How'd you die?" Greg asked. John groaned, another touchy topic.
"I don't discuss my death either, because it's personal." Sherlock snapped.
"Alright, I'm sorry, sir, just wondering. It's been the highlight of our school year." Greg admitted.
"I told John and I'm going to tell you now. Stop digging, please. I don't want to know what you find, and you don't want to know what I know." Sherlock insisted.
"Why not?" Greg asked.
"It destroyed me." he muttered dramatically.
"Obviously." Greg forced.
"Alright, respect him, please." John insisted.
"Thank you John." Sherlock said with a smile, the smile you give to someone when you both know another person is just the most annoying thing in the world. The smile between friends as they judge other people.
"So, what do you do then, what have you been doing before John got here?" Greg asked.
"Hoping with whatever remains of my heart that I shall be released of the pain..." Sherlock started.
"Oh stop with the poetry!" John groaned.
"Waiting for Victor." Sherlock sighed, casting an exasperated look to John, who just glared.
"He's dead too, he's not coming." Greg insisted.
"John told you to respect me!" Sherlock warned, and Greg took another gigantic step back, whatever color that had returned to his face now bled down once more.
"Sorry, I'm sorry." Greg stuttered.
"So, let's set a conversation restriction." John proposed, looking around enthusiastically at his friends to see if they agree. "No one mentions anything about Sherlock's past, or acknowledge that he's now deceased, and we have a normal conversation, between friends." John insisted.
"I would hardly call this boy my friend." Sherlock insisted.
"Well let's pretend that you're friends." John sighed. "This is just too crazy, and I don't want someone to lose his cool once more, and start throwing people into walls."
"It's not because I'm angry, it's because..." Sherlock groaned.
"I know why you did it, just, in the future, it would be best if we avoid it." John assured.
"Fair enough." Sherlock sighed.
"Alright, now that we're through that, why don't we all have a seat on the bed." John insisted.
"Ya, my legs are killing me." Greg decided. Sherlock gave him a grave look, and Greg covered his mouth innocently. "I didn't mean actually killing me, it's an expression, I'm sorry!" he insisted.
"I know what you meant." Sherlock laughed. "I may be dead, but I'm still hip and cool."
"Sherlock, you got excited over the Magic Mop." John insisted.
"Sarcasm John dear, please learn to accept it." Sherlock sighed. John sat up against the headboard, Greg sitting stiffly on the side of the bed, and Sherlock sat next to John, his freezing cold shoulder overlapping with John's.
"So, how is school?" Sherlock asked, almost teasingly.
"Oh it's just wonderful." John snapped.
"What was school like for you?" Greg asked curiously.
"It was hell. Of course." Sherlock sighed.
"You're lucky, you probably had a lot better teachers." Greg insisted.
"Oh I doubt that." Sherlock laughed. "Who teaches math now?"
"Mrs. Dells, she's horrible." Greg sighed.
"I had a man named Mr. Fitz, and I loved to back talk and use sarcasm, John, you wouldn't know what that is," John tried to slap him, but his hand went right through, and Sherlock kept on talking, "and he gave me these bloody math packets that were the size of a brick."
"How'd you get them done?" John asked in amazement, not able to finish a single worksheet without crying.
"Lots and lots of sleep lost, and of course, perseverance. I wanted to see which one of us would crack first, and in the end it was him because he sent me to detention instead of playing our little tennis match." Sherlock shrugged.
"Thankfully they don't do that anymore, everything's all about helping each other and anti-bullying and sitting up straight and dress code." Greg sighed. Sherlock smiled a little bit.
"I'm glad I don't have that. Everyone wore their uniforms to school, all the boys in the army." Sherlock sighed.
"Did you enlist?" John asked.
"Didn't get the chance." Sherlock sighed.
"Would you have?" Greg asked.
"I'm not sure. I guess I depended on what Victor was doing, eventually I might've, just to get away..." Sherlock sighed, his voice fading off dramatically.
"If there was a war going on right now, I'd totally enlist." Greg said proudly.
"Ya, I think I would too." John agreed.
"Do you two even know how to fire a gun?" Sherlock asked with a laugh.
"My grandpa lives out in the woods, and when we go over we shoot guns at little targets, it's awesome." Greg insisted.
"Not really, but I'd learn." John decided.
"I never learned how, although I suppose I could have done it, if I needed to." Sherlock shrugged.
"Did any of your family members fight?" Greg asked.
"My brother did." Sherlock sighed.
"What was his name?" Greg asked.
"Mycroft. Little prick if you ask me, hated him." Sherlock sighed.
"He lived, right?" Greg asked.
"He came back home. I saw him come in; saw how his happiness turned to despair, all because of me. One of my best accomplishments if I do say myself." Sherlock admitted.
"You're proud that you made him upset about your death?" John asked. Sherlock smiled guiltily.
"So, you said Harry was in the hospital, what happened?" Greg asked.
"Oh, you know, just stuff." John sighed.
"I pushed her into a window frame." Sherlock said, his voice somewhat proud.
"You're kidding?" Greg asked.
"It was, well, not self-defense, but he was defending me." John shrugged.
"I see." Greg agreed.
"I didn't mean to hurt her, but gravity was not on her side that night." Sherlock admitted.
"She deserved a little wake up call. Only now I'm her personal servant." John groaned.
"I would help, but I'm a little bit too, well, spiritual." Sherlock sighed.
"Don't pretend you can't be solid when you want to be." John insisted.
"I most certainly cannot!" Sherlock insisted.
"Then how'd you move that box?" John asked.
"I simply willed it with my mind, I have surprising telekinesis abilities, you get those in the afterlife if you're on the nice list." Sherlock pointed out.
"Really?" Greg asked excitedly.
"Of course not!" John insisted, but Sherlock just slapped him. "See, I felt that, you slapped me, you can be solid!"
"Guilty." Sherlock sighed, but went back to melting into John's shoulder.
"I hate it when you do that." John insisted, but Sherlock just smiled and didn't move.
"So, Greg, now that you know I'm here, you won't tell anyone, right?" he asked.
"Of course not, I swear." Greg insisted.
"Because you care, or because you're scared?" Sherlock asked.
"A little bit of both." Greg admitted.
"I like that." Sherlock decided. Greg forced a smile.
"John, ten minutes to dinner, is Greg staying?" Mrs. Watson yelled up.
"Do you want to stay?" John asked hopefully.
"Oh, no, I really can't. My mom made this whole lasagna, she's all proud and all." Greg sighed.
"Fair enough." John agreed.
"And I'm never allowed to miss dinner." Greg shrugged. Sherlock looked down in something of shame, but looked back up so quickly that John was sure he must have imagined it.
"Well then, bye." Sherlock decided.
"Bye." Greg agreed, not sure what else to say. And with that, Sherlock disappeared, the freezing overlap in John's shoulder disappearing with him. PfkWOe'