"Daddy!"
John bolted upright when he heard the yell. "Sherlock!" He nudged his sleeping husband.
Stumbling down the hall toward his son's bedroom, John pulled a gun from his robe.
"Hamish!" John shouted as he busted open the door with his foot. "Hamish?"
John glanced around the dark bedroom, searching for his son. "Hamish?!" he begged frantically. He moved to the closet. Taking one hand off the gun, he slowly turned .the knob. Hamish was curled up in the bottom, shaking rapidly. He gazed frighteningly over John's shoulder. "Daddy," he whimpered. John felt hot breath on his neck, and, upon turning, came face to face with a familiar aquaintance.
"Hello, John," the thick voice slid off the man's tongue.
"Moriarty," John murmured, fastening his grip on the gun. "Get the hell out of my house."
Moriarty smiled. "I'm afraid, John that's not going to happen."
He whipped out a handgun, pointing it at Hamish. "You see, I'm only here for one thing."
"No."
A shot rang out as Hamish screamed, and a terrified look spread across Moriarty's face as his body crumpled to the floor.
Sherlock stood in his wake, blowing gently on the tip of the gun. John sighed, falling at Hamish's side. He gathered his son into his arms, cradling his body.
"Where'd he go?" Hamish murmured. John turned - Jim Moriarty had disappeared. No blood, no body, no remains.
"He was an apparition," Sherlock said as he examined the door frame. "We have a haunting."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Have you experienced anything supernatural in the last year?" the man asked over the phone.
"Yes. Last week. The spirit of a dead man appeared to my husband and I. We knew him before he passed," John informed.
"Okay, it's pretty fresh then." The man cleared his throat. "What's your address, sir?"
John told the man his address and hung up.
"Who was that?" Hamish asked.
"Daddy called a man to get the people out of our house," interjected Sherlock.
Hamish nodded and let Sherlock continue to teach him to play the violin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam shook the salt out in front of the doorways, painting each floor with a devils' trap. They sat in a circle on Hamish's bedroom floor, a colony of candles and powders in front of them. Dean sat on the bed, reading the EMF frequencies.
"Dean," Sam said as he handed a book to his brother. Dean nodded, flipping it open.
"Amate spiritum obscure
Te quaerimus
Oramus nobiscum colloquere
Apud nos circita," Dean said, circling the group with salt. He closed the book and threw a lit match into the center.
Sam started shaking, his eyes rolling back into his head. He began muttering words, voices of spirits.
"Dean," Sherlock whispered, pointing at the corner. Moriarty stood there and grinned.
"I'm back!"
"What do you want with my family?" John blurted.
"I'm on your side," said Jim, stepping into the center of the circle.
John looked confused. "What?"
"I'm here to help you. I was trying to warn you. I've been suppressing the spirits, but I can't hold out much longer." Jim's image flickered.
Sam came to. "Who? Who are you holding back?"
"Them," said Jim just as he disappeared.