Horror!lock

"But I don't want to move, John."

"It's only for a year, Sherlock." John said as he was packing his clothes into a suitcase.

Sherlock moved to John's suitcase and sat on top of it.

"Why are we moving again?" said Sherlock, finding a comfy spot on top of John's cloths.

"We aren't moving."

"Then why go somewhere if we aren't moving and why do I have to go?"

"I mean we are moving, but only for a year. You agreed you'd go with me. Plus, I don't want to be alone." John kissed Sherlock's forehead and continued folding his cloths placing them around the suitcase.

"Oh yes! I remember. Is that why you were snogging me that one night? The day you told me, so I'd forget and never ask you about it?"

He sighed, "I just think going to America for a bit will.. do us good."

"But, I like Baker Street, and Ms. Hudson." Sherlock pouted.

"We'll be back in a year. What part don't you understand?

"So they are paying for it? The apartment bill,"

John interrupted, "It's not an apartment. It's a two-story, 1920's Victorian house."

Sherlock looked up at him, "Okay, so they are paying for the two-story house bill, water bill, electricity. What else?"

"The house is $7,200 for the year, so they are leaving the water and grocery bill too us. The house, phone and electricity bill will be paid by them. I found it rather a good deal. Don't you think?" John smiled, "All that is, is $3,000 for us to pay for the year. And we do have more than what we need in the bank."

"It's a 1920's Victorian house... wouldn't it cost more? Maybe mold or termite problems? Is the house haunted?" Sherlock looked at him with his big 'please enlighten me' eyes.

"Haunted? As in ghosts and such? Out of all people, I would have thought you never believed." John chuckled, "The reviews didn't say anything about ghosts, termites or any of what you think."

Sherlock was feeling uncomfortable sitting on top of John's cloths, so he moved on too the bed and laid their like a lazy cat.

"Well.. I don't but I like to wonder sometimes. If there are termites or moss... we can move to a safer house or apartment?"

"Yes, they have everything covered. If we don't like the house, we can look for another one," John climbed into bed next to Sherlock, "Go pack up.. we leave tomorrow at noon."

"Can I pack up tomorrow morning? I'm tired." He faked a yawn.

"Fine, but I want you to wake up early and pack." John zipped up the suitcase and set it on the floor. He laid real close to Sherlock, hoping he would wrap his arms around him and put him to sleep in a jiff.

"Goodnight Sherlock."

Sherlock stretched towards the lamp and turned the lights off. "Goodnight John."

He wrapped his arms around John and closed his eyes.

{oOo}

"John, did you pack my stuff up?" said Sherlock as he was trying to find his suitcase.

"Oh yea," John came into the bedroom, "I couldn't sleep so I, umm, packed your stuff."

"Can we relax now then?"

"No. Not yet, I have to go to the bank, redraw the money we need and then maybe we can relax... On the way to America."

Sherlock grunted, as much as he liked going places, he hated airplane rides.

"It's just six hours, Sherlock."

"Just six hours? Only six hours. Do you understand what happens when I'm sitting down doing nothing for six hours?" Sherlock grabbed on to John's shoulders and shook him a bit.

There was a long pause. There wouldn't be any Baker Street, Ms. Hudson or any of that for a year. Everything would be gone until they came back after.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. "You never said where."

"Los Angeles." said John walking away from Sherlock.

"Los Angeles? Seems very unlike you." Sherlock sighed and followed John to the living room.

"I think you'll like it." John smirked.

{oOo}

Sherlock was sitting near the window. "I don't know how much longer I can take of this, John."

"It's only been fifty bloody minutes."

"I thought you would have known, I get bored easily." smirked Sherlock.

"Well just close your eyes and go to sleep, we'll be there faster if you just sleep."

Sherlock closed his eyes, "I can't sleep."

"You didn't even try to sleep," John rolled his eyes and went back to dozing off. He couldn't handle air plane rides, it wasn't that he was scared of flying or afraid of small places, he just couldn't sit there for a long time. He didn't want Sherlock to know for the fear of him having a commotion for having options to go to their destination. The tickets were free. It probably was the greatest option John got. He wasn't about to tell his boss no, because they had a problem sitting down for more than six hours.

"You're uncomfortable too." Sherlock opened one of his eyes.

"No. I'm perfectly fine." John was drumming a beat on to his knee

Sherlock opened his other eye, "It's quite obvious, John. You've been beating the same beat to your knee since the taxi ride. And you only drum that beat when you are aggravated or uncomfortable."

"Stop it. Close your eyes."

"Admit it John."

"No. I'm not going to. just because you said so."

"Well I guess you'll be hearing me blab."

John just closed his eyes, and laid back. "This time I'm not letting you get to me, Sherlock."

"That's what you say, but let me tell you this... I always get to you." Sherlock crossed his arms.

A few hours passed. John was relaxing, while Sherlock had gotten tired of looking out the window, so he had fallen asleep, head resting on John.

Hello, this is your captain speaking, we have just arrived in America and will be descending in half an hour.

"Sherlock," John whispered as he poked Sherlock's stomach, "Sherlock, wake up. We're here."

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly, "That's rude. Half an hour. Didn't you hear the captain speaking?"

John took a deep breath, "Well wake up already, there's no point in going back to sleep."

"No." Sherlock shifted, placing his head on the window, "Now leave me alone. Will you?"

"Fine. First you don't want to sleep, and now you can;t wake up. Your such a kid."

"I know." Sherlock, with his eyes closed, smirked. "John."

"What is it?" John said in an annoyed tone.

"I love you." John snorted, and went back to reading a magazine he pulled out.

{oOo}

"I hope you enjoyed the ride over here."

"It was quite lovely," lied John.

Headache and back pain, wasn't the best plane ride he ever had. But, he was already settled down and out of the plane. It was better than anything.

"Well I guess, I'll leave it to you?" The sales woman walked to the door, urgently trying to leave.

"So, exactly what is wrong with this house?" said Sherlock, turning to face the woman. Acting like he didn't know.

"Excuse me?"

"Sherlock, no." John put a hand on his shoulder, like this was going to stop Sherlock from saying anything.

"What is wrong with this house?" He said again. He then paused, waiting for her to answer, "You're such in a hurry to leave, care to explain?"

"Well," She looked panic, struck in embarrassment for not telling them what was wrong with this house. She was so desperate in selling it, she didn't even care if they would know exactly what happened in this house. Maybe she would just skip that part and explain that the house was a ghost grave and weird things happened. Maybe she would only tell them about the suicides and murders?

"The last owners.. well.. they died in here. Some find it disturbing, so I kept that part out."

John interrupted, "and when were you going to tell us this."

"Probably never." Sherlock calmly said, "and there is something else."

"No that's all." She said quickly. "Now, if you mind pausing this interrogation, I have another house to sell."

She went back walking to the door.

"Don't forget to tell them the house history!" yelled Sherlock.

"Sherlock!"

He turned his heels to face John. "If she lied to us, what makes you so sure she won't lie to anybody else?"

"Still." He shook his head, "Unpack, there's a few boxes and the furniture guys will be here in about half an hour."

"And what are you going to do?"

John began glancing at the walls, tracing his eyes to the stairs. "I'll be down in a bit, I want to see something."

"Really? Are you going to leave me do this all by myself?"

John began walking up the stairs, still glancing everywhere. The house was hiding something, like it could speak to him, trying to say something. He was going into Sherlock's and John's soon to be bedroom. The room bare. Nothing on the walls, no bed or curtains. Waiting for someone to decorate the unwelcoming room.

He walked up to the window, looking down at the back. "Hi," A voice said.

"Hello." John said without turning, like he was expecting something like this was going to happen.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Well this is my house. I can be anywhere I want."

"You should be scared."

"But I'm not."

There was an eerie feel about the voice. "Who are you?" John whispered, still not turning to face the voice he was speaking too.

"You'll find out." The voice whispered into John's ear.

Not flinching or blinking, "Guess, I will then." He smirked. He wasn't scared, he was amused. Desperate to know who it was that was speaking. John knew that this house was haunted, he wanted to know.

He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Walking down the stairs he spotted Sherlock standing in the middle of the living room staring at something.

"Sherlock." he walked into the room, standing in the doorway. "So? Do you like the place?"

"Don't know."

"Go look around. I'll finish unpacking and later you can help out."

"What is that John?" He said pointing up at the ceiling.

Something black was oozing out of the ceiling. A scent was getting stronger and stronger.

"Don't know.." John was staring at it.

"Go get a ladder." Sherlock demanded.

"I don't think we have one."

"Sure there is. It's out back, you can see small scrapes on the flooring leading out to the back."

"You go get it if you know where it is."

"Fine, but you're coming with me."

"No I'm not." Sherlock grabbed John's wrist and lead him out to the back to retrieve the ladder.

"Sherlock! You could have gotten it by yourself." He wiggled his hand out of Sherlock.

"There's the ladder," Sherlock picked it up and dragged it towards the house, "Come along, Watson."

When they got back there was no black slime.

"What?" John said, looking up at the ceiling.

"Our imagination is running wild." Sherlock glanced at him.

"Have you seen my suitcase?" John asked while looking through the stacks of boxes.

"I saw it in the basement." Sherlock said, not looking up at him.

"How did it get there?" He walked from the living room to the basement floor.

"Thought you would know." Sherlock placed the ladder down and began observing the walls. Looking for anything else.

John walked down the stairs.

"Are you loosing your memory?" Sherlock said. He looked up at John and saw that he was already gone. He went back observing the ceiling and walls. He was so distracted by the walls. He didn't know how long he had stared at it. He snapped back into reality and sat down on his couch and picked up a newspaper.

Just then there was a loud bang and a scream.

Sherlock jumped from his seat and went running towards the basement door.

"JOHN!" He screamed trying to open the basement door, but somehow it was jammed.