Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter One: Hit and..Miss?
"Come on, John!" Sherlock Holmes called out. He and his best friend were running through an old, musty paper factory, chasing a bank thief.
"Stop!" John yelled.
"John," argued a slightly out-of breath Sherlock, "you know that never works."
Just then, the thief actually came to a sudden stop. John glanced at Sherlock with a smug smirk.
"I stand corrected," admitted the detective.
"I hope you said goodbye!" the thief shouted as he raised his gun. Before Sherlock and John had time to react, two shots rang out through the building, then silence.
"Ha!" Sherlock laughed, "Great aim, dumbass! You missed us completely!"
"Sherlock, you bastard, what did I say?" John angrily yelled at him, "'We should never go without backup,' I said, 'we're going to get ourselves killed,' I said. Now look at us!" he ranted.
"John, don't tell me how to live my life!" the indignant detective replied, his eyes still focused on the thief.
"Sherlock! You're a ghost!" John yelled, "I'm a ghost!"
"What? No," Sherlock denied, "he missed."
"Look down."
The detective did just that, and saw his and John's bodies lying dead and bloody on the ground. A bullet hole sat square squarely in the center of Sherlock's forehead, while John's fatal wound appeared to be a shot through his eye.
"Damn it," he muttered, "That guy was a very good shot for a generic bank robber." As he sulked, a smile began to pull at the corners of his mouth. "Let's go haunt Molly."
"I'm sorry, what?!" John asked.
"Let's. go. haunt. Molly." Sherlock repeated, emphasizing every word.
"We just DIED, and your first thought is to go haunt Molly?!" John yelled with incredulous anger, "How are you okay with this?!"
"Yeah, why not? It'll be fun. It's okay!"
"No… no, this is not okay!" John shouted harshly, running his hand through his hair and walking away from Sherlock as he tried to contain his anger.
"Well," Sherlock replied, as he closely followed John, "You have no choice." With that, he grabbed the doctor's ghost's arm, and they both dissolved with a vroosh.
From the POV of John Watson
We went through a wormhole of sorts. It was black and white, and yet filled with all the colors of the spectrum. It was as dark as the deepest chasm, and yet bright as the sun all at once. I felt scared, but comforted. There were glorious, gorgeous Angels, and hideous, horrifying demons. It was beautiful, and it was gone too fast.
We suddenly found ourselves in St. Bart's morgue.
"What the hell?" I wondered aloud, "How did you do that?" I yelled at Sherlock.
"No time to explain now. Molly will be coming through that door any second."
If you weren't already dead, I'd kill you, I thought to myself.
Just then, Molly walked through the door.
"This is going to be hilarious," Sherlock snickered.
"I am not going to be a part of this!" I snarled, still in disbelief at his complete lack of understanding of the gravity of our situation.
"Fine, suit yourself," Sherlock replied as he snuck behind Molly. He blew a soft stream into her ear.
"What the krap?!" she yelped in surprise.
Then, with a grin, Sherlock swung his arm, flinging autopsy tools off a nearby table.
"Oh, hell no." Molly declared in an annoyed voice.
"Now to really scare her," Sherlock said to me with a grin. He stepped in front of her, and drew in a deep breath. His next words echoed with a loud, unearthly quality that even Molly, still alive, could hear.
"Get OUT, or I will k–"
"Sherlock, cut the crap!" Molly said indignantly, without the slightest flinch of fear.
~MJS