A/N: I was listening to the song "Little Ghost" by The White Stripes and this idea came into my head. An hour later and BOOM! Output le fic.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own ParaNorman or the song or BBC Sherlock et cetera. The only thing I own was these ideas mixed together to form a written document. This is pretty much the product. Ta-flippin'-da.

Enjoy!

Sherlock was ten when he met his ghost. It was seven in the morning, and he was yawning and rubbing the recent night's dreams from his eyes.

"It can't be morning already," Sherlock moaned, turning over and trying to go back to sleep.

"Actually, it is!" A voice said.

Sherlock's eyes sprung open. That wasn't Mummy. That wasn't Mycroft. Then who-

"Hello!"

Sherlock turned over and squinted at the rising sun coming through his window. He shielded the glare with his hand to see where the the voice was emanating from. Standing in front of the window was a boy. The boy's mouth was smiling, and his head was tilted a bit to the right. Sherlock noticed that the sunlight looked as if the rays were going through the boy. Odd.

"You just moved here, right?"

Sherlock nodded, then sat up. "How did you get in here? Who are you?" He quickly looked around his room for possible options. His door was still closed, and from the position of the shirt on the doorknob, hadn't been moved since last night. The window was locked, so no option there.

The boy's face had lit up. "Oh! I'm John! Nice to meet you!" John held out his hand.

Sherlock, suspicious, slowly extended his arm to grasp John's hand. He tried to grab John's hand, and his hand went directly through it.

Directly through the boy's hand.

Sherlock gasped, and accidentally fell out of bed tumbling on the floor. He groaned.

"Oh! Sorry! I should have walked closer. You leaned right out of bed!"

"Interesting."

"Huh?"

Sherlock had pushed himself up and sat cross-legged on the floor. "You're a ghost."

John frowned and tilted his head. "Well…yeah. I am."

Sherlock assessed John's outlook. He was wearing a jumper that was too big for him, and shorts. The jumper's sleeves were slightly over his hands and stretched over the top of his shorts. His hair was blond, short, and in need of a haircut; the left shoe untied, and socks folded over, the right one slightly dirty on the outside from the ankle to the top of the fold.

"You appear to be a few years younger from myself…judging from the jumper's size, it must have been a family members, maybe your fathers. Only one of your shoes are tied, and the opposite leg of the untied shoe must mean that you tripped and fallen down, somewhere dirty, maybe the pavement, or-"

"HEY!"

Sherlock looked up. John's face clearly showed worry, and he had sat down in front of Sherlock, knees pulled into his chest; his hands clasped in front of his legs.

"I said are you okay?"

Sherlock blinked for a moment, then replied, "I'm fine. I speak out loud sometimes, when I'm thinking."

John smiled brightly. "Oh, okay! Good!"

Sherlock couldn't help but to smile back. He decided that he liked John, and ignored the fact that he had came into his room without permission.

John then gasped. "I've got it! Could you grab that over there?"

Sherlock looked to where John pointed. "The bear?"

"Yeah!"

The bear John pointed at was a stuffed animal with a little checkered bow tie and gloves. His neighbors had given him before they moved. Sherlock had wanted to throw it away, but his mum had made him keep it and mumble out a "Thank you" before they left. Sherlock went to grab the bear and sat back down.

"Sit the bear in front of me."

Sherlock did. John then reached his arm out and made his hand go through the bear's arm, making the end of the bear's fingers the end of John's fingers as well, albeit also making John's hand slightly going back into the bear's arm.

"Grab the bear's arm and shake it up and down."

Sherlock knew what John was doing. He smiled vibrantly as he shook John's 'hand.'

"Pleasure to meet you, John."

"Same…what's your name?"

"Sherlock."

"Nice to meet you, Sherlock!"

They both laughed and shook 'hands' for a while. Then, when they stopped, Sherlock frowned.

"John."

"Huh?"

"When I was…analyzing you…you didn't think I was…" Sherlock bit his lip and lowered his head.

"Was what?"

"…Weird?"

John tilted his head again. "Why would I think that?"

"Other people…they don't like it when I do it."

"Well, I think it's amazing!"

Sherlock's head popped up in surprise. "Really?"

"Extraordinary!"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You probably don't even know what that word means!"

"I don't! But it sounds like the right word!"

They laughed again. There was a knock at the door, as Mycroft entered the room.

Sherlock looked at him and frowned.

"Oh, you're up. That's different. Usually you're asleep."

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock started playing with the stuffed, bear's glove again.

"Breakfast is ready on the table," Mycroft replied. "Hurry up, or you'll be late for school." He looked at his brother's position, clearly trying to evaluate what Sherlock was doing. Finally, he shrugged and left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Was that your brother?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded. He then pulled some clothes from his wardrobe and went to the side of the room. He pulled on a shirt and switched his pants. When he was finished, he looked up to see John facing the window, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Sherlock grinned. "You know, you didn't have to turn away for me to get dressed."

John turned around, his face a bright red. "Oh! No, it's just…my mum told me to turn around when someone's getting dressed. It's polite."

"Well, I don't mind," Sherlock said.

"SHERLOCK!" Mycroft called up the stairs.

"COMING!" Sherlock yelled. He held out his hand. "Coming?"

John froze. "How?"

Sherlock walked over and reached for John's hand. It went directly through John's, but he pulled back and placed his hand where John's would be.

"Just keep your hand on mine," Sherlock said.

"Okay."

Sherlock opened the door and john followed behind, in such a way that it looked like Sherlock was sneaking John out of his room. Sherlock tried to keep a straight face as he walked down the stairs discretely (and failed), with John floating down behind him, smiling and blushing himself into oblivion.

"No one else can know the secret of our love."

A/N(2): Should there be a Chapter 2?