Author Notes: Discovered Spirit!John and the rest is history.

Warning: Friendship, Hurt and Comfort, Character Death

Characters Involved: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, and Mycroft Holmes

Disclaimer: I do not own the wonderful creations of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle nor do i own the characters remade by BBC

"Bored."

Mycroft sighed turning from the dishes to his brother. Sherlock held a tennis ball, tossing it up to the ceiling before catching it again repeatedly. With an eye roll, he turned back to the sink scrubbing a stubborn dish. "Go outside and play for a change then instead of lighting the couch on fire." he mumbled

"That was one time!" Sherlock snapped before sinking deeper into the couch. "Besides, there's nothing to do outside" he said.

Mycroft set down his sponge putting away the dried dishes. "Sure there is Sherlock, you could study weathering effect on growth of fungus, you could map flight patterns of bees, look over the amount of water in the air to duck egg laying ratios." Mycroft continued, crouched down putting away the egg pan. "The whole world is an experiment. Now go learn."

Sherlock groaned sliding off the couch in a crumpled heap before dragging himself toward the door. Mycroft stepped forward picking his obnoxious little brother up. "Stop being so dramatic." He said reaching for his book and plopped onto the couch. Sherlock opened the backdoor stepping out into the woods surrounding their summer home. "And stay close by!" He heard Mycroft shout before the door slammed shut.

Sticking his tongue out, Sherlock disappearing into the forest. He hadn't wanted to stay inside anyway.

-(Line Breaker!)-

"Bored." Sherlock mumbled, snapped a branch from his place in the tree tops. He'd already looked over the fungus (nothing extraordinary), the bees flight patterns (nothing unusual), and the duck laying patterns (his work there was inconclusive seeing as the mother duck had chased him nearly half a mile before he could actually get any research done) and now he had nothing to do. Again.

"Bored." He groaned again, climbing down from the trees. He'd seen the mother duck heading back to her young several minutes ago. with her gone, he was sure he was safe. Pretty safe at least seeing as he didn't know where he was entirely. Sherlock looked around. He'd never seen these type of fungus or oak trees before. The thought of a new species to study lifted his mood as he took out his magnifying glass, slides, and sample pouches. He started with an odd looking bush with purple and yellow berries. They obviously weren't in the nature guide.

Pulling on his gloves, he moved to the bush. He snapped several pictures before picking off a handful of the unusual little berries. Rubbing the juice over his white gloves he filed away the orange coloring as a research topic for later and continued to pick.

Halfway through a cyan blue berried bush, a fluttering feeling brushed against his ear.

Sherlock's nose scrunched slightly as he swatted the feeling away lazily. He returned to his work for several minutes before flutter on his skin returned. Turning green blue eyes to it, Sherlock nearly dripped his pouches.

An dark brown butterfly with asymmetrical spotted wings.

He'd never seen one up close before and now here one was, inches from him. He reached for it watching as it fluttered just out of his grasp. What he wouldn't give for a butterfly net right now. He put down his pouches chasing after the butterfly through the forest. It seemed to be mocking him, flying just high enough out of his reach so no matter how far he jumped he couldn't catch it. The game of tag irritated Sherlock to no end as he tried to capture the creature.

Sherlock put all his energy into one final jump and reached for it missing the butterfly by a hair's breath. Back on the ground, Sherlock continued after it into a dense patch of berries. He reached again unaware of the undergrowth roots in front of him and tumbled forward over the undergrowth, into the next row of bushes, and over the other side into a clear drop down.

Everything clicked inside Sherlock's head as he tumbled through the air. His final destination, the merciless ground below. Sherlock could do nothing but scream as he readied for the impact. His legs instinctual kicked and he closed his eyes waiting for the pain as the ground inched closer.

He froze.

He didn't feel like he was falling anymore. Yet, he didn't feel the ground under his feet either.

Sherlock opened one eye looking down. He was suspended in the air. His feet dangling over the fall. He looked up into pale blue eyes. A boy no older than himself too was suspended in the air. The boy had hold of Sherlock's coat and carried them both up and to the cliff side again. He gently set Sherlock against a tree and settled on top of a rock across from him.

A thick silence fell over the two as Sherlock examined the boy. He appeared human, with peach skin and sandy brown hair on the top of his head. A large healthy green leaf stuck as if held by super glue on the top of his head. Sherlock looked over the boy. He seemed to have a soft air to him, no presence whatsoever, almost like he could vanish into the wind at any moment and you would hardly remember that he was there. He sat silently on the rock watching Sherlock watch him before, with a flutter, the same asymmetrical butterfly landed on the tip of his nose stretching its mismatch wings.

"Hey." Sherlock watched as the boy gently reached for his nose and the butterfly flew into his hand walking over his fingertips.

He hopped off the rock landing gracefully in the grass and walked closer to Sherlock. Leaning forward, he gently pecked his lips to Sherlock's. Before he could react, the strange boy had pulled away leaving behind a warm tingling feeling on Sherlock's lips and a deep blush on his creamy white cheeks.

"Butterfly's don't like to be examined by pins and needles." The boy said softly his voice, reminding Sherlock of a welcoming spring breeze. The butterfly danced around the boy landing on the top of his head.

"They're creatures to be admired, not poked and prodded." the boy continued and Sherlock brushed a finger over his lips as the bushes beside him shook.

"Sherlock?!" Mycroft called, stepping through the bush to glare at his younger brother. "I told you not to wander too far. There's a cliff nearby and you could be seriously hurt if you fell in." he scolded.

Sherlock looked from the boy staring passively at him to Mycroft. 'Can he not see him?' Sherlock thought. Mycroft looked where Sherlock had been staring.

"What? What are you looking at?" he asked and Sherlock looked back to find nothing. The boy had disappeared and neither of them had seen him go. Sherlock continued to stare at the grass where the boy had been standing only a small pink flower left in his wake. He turned back to his brother as he continued to lecture him on safety and following rules. "You even hurt your knee" Mycroft continued, "It could get infected if you're not careful." Mycroft noticed that Sherlock wasn't even listening and sighed. It was like talking to a brick wall sometimes. Realizing he was getting nowhere with him, he scooped his younger brother into his arms and carried him home.

-(Line Breaker!)-

That night, Mycroft tugged the blankets up to Sherlock's chin as he put him to bed. Sherlock had been in a daze all day his nose scrunched like it did when he thought too hard. "What are you thinking about, Dear brother?" He asked.

Sherlock looked over. "Mycroft, what do you know about fairies?" Sherlock looked away embarrassed when Mycroft's eyebrow raised.

"Fairies?" he repeated. "Not much, I suppose, they're creatures of myth. From legend, depending on the type of course, they make the seasons, warn of death, help around households, and even hurt people."

Sherlock sat up in his bed. "What about Fairies that save lives?"

Mycroft looked at his brother. "I've never heard of a fairy that does that. Nature spirits can though, they help the nearly dying or dead spirits come to terms with their death and bring them safely into the afterlife. I suppose they could stop someone from dying as well." Mycroft thought aloud.

Sherlock sat back satisfied with the answer and Mycroft turned off the lights. "Goodnight Brother."

"Goodnight Mycroft." He mumbled as Mycroft closes the door behind him. Sherlock turned lying flat on his back trying to sleep. He begins to drift off until the soft rhythmic feeling of breathing on his face stirs him back to reality and he opened an eye to familiar blue ones staring back at him. He sits up quickly the boy tumbling back in a complete somersault and ends up upside down against the end backboard of his bed looking at him curiously his feet waving laziliy in the air.

"You're real." It was more of a statement than a question and the boy flipped over. He cocked his head and said nothing the two just staring at each other like they had that morning. Sherlock cleared his throat. "I'm Sherlock Holmes. Who are you?" the boy leaned forward and pecks his lips against Sherlock's again. Sherlock sat back. "Why do you keep doing that?"

The boy blinked. "I'm John. It's lip translation. It helps me learn how to translate my language into yours." He crosses his legs sitting across from Sherlock. "Don't humans do it too? I see them sometimes in the forest translating with each other. They don't seem to say much though. They really like to translate." He said, playing with his toes.

Sherlock blushed a bit. "That's not what they're doing." he mumbled. John seemed to want to say something but instead nodded and looked over the blanket covering Sherlock's cut leg.

"You cut your leg on a rock." John stated and Sherlock lifted the blanket and nodded. "Does it hurt?" he asked.

Sherlock turned it a bit. "Only when I bend it." John slowly leaned forward gently placing his small peach hands over the wound. Sherlock felt a tingling sensation run throughout his leg before John removed his fingers. Moving the bandages, he looked over his healed leg. "Thank you…" he said, still fascinated by the work. John nodded hopping off the bed and flying to the window.

"John?"

John turned back to Sherlock's voice and Sherlock watched him. "Why couldn't my brother see you?" he asked.

"Only mortals who have died or are nearly departed can see spirits. You were supposed to die today." He answered unlatching the window's hinges.

Sherlock took in the information. 'I was supposed to die today. I was supposed to fall off of a cliff and die from the fall. Mycroft would have found me minutes too late. He'd probably blame himself even though it's my carelessness that got me killed" Sherlock thought bitterly. He still had one more question. "Why did you save me?"

John seemed to question it himself for a second, looking for the right response. He smiled softly. "Because you have a greater purpose." He hopped into the windowsill his legs dangling out. "Live well, we'll meet again someday Sherlock Holmes. Hopefully later rather than sooner." And with that, he hopped out a gentle breeze closing and somehow locking the window behind him.

-(Line Breaker)-

Sherlock looked over the rooftop. This was his only way out. He could save everyone, but himself. Before his fear could make him over think his choices, he took a breath, one final look at the world he was leaving behind, and leaped. The ledge disappeared and his world flashed a distant memory coming into view. This would be the second time in his life he had fallen to his death, though this one would be a more permanent destination. He looked to the concrete below him rapidly getting closer and then up as a grown figure appeared above him. Sherlock smiled as it grabbed him, its blue eyes older and aged over the years. He didn't feel the pain as he hit the concrete only the warm embrace of the spirit taking his hand. He smiled slightly at John as a warm light shined in the distance.

"Ready?"

Sherlock nodded taking the first steps into the afterlife.

He never looked back.

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