All through the night, Marie sat cross-legged on top of her grave, her mind racing. Things had taken a rather supernatural turn very quickly, and for a girl who had just been murdered, it was a lot to handle. For one thing, she remembered very little about her murder. She had clear memories of when she was alive and the memories she was making now that she was undead, but her murder was still very unclear to her, which made the idea of coming to terms with the fact that she was dead very difficult. For her, she had just been alive, minding her own business, working on pie-crusts and then…she was standing in the back room, an odd pain in her chest as police men swarmed around her, barking orders and gathering evidence.
At first, Marie had asked them what was going on. When no one answered, she screamed and cried and swore and tried to throw something, learning the hard way that she was dead because her hand went right through the rolling pin she'd been reaching for. This realization was horrible, and she tried to deny it even when she had to watch her own body be zipped up in a bag to be carted off somewhere unknown. Eventually, she pulled herself together enough to follow the police around. She found her family, which made her cry some more as she sat in her own house, watching her mother and father cry together over the loss of the daughter they couldn't see just inches away from them. Marie followed the police investigation as closely as possible when she couldn't handle watching her family grieve in an attempt to understand just what had happened to her. The fact that she was murdered came as a huge shock- she couldn't think of anyone who would have wanted to kill her. The police's idea of a gang was ridiculous to her- she didn't even know of any gangs that existed in all of Headington and Oxford, not to mention England.
Still struggling to come to terms with the fact that she was alone, with no one to comfort her, see her, or hear her, Marie attended her own funeral. It hurt her deeply to see all of her friends and family there, and she couldn't help but begin to imagine what her life would have been like if she was still alive, especially when she saw Mycroft. Would they have continued dating, even when he went off to college? Would she have gotten married- to anyone, Mycroft included? When the ceremonies were over and she was left to rot in the ground, Marie, overwhelmed with sorrow, confusion, and loss, couldn't help but sob at her own gravestone. Just as her tears were running dry, she'd heard a gasp. At first, she dismissed it- it was probably a family member returning to her grave. They were most likely going to shed a few tears of their own, explaining the gasp. However, when no one came over, she raised her head, looking for the source of the noise. In all of her life and now death, she would never have expected to make eye contact with Sherlock Holmes, of all people, that night.
As Mycroft's little brother, he'd been there every time Mycroft came in to the shop to say hello to her. Rightly guessing that Sherlock was just as intelligent as his brother, if not more so, and that treating Sherlock like a child would be a very bad mistake, Marie had always made it a point to greet Sherlock like an adult and say goodbye to him the same way. If she were in his shoes, she would have hated coming along to watch her sibling flirt and would have appreciated a bit of respect and kindness. Sherlock had usually either ignored her, belittled her until Mycroft hushed him, or he'd given her a very frosty greeting in return, but Marie knew that Sherlock was putting on an act. She had lots of younger cousins, and she could spot someone trying to remain aloof when she saw one. Because of that insight, she always had made an effort to address him, no matter what horrible things he shot back at her in return (one time he made sure to point out that she'd been crying because her dog had died the previous day).
Seeing him staring back at her with wide eyes, eyes that held recognition, had sent a shock of excitement and hope through her body. He wasn't looking through her, he was looking at her. Once they got over the fact that yes, she was real and yes, they could communicate with each other, fate had to intervene and separate them. However, Marie was shocked that Sherlock promised to return. In fact, he told her to stay put, as if he had the intent to not just return, but to talk. It was mindboggling that a ten year old boy, no matter how much of a genius he was, wanted to come back and talk with her. Ideas of what was going to become of their connection weighed heavy on her mind as she practiced solidifying in the graveyard all night long. It was an arduous process- she could feel every part of her body as individual molecules. Keeping them all in one place was hard enough to begin with, and on top of that, she was trying to be solid enough to rest on things- to touch things.
By morning (she'd already discovered that sleep was useless to her), she was sifting dirt lightly through her fingers, practicing holding it in her hands and then letting it pass through her molecules. It was easier to practice with just solidifying her hands and nothing else, and then she would hopefully move on from there. She was just concentrating enough to hold a small stone in her hand when she heard a loud scoff. Frightened, she blasted apart momentarily, reforming into wisps of smoke and then into her normal form, searching for the source of the sound. Seconds later, she found it. Or, rather, him. A man from a different century was standing a few feet away, looking at her with a type of frustrated recognition. He was obviously a ghost. "You new ones are all the same, are you not?" he questioned, half to himself as he approached. Marie backed cautiously away through her gravestone, and the man sighed, some of his frustration melting away. "I am not going to hurt you. It is good to be cautious, however, especially because you are so new. I am Sir Thomas Klinberg." He introduced himself, offering a hand for her to shake.
"Marie, Marie Williamson." Marie ventured finally, delighted to find that she could touch other ghosts like she could humans when she was alive.
"Murdered, were you? How dreadful." Thomas launched right into a conversation, tipping his bowler hat back to study Marie properly. "Poison, before you ask. My wife found me to be unsatisfactory so she laced my whiskey with arsenic." He shared, seeing her curiosity.
"I'm sorry." Marie said quietly, realizing that only now could she really empathize with someone who had died. Murder was horrible. What she could remember of her own death made her want to shiver. The terror she had felt in her veins was unlike anything she had ever experienced.
"Yes, well," Thomas sniffed, checking a pocket watch, as was a force of habit. He wound it as he spoke. "You're new, and although this graveyard is fairly nice as burial grounds go, there are things you need to know before you venture out into the world. That is, if you choose to. I am an agent of the Ghost Council, and my job is to tell the newly deceased the rules of our world and give them a few pointers on handling their new existence." He fell into an explanation in a tone of familiar lecture- he'd probably done this hundreds of times.
"This feels awfully…businesslike. I take it that- that there is no heaven or hell?" Marie ventured to ask, and Thomas chuckled.
"You're smart too, which will work out well for you. Yes, you are absolutely right. There is no heaven or hell or purgatory or anything of the sort. The quicker you can adapt to the fact that you are bound to earth unless you find eternal rest not in heaven, the better time you will have here. Most people, when they die, immediately pass into an eternal resting place that has no name. You simply…are comfortable. Forever. It is dark there, peaceful and quiet. Some ghosts have returned from it, but they live a different lifestyle, we shall say. Any sane ghost stays in eternal comfort once they find it. However, there are some people who never find their eternal rest. Most are those who are twisted, or have done evil in this world; it is hard for them to find peace when they are the exact opposite. They have a few domains around the globe and I give you a word to the wise- stay as far away from them as you can." Thomas warned, and Marie thought frantically over what he was telling her. The idea that there was nothing for her now, nothing but the idea of peace, was horrible. She had been half hoping to see deceased relatives or a friendly face. Thomas was nice enough, but he'd brought the news that there was no one waiting for her.
"Then, there are those who cannot find their eternal rest because of the nature of their death. There are people like you and me who have a chance at finding their eternal happiness…whatever that may be. There are others, however, who were the victims of such cruelty that they have what is called a death-echo. They relive their death every day of their immortal existence. The chances of them finding eternal happiness are very, very slim. Most go insane and join with the darker ghosts, so it is wise to stay away from them as well."
"And what is the Ghost Council you mentioned before?" Marie asked, leaning lightly against her headstone, now determined to soak up as much information as possible. It was a hard decision to make, ignoring how overwhelmed you were to take in even more information, but she sensed that she had to.
"The Ghost Council is a group of ghosts who have created rules for our world for the betterment of all. A governing body, if you will. The rules are simple. One- you can never take a human being. Ever. Possessing a human being will kill them- and that is murder. The punishment is most severe; your soul is shredded into pieces, in a process called fragmentation, so that you may never rest for all of eternity. Two- using other life forms, such as plants or animals, is also forbidden. Depending on how many lives you destroy, your punishment varies from isolation to shredding. Three- associating with humans is ill-advised. Some ghosts, for their own amusement, follow psychics and ghost-whisperers around, but that is on a strictly comedic basis. The longer you remain in a human's presence, the more dangerous the situation becomes." Thomas finished, casting her a critical look.
"But- why would I want to take a human, or a plant, or do any of those things in the first place?" Marie questioned, confused and slightly frightened by how quickly and blithely Thomas was presenting her with all the knowledge she would ever need to know about being dead. It was hard to keep her composure, but she was trying. Thomas sent her a wry smile.
"I forget sometimes how young you are- forgive me. The presence of a human being, of any sort of life form, is intoxicating. The older you become the more sensitive and powerful you will be. At the moment, you unconsciously feel the life of the grass, of insects. Those small yet numerous sources of life call to you- but because the level of power is so low you have learned to tune it out, even in your young age. The sun is the one power source you can always take from because we will never run out of it. If you ever feel ill or tired, lay in the sun. The life source will make you feel better. Humans, on the other hand, feel alive. The older you become the more you will be able to hear the siren call of life that runs in their veins. Touching them will be unbearable- do not, under any circumstances, solidify around a human. The consequences are severe. If you are unable to resist the need for life, you will start to kill indiscriminately and you will be shredded." Thomas warned, and Marie suddenly understood the burning sensation that had come from Sherlock trying to touch her. It was painful because it was warm, alive. It was strange to think that warmth was now foreign to her, but even the heat coming off of Sherlock's body had made her sensitive.
"I understand." Marie told Thomas, swallowing hard and gathering her courage. Even though he had just warned her to not associate with humans, Marie felt somewhere inside that Sherlock could help her, even if he was still alive and she was dead. She was confident that even if she started to want Sherlock's life that she could turn away from it- she could never hurt something so innocent.
"You are handling this very well, Marie. If you ever require assistance, the Ghost Council has offices anywhere there is a human governmental office. No matter what country you are in, you can find help. Do you have any other questions? If not, I must depart. More souls await." Thomas said, glancing at his pocket watch again.
"I- just one. You told me to avoid humans…but what if I'm spotted? How do I hide?" Marie asked, wording her question carefully. She didn't want to tell Thomas that she'd already been seen by Sherlock- he would tell her not to see the little boy again and, frankly, Marie craved the social interaction. However, being able to hide (she didn't know how many people could see her or if Sherlock was the only one) was a valuable asset. Thomas stowed his watch.
"It is very simple. You are well aware that your being is made of pieces, correct? So is the world around you. You are currently existing in one spectrum when, here on earth, we have several. If you concentrate, you can flash through them. You will know when you succeed, for things will look different and yet the same. You can also use those same spectrums to find soul residue, travel, and even from a ghost's vision disappear entirely. If you need help, go to a Council office. Now, I must go. Farewell, Marie Williamson." Sir Thomas Klinberg disappeared as quickly as he'd come, leaving Marie with a lot to think about. She already knew that despite the warning, she was going to stay put and see Sherlock until he didn't want to see her anymore. He was her only reminder of her past life, and she wasn't quite ready to move forward and leave that life behind her.
Considering she had no need to eat or sleep, Marie practiced moving through the spectrums that Thomas had mentioned. It was difficult; she had to let go of her consciousness and yet remain in control and aware of every single particle of her body. She made it to a few of them, including one that moved her about the Earth so quickly that it took her almost an hour to find her way back to the Rose Hill Cemetery where she was buried. Eventually, she settled on just being invisible until Sherlock would come. With that time, she stayed in the sun, beginning to recognize how good it felt on her skin. She toured the graveyard after a while, bored with simply sitting, and ran into a few ghosts who wished her well on her new life. They were all much older, and gave her lots of advice on the state of things.
Night fell, and still Marie waited at her grave. She was impatiently waiting for Sherlock to come back, and was terrified that he wouldn't, but at the same time the day alone was good for her. It gave her time to further adjust to her predicament. She practiced moving between spectrums and holding objects. She'd tried picking grass, but she couldn't manage the power to pull the grass yet. She could scoop dirt because that took barely any effort, but other motions, like pushing or pulling or dragging, were much harder. As the night got later and later, Marie's despair grew. She must have scared Sherlock away- either that or his brilliant mind came to the conclusion that ghosts like her were fairy-tales and didn't exist. Determined to cry in private, Marie sunk down through the earth and into her coffin. Being alone, in the dark, was nice, but it was also very lonely, and made Marie feel worse. She was just about to sink further into misery when she heard footsteps and felt heat- someone was at her grave.
In her haste to rise from her grave, Marie got stuck in a few spectrums, and flickered in and out of sight until she was suddenly whole, staggering on the surface. Sherlock was standing on her grave, watching her with unparalleled curiosity. "Sorry," Marie apologized in a gasp, holding herself for a moment to check that all of her was in one spectrum. It had felt awful getting split between two.
"What happened?" Sherlock asked, cocking his head to the side. It must have been very late- he was in pajamas and a pair of Wellingtons, a torch in hand. He had clearly snuck out of the house after he was supposed to be asleep, just to see her.
"I- sorry," Marie found herself apologizing again as she let out a long shiver, flickering a bit as she checked each spectrum for extraneous particles. When she returned, Sherlock looked more fascinated than ever. "Sorry. I was in my coffin, in a different spectrum and when you arrived it startled me. I got a bit lost." Marie explained quickly.
"Spectrum? What is that?" He asked, settling down against her headstone as easy as could be, turning off the torch. Marie seemed to glow in the dark a bit, and with that bit of light he was perfectly comfortable with sitting in a graveyard at night. Besides, anyone patrolling the yard would notice his bright torch instantly.
"Well, it's- I'm still on Earth…but in a different place. In some spectrums I am visible to you, and some I won't be. There are even a few where you can hide from other ghosts. It's difficult, though." Marie found herself tripping over the words as she tried to explain something that Sherlock could never, ever grasp. That is, until he was dead and if he became a ghost.
"We can run experiments on all of that, don't worry. Why is it difficult?" Sherlock waved a hand dismissively, his tone all business but his eyes shining with excitement.
"Experiments?" Marie echoed. That was most definitely against the rules of the Ghost Council. If she agreed and the Council found out, what would happen to her? To Sherlock?
"Yes, of course." Sherlock said, as if she were an idiot. They stared at each other for a moment.
"Sherlock…there are rules to being a ghost. Those rules…if I break them…I can't, I'm sorry. I really love seeing you and talking to you, but I can't let you run any experiments on me. I'm sorry." Marie unconsciously rubbed her chest wound again, feeling hysteria and despair rise up in her throat. This was surely it- Sherlock would huff off and would leave her all alone.
"Rules?" Sherlock questioned, eyes inquisitive. He didn't seem all that affected by Marie's distress, but internally he felt awfully sorry for her. Despite that, he was still a ten year old, snobby genius who was still seeking entertainment.
"I- yes. I can't tell you about those, either." Marie said miserably, sinking to the ground to sit cross-legged as well. She kept her distance, though. She didn't want Sherlock reaching for her again, especially when she was still so new at maintaining a certain state. If she were to solidify and if Sherlock touched her…Marie didn't know what would happen, but she trusted Thomas and knew that there would be horrid consequences. Besides, she didn't want to run the risk of killing something so innocent, even on accident. In the dark of the night, the warmth and sunlight from just hours ago seemed very far away. It's heat still burned inside her, but slowly- and would run out soon.
"I propose an exchange." Sherlock announced, deciding to try and milk the situation as much as possible. "I will solve your murder if you tell me about ghosts and let me run experiments." He offered, and Marie blinked at him.
"I- what? Sherlock, I don't doubt that you could but- you're ten years old, and this is murder we are talking about. What if you find whoever did this to me? What if they hurt you? I can't accept that," Marie decided. As much as she wanted to know who had killed her and why (after all, she might find that eternal rest Thomas was talking about), Sherlock was still just a child. Morally, she couldn't agree to something like that. Sherlock frowned at her. It was nice that she hadn't told him that he wasn't smart enough, but it bothered him that people still thought that he was incapable of doing anything just because he was a child.
"Then you should follow me around, I suppose, because I'm going to solve it anyway. You're an adult; you can 'keep me safe' from the 'bad guys'." Sherlock declared, letting his sarcasm run wild as he stood up, beating dirt out of his pajamas.
"Sherlock- you can't. Please, don't." Marie begged, hurriedly floating to her feet as well. It was quickly becoming apparent that there was nothing she could do to stop Sherlock, and no one else (so far) could see her. She couldn't warn anyone of what Sherlock was about to do, and that terrified her.
"You're in Rose Hill Cemetery, which is no more than twenty minutes away from New Hinksey Primary School. Be there at noon tomorrow and we'll start with an interview. I'll work the evidence from there." Sherlock ordered, excitement starting to leak into his tone as he walked away, leaving Marie floating there, paralyzed with horror and worry.
A/N: Sherlock is a pushy little shit, isn't he? I tried to make him cute and Sherlock-esque because he's a kid but he's still himself. You know what I mean? No? Ok. Also, if any of the 'ghost rules' moved too fast or were unclear PLEASE let me know. I've read them a few times over and my awesome beta looked at them too, but I'm still worried. Bleh.
Next Chapter: Sherlock Makes a Friend
