The next day, Marie fretted anxiously. She hadn't left the cemetery yet, and wasn't sure if she wanted to. She would see other ghosts as well as be around lots of people, whom she'd been told to avoid. However, if she didn't go, she couldn't imagine the trouble Sherlock would get himself into. Steeling her nerves and trying not to think about the 'shredding' process Thomas had mentioned, Marie walked out of the cemetery. She soon found that she could float and even go through different spectrums to move much more quickly. It helped quite a bit in her quest to avoid people on the streets, but when she arrived at Sherlock's school at 11:45, she was suddenly in the presence of over a hundred kids and their teachers. Each one was very much alive, and that started to tug at her sense of concentration. It horrified Marie that she was so interested in children in the sole purpose of killing them, so she stayed at the farthest corner of the playground, holding herself, remaining invisible in case another ghost were to come by.
Finally, at exactly twelve o' clock, Sherlock appeared on the playground, looking disgruntled by the screaming, laughing, and playing children around him. He automatically crossed to a deserted corner of the playground and sat down, opening up a binder he had with him and taking out a pencil. He stared pointedly at the pages, but didn't write anything. He was waiting for her. Trying to fight down her anxiety, Marie dissolved into a different spectrum to cross the playground to avoid the siren call of life of the children playing around her. She appeared, still invisible, in front of Sherlock and took the time to study him. He was thin for a boy his age, and well on his way to shooting up like a beanpole. His eyes, facial expressions, and even his movements were carefully controlled, to a point where it broke Marie's heart. She wasn't stupid, she knew that the Holmes boys were different, but she had never seen anyone act so…caged. As if they had to hide from the world all the time. It was awful to recognize in someone so young. Deciding that he didn't have much time for recess, she slowly shimmered into awareness. He didn't look up, but a wry smile pulled at his lips. "You're late," he said softly, even though he was obviously thrilled that Marie had come.
"I'd tell you why…but that breaks the rules." she told him, resisting the urge to lean away from him. Intoxicating life was pouring out of him and every other child on the playground, and Marie knew that it was dangerous for to be there, and yet there she was, already breaking the rules. Sherlock huffed, but said nothing. Instead, he scrawled on the paper in his binder. It appeared to all the other children that he was writing in his workbook- but only Marie could see that he was communicating silently so that it didn't look as if he was talking to himself.
You should tell me anyway. This investigation might take a while, and I should understand you. It will make things much simpler. He wrote, and Marie frowned.
"You shouldn't be investigating at all, Sherlock. But…you do have a right to know this," Marie reasoned. If she was unable to control the urge for life, she'd kill Sherlock. He had a right to, at least, be able to identify all of the potential threats he was facing. It was clear that he trusted her already, and she didn't want to betray him by instinct. "This might seem obvious, but there is no life in me, at all. I'm cold, always, and you…you're warm. There is life in you, and feeling you emanating it, feeling that spark from all of these other children, the teachers, anyone…it's intoxicating. It's addictive, and if I don't control myself, I'll try to take it, like a parasite. One of the rules is to avoid human contact at all cost, lest you possess that human to take their life and murder them in the process. It's dangerous for me to be around you, Sherlock. If I disappear, if I go away, don't try to find me. If I tell you to leave, you should, and as quickly as possible. I am still very new, and controlling the urge is…difficult." Marie explained slowly, sinking to the ground but maintaining a good five feet between them. Sherlock looked up at her through the fringe of his hair, eyes searching for what, Marie didn't know.
You won't hurt me. Sherlock wrote with such conviction that Marie froze, closing her eyes and letting out a shaky breath. Why was Sherlock so trusting? She had just confessed that she was fighting the urge to kill him, and yet he still wanted to be near her, to help her. It was odd, but heartwarming. Now, tell me about the night you were killed. Sherlock added when Marie said nothing. Unable to help herself, Marie turned her face away from Sherlock, fighting down the urge to cry. Unconsciously, she reached up and played with the material of her blouse that was darkened with blood.
"I was working the night-shift, alone. Dad always warned me to keep all the doors locked, and they were. I was in the back kitchen, working on pie and pastry crusts for the next day. Then- I can't remember what happened, no matter how hard I try. I can recall an incredible amount of fear, the kind of fear when you know that you're going to die…but nothing else. I was working and then, suddenly…I was watching the police zip me into a body bag." Marie's voice dropped off into a whisper and she stared at the ground, unable to meet Sherlock's silver eyes. Her murder was still fresh in her mind, the last minute desperation; the savoring of air before you knew no more- those feelings haunted her. Retelling what she knew, to a ten year old, no less, was not easy. In fact, a few tears passed down her cheeks and landed into the dirt, leaving no trace. The barely audible sounds of Sherlock's pencil on paper jerked Marie out of her grief a moment later, and she raised her eyes to see the message, still ignoring Sherlock's face as much as possible.
You didn't recognize anyone, hear anything strange, or see something odd while you were still alive and then after you died? Sherlock's words were all business, and Marie laughed bitterly.
"No, Sherlock, I didn't. I wouldn't even have known that I was murdered unless I had followed around the police for an hour. I don't even remember seeing a gun- I had to see the police report to know that I'd been shot." Marie said sharply, starting to feel anger for the first time. Why was she needlessly, senselessly murdered? Why? She hadn't done anything wrong. The injustice made her want to scream.
Did anyone have a grudge against you? Anyone who didn't like you- enough so to have you killed? Sherlock wrote next, and this time Marie met his gaze, with a bit of fury in her expression. For a ten year old, Sherlock sure knew how to disregard her feelings, to push her buttons, and to cast her aside. How could he suggest something like that?
"No, of course not!" Marie exclaimed, her distress starting to sneak into her tone. "I was nobody- an ordinary person. The only thing that I ever did that was 'out of the ordinary' was to date your brother, which shouldn't have been considered strange anyway- Mycroft is a person, like you- you're not- you shouldn't be treated differently than anyone else just because of who you are-," Marie cut herself off, forcing herself to take a deep breath even though she had no need to. She was starting to feel sick, even in the sun, and she realized that she was leaning forward now, toward Sherlock…toward his warmth. "I-!" Marie, horrified with herself and how quickly she started to give in to her wants, vanished on the spot, blasting through several different spectrums in a quick succession until she was back in the graveyard.
Sherlock sat confused in his corner of the playground, pencil poised to ask another question, staring at the spot that Marie had occupied just seconds before. Most people sneered at the Holmes family, treated them with anger yet compliance, but Marie hadn't. She'd gotten upset when talking about Mycroft, about how people in Headington treated them differently because he was dating 'down' in class and she was dating the snobby, mysterious, eldest son of Mr. Holmes. It was true that she may have been upset because she was discussing her violent murder, but Sherlock dismissed the idea because Marie said that she couldn't remember anything. Why be upset about something when she couldn't remember details? She'd cried when she talked about the fact that she was dead, but if all she could remember was fear and no specific act against her, the chances were that she was upset about Mycroft and about how the Holmeses were treated, not because of her end- Sherlock had seen it in her face. Considering the fact that she was the first person outside of his family to not treat him like a child and to condemn the way his family was treated, Sherlock started to feel.
He felt guilty (just a bit) for forcing Marie into complying with his investigation. He felt sad for her, even though caring would do nothing for her. Sherlock felt gratitude and respect for how she viewed him and his family. Through it all, Sherlock had the nagging suspicion that she was his first friend. That thought in mind, Sherlock spent the rest of school worrying about Marie. Mummy had always told him that he was too rude and pushy too soon, and Sherlock wondered (despite his ten-year old arrogance) that he'd hurt Marie by asking so nonchalantly about her murder. Determined to make it up to her and to continue with the investigation, Sherlock was quiet and mostly compliant all day around Mycroft and his family. He ate dinner without complaint and went to bed only when Mummy told him he couldn't stay up anymore (to avoid suspicion about his good behavior). Once he'd waited an hour and a half (to be safe), Sherlock grabbed his torch and his Wellingtons before he was sneaking out of the house. It was a long walk to Rose Hill Cemetery, but it passed quickly as Sherlock got more and more anxious. He darted quickly around the graves before he finally came to a stop at hers.
"Marie?" He asked quietly, suddenly wishing that he wasn't so alone in the graveyard. With Marie's comforting glow, he felt safe, especially when they were talking. Without her, the graveyard seemed a lot more spooky, even for the young genius. "Marie, I'm sorry," He told her grave, realizing that she could very easily be there and he didn't know it.
He was right.
Marie was sitting behind her gravestone, using it as a backrest. She was currently in a spectrum where no one could see her, so that she could be paralyzed by her grief in private. She hadn't disappeared to find a more private spot when Sherlock came up, and as soon as he apologized, she felt new tears well up in her eyes. She could tell, just by his tone, by the fact that he'd called her by name, that he cared, and that he was apologizing for her death, for her new situation, and for being so quick to press her on her own murder. It was such a complex action that carried such deep emotion that it made Marie cry. Again. "I'm sorry about today, and about everything. You disappeared so quickly, and, well, I can't conduct an interview without you, now can I?" He asked, his vulnerability disappearing as quickly as it had come. "What are you doing, Sherlock?" He asked himself after a moment, beating his torch against his palm. "She might not even be here, and-," Marie decided to cut in, hoping to avoid Sherlock getting frustrated and leaving.
"Sherlock?" She asked quietly, and the boy inhaled sharply to cover his surprise at hearing Marie's voice so suddenly. Marie stood up, made sure that there was plenty of space between herself and the grave (and, therefore, Sherlock), before she shivered into visibility. She'd sat behind her headstone all day, and without the sun's rays touching her directly, she was cold, and didn't glow nearly as brightly. In the dark, cold of the night, Sherlock seemed more alive than ever, which made Marie's heart twist. She offered him a slightly sad smile as they stared at each other. "You're shivering," Marie noted finally, and Sherlock shrugged.
"So are you." He noted, frowning at her as she shivered as if on cue. Marie's smile got sadder, but it didn't fall. "Why?" He asked.
"I propose an exchange." Marie announced, repeating Sherlock's words on purpose. "We'll walk you home so that you can get warm, and I'll tell you why I'm shivering. Deal?" She offered, and Sherlock couldn't help but smile. She really was his friend.
"I suppose," he deadpanned, and set off through the cemetery, Marie following parallel about five feet away, maintaining a careful distance. "Can't you stop?" he asked Marie as she shivered when they passed out of the gates of Rose Hill. She sent him another slightly sad smile.
"Not until tomorrow, at least. That can't be helped." She told him, and seeing the question in his gaze, she continued. "I told you that ghosts can't take life from people, right? Well, that rule extends to anything that has life on Earth- from the smallest bacteria to the largest animal. The one source I can tap into, however, is the sun. Solar power is renewable and will never run out, so ghosts can use it. It keeps me warm at night. It's not like being alive, not even close…but it helps." Marie shared as they walked along- Sherlock on the sidewalk and Marie down the middle of the road.
"You're saying that you didn't sunbathe today so now you're cold?" Sherlock scoffed, but his tone was warm.
"That's exactly what I'm saying. It didn't help that I felt very…compelled to take from kids at your school today, including you. I wasn't even aware that I felt that way until I was already leaning towards you- it's that unconscious of an action. That scared me, so I left. Sorry about that, by the way." Marie apologized, and Sherlock shook his head simply.
"The fault is mine as well. I was very crass when it came to asking you about sensitive information, and I apologize. If it makes you feel better, however, I have a lead in your case."
"A lead? Should I be calling you 'Detective Inspector Holmes'?" Marie asked, and Sherlock threw her such a sassy look that she started laughing.
"DI's don't consult ghosts to solve the stories of their deaths." Sherlock said disdainfully as they walked along, passing under a streetlight.
"So you're a consulting detective to the dead, then? Very nice. What's the lead?" Marie asked, and Sherlock looked at her thoughtfully for a moment before responding.
"You brought to my attention the reason why you were talked about in ridiculous gossip- you were dating my brother." Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Mycroft has people who don't like him- maybe someone was trying to hurt him by going after you."
"Do you really think so?" Marie asked, astounded at the very possibility.
"It's better than the current theory. Gang affiliations, honestly." Sherlock grumbled, and Marie laughed again. "Did you ever meet any of Mycroft's classmates or friends?" Sherlock asked her as they walked.
"Just a few, and in passing. They all seemed nice enough to me. We were in different social circles, which made things awkward." Marie reflected, eyes slightly downcast as she spoke. The more they discussed Mycroft, the more Marie thought about how he'd made her feel. She regretted not reacting more positively to his affections, no matter how slight he made them seem. Mycroft was a good man, and she missed him.
"Hmm," Sherlock mused, trying to ignore his shivers. How annoying they were, when he was trying to focus on his mind, not his body! Thinking was what was important then, not his body's reaction to being cold. "I'll have to dig into Mycroft's personal life. How disgusting," he commented, and Marie made an amused noise, walking a bit closer now, more by the gutter. "You're closer," Sherlock noted, storing ideas away for later. Marie looked up from the asphalt road at his comment and gave him a slightly strained smile.
"I know. I'm trying to train myself to resist the urge. I was alright walking down the middle of the street- when we're that far apart I'm fine. The closer I get though, the greater the need. I've just got to wait it out." Marie told him, floating along now. She was tired of walking when she didn't have to expend that effort if she didn't want to. Floating allowed her to focus more carefully on staying exactly three feet away from Sherlock.
"That seems reasonable." Sherlock noted, and they walked in silence for a bit. "Can you touch me? I should rephrase- are you always in such a vaporous state?" Sherlock asked a while later as they turned onto his street. Marie actually flinched, adding a foot of space between them.
"I can solidify, yes. It's difficult- and I've been practicing by sifting dirt through my fingers to master it…but I cannot touch you. If I do- the consequences would be awful." She told him.
"It's against the rules," Sherlock stated a matter-of-factly, and Marie shot him a slightly scandalized look.
"Well, yes, but I would probably kill you, Sherlock." She stressed, and she sighed with slight fondness, seeing that he was not at all phased by her confession.
"What happens if you break a rule?" He pressed, and Marie grimaced, unable to fight down a shiver- then another. She'd thought a lot about being shredded- and what that would entail. The more she thought about it, the worse it seemed, until the idea of having your soul ripped to pieces frightened her instantly.
"They shred you," she told Sherlock softly, and he looked at her incredulously.
"Shred?" He repeated. "Explain," he demanded, but quietly, as they had arrived at the Holmes estate.
"Tomorrow. It's late and you need to sleep. Besides- I don't want to talk about it right before you go to bed." Marie told him, and Sherlock scowled at her.
"I already have one Mummy, thank you very much," He whispered haughtily, before tucking his torch into his boot and climbing up the trellis next to his window, slipping silently inside and shutting the window without so much as a goodbye. However, once he saw Marie disappear, he couldn't stop the huge smile that crossed his face. He shucked his boots and crawled into bed, his mind spinning over the newest facts he'd learned about Marie, about ghosts. She was utterly fascinating, and the contentment that brought him easily carried him into sleep.
A/N: Sherlock's making his first friend, isn't that sweet? What will he find when he investigates deeper into Marie's murder? Stay tuned for moorreeee
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