It was just an urban legend. There was noway that this house; mansion more like; was haunted. Everyone in town knew the story, about the young woman that lived there years ago, Irene Adler, and how she died. She had been a criminal; to the police. They had found and killed her on the spot, in that house. People have tried to sell it, but whenever someone walked in, bad things would happen, such as 'accidents' and things related to that. The last couple that had been in there was almost killed.
The police weren't phased; they just assumed that some kids were playing a prank. They never caught the 'kids'.
There weren't any kids in the first place. John knew this for a fact, for he was currently in the house with an EMF detector, and it was going crazy. The hunter put the device away and checked the rounds of his rifle. Of course normal bullets wouldn't do the trick, so these were salt rounds that John had made himself. All he needed now were the remains; or a part of them; whatever was left of the woman that lived here.
John read the police reports earlier that day; they had taken the body and buried it in the cemetery without a proper ritual, after cremating it. That should've gotten rid of the spectre, unless there was something else that it was attached to. Most likely an item of some kind.
He took the EMF out again, and flipped a switch, turning it to a much higher sensitivity, so it would only detect the more concentrated amounts of ghostly activity. And from the way that the EMF was bleeping it was enough to say that the item was somewhere near. Most likely in the very room that John was standing in, and what a room it was. In general, it was very ornate and clean; odd. Those were really the only words to describe it. Ornate, clean, and odd. A bed, a sidetable, and a vanity were the only pieces of furniture. There was also a walk-in closet, filled with clothes of all sorts.
John began his search. There was one small problem however; John had no idea what he was looking for. He was disappointed in himself for not doing more thorough research, and because of that, it made his job ten times harder.
The hunter waved the EMF over the bed; nothing.
Under the bed; also nothing.
By the sidetable; nada.
Checked the vanity; zip.
Closet; a little blip echoed through the small space. It was here then.
But before John had a chance to look a bit closer, a strong, invisible force threw him out to hit the wall opposite. Yeah, definitely the closet. He got to his feet groaning, that twinge in his arm; although he wasn't entirely sure if it was the twinge or not; it shot a spike of pain shooting through his nerves, and forced John back down to his knees.
The spectre was getting close; now visible. She was as pale as pale could get, with bright red lips and raggedy dark hair. Her clothes were tattered, with a gaping hole in the middle; the bullet hole. Irene was inches from the hunter, until there was a loud crash from the window shattering, and a form tumbled through it, passing among the ghost, causing it to disapperate for the moment. John took a deep breath of relief, and noticed that it was Sherlock that had saved him, again. "Thanks." John spoke softly.
The demon got to his feet. "It's not over yet." He said, his deep voice layered over with an even deeper growl.
Sherlock walked up to the entrance of the closet; standing in the doorway. He was chanting something in latin, and held up his hand. Irene appeared once again, screeching. She lunged forward toward Sherlock, but before she could reach the demon, he snapped his fingers. The whole closet burst into flames instantly. Sherlock lowered his hand and sighed, then turned back to John and helped the hunter to his feet. The blast of pain returned to his shoulder, and John keeled over once again, effectively leaning into Sherlock's chest. The demon lowered them to the ground. "John, your shoulder is dislocated, I'll have to set it right." Sherlock said quietly near John's ear, putting his limber hands on the hunters shoulder.
John just nodded, bracing himself for the pop. The taller man waited for just a moment before flexing his strong muscles and forcing the bone back into it's socket, that sickly sound of the bone moving back into place bounced off the walls. The hunter howled in pain, but eventually quieted down as the pain faded. John stayed leaned up against Sherlock's chest; not caring if he was a demon or not; and took deep breaths. "Thanks." He managed faintly.
Sherlock stayed silent, rubbing his right hand on the shoulder. The fire was still crackling; dying down as time went on. How much time had passed they weren't exactly sure, but ultimately John lifted his head up. "I should get going…thanks again…Sherlock." And with that the hunter got to his feet slowly, with a small amount of help from the demon, and left without another word. Sherlock was left alone sitting on the floor, smiling.
That was the first time that John had ever said his name. It gave Sherlock a warm feeling, but a problem arose. His heart ached now that John was gone. He had never felt this before. It worried him only slightly, and he soon cast that thought from his mind.
