Hiatus Note:

Dear readers, I am tremendously sorry for never updating this story. I stopped writing all of my Sherlock fanfiction and this particular story was the absolute hardest to come back to. In real life, a very dear friend of mine took his own life after I last posted. For this reason, I could not bear to think about this story for some time. It has been years since I have written and I fear it will not be the same or even as good as before. I hope that I can give this story and others the closure that they need, though. I am very sorry for the sudden hiatus with no explanation.
For new readers: It may or may not be important to note that this story was written after season two and before season 3 aired. I had no knowledge of what season 3 or 4 would be about. So yea... a lot of crazy shit went down in those seasons. Ignore them.

The end of this story and many plot points were known to me when I first started writing this. I just want you to know that nothing has changed and the original plot and ending will still be the same.

Chapter 9

This was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Ok, so there were a few strange noises the other day and then Molly had brought over a Ouija Board. That didn't prove anything other then mass hysteria. John leaned against the kitchen counter, tea mug in hand. Dreams, noises, and his grief stricken mind, that was all he was going on. He felt utterly absurd now that he thought about it. There were no such things as 'ghosts'. Sherlock had died. It was a horrible thing and John knew he would miss him for the rest of his life. But god damn it, he wasn't haunting him. This whole thing was giving him a raging headache.

John had, however, agreed to investigate a case. Somehow. Alright, that bit was much more unclear, but it obviously had a logical explanation. His eyes glanced down at his hands. Last night had really felt like someone else was controlling them. Not forcefully, but more of a gentle guiding. He felt his eyes reddening, tears trying to form, though he wasn't sure if he was even physically capable of crying any more. He felt beyond drained now.

He had wanted it to be Sherlock guiding his hands. He wanted to see his best friend in every strange noise there was. But Sherlock was gone.

John glanced down at where his phone was resting on the table. He had half expected it to light up with a message at any moment. It seemed it was constantly receiving messaged the last few days. People he could hardly even remember, sending their condolences. As kind a gesture as that was, it was just exhausting. He had stopped sending back 'thank you' texts and hadn't answered his phone unless it was work. Normalcy would be highly welcomed about now, not that he could ever slip back to his old life again. Not without Sherlock.

"No messages," John flicked his phone screen on and gave it a quick check before plopping it into his pocket. "Good. Rather not talk to anyone just now." No one living at least. He headed towards the door. Deciding a bit of fresh air would do him some good.

He was only a few steps away from leaving when he heard a knock at the door. John stopped mid step, focused on the wood before him. The corner of his mouth twitched up a bit. He had heard that, right? A knock… But no, it wasn't- it couldn't be- but so many strange things had happened the last couple days and even Molly thought-

Another knock.

He head certainly heard that. "Sher-"

"John?!" The knocking came harder and John felt like an utter imbicile. It was clearly Lestrade's voice.

"Shite, sorry." John quickly opened it, feeling even more like a fool then ever before. "I wasn't expecting you."

Lestrade looked beyond relieved when he saw John, as if he had been expecting to knock the door down to get in. He let out a breath he had been holding, "I'd be lying if I said I haven't been worried about you. Thought I ought to check in." He subtly scanned the flat, which John noticed despite Greg's best efforts. But the place didn't seem to be too much of a mess, just some knocked over books. He thought John might not be taking care of himself. "Mind if I come in?"

"Sure thing, tea?" John offered, knowing that Lestrade was trying to determine if he was still stable or not. He wasn't sure either way himself.

Greg nodded, "Thanks. That would be good." Taking a peak in the kitchen would be useful as well. He noticed right away that it didn't look like John had packed up or gotten rid of anything that belonged to Sherlock. Even the kitchen table had some of his weird science stuff still on it. Possibly not a good sign. He took a peak at Sherlock's bedroom door, it had been left open. The bed looked as though it had been slept in. But John wouldn't really resort to sleeping in there, would he?

John was busily putting the kettle on the stove.

"Sleeping well?" Lestrade wanted to catch him off guard.

"Oh uh… yea. Mostly." Not entirely, he was having horrible nightmares and sometimes thought his dead friend was talking to him.

Greg wasn't convinced. "Any plans for today?"

"Yes, we were planning to-" Shite. " I was planning to," he corrected himself but he knew it was too late and that Greg would have caught that slip up. "To…"

Greg looked at him curiously.

John realized that it might sound bad to admit that he was planning on working a case. "Visit an old friend." He quickly came up with a lie.

"Oh? And who's that?" The detective knew something was up.

"Daniel." John got down two mugs, managing to keep his expression and tone even so Greg would have nothing else to suspect. "Daniel Rogers. Great guy." He grabbed two tea bags.

"I see." Was John telling the truth or was he just being crafty? It was hard to tell.

A moment later John was handing him his tea. He thought back to his dream last night. Sherlock wanted him to tell Lestrade everything. He looked down into his mug. He couldn't possibly do that. The detective would think he was crazy and insist he see his therapist. Which maybe he actually really should do. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he should tell Greg.

"Greg, I…" It felt like it was far too much. He wanted Sherlock to still be around so very much.

Lestrade put his mug down at the corner of the table, but John was still lost for words.

"I lied. I haven't been sleeping well."

Lestrade nodded. "You've been sleeping in his bed, haven't you?" It wasn't judgmental, just a statement of fact.

John sighed, "I don't even know how you figured that out… I keep telling myself I wont do it again, but then it keeps happening." It was just so welcoming and it even smelled like him. Then there were all those strange things that have been happening recently. "I know why you're here, Greg. So if there's anything specific you came to tell me, you can just come out and say it." He didn't want to beat around the bush anymore.

Greg adjusted himself in his seat and scratched at his neck a bit awkwardly. "Well, to tell the truth, Mycroft wanted me to come over and encourage you to see some grief councilor or something like that. At the very least..."

"See my therapist again?" John rolled his eyes.

"Yea, sorry. I know I probably wasn't suppose to know, but its really fine. Lots of people see em. Besides, you were at war, pretty normal."

"Sounds like something he would put someone up to doing. I somehow thought Mycroft would finally piss off now that… that Sherlock's gone." John hated that funeral arrangements and everything else would probably be left to Mycroft, being Sherlock's closest relative. Though John hadn't even heard mention of a funeral yet.

"It could be a good idea. Doing something like that. But that's not why I came. I just thought… hell, maybe you wanna go out for a drink or two some night. Maybe make that a regular thing. You're a good friend, John. I don't want to loose you too."

John smiled at that. "That would be nice actually. I could certainly use a few drinks." It would beat drinking at home alone.

"It's a date then," Greg teased, when suddenly his mug fell off the corner of the table.

John froze.

"Shit! Sorry about that," Greg quickly got up and tried to clean the mess. Bits of ceramic every where. "You alright?" He couldn't help but notice John not responding.

"Hm? Oh, yea. I'm fine… don't worry about the mug." It was absolutely something Sherlock would do, often did whenever he had heard about John going on a date with someone. "He was joking you prat."

Lestrade blinked. "Excuse me?" It sounded like John was talking to himself.

"Nothing. Nothing, here, let me get that for you." John grabbed a dust pan and swept up the mug pieces.

"Well it didn't sound like a joke." Sherlock had of course been listening in, leaning against the counter the whole time. Except for when he knocked the mug over. "He could be preying on you in your weakened emotional state." He tisked. "Besides, you don't seem to be anywhere close to telling him I'm here. Maybe I'll just have to do it myself."

"Sorry," Lestrad sat back in his seat. "No idea how that even happened. Must have bumped the table somehow."

"Yea, or something…" Maybe he wasn't crazy. Maybe somehow Sherlock was really there after all. He took another sip of his tea.

Leastrade pulled his coat a bit closer around him, "Sort of chilly in here, isn't it."

John swallowed a rather large gulp of earl grey. Doing all that weird research the day before really helped. Cold spots usually meant something was building. Was Sherlock about to try something?

Loud voices came from the living room. John nearly dropped his mug. He was certainly not expecting that. Lestrade quickly stood, looking a bit alarmed as well.

"You have company?" He didn't wait to find out as he walked towards the sound. It seemed the tv had come on by its self.

John was a bit more at ease at seeing that's all it was. Just one of Sherlock's new little tricks. Lestrade however, was far from laid back.

"We're alone, right?" He whispered to John.

John wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. "I don't see anyone else." At least it wasn't a lie.

"How do turn this thing off?" Lestrade looked around for a remote, but when he finally spotted it, the tv went off on its own. The detective nearly jumped out of his skin. "The hell!?" He could feel his heart pounding. He wasn't sure why, but it just didn't sit right with him. "You're not pranking me, are you?"

John was pretty nervous, he didn't want to scare Greg off or make him think he was a loony. "Its not me… its-"

Greg's phone went off and he glanced down at it, "Sorry, I have to take this." He answered, seeing it was the station. "Lestrade here." He seemed to be listening to someone.

John looked around, wondering if Sherlock had enough decency to lay off while Greg was talking to someone. Likely not.

"986 Chapel? I'm on my way. Be there in a moment." Greg hung up and put his phone back in his pocket. "Sorry John, I have to-"

"Did you just say 986 Chapel? As in Chapel Lane? That's Daniel's place…"

"Crap, John, there was murder reported there." He didn't really want to leave John alone when there seemed to be something strange happening in the flat.

"I'm coming with you." John grabbed a coat. If Sherlock was around, which he likely was, he hoped he joined them. It seemed possible at least if Sherlock really was in his office at the hospital the other day.

"Er, are you sure? I mean, it is an active crime scene after all."

John raised an eyebrow at that, "Which I go to with great frequency, I feel like pointing out."

He had a point. "Fine, come on, lets go. I'm sorry, but there was no word on who the body was or what even happened. I don't know if your friend is ok or not." The two quickly went out side to hail cab.

"What friend?" John looked genuinely confused for a moment. "Oh, uh, yea, Daniel. Er, hope he's ok."

Lestrade narrowed his eyes. "God damn it, you lied to me?" He was as bad as Sherlock. But it was too late, a cab already arrived. "You're explaining yourself."

"I will, but not in the cab." He nodded towards the cabbie, not wanting to say it in front of anyone else. "You… wouldn't have liked the real reason why I was going to visit him is all."


When they arrived, there were a few police cars about, but not nearly as many as a typical homicide would warrant. Lestrade jumped out, all business, John was quick to follow. Donovan was already there, luckily having the squad car with her.

"What going on here, where is everyone?" Lestrade was looking pretty annoyed at the lack of work happening.

"Sorry Sir, seems there was some miscommunication. There's no body." She scrunched her nose when she saw John. "What's he doing here?"

Lestrade glowered at her, he had enough of her mocking Sherlock while working, and now that he had died, he sure as hell wasn't about to tolerate her saying anything against John. "Never you mind him. What do you mean there's no body."

She turned her attention back to him, "A neighbor called it in, Sir. Said he saw a man inside tying someone up and then strangling him to death."

"So why is no one collecting evidence?"

"There isn't any. We checked every where, but there's no sign of struggle. No sign anyone has even been inside the place in a while. The owner said that room isn't occupied, not since the last tenant left."

"So either our attacker is good at covering their trails or we have a caller who needs some checking up on." Weather crazy or lying to waste police time.

Donovan shrugged, "You can check for yourself, but the floor is a bit dusty and there's aren't even foot prints."

Lestrade walked past her, he didn't come all this way to not look at a crime scene. He nodded for John to follow him. "I think its time you told me why you were coming here today."

John put his hands in his pockets as he followed Lestrade in. "Daniel Rogers sent me an email a few days ago. It was before…"

"Right, so, he was hiring you guys for a case or something?" He didn't want to force John to say Sherlock had died. He didn't need to hear it again himself.

"Yea. It seems something has been scaring all his renters away. We were- I was going to come help figure it out."

So that's why John kept slipping into plural. Sherlock and he must have agreed to take the case before Sherlock died. It all made sense now. He didn't want to leave Sherlock's work undone. He gave John a pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I understand."

John felt a little confused, "You do?" Well, he certainly wasn't going to argue with him.

"Sounds like whatever this is, its connected to your case." They got to the room the attack was reported in. Nothing seemed out of place. Just a simple room, nothing but a bed with a night stand and a dresser in it. "Well, I don't see a body."

"Maybe someone snuck in?"

"The door was locked before the incident was reported and was still locked when the police got here." Donovan had silently followed them in. "Besides, what would be the point? No one was here to see or here it, and seems like just a coincidence that someone happened to spot it from the street."

"Damn." Lestrade rubbed his forehead. Too bad Sherlock wasn't here. He loved this sort of weird mystery type thing.

"There is a window though." John pointed out. "Did anyone check if that was unlocked?"

"Seriously?" Donovan rolled her eyes. "We're three stories up. Are you really suggesting someone, two people in fact, climbed all the way up the wall and through the window on the off chance that it might be unlocked, just to pull of an elaborate prank on some unsuspecting jogger?"

"There's no reason to think it was a prank." Lestrade wasn't sure what to make of this yet, but he also wasn't going to throw in the towel like Donovan clearly already had.

Sherlock had been pacing the room, searching for anything. But there wasn't even as much as a loose strand of hair on the carpet. Which actually seemed a bit odd. The ground wasn't exactly clean, but there wasn't so much as an eyelash lying around? Someone cleaned this room up thoroughly and then locked it off. "This was staged. Someone was meant to see this. But why?" He looked at John. He really need him right now. He had no idea how much his praise helped Sherlock think. Sherlock need a look inside the closet. But when he tried, it wouldn't budge. He couldn't even step through it like he could with the door at home. Perhaps his haunting parameter was just out of reach of it. Maybe if he got John a bit closer to the door, even better, if he could get John to open it somehow.

"We should check the rest of the place too, the attack might have happened in here, but we have a whole flat to search." Lestrade turned, ignoring the closet door.

"John wait, I need you," Sherlock just had to stop them. He looked at the few pieces of furniture in there and noticed one of the dresser drawers wasn't fully closed. He gathered all the energy he could muster up and forced it shut. Making a satisfying sound. All three of them immediately turned back towards the room, searching it frantically now.

"I know I heard something," Lestrade even lifted the mattress of the bed to check there. But naturally found nothing.

"I don't understand," Donovan sounded rather confused, "This room and the whole flat was already cleared.

John on the other hand was growing rather use to odd sounds at unexpected times. Could it have been Sherlock? If so, why did he choose now to make a sound? Was he trying to tell them there was something here? He shook his head, this was like trying to find someone lost in a well because Lassie barked at you. He hung his head down for a moment as he held the top of the dresser and held onto it. "I just need something more clear." He mumbled, hoping Donovan and Lestrade wouldn't hear him. "like that thing you did with my hands." Even he could hardly hear himself whisper that part.

Sherlock really didn't want to over step his bounds, but John was essentially asking for it. After all, if he could move John's hands while inside them, why not something else? He clenched his fists and stepped forward, into John.

John gripped the dresser harder, his whole body feeling strange and numb. His head jerked to the side, almost as though someone had forcibly moved his head in that direction. He felt like he might panic at any moment, but as he blinked he realized something. There was a thin door. A closet door most likely. The numb feeling suddenly left him. "Have you guy check in there?"

Sally looked up, "What, the closet? She was sure the police earlier would have looked, but they had heard that strange noise." She cautiously opened the door, relieved to find no one inside. "Its just some old rope?"

"Rope like what the attacker used on their victim?" Lestrade raised and eyebrow and came closer to take a look.

"Not exactly evidence that a crime took place here." Sally pointed out.

"No, but its odd. Feels like more then a coincidence that the report involved rope if it really never happened."

Sherlock tried to think of how the witnesses might have seen what they claimed to have seen. He need to first rule out anything impossible. But there was a glaring flaw with that. A lot more was suddenly possible now.