A/N Not sure if anyone noticed, but I didn't see it mentioned in the reviews so I just want to point it out. When Sherlock said, "Hi, I'm Sherlock," at Kyrie when he was druk during Stag Night, it was a slight throw back to how they first met in church, right before they got married. His first words ever spoken to her were, 'Hi, I'm Sherlock.' She replied with "Yes, I know." Kind of sad no one seemed to notice, or maybe just one :-(

Artemis7448 Well, I hope it was embarrassing in a good way. I absolutely had a blast writing that chapter!

DreamonAlina It's just too bad it was a bit obvious, but I just had to get it in there. I'm glad you liked that scene and how John wrote, 'Sherlock's wife' instead of her name. Maybe he'd forgotten her name as well, as Sherlock tends to do :-) And drunk Sherlock is definitely less uptight so all of those feelings for her (like jealousy when she smiles at another man) suddenly have a chance to surface. Thank you for your kind words! They make me blush!

Lovesagoodstory19 I hope you recognised the 'Hi, I'm Sherlock.' It would make you the only one! I think that is my absolute favourite moment of the chapter. Also... Surprise! Early update! It's my day off! -grins- I'm really glad you bother to review after each chapter. Always gives me something to look forward to and... of course... reviews are my fuel and boost to keep writing! Your review made me laugh!

Katt96 She'd be fine with a hug as long as you don't give her the impression you'd want to run away with him. Like Sherlock said, don't let her sweet looks fool you. She can turn absolutely nasty! And thank you! -hug- You always give lovely reviews!

Guest I think you accidentally left me the same review twice :-)

Anyway, have fun with this new chapter! Also, I hope you guys are into the switch to Sherlock's POV because that will be the POV for the rest of the episode.

SSS

The rest of the night was... a blur. No, not even a blur. There was a big humongous gap between that awkward moment and... waking up in a cell, arms flailing about, to the sound of Graham Lestrade bellowing, "NOT REALLY!"

He looked around the cell in bewilderment. What the hell was going on?

Graham beckoned him to come. "Come on," he told him and then he disappeared from the cell, going after John. Sherlock sat up on the bench. He tried to stand but instantly fell back onto the bench. Okay, clearly he had to go about things with a bit more prudence.

He tried again, placed his fingers against his temples and forced his mind to regain full control over his body. It wasn't fully cooperating yet... he wobbled on one foot, at least it was a start. After a brief moment, feeling more confidant in his ability to leave the cell without toppling over, he lowered his hands and carefully waddled out of the cell.

At the police station front desk, Sherlock grunted a bit with the effort to put on his coat. John had just accepted his personal belongings and tucked his wallet into his back pocket. Sherlock didn't want to look at the person standing behind him. Unfortunately, the person behind him refused to be ignored.

"What, not even a 'Thank you for bailing us out?'," Kyrie asked them in a mocking voice.

"Thank you, Kyrie. For bailing us out," John said meekly.

"Same," Sherlock muttered.

"And you... Well, thanks for a... you know..." John told Sherlock as the three of them walked away. "... an evening," John finally managed to say.

Kyrie snorted at his careful wording.

"It was awful," Sherlock said in dismay. He was appalled and disappointed with himself.

"Yeah," John agreed.

Sherlock groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I was gonna pretend, but it was, truly."

"Oh, I don't know," Kyrie said with a smile, hugging his arm. "I had fun last night."

Sherlock could only groan. He had a feeling that a lot of stuff that happened the night before, would come back to haunt him.

"Yeah, you would have," he muttered darkly. He suddenly lowered his hand. "That woman, Tessa," he said.

"What?" John sent him a puzzled look.

"Dated a ghost. The most interesting case for months. What a wasted opportunity," he said, severely bummed that he had missed out on a good case.

"... Okay," John replied, sounding as if he wasn't completely convinced.

Back at home Mrs Hudson insisted to make John his favourite breakfast one last time. Sherlock caught Kyrie grinning seeing the pained look on John's face. He smirked slightly as he climbed up the stairs to their flat.

Kyrie followed right behind him when he entered through the living room door. She closed the door behind them.

He quietly handed her his coat when she held out her hand and he watched her as she walked across the living room to hang up their coats. He stood there, feeling lost for a moment, before he went to the dinner table and sat himself down behind his laptop.

He realised that last night, Kyrie had seen a... vulnerable side of him. The side that always seemed to want to make itself known when it wasn't governed by the iron hold of his will and discipline.

With John, it was easy to just brush things off. But she wasn't John. She was, for better or worse, his wife. And he didn't quite know how to carry himself right now. In the end, he decided to pull up an article about Major Sholto. It was an article that showed a picture of him before he was injured. The strapline beside the photo read, 'He destroyed us all. And he gets a medal for it.'

He didn't look up when he heard Kyrie walking up to him. She leaned over his shoulder to have a look, but didn't comment.

"Tea?" she asked him, her voice soft.

He blinked at his screen a couple of times. She was letting it go, he realised. Did she know how he felt? He wouldn't be surprised if she did. She'd... he swallowed... She'd always been very attuned to his moods, his whims and flights of fancy.

"Sherlock?" she asked and he realised he hadn't given an answer. He turned in his seat to look at her. There was nothing in her face that suggested mockery or ridicule and her eyes... her eyes were lovely.

He reached out and pulled her face closer to his so he could kiss her, warmly, softly. He paid attention to his body's response... breathing picked up, check... increase of heart rate, check... blood flooding the pelvic area, check.

He pulled back and licked his lips; he could still taste her. "Tea would be nice," he then said and kissed her briefly before he turned around to continue reading the article. Well, not reading, he was paying attention to his body again.

There seemed to be a correlation between the intensity of their kisses and the time it took for his body to return to its normal state. Not that the information was of particular use to him, but he still filed it away. Until the necessity arose to delete that bit of knowledge, he planned to savour it.

Sherlock glanced towards the living room door when he heard John's footsteps climbing up the stairs. He quickly switched to a different tab on his laptop, the website for I DATED A GHOST . COM.

"Hey John," Kyrie greeted him, "I was just making some tea. Want some?"

"Yeah, sure," John said with a sigh. "Thanks."

"There are going to be others," Sherlock told him when John approached the dinner table.

"Others?" John asked, standing next to him.

"Victims, women. Most ghosts tend to haunt a single house – this ghost, however, is willing to commute, look," he said and he stood up from his chair. He gestured at the map of London he had spread out on the table. Seven pins were stuck in various places where – he presumed – a 'ghost date' had possibly appeared. The pins formed a rough circle spanning several miles around the Thames.

He placed his fingers together in front of his face. He needed to narrow things down. He closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a large Council Chamber. The walls of the room were lined with wood panelling. A big blue carpet covered the floor. Several rows of benches, with red leather-covered seats, formed a semi-circle.

Sherlock slowly walked down the blue carpeted steps towards the floor, looking around him as he went, his hands clasped behind his back. In front of him was the Chairman's bench and Sherlock walked towards it. Once there, he turned around, facing at least forty-eight women standing around the room.

He slowly scanned each and every one of them. He thoughtfully looked at one of the women and pointed towards her.

"Mmm, not you."

The woman sat down.

He pointed to another woman. "Not you." She too sat down.

He looked around him and started pointing at different women left and right in a quick fire way. "Not you, not you. Not you either, or you, or you, you, you, you, or not you."

Each time he pointed at someone, the woman sat down. Until only four women remained standing. He walked over to the woman who stood nearest and went to stand in front of her. "Hi," he said. The woman, dressed in a black dress, smiled pleasantly at him. She was one of those women men would consider to be of the attractive kind. Delicate eyebrows, tinted skin and a sultry look in her eyes.

"Gail," she said, with pearly white teeth.

He turned from her and walked over to the next woman. She was a bit more plain looking. Not unattractive but not very attractive either. She had ginger hair and was clad in denim; denim jacket of a plain grey shirt and denim jeans.

"Charlotte," she said to introduce herself.

He turned towards the third woman. Shoulder length chestnut hair, high cheekbones set in a round face... She wore a soft pink jacket and seemed a bit older.

"Robyn," she said.

He turned towards the fourth one and raised a brow at her. Blonde, short haircut, completely dressed in red; red dress and a red leather jacket. Her smile was a quite provocative. He stared at her impassively.

"Vicky," she said.

He turned around, took a breath and when he turned around again, only he and the four women were left with them standing in a semi-circle in front of him.

Sherlock proceeded to spend the better half of the morning, conversing with the four women, trying to determine if they had something in common and if so... what?

They all met the 'ghost' at a different location; pub, frequenting the same gym, chatting on the bus and online. He had introduced himself with different names; Oscar, Mike, Terry and 'love_monkey'. When Vicky said the name, she had a naughty glint in her eyes. He gave her a stern look, a little warning to not get too flirtatious with him.

For a moment he thought he was getting somewhere when they all told him they had met up with him at his place. The moment he asked for the address however, they all spoke simultaneously and mentioned a different address.

When he asked what had attracted them to him, they all had different answers as well; very romantic, very charming, he listened, he was sweet, and he had a lovely...

"You okay?"

Sherlock looked to his side and saw John standing next to him. He raised his hand towards Vicky and she immediately froze and fell silent. He turned towards John and he blinked his eyes to withdraw himself from his 'Mind Palace'.

"He's okay, John. Just busy," Kyrie told him with a smile. Sherlock briefly looked up and found her seated on the sofa, folding laundry.

He frowned at her for a moment. Four women just told him what had attracted them to the 'ghost'. Their answers ranging from very romantic, to very charming, a good listener and someone with a lovely... whatever it was that Vicky found... lovely... He gulped at the thought.

Point was, he was none of those things! He was not romantic, he was pretty much an obnoxious arsehole... the only time he was charming was when he needed something from someone... He definitely was not a good listener and he was pretty sure he also didn't fall into the category of someone with a lovely... something.

If those were qualities women looked for in a potential partner... why the hell did Kyrie agree to... be... with him? What attracted her to him?

He shook his head and saw how John stared at the six open laptops on the coffee table with a puzzled look on his face. The front left one showed a typed message: "VICKY: He had a lovely..."

John then swept his gaze of his plate of untouched food. Sherlock glanced briefly at it. Gammon steak, pineapple slice on top, fried egg and some chips. He wasn't hungry anyway, not now.

"Let your food go cold. Mrs Hudson'll play hell."

"I warned her not to bother," Kyrie said while folding a towel. "He's not gonna eat, not now anyway."

Sherlock smirked. It was funny how well she knew him and how John could immediately see it was a dish cooked by Mrs Hudson. They really had different cooking styles.

"Not now, John," Sherlock told him. He unbuttoned his jacket and squatted down in front of the coffee table and started typing a reply to Vicky. When he hit enter, his message came up reading, 'SHERLOCK: Sorry about that.' He closed his eyes and lowered the hand he had raised to pause her.

"He had a lovely manner," she said, finishing her sentence.

Sherlock looked away, deep in thought. "Different names, different addresses. He turned his head towards Gail.

"Describe him," he ordered.

"Short blonde hair," she replied. The others, again, provided different answers. Dark hair, long... Ginger... Vicky couldn't tell, because of course her stud had been wearing a mask.

Sherlock raised his hands and was holding a newspaper. He quickly turned the pages until he reached the Obituaries section.

"He's stealing the identity of corpses..." he said thoughtfully.

He paid particular attention to the obituary of Michael James Heaney. "... getting the names from the Obituary columns."

Sherlock was now looking through a different newspaper. "All single men. He's using the dead man's flat under the assumption it'll be empty for a while."

He raised his head when he suddenly realised what the 'ghost' was doing. "Free love nest!" he exclaimed.

The women all had different things to say... "I feel sick." "It's gruesome." "That's awful." Of course, Vicky, the sly vixen, was impressed. "Clever!" she said.

"Bastard!"

Sherlock looked up, hearing the familiar voice. The incoming alert of her text message briefly pulled him from his 'Mind Palace'. Sherlock fluidly moved over to a laptop on one of the dinner chairs and typed a message. "Hello Tessa."

He closed his eyes momentarily and when he opened them again, he saw Tessa standing among the other four women. She was wearing her long cardigan over casual clothes this time.

"Hello Tessa," he said, greeting her. She just glared at him.

"Meanwhile, back to business. No-one wants to use a dead man's home..."

When Vicky shrugged her shoulders as if she wasn't bother by it, Sherlock cast her a brief reproving look.
"... Least not until it's been cleared. So, he disguises himself, steals the man's home, steals his identity."

Suddenly John was standing beside him. "But only for one night..." he said.

Sherlock turned to look at him.

"... then he's gone."

"He's not a ghost, John. He's a mayfly. He lives for a day."

He turned his head to face the five women again.

"So – what was it he was looking for?"

He looked at Gail.

"Job."

Gail turned out to be a gardener, suddenly wearing a pale jumper and overalls. Charlotte, wearing a cook's jacket and hat, turned out to be a cook. Tessa was a nurse, he already knew that, but... she turned out to be a private nurse. Robyn was working in security and thus was wearing a security officer's uniform. Vicky was a maid and wore the appropriate attire, not the naughty kind.

Sherlock looked down for a brief moment and scrunched up his nose in concentration. He looked up when an idea struck. "Obvious. You all work for the same person!"

He opened his eyes to retreat from his 'Mind Palace' and quickly moved from laptop to laptop, tying on each one. Back in his 'Mind Palace' he carefully read all the information he had just pulled up from the internet. He sighed.

"No, not the same employer. Damn!" he uttered annoyed. He screwed his eyes closed. "Come on. We can do this."

He opened his eyes again and looked at Gail.

"Ideal night out."

The answers were: clay pigeon shooting... boring, line dancing... terrifying, pictures... uninspired, wine in front of they telly... ugh... Dungeon... He shook his head in dismay at Vicky's answer. Yes, of course she would say something like that. What would Kyrie say though? Any of these answers? He briefly closed his eyes again.

"Make up."

Clarins, No.7, Maybelline, nothing special, whatever's cheap. Damn.

"Perfume."

Chanel, Chanel, Chanel... Oh, this looked to be promising! Chanel! Estée Lauder... Ugh...

"Ideal man?"

George Clooney... he rolled his eyes at the answer... Home-loving... okay that was him, to a point. Fond of cuddling... only in his sleep... Caring... Kind-ish? Ten things... He blinked his eyes when Vicky held up her thumb to start working off her list. Nope, he did not have the patience for that.

He quickly raised his hand towards her and 'zipped' her with a gesture of his fingers and thumb.

"There's a unifying factor. There has to be." He frowned. "None of you reported anything stolen."

He looked at the women in front of him and pointed at them as he worked off a list of his own.

"Security guard, gardener, cook, maid, private nurse. He's romancing his way up a pecking order, somebody's pecking order." He closed his eyes. "Come on, think!" he told himself sternly.

His eyes flared open. "Unless..." He lips twitched in a ghost of a smile.

"Do you have a secret you've never told anyone?"

They all replied in chorus. "NO."

He smiled in triumph. "Gotcha!"

"What do you mean?" John asked who suddenly appeared at his side again.

"Everyone has secrets, and they all replied too quickly," he explained.

Suddenly all the women had an excuse to leave.

"Gotta go." "See ya."

"No!" Sherlock called out.

"Bye-bye."

"Wait!" he said.

"Sorry, sexy," Vicky told him with a wink. "Some secrets have to stay secret."

"Enjoy the wedding," Tessa said with a smile.

He sighed exasperated. He opened his eyes and shut down the lid on the laptop he'd used to type messages to Tessa. He straightened himself up.

"Why? Why would he date all of those women and not return their calls?" he said in anger, while buttoning up his jacket.

"You're missing the obvious, mate," John said with a grin

Sherlock turned his head to look at him. "Am I?" he asked.

"He's a man."

Kyrie smirked at the comment while Sherlock was busy slamming the lids down of each of the laptops. "But why would he change his identity?" he questioned.

"Maybe he's married."

"Not all married men are pigs, John!" Kyrie laughed and threw a rolled up pair of socks at his face. They hit him with a small 'thump'. He laughed and catched them before they could fall down. Sherlock stood still though. He had just realised something.