Chapter Summary: It's impossible. No one's supposed to see him.
Yet, now they can.

Revised: The whole chapter (6/5/17), (1/16/18)

Chapter Two: Becoming Visible

When John woke up lying down on his back, his whole body felt sore. He sucked in his breath and rolled over.

His last child was from Afghanistan, where there was war. How he wished he could somehow help the child more, but there never was enough time. John slowly sat up and expected to see his next child. Nothing. That wasn't right, John always woke by his next child.

Instead, he was in a dark-lit alleyway. With not a single soul in sight.

Puzzled, John tried to stand up but fell as his legs felt like butter. Awkwardly, they didn't feel like his own. John knew all imaginary spirits stayed in their same spiritual forms forever. If someone was the Easter Bunny or Santa Clause or even a Stuffed Bear then they'd stay that way. John's two ordinary human legs shouldn't feel wrong, heck he shouldn't even be feeling tired or sore.

But he was both, so something was wrong.

John tried to stand again, successful, and slightly woozy. The blond ended up tumbling out of the alleyway and onto a busy pavement, where he raised a hand to block the sunlight from his eyes. He blinked as he looked around, feeling a bit taller than usual. It had to be from the sudden change of perspective.

"At least I'm in England," John noted when he saw the streets. John giggled as he felt people brush by him, this had to be a dream. Something within him told him it was already half past noon. As he peered across the road, he saw a head of familiar dark curls.

"Is that-"

Couldn't be. There was no way that was Sherlock Holmes, it was just his mind playing with him again. It was unknown for a spirit to see their past child again but John just had to try. Dream or not, he had to try.

So he ran across the street towards the person's general direction but stopped when he heard the sudden sound of tyres screeching on his right side.

"Oi! Get out of the way, mate!"

The cabbie yelled in his direction. Unlike any other sensible person, John stood still and froze at the phrase. He looked around for another possible living beings the driver was shouting at and saw nothing. He jerked his head back at the beeping coming from the cab, adrenaline nearly tipped his whole body backwards. Impossible. They were talking to him.

And there he was, with a cab literally inches away from running him over.

"A-Are you talking to me?" John sputtered in the cabbie's direction, his voice sounded foreign to even himself.

"Of course I'm talking to you!" The man leaned out the window and shook a fist at John.

"You-You can See me?"

"'Course I can, I'm not blind!"

The cabbie looked like he was about to drive straight through him.

#

"Hey, idiot! Get, off. THE ROAD!"

"Are you Kidding me?"

"Fools these days! Idiots, all of them!"

#

John's ears were ringing as he ran off hearing a series of similar offensive phrases and honking string behind him.

This was more than wrong. Oh God, this was Not Good.

It couldn't be. Nobody was supposed to see him.

Other spirits? Okay.

Other people? Not. Okay.

John stumbled to a window, then quickly backed away at what he saw. Ignoring other people's snide comments and stares, John slowly crept up to his reflection again.

The face in front of him was older, the body taller. Too old and too tall. He comically grabbed both sides of his face and turned his head back and forth. The reflection did the same. John grabbed his arm and pinched, hard.

John blinked back the tears that sprung out as soon as he felt the pain.

Great.

He's a lost Friend, with no child. Not to mention, he didn't even know if he was an imaginary spirit anymore. Whatever was happening to him today was too confusing and abstract for John to process. He turned around and leaned on the glass, trying to get himself together.

As if by fate, he saw the familiar mop of dark curls again. John's curiosity quickly overwhelmed his current distress as he stood up quickly, trying to see who was the owner of the hair. A bit frustrated, the blond ended up on his tiptoes, trying to look over the crowd of people.

It belonged to a tall young man wearing a long black coat who was walking toward some taped scene. John could only see a part of the man's face before he could come to a positive conclusion. The man, whose back was facing John once again, had walked up to a woman and exchanged a few words before ducking underneath something and then disappearing altogether.

John panicked and ran after the young man.

Only to be stopped by the same woman be saw before behind some yellow tape. John frowned at her and was about to say something before a plaque was shoved into his face.

"Sergeant Sally Donovan, only authorised personals can enter this crime scene," Donovan said firmly, "Unless you're a witness, suspect, or you work for the New Scotland Yard you may not enter."

Crime scene.

"Crime scene?" John managed to muster.

"Yes sir, and if you just happened to pass by. PLEASE carry on," Donovan retorted.

Rude.

"Look. I was looking for that dark haired man that just walked in," John grumbled as he felt the weight of his situation on his shoulders once again.

Sally Donovan raised her brows, "You mean the Freak? Don't even try to talk to him, your just wasting your precious time. I suggest you go back to where you came from."

John didn't want to hear. If only he could see that man once again to confirm his suspicions, and as selfish and ridiculous as his day already was gonna get -if this dream even was a dream- John had to see Sherlock Holmes one last time. He tried to push against the woman and go through the tape.

Donovan brought out her gun, "Freeze! Now."

John froze.

John felt heart stop momentarily and opened his mouth to protest, but paused when he noticed that the woman in front of him and visibly relaxed when a middle-aged man passed by. John could only assume he was some sort of detective at the moment.

"Sally are you seriously pointing a gun at a civilian right now?" The man strained as he swiftly(and safely) pulled the gun out of the sergeant's hands. John noted that the man's hair was a fine spray of salt and pepper.

"Lestrade sir, this crazy guy, wants to meet the Freak," Sally gestured violently at John like he was an imminent threat. Lestrade ran his hands over own face like it was the only thing left to smother his frustration.

"Donovan. For the last time; he's not a freak, his name's Sh-"

"Yes I know, sir. Now, what do I do with this guy right here?" Sally interrupted quickly, and to John, it definitely sounded like she was trying to cover up the gun incident. Before John could strain his ears any longer, the sergeant rolled her eyes and grabbed John's elbow unexpectedly. John let out a small yelp, and his heart hammered against his chest. The contact felt extremely alien.

Lestrade stared at John who was trying to wrench away his arm in panic, "Sally, will you quit! We'll keep him, he'll probably benefit us in this crime scene. After all, there must be some reason why he's here." John made a face as he was finally freed, not wanting to be part of anything.

"Are you kidding me, this guy literally just asked if this was a crime scene."

"He knows She-"

"Fine. Boss."

John was inwardly cursing the lady who just let go of him. Ugly old lady. Hag. Meanie. Dummy. Creep.

"What's your name?" Lestrade interrupted John's little rant.

The blond's breath hitched as he paused. Should he tell the truth? "I'm John."

"Surname?"

"Not that I can remember," John lied.

Lestrade opened then closed his mouth, "You'll be coming with me then."

Sally squeaked out, "But-"

Lestrade glared at her, effectively shutting her up, "He'll be coming with me. We're going to meet somebody." He patiently waited for John to completely duck beneath the tape.

"Who?" John's heart fluttered with hope.

"For a request such as yours, you'll see him at dinner. But first, we've got this case to solve."