Sherlock was getting ready to leave. It was the end of another school day, and another day the killer was walking free. The small investigation group was getting agitated and annoyed, with no new evidence to go off of, and the hope that there won't be another murder to get that evidence, they were all stuck in a deadly stalemate. Sherlock picked his wand up and locked the door to his office behind him. His shoes made soft clicks on the stone that echoed loudly in the empty corridor. Everyone was either home, or asleep. Sherlock had never stayed at school this late before, but final papers were due today, and they took a long time to read and grade. The school year would be ending soon, and hopefully next year would bring peace and, well, no murder.
A scream filled the corridor. "Apparently not," Sherlock mumbled before taking off in the direction of the scream.
The women's toilet on the first floor was flooding the hallway, and the ring of the scream seemed to still be echoing off the stone walls. Sherlock ran into the bathroom and had to catch himself on the sink as he slipped in the water. One of the faucets had been blown off and was gushing water everywhere, running over the body lying face-down and sending the blood to swirl around Sherlock's black shoes. Blood. This body was bleeding. Killed in a different way than the others. Three long gashes ran across the girl's back, blood still flowing freely and now caused the water leaking out into the corridor to run a deep crimson. The farther wall was scorched black, as if there had been a spontaneous fire.
Sherlock was about to go and get the headmaster, but stopped when he heard a faint crying from one of the stalls. A witness! He went and knocked on the door, which opened anyway at his touch. A silver mist of a student sat crying on the back of the toilet. She had the same pigtails as the victim, and realization swept over Sherlock. This poor girl had just been murdered, and had the unfortunate luck to be stuck here as a ghost forever. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me?"
"What?!" The girl screeched, looking up. Her round glasses were cracked, most likely from when her human body had hit the stone. She softened quickly. "Oh, it's you Professor Holmes." She stood up and walked over, looking doughy-eyed up through her lashes. It was Myrtle. A sixth year student that he had had in potions a year ago. And one that had been openly known to have a very large crush on the teacher. "What are you doing in the ladies' room?" She slinked up and reached out a translucent hand to touch his tie, but her hand passed right through, and she began to cry again. Sherlock backed up quickly and stood a good distance away. He opened his mouth to ask what happened to her, when she began to wail and moan louder. His jaw closed with a 'snap'. "I can't even touch you!"
"You're not supposed to in the first place." Sherlock was irritated. To believe he was arguing with the ghost of the victim of the murder he was trying to solve, it was absurd and a waste of time.
"You could be more nice to me!" She snapped, jerking her head up from out of her hands. "I was just murdered, in case you didn't notice!" She jabbed a hand at her corpse, still bleeding a little onto the floor.
"I did notice." Sherlock was more irritated now. He never liked this student to begin with, and now she was just in his way. "The question is: did you?" Myrtle stopped crying and stood up straighter, cocking a head in confusion. Now he had her attention. "Did you see what happened to you at all?"
The girl softened and tried to step closer to the professor, but as she took one step forward, he took one step back. Finally, she huffed and said, "No. I didn't see anything. I was just washing my hands, and there was suddenly a fire on the wall over there," she pointed at the scorch marks on the stone, "And when I turned to look, I felt a lot of pain in my back, then when I woke up and tried to stand up, I left my body behind, and screamed." When Sherlock looked over at the body again, Myrtle was suddenly close to him again. "I'm positively distraught." She pouted, then attempted to fall into his arms, but she passed through once more, and let out another loud groan of frustration as she retreated back to her stall. "Why don't you just leave?!" She yelled.
"Gladly." Sherlock said curtly, and stomped out to go find Headmaster McGonagall. He wasn't going to continue this investigation without her present to deal with Myrtle. He stormed down the hall, leaving the crying girl behind.
As Sherlock made his way through the castle, his anger at Myrtle's inappropriate advances subsided to a small trace of what seemed like pity. She had, after all, just been murdered. Sherlock just shook his head and continued his route to the Headmaster's office. As he turned a corner, there was a figure standing in front of the fireplace at the end of the hall, staring into the open flame. He didn't give it much thought, just continued down the corridor and just as he was about to turn the corner, the face of Jim Moriarty was illuminated in the firelight. Sherlock moved past, hoping his annoying colleague wouldn't try to engage him. As he continued down the new corridor, he heard the man say, "It's amazing how anything can be flammable if you try. You can really burn anything."
Realization hit Sherlock like walking into a wall. He spun around to face Professor Moriarty, and watched as the man absently tossed a pair of round, cracked glasses into the flames. He turned, the smirk he wore and the way mischief that sparked in his irises changed his features dramatically, and it was if Sherlock was looking at a stranger. His heartbeat picked up as Moriarty casually put his hands in his pockets and said, "Looks like I have your attention, now."
