Chapter Three, Part Two: Baggage

Feeling a bit silly, John waits patiently at Mrs. Norton's front door. While he stands on the wooden porch, he makes a grand effort at ignoring the majority of things that happened last night, especially any details about a tall, mysterious 'consulting psychic' that have been intruding on his thoughts every five minutes or so. He fiddles with the EVP device he stuck in his pocket on the way out of LOPNI's headquarters; he tells himself that the reason he is here is only about her case and nothing else.

John can hear Mrs. Norton shuffling about, calling out to him that she's coming. It is probably beyond rude to be here this early, though he knows that sometimes older people get up before the sun. Judging by the warm light in the kitchen window, it appears he isn't too far off the mark. After all, she did tell Mike that they could come by 'anytime' once they started on her case. The wonderful smell of homemade scones follows her when she finally cracks the door and sticks her head out to greet him. The aroma is backed by a pleasantly mellow light that spills out into the grey morning.

"Mr. Watson, is it?" she asks politely, pushing the door open wider now that she's recognized her visitor.

"Yes, ma'am, Misses Norton. I know it is a bit early for a social call, but I'm wondering if I could ask you some more questions about your husband?" He queries, remembering what Mike told him about referring to spirits in the present tense so as not to upset the living.

"Sure, Mr. Watson. Tea?"

John nods his answer to the affirmative and steps up onto the creaky wooden threshold. Once inside, he allows the creature comforts and the quaint atmosphere to relax his mind. Surely he will see the ghosts again, and he'll finally be able to do the job he's been hired to do.

ooo

Two hours later and John is beyond disappointed. Absolutely nothing has happened since he's been here except that he's stuffed full of blackberry scones and drank three cups of tea. The EVP device in his pocket has remained so quiet he's actually wondering if the batteries in it are dead. Mrs. Norton is still chatting away as she idly sets the kettle to boil for the fourth time. John's head and bladder are both beginning to swim so he politely asks if he could use the loo. Mrs. Norton, or rather Edwina as she informed him earlier, points down the hall to John's right and he gives her a warm smile as he exits the kitchen.

John finishes his business and washes his hands in the old sink, taking a moment to appreciate the marble basin and handcrafted mirror frame hanging above it. Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees a bit of movement but just as quickly he writes it off as wishful thinking. There's nothing here, at least now anyway. Maybe he was so exhausted the other night that he fantasized the whole thing? He dries his hands on a tiny pink and green floral print towel that smells like lilacs, thinking that he'll have to excuse himself in an effort to try and get on with his day.

That sounds like a reasonable idea, anyway, until he steps out of the loo, walks three paces and winds up with his face planted in a man's chest. With a surprised grunt, he pulls away only to find himself looking up into green eyes he hasn't hardly been able to get out of his mind in the past fourteen hours or so. He stares so intently that he almost doesn't feel the EVP machine going bonkers in his pocket.

"We meet again, Mister Watson." Sherlock's chocolate-and-cream baritone threatens to take John out at the knees.

Somehow he manages to keep himself upright and not blurt out how much he detests being called 'mister.' Clearing his throat, he tries for a bit of levity, "Mr. Holmes, I presume?"

Sherlock merely quirks his left eyebrow and continues to stare at John as if he's some new insect species heretofore unknown to science. As if sensing he's not going to get much from the other man, he drawls, "And the reason for your visit to Mrs. Norton is?"

John knows that Sherlock is going to recognize the lie before he tells it, but his mouth is like a fully laden freight train and there's simply no stopping it now. "I'm here about her case."

"Her case?" Sherlock frowns, the action causing a deep crease over his nose.

"Yes, her case. Mike wanted more information…"

"Ah. Michael Stamford said he would look into the case of Mister Norton haunting this house. Well," Sherlock pauses dramatically.

John wonders if the man knows what those long, dark eyelashes and eyes the color of fine jade are doing to him. And that mouth. God.

For the smallest instant a hint of pink touches Sherlock's cheekbones then he pulls back, still eyeing John closely. "As Ophelia told you last night, Mister Watson, Mister Norton's spirit is lingering here out of a misguided attempt to protect his wife. The best thing you and the rest of Michael's crew can do is an exorcism. He's as much a fool in the afterlife as he was in this one. You may leave now, with my blessing."

It takes three full seconds for John to catch up. Realizing that he's been virtually dismissed, he widens his stance and stiffens his shoulders. "And on whose authority do you get to tell me what to do?"

Sherlock doesn't move, only stands there. To John, it's like he's blocking the entire hallway because Sherlock is all John can see. He can feel others around, but whether they are living spirits or those trapped between worlds, he couldn't say at this point. He's torn between decking the pompous arse and kissing him.

"As if I would answer to anyone else…" Sherlock is saying. His expression is rigid and there's a particularly knowing smirk plastered on his lips. "Just go. You aren't needed here anymore. Let the professionals handle this job."

John counts to three. Slowly. Backwards. If he doesn't, punching the tall git may win out. He steps back the three paces from before and winds up standing on the threshold of the bathroom.

"You wouldn't actually hit me John." Sherlock sniffs.

John really thinks about it. And again. Still, erring on the side of politeness, he pushes past Sherlock on his way back to the kitchen only to find that the ghosts are back.

Once again, Ophelia is at the kitchen table with the three ghosts whose acquaintance John made last night. James and Janey offer him polite nods while Mary Beth gives him a smile and a funny gesture with her hands that he takes to be a wave.

"Hi kids," he greets them without thinking.

Mrs. Norton turns away from the hob where she's fussing with a fresh pan of scones and grins at him. She's got a bright pink oven mitt on her left hand. "Well, I'd like to thank you for the compliment, John, but somehow I don't think it's truly meant for me."

"Actually, Edwina, you said that you and Mister Norton never had children. Correct?"

Edwina nods then tugs off the oven mitt. "Aye, that's true."

"By any chance, do you know who lived her before the two of you?" John asks as he pulls out the chair next to Ophelia. She smiles warmly before turning back to Mary Beth. The baby has a tight grip on Ophelia's right index finger and is grinning as if she's getting away with something.

Edwina rests her hands on her hips and turns her eyes up towards the ceiling, looking thoughtful. She starts to answer John but is interrupted as Sherlock strides into the room, coat tails flapping behind him.

"You don't have to answer that, Edwina." Sherlock states, looking directly at John.

"No, it's fine, Mister Holmes, really…" The woman looks a bit concerned, however.

Sherlock steamrolls right over her. "John, I do believe I asked you politely to leave."

"Politely?" John stammers, getting to his feet. He doesn't think that he's given Sherlock permission to call him anything other than Mr. Watson. "If that's what you consider polite…"

"Just leave." Sherlock points towards the door as if helping.

Ophelia frowns at her brother as she slips her hand away from Mary Beth's little fist and glides to stand beside him. "Sherlock, what are you doing?" she says out loud, though the question falls on deaf ears.

John watches the quick exchange but doesn't really see anything now except for Sherlock. He continues to hold the other man's gaze for several long seconds until Mary Beth begins to whimper. Unseen by either John or Sherlock, Ophelia goes to her and picks her up, crooning soft words.

Finally, John breaks the tension by taking a deep breath. "Fine." He turns to Edwina. "Thank you for the lovely scones and tea. Perhaps I will see you another day when you have less company."

"You are more than welcome, John, any time."

"No, you aren't." Sherlock mutters as John passes him.

Wisely, John says nothing else. He closes the door softly behind himself and pulls the keys to the company van from his pocket. Without thinking about it too much, he also takes out the EVP device. Once again, its face is lit up like Harrod's at Christmas. Damn. He was so distracted that he forgot to hit the 'record' button. Mike's going to kill him.

Even more irritated now, John races the engine a little too hard and it cuts out on him. He drops the EVP device into the seat next to him and rests both hands on the steering wheel to give himself a break for a few seconds. After counting to ten, he tugs on his seat belt and restarts the van, taking his time backing out of the driveway. On the twenty five minute trip back to LOPNI's headquarters, he steadfastly ignores the little machine, completely missing the way the screen goes blank the farther he gets from Newham and Sherlock Holmes.