"Sherlock, this is John Watson, our victim per say." Molly introduced. Sherlock looked John over curiously, trying to get a relative feel of this man before he did anything.
"Hello." Sherlock muttered, holding out a hand to shake. John shook it, of course, but he looked curious as well, looking at Sherlock with questionable eyes. He almost looked, well, pained. But Sherlock couldn't see anything on him, or in him. There wasn't any spirit that was latched onto his back, there was nothing spewing from his mouth as he smiled, he looked about as normal as anyone did really. But Sherlock could tell something was a little bit off.
"Hi Mr. Holmes, I'm really glad you could make it." John said, leading them all over to the kitchen table to talk. Mary stayed back to help Rosie add the tea bags of choice to the cups, pouring the boiling water over top and placing all of the cups on a tray.
"So, John, how are you feeling?" Sherlock wondered, seating himself in one of the wooden chairs across the table from the man in question. John cleared his throat, shrugging passively as if he didn't even know why he was here. He was like a kid who went to the principal's office only to plead his innocence.
"I feel fine, it's not like I'm passing out or coughing up ectoplasm or anything, I honestly just feel normal." John admitted.
"Good, well, normal is good. It means nothing's wrong, or at least, whatever's wrong is smart enough to be asymptomatic." Sherlock observed, leaning on his elbows and observing John's face thoroughly. This was all for the investigation, of course, he definitely needed to make note of John's very beautiful brown eyes, and the way he parted his hair. John looked rather uncomfortable in this spotlight; he kept averting his eyes away from Sherlock's, as if he didn't want the man staring into his soul just yet.
"Well unfortunately Mr. Watson, your wife doesn't share the same views. She says you're acting abnormally, almost to a point of concern." Sherlock pointed out, leaning back in his chair and looking at Molly for justification. Molly just nodded, and Sherlock smiled a little bit, trying to appear as friendly as possible.
"Yes well, that is why we called an exorcist, or whatever you claim to be." John muttered with a passive wave of his hand. Sherlock paused for a moment, not expecting such a statement from a man who looked so friendly not a minute ago.
"I'm not an exorcist, I'm a psychic." Sherlock corrected. "And above all, I'm most certainly not a fake." John just laughed a little bit, rearranging himself in his chair and crossing his arms. Sherlock's eyes flashed at him, daring him to make any sort of accusation towards his abilities.
"Well no, certainly not. It's just I've never heard of you, and I've never heard of anyone who can do what you can do. I've got my doubts." John admitted.
"Well Mr. Watson, then I have no trouble saying the same about you." Sherlock agreed, staring him down rather agressivley.
"Do you now?" John challenged. Oh, Sherlock was really starting to like him. Beautiful and sarcastic, the whole package.
"Yes indeed, a possession is a daring claim, one that I have never seen justification for. In fact, I've never heard of such a thing in all of my life." Sherlock admitted.
"Ever seen the exorcist?" John wondered. Sherlock just smiled tauntingly at him, nodding.
"Oh yes, but then again, I don't suppose you want to go as far as to say your head was spinning around on your neck, do you?" Sherlock wondered.
"I'm not faking it." John snapped.
"Neither am I." Sherlock agreed. "So we're even."
"We have tea!" cried Rosie, walking excitedly over to the dining room table and peering over top. She looked at Sherlock almost suspiciously, as if wondering who he was and why he would dare seat himself at their table.
"Oh wow, did you make this all by yourself?" Molly wondered in a very sweet voice, the kind you only use to address children.
"Well, I helped a little bit." Mary said with a smile, passing out tea cups to everyone. They had little bags of mint tea next to them, along with cute little spoons to mix around your preferred cream and sugar. Sherlock dipped his tea bag into his cup a couple of times, making sure that the flavor was evenly distributed before taking his first sip.
"Rosie honey why don't you go upstairs and play with your dolls? The grownups are going to have a conversation." Mary suggested, patting Rosie on the head softly.
"This is about daddy isn't it?" she wondered.
"What makes you say that?" John asked with a little laugh. Of course it was about him, but maybe they didn't want their daughter to get scared.
"Because that man talks to ghosts." She pointed out, pointing to Sherlock with a small little finger. Sherlock straightened up in his chair, not remembering ever introducing himself to the child.
"And how do you know that?" Sherlock wondered. There was a silence; everyone seemed to be awaiting Rosie's answer curiously.
"Because you look dead." Rosie said simply. Sherlock blinked rapidly, and a collective shiver went down everyone's spines. John just cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows at his wife to try to signal that it was time for Rosie to leave.
"Alright honey, go ahead upstairs." Mary instructed. Rosie just nodded, smoothening out her dress with a cute little smile and running out of sight. There was an uneasy silence, and Sherlock observed the Watsons carefully, trying to figure out just what secrets they were hiding.
"If it makes you feel any better Sherlock, you are looking a bit thin." Molly admitted, patting him on the shoulder as if that was supposed to help anything.
"How did she know me?" Sherlock wondered, looking towards John once more. The Watson parents stirred uneasily, but both seemed equally confused as to how their daughter knew such a thing.
"She must've heard us when we were talking on the phone to Molly." Mary suggested, and John nodded in agreement.
"Yes, that must be it. I've never mentioned any of this to her, didn't want to scare her." John agreed.
"We've told her that he's just sleep walking, and of course, that's what I thought as well." Mary added.
"What convinced you otherwise?" Sherlock wondered curiously. It seemed rather extreme to jump right from sleep walking to possession.
"It wasn't normal; we knew that from the start. It was only at night, only when the sun set. John would become rather agitated, and then later in the night he would get up, and he would wander around the house. Sometimes he muttered things, sometimes he moved things around, one time I came downstairs and he was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, reading a book. But he'll never go back to bed, he simply won't relax." Mary muttered. Sherlock nodded, looking over at John curiously, who had now resorted to simply poking his tea bag around his cup with his little spoon. He looked almost ashamed of this whole happening.
"Well that's not terribly abnormal, it's just stubborn consciousness." Sherlock decided.
"That's what we thought too, but we took him to the doctor and they prescribed some sleeping pills, but they didn't change anything. He would just keep wandering around, and as he started taking more and more he began to throw them up at one or two in the morning." Mary muttered, trembling a little bit as though she were remembering horrible happenings. Sherlock nodded, this was intriguing, definitely intriguing.
"And John, what do you remember of these nightly strolls?" Sherlock wondered. John sighed heavily, but shook his head.
"I don't remember anything. I've never remembered any of it, Mary always has to tell me what happened after it happened. I'll come to whenever the sun rises, as if this thing, whatever it is, is repelled by the light." John admitted. Sherlock shook his head, no, that can't be, there were no spirits repelled by sunlight. Unless it wanted them to think that it was something else, something more powerful, that or it truly was something more powerful.
"That...that doesn't make sense." Sherlock admitted, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the table and all together forgetting about his tea.
"None of this makes sense Sherlock." Molly agreed in a little whisper, as if she didn't want to be rude.
"Well, in your little world no, certainly it doesn't. Even in my world it doesn't and that's...odd." Sherlock muttered.
"We can't think of anything else that could be the cause." Mary admitted. Sherlock took a deep breath, looking at John straight away with very determined eyes.
"Mr. Watson, are you baptized?" he wondered. John looked rather uneasy at this question, but eventually nodded.
"Ya, my parents had me baptized when I was a kid. I mean, I don't go to church very often, but I used to go every Sunday until high school." John admitted. Sherlock couldn't help but curse, to which Molly jumped a little bit. He was becoming aggravated, this just wasn't making sense, possessions, if they happened at all, surely couldn't befall a religious man, dispute what religion he practiced. In theory if possessions were real then a baptism should've protected the vessel, almost as though the body had been filled with the spirit of God before the Devil could worm his way in. If this was truly a possession, then somehow it must've slipped past that, maybe it wasn't truly evil. Maybe it was a good spirit, maybe it was an angel as opposed to a demon, just getting accustomed to its new body. That was wishful thinking, of course, and Sherlock sincerely doubted that whatever inhabited Mr. Watson was there for his own good.
"I need to do research, I need to do something. Everything I thought I knew about possessions contradicts what you just told me." Sherlock admitted. John looked almost guilty, as though if he didn't want to make this anymore difficult than necessary.
"Well, we could help, if you wanted us to." Mary offered. Sherlock just shook his head, getting out of his chair rather agressivley.
"Could I see the bedroom?" he wondered. John blinked, and Sherlock almost thought he heard Molly laugh a little bit. "And the rest of the house, of course." Sherlock clarified.
"Certainly, ya." John agreed, getting to his feet and insisting that his wife tagged along. John led the troupe up the stairs in silence, and Sherlock took this opportunity to look at all of the pictures on the walls. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, no suspicious lens flares in the shapes of humans, no black lines scribbled over John's face, nothing like that. In fact they seemed to be a happy, normal family. Sherlock's passed over their wedding picture, and something like jealously flared through him, seeing John in a nice suit and Mary in a beautiful white gown. Of course this was just his heart being dramatic, it would subside. Sherlock had run into this situation before, of course, running into downright beautiful men only to find out they were either straight or taken. In John's case, of course, it was both. It didn't prevent Sherlock from wishing that would change, it didn't stop him from being somewhat jealous, but it would pass. It always passed. He moved onto better things, more beautiful things, and more available things. This would pass as well, most likely when Sherlock first saw their demonic Mr. Watson in action.
"So this is our room." John muttered, pushing open the door to reveal a very clean looking bedroom, as if they had cleaned up specially for their guests. Nothing was out of the ordinary of course; there was a queen sized bed in the middle, along with some drawers and closets. There was an attached bathroom that looked just as neat, but it wasn't necessarily their choice of decoration that concerned Sherlock. Actually, it was what was missing from this scene, from this whole house actually, that worried him. Sherlock looked around for a moment, walking around the bed, peeking in the bathroom and in the closets. He even got down on his knees to look under the bed, but all was in vain.
"They're not here." Sherlock said simply, pushing past the family to scan the rest of the rooms. Molly tagged along uneasily as Sherlock flung open all of the doors, scanning every room thoroughly before stopping in the middle of the hallway, looking a bit dumbfounded.
"Sorry Sherlock, who's not here?" John wondered, walking out into the hallway with a rather annoyed looking Mary at his heels.
"The dead! The ghosts, spirits, whatever you want to call them, there are none in your house, and Molly, none in yours either." Sherlock pointed out.
"Well I hope you'd excuse us for not noticing that." John muttered. Sherlock just shook his head, walking through what seemed to be an office to look out the window, yanking the curtains back rather agressivley and peering through the glass. There were no dead on the street, no apparitions lining the pavement, in fact the development looked still, it looked silent.
"This makes no sense, there simply can't not be any deaths, there has to be souls trapped here, there are souls everywhere! When I was growing up here there were souls wandering around, where did they all go?" Sherlock wondered, turning on his heel to face his very confused audience.
"Well, um...I don't know what to tell you Sherlock. In all fairness I've never seen them myself." Molly admitted guiltily.
"Well no, I didn't expect you to see them of course, it's just odd. Hundreds of spirits can't just disappear, I mean, where could they go? Heaven? Hell?" Sherlock wondered. All of the eyes slowly gravitated towards John, who looked around rather guiltily, as if he knew where this was going.
"Don't look at me!" he exclaimed, stepping back defensively. "It's not like I've got hundreds of human souls just stored inside of me!"
"No, of course not, no. It's just the one. It's the one soul inside of you that intrigues me. The guest." Sherlock muttered mysteriously. There was a rather eerie silence, and all eyes were once again on John.
"What happens to my soul when I get...occupied. Does it just live in there, or does it get kicked out?" John wondered.
"If your soul wasn't in there right now then you wouldn't be who you are right now. You would be someone else entirely; no they are just sharing, for now. Eventually, however, as your invader becomes more and more powerful, it will try to gain power, it will get stronger and in turn it might kick your own soul out entirely. Let's just say we don't want that to happen." Sherlock decided.
"What if he's possessed now and the spirit just wants us to think that he's not? What if his soul was expelled a while back?" Mary wondered. Sherlock just shrugged; obviously he didn't have an answer to such a radical question.
"Well then, I don't think we'd have any way of knowing. It's certainly a god actor, however, if it can convince us all that he's still John." Sherlock decided, casting a rather suspicious look at what should be John Watson.
"And if you do find out, what would you do? An exorcism?" John wondered.
"No, that would in turn just leave your body empty, available for even worse things. No, to kill the vessel is to kill the soul, or souls, that occupy it. It's like the self-destruct button almost; at least that's what I've been told." Sherlock admitted.
"We're not going to kill him though?" Mary wondered fearfully. Sherlock just shook his head reassuringly, trying to ease Mary's nerves for now.
"No of course we're not going to kill him. That is the most drastic measure imaginable, but until we get to that point, if we get there at all, we're going to do everything in our power to free Mr. Watson and give him full possession of his own body." Sherlock decided with a smile.
"That's a rather morbid thought." Mary decided, looking at her husband as if wondering where the invading soul was hiding.
"Well then, on that note, would anyone like to finish their tea?" Molly wondered, looking around the room hopefully, as if trying to lighten this morbid mood that had since settled over the small crowd.   They all huddled back around the kitchen table, sipping their now cold tea and listening to Rosie as she screeched on and on upstairs. Sherlock was rather worried about this, considering that she sounded like she was in pain, but the Watson parents both assured him that she was just playing. According to Mary, Rosie's favorite game was called Princes, in which she lived in France during the revolution as a princess and was guillotined. Rather morbid, of course, but whatever she wanted I suppose. Maybe that's why she sounded like she was in so much pain.

"So, Sherlock, how long have you had this...ability?" Mary wondered, looking at Sherlock over the table and looking rather reluctant to even ask. 

"All my life." Sherlock admitted rather glumly, looking into his tea and watching as the soggy, bloated tea bag bobbled up and down.
"That must not be easy, to see ghosts." John guessed, his very attractive eyes flicking in Sherlock's direction.
"It's not." Sherlock agreed. "But I've gotten used to it, I think."
"It's like the Sixth Sense, right? I see dead people, just like that?" John wondered, a smile cracking on his face. Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle, nodding in agreement.
"Yes, just like that." he agreed. "Maybe less dramatic."
"They should make a movie about you Sherlock, about how you saved the poor Watson family from the ghost possessing John's body." Molly suggested happily.
"Well I haven't saved them yet." Sherlock muttered modestly, his cheeks blushing a little bit with the idea of his own movie.
"But you will." John said confidently. Sherlock nodded hopefully, wondering just what would happen if he didn't manage to expel this spirit. He wondered what it's motivation was. Why would a spirit even bother possessing such a meager man, why would it muster up all that strength and energy just to sleep walk? The dead were confusing, but not nearly as confusing as the living.