"Would it be alright if I put up video cameras in your hallway?" Sherlock asked suddenly, looking up at the Watsons, who were having a very useless conversation with Molly about parenting. It was almost as if they were trying to avoid the topic of the undead, as if by ignoring it that it would somehow just go away.
"Oh um...sure. Would that help in your investigation?" Mary wondered, sounding rather reluctant.
"Very much so." Sherlock agreed with a pleasant smile.
"You have cameras for something like that?" Molly wondered, looking at Sherlock in confusion.
"Well...no. But I'm sure I could get some, I think I have a credit card." Sherlock decided, searching his pockets for his wallet uncertainly.
"Well Sherlock if you're going to spend your own money on something that we're using we'd be happy to split the cost. How many do you need?" John wondered. Sherlock heard a little yip of pain and something banged on the table, presumably Mary's knee as she brought her foot down hard on John's shoe under the table. Obviously Mary didn't like investing in such a thing.
"Two cameras will be ideal; I could hook them up wirelessly and watch from Molly's apartment, kind of alike a spy camera I guess." Sherlock planned.
"Sounds stalkerish." Mary decided with a frown.
"Well, I mean, it kind of is. But we're not spying on you; we're spying on the ghost." Sherlock debated. Mary sighed heavily, but finally nodded. Sherlock smiled thankfully, and soon he was heading to the store with one hundred dollars of the Watson's money and one hundred dollars of his own, hoping that would somehow cover the cost. Molly went back to her apartment to feed her cat Hellen, and so Sherlock was left fighting against sales people all by himself. The lack of the dead was strangely nice, however, he almost felt normal as he browsed through the aisles in the local computer store without having to step over the bloodied corpses of hit and run victims. In the end Sherlock walked out of the store with two small, live feed cameras, and a cable to hook the cameras up to his computer and get them synced or whatever he had to do. The tech guy explained the process, to which Sherlock heard none of, and sent his on his way. Sherlock arrived back at the Watson's house about an hour and a half later, he was driving Molly's cute little car and so he looked very odd as he climbed out of the driver's seat with a cry of pain, stretching out his leg muscles thankfully. John helped him set the cameras up, and Mary just observed, occasionally leaving the men to do the work to play with Rosie or make dinner. Sherlock appreciated this solitude, partially because he wanted to know his victim better, and partially because John was pretty cute.
"I don't think Mary really likes the idea of putting this camera in the bedroom." John muttered as Sherlock stacked up shoe boxes to make a platform for the camera at the appropriate angle.
"Well, she's right not to, but you can trust us. This isn't for creepy peeping, this is a formal investigation. You two can change in the bathroom, or give us time periods when we shouldn't be watching." Sherlock suggested.
"We'll just change in the bathroom, it will be alright. I just don't want you to see me snoring." John said with a little laugh.
"I'm sure the snoring will be the least eventful part of your night." Sherlock decided. He went around the back of the camera and made sure it could see the whole room from the corner it was placed. The shoe boxes were a bit of an uneven surface, but Sherlock was planning on duck taping it down later.
"You think the ghost will try to turn the cameras off?" John wondered as he watched Sherlock turn the camera on and look around with it, trying to find the right angle.
"I don't see why it would care, it's only being observed. In some cases the dead like the attention." Sherlock decided with a shrug. John nodded, sighing heavily as if he had too many questions to ask in such a short amount of time.
"You don't have to be scared John, we're going to figure this out." Sherlock assured, taking a break from adjusting the camera to give John a look of reassurance. John nodded, smiling as if he were trying to convince Sherlock that he wasn't scared at all. That was pathetic, however, it didn't matter how many smiles John plastered onto his face, Sherlock knew he was scared, anyone would be. If he wasn't scared then the ghost had kicked his human soul out long ago.
"I just wonder why it took me." John admitted. Sherlock nodded, he had been wondering that as well.
"There may be no reason at all. The dead are unpredictable John, they do what they do, they do what's convenient. Most likely this ghost was from this house, someone who died here." Sherlock decided.
"And it it's not?" John wondered curiously.
"If it's not from here then you picked it up somewhere around town, it's kind of like a germ. You didn't even know you got it, but somehow it got in, and somehow it spread." Sherlock muttered. John nodded once more, but he didn't bother smiling. He just looked down uncertainly at his shoes, obviously worried about his own health.
"As long as it doesn't hurt my family." He decided.
"It has no reason to hurt your family John, as long as they stay out of this then they will not get hurt." Sherlock assured. He scanned the room one more time with the camera before setting it in the proper angle, plugging it into the wall so that it wouldn't lose battery and leaving it on. According to the tech guy, it should broadcast a feed to Sherlock's laptop up to ten miles away, which was ideal for this kind of situation.
"Who do you think it will go after then?" John wondered. Sherlock just laughed, stepping out from behind the shoe boxes and looking at John with a smile.
"Well, preferably no one, but if it does get provoked it will most likely go after me." Sherlock guessed. John frowned; obviously he didn't like that idea.
"How? Will it use paranormal powers on your, choke you like Darth Vader or something?" John wondered. Sherlock just shrugged, he honestly didn't know how a ghost would attack, if they could attack at all.
"It would take something very powerful to use supernatural forces on me; most likely it will use your human form to attack me. Hand to hand combat." Sherlock guessed, shrugging as if this were a perfectly normal conversation.
"Oh." Was the only thing John could respond with. "I hope you've taken self-defense classes then."
"Well, no, not really." Sherlock admitted with a laugh.
"I think anyone using my human form could crush you like a grape." John decided, looking Sherlock up and down as if trying to determine how quickly a man like him could break. Sherlock could only smirk back; evidently John was seriously under estimating him.
"I'm stronger than I look." Sherlock insisted, and with that he walked out into the hallway to adjust the other camera.

Entry #3, October 23rd, 2017: I remember my first impression of Sherlock Holmes, the first time he walked through my door. He was mysterious, graceful, he had this aura of curiousness that clung to him like a fog, and it drew me nearer and nearer. There was something about him, something that not many other men had, and it wasn't just his unusual ability to communicate with the dead. I still can't place it to this day, but something about him enchanted me from the start. I knew that I could trust him; I knew that he would help us, but I knew that as soon as we got him involved something bad would happen. As soon as the exterminator came the rats started to panic. In this case, however, it was the spirit inside of me. Sherlock's mere presence worried it, I could feel it churning inside of me as I lay eyes on that man for the first time. But that didn't mean I wanted him to go away. For the strangest reason I knew that whatever happened, whatever consequences his presence caused, it would be worth it. Of course it would be worth it. End Entry.

Four Weeks Earlier: Sherlock sat at Molly's kitchen table for a good hour trying to set those stupid cameras up. The computer seemed very reluctant to agree to play the live feed, but in the end he finally got two windows up, one camera focused down the hallway, the other streaming the whole bedroom. This way, whatever John was doing during his nighttime adventures, Sherlock would be watching.
"Sherlock would you like some dinner? I'm sure you're hungry by now." Molly asked, walking into the kitchen around five o'clock. She had been in the living room reading or something; Sherlock had heard the pages turning in a book for as long as he had been here struggling with this stupid laptop.
"Dinner would be lovely, thank you." Sherlock agreed, finally getting up fromhis chair with a groan.
"I'll open a bottle of wine as well, in celebration." Molly decided with a mischievous little smile, as if the mere thought of alcohol made her feel very rebellious.
"Celebration of what?" Sherlock wondered, walking into the kitchen while Molly fished around for an appropriate bottle.
"Of come home." Molly decided after a moment of thought.
"That's a terrible thing to celebrate." Sherlock muttered, but nevertheless he perched on a stool and held up a cheap wine glass for Molly to fill.
"You'll be up all night will you? Watching those cameras?" Molly asked. She got out a large pot and began filling it with water, so Sherlock could only assume that they were having pasta tonight.
"Yes I suppose so, can't think of a better way to watch." Sherlock agreed. The mere idea of staying up so long already made him tired, and he wished there was a more efficient way of monitoring the Watson house.
"What are you going to do if you see anything?" Molly wondered. Sherlock just groaned, taking a rather large sip of wine and letting his head sink to the counter.
"I don't know." He admitted. Molly just laughed, putting the pot on the stove and starting to cut up fresh tomatoes for the sauce.
"I guess if he seems violent I'll go over there and stop him, but if he's just wandering around then I don't really see the point. I'll just observe." Sherlock muttered.
"That sounds safe. Did you do any research yet, see just what happened there?" Molly asked.
"I'll do that tomorrow, if I'm awake. I'll probably sleep into the day." Sherlock predicted.
"Well if you stay up all night I think you're entitled to sleep all day." Molly agreed, chopping up some cloves of garlic and adding them to some olive oil sizzling in a sauce pan. The kitchen soon smelled wonderful, so good that the little white mass of cat padded into the room to investigate.
"Hello Hellen." Sherlock said with a little smile, getting off of his stool to lean down and pet the cat. But, just his luck, as soon as his hand got anywhere close the cat hissed, swatting at him with her claws drawn. Sherlock pulled his hand back violently, wincing in pain as he saw three large scratches down the back of his hand.
"Ouch!" Sherlock exclaimed, scrambling back up onto his stool and looking at the cat with a new found hate.
"Hellen bad girl, bad kitty!" Molly insisted, shooing the cat out of the room quickly before coming to investigate Sherlock's wounds.
"I'm so sorry Sherlock; she's usually fine with guests." Molly insisted.
"It's alright, honestly. It happens all the time, animals don't trust me, I assume they smell death on me." Sherlock assured, pulling his hand away before Molly could go get any antibacterial ointment or something unnecessary like that. In the end he just clutched a paper towel decorated with whales to the cuts, letting the blood soak into that.
"So dinner should be ready any moment, do you mind clearing off your laptop and setting the table?" Molly wondered sweetly. Sherlock nodded, grabbing his laptop and setting it onto the ground. The cameras showed no activity, their eerie green night vision making even the empty room look downright terrifying. Just because Sherlock was used to the dead doesn't mean he didn't fear them, it doesn't mean he wasn't worried when he was faced with something he didn't understand. He set the table with some nice red plates and filled up two glasses of water for the both of them, making sure to put the bottle of wine in the middle of the table so that he could have easy access to refills. He was already on his second glass, but he wasn't even starting to feel the least bit affected. He had obviously built up some sort of tolerance to alcohol after his years of bar flirting. Soon Molly had the table filled with wonderful food, she had made some sort of tomato sauce with sliced up tomatoes, cloves of garlic, and parsley all floating around in an olive oil mixture, poured over pasta and served with a side of wonderful looking garlic bread. It looked fabulous, truly, and to think that Sherlock's idea of good pasta was Ramen noodles with two flavor packets. They chatted for a while about basically nothing, just life and stuff, avoiding all rough topics like the ghost that possessed their hot friend and Sherlock's troubled past. He didn't even know if Molly remembered Victor, much less remembered how important he had been in Sherlock's life, or the events that led up to his death. Obviously Sherlock wasn't going to remind her, and he didn't want to remind himself. It was such a nice evening, such a carefree evening. Eventually they both got a little bit wine drunk, and once they had done all the dishes they both sat up on the counter and looking through her glamour magazines, judging the outfits of the women harshly while arguing over which men were the most attractive. It was rather fun to have a friend, a living one at least, it was fun just not to care, not to be judged. It was like old times again, like high school before everything Sherlock knew fell apart beneath him. At around nine thirty Molly announced that she was off to bed, saying goodnight to Sherlock by patting his head as if he were a cat, to which he just laughed and hopped off the counter as well. When Molly disappeared up the stairs Sherlock was left alone once more, sitting at the dining room table with the lingering scent of garlic, his laptop open in front of him and displaying a picture of emptiness. Rosie walked through the hallway a couple of times, and once she looked at the camera as if wondering why it was there, but soon Mary said something unheard and lead the child to her room. John wasn't present, however, until around ten o'clock. He was awake and he seemed rather human, he wasn't walking funny or muttering stuff. Sherlock focused his attention on the bedroom camera when John walked into his room, grabbing his pajamas and muttering somethings to the already sleeping Mary. John disappeared into the bathroom fora moment, and when he returned not five minutes later he was wearing nothing but plaid pajama pants, walking through the room and casting a solitary glance over to the video camera. Sherlock wouldn't help but blush, almost feeling as if John could see him watching. He felt very much like a stalker, especially when John was walking around so exposed. But John just shook his head, muttering something Mary before climbing into bed next to her. If he was normal now that meant this wasn't triggered by the sun, it was dark out now and he wasn't obviously possessed right now. That meant that it was something else, this ghost chose to go dormant when the sun rose, but in theory it could takeover at any hour of the day. This thought provided no comfort whatsoever, this meant that in any time during their meeting that ghost could've been there, listening with John's ears and speaking with his mouth. Sherlock would have to watch out for that, he would have to be prepared. Sherlock made the first pot of coffee at around eleven o'clock, his eyes already starting to droop from the exhaustion of the day. He rarely ever did anything when he was at home, he went and investigated some people's house sometimes, or went shopping, but mostly he just sat around and talked with Mrs. Hudson, which really took no energy at all. He wasn't used to so much excitement in one day. He drank his coffee with two scoops of sugar, trying to keep himself as awake and as conscious as possible. Sherlock sat in that horrible wooden chair for about another hour, sipping at his coffee and trying to slap himself awake a couple of times before finally there was motion. John was thrashing around in his blankets, trying to untangle himself rather violently, a look of pain spread out upon his beautiful face. Sherlock repositioned himself in his chair, maximizing his concentration as finally John settled down. It was another minute or so until he sat up in bed, sitting up straight as a board without any sort of back rest. That was a bit of a core workout after a while, not to mention flexibility that Sherlock was rather certain a man of John's age didn't possess. It was odd, very odd. John got out of bed slowly, walking on his two feet as though he didn't know how, stumbling around the bedroom with a very odd expression. This wasn't John, this wasn't human. This most certainly wasn't sleep walking.