Work Text:
They didn’t plan to kill anyone that night. Homicide wasn’t on their list. The most dangerous action in the list would have resulted in a burned room and even that had the potential of 42%. But who would’ve imagined that the most genius detective of all time, Sherlock Holmes, 's plan would backfire? And it’d end up taking down an entire two story building, treasure worth of over seven hundred thousand dollars, and two healthy, stable humans' lives?
To everyone’s utmost dismay, that’s exactly what happened. Due to “unconventional electric malfunction” the fire spread to the second floor, terminating the life of a civilian who had no affiliation with this case, Sherlock, or Dr. Watson along with the culprit who was there to steal valuable antiques. Nobody had an explanation for such a despicable mistake, not even Sherlock himself, and so the media let it slide, valuing the detective's reputation more than a 14 years old nobody. All Dr. Watson knew was that something went wrong that night and somehow he died and now he was here, at the doctor's unsecured apartment. Watson, a simple man, couldn’t grasp the idea of a dead person existing and floating around in his kitchen and for a good three consecutive days, he called himself mad. He assumed it was the guilt of killing an innocent soul that’s making him see things so on the fourth day, he decided to see a psychiatrist in hopes of getting antidotes that'll remove the image of one particular boy sitting on his kitchen counter playing with apples.
However, now, standing outside of the Doctor’s chamber with positive reports in his hand, he was absolutely convinced that he was not mentally ill and it was, indeed, the dead boy from The Antique Store case. The realization exhausted his brain, draining all the energy and sensibility to think; letting out a deep sigh, he tried to focus on the chatters of the pedestrians and push away the knowledge of what he had learned minutes ago as he drags hims almost numb body back home.
He wouldn’t be able to keep ignoring him, or rather it, for long- he should have known. As soon as he stepped into his apartment, his gaze was fixed on the boy sitting in his couch reading a newspaper. The boy looked up from the news paper and met his eyes, and for the first time in days, Dr. Watson decided not to look away and face the odd. As he proceeded to speak, a familiar tall figure appeared from the kitchen.
“Sherlock! When did you get here?”
“16 minutes 32 seconds. Made duplicates of your keys last time we went to Jenny’s store”. The detective says nonchalantly, handing him a cup of coffee.
“Where did you go? You don't have work on Thursdays.”
Hanging the coat, he crinkled his nose as he sipped on the coffee (Sherlock Holmes is a terrible, terrible cook) and then remembered the original situation. “I- wait, Sherlock, do you see-”
“Yes.” Crossing his legs, the detective sat across the boy waited for his assistant to join, his expression rigid as he took a sip from his coffee,
“Please start from the beginning.”
......
It was more bizarre than he’d expected. Well, to be frank, Dr. Watson isn’t sure what his companion has expected to hear from the ghost of a boy they’ve accidentally killed but he was certainly not expecting this.
“It’s not you, but me. I was stalking you guys. I've been keeping an eye on you guys for a while anytime you had a new case but never succeded in following this far. It was on the same night, i figured your final action will take place in that store. So, I sneaked in the last moment, hoping to witness it with my own eyes, the glorious moment when Sherlock Holmes arrives to catch the rat in his trap.”
He pauses for a brief moment, exhaling heavily as he continues:
“But I guess excitement got in my head. I was being silly. Hundreds years old house and I plugged the second floor's system with the firts floors; hadn't the slightest clue that Sherlock Holmes would plan to explode the room.... I’m a big fan. I read all your case stories diligently. I've always wanted to be included in your missions, but, never this way.”
Dumbfounded- that’s how Dr. Watson felt after hearing the story. How could people seriously go this far? Can devotion to this extent really exist? Moreover, how can he come back to life?
“So, Robin, was it?” The doctor began hesitantly, “What exactly are you? A spirit?”
Robin seemed taken aback by the sudden inquisition of his identity, “I am...ghost. I’m visible to only you two as my strongest unfulfilled desire when I was alive was to work with you guys.”
Another moment of awkward silence before Sherlock opens his mouth,
“Elaborate on this- how did you sneak in? I had CC camera all around the house, spies too. Besides, how did you figure out that he’d go there at that specific time on that specific day? Amuse me.”
Robin grinned, lips stretched painfully wide as he proudly began describing his genius, "well.."
......
Two weeks has passed. It takes him couple more days to adjust to the reality that ghosts exist and there was one living in his house. Sherlock, for once, doesn’t seem to mind that factor. If anything, he is more entertained nowadays and enthusiastic to show off his brilliance to the ghost boy who is shockingly fast to catch up with the detective’s crazy ideas and motifs. Things goes smoothly; Sherlock and Watson unraveling more and more complex mysteries with Robin's impressive inputs that amaze Sherlock and raise suspision among peers. They don't tell anyone about their ghost friend, but Dr. Watson doesn't forget to include him in his blog posts, even if it's as "the spy kid."