Sherlock wondered, at times, if Mycroft knew that the skull he'd given Sherlock still retained it's original inhabitant. Figuratively speaking of course. Literally John occupied a metaphysical plane that he was infuriatingly incapable of describing to Sherlock in any useful way. It seemed unlikely that Mycroft was aware of the full extent of his gift, (Well, gift in that he didn't take John AWAY, which was virtually the same thing as giving him to Sherlock) he was dreadfully unimaginative that way.
Still, John (Ex-Army doctor, killed three years previously, small in life, invisible in death) was remarkably helpful and Sherlock reluctantly came to the conclusion that he owed Mycroft enough to be *civil* every now and again. (John reminded him, most of the time, feeling as if he owed Mycroft too for making his afterlife exciting rather than horrifically depressing and lonely.)
Sherlock had been very good before he ended up with John, but that warm, oddly solid voice in his ear, that invisible but still tangible presence helped significantly and despite the fact that he frequently spoke to someone who wasn't there ("What do you think? No, not *you* Anderson, who could possibly want *your* opinion? ... Yes! Very good, except that you've missed the deeper indent on the carpet just there...") Lestrade and the rest of the world seemed to find him easier to deal with.
To say that Sherlock (And John, who hadn't had any idea he could do that sort of thing) was surprised the first time an invisible force had saved Sherlock's life was a massive understatement but both of them eagerly applied themselves to discovering the limits of the ability. Soon Sherlock found himself with cups of fresh brewed tea floating over to him in the middle of a good thinking session and his coat becoming singularly uncooperative when he wanted to go out while John thought he needed to rest.
All in all John was *exactly* what Sherlock would have asked for in his life with the glaring exception of being dead. And infuriatingly dead at that. Sherlock simply couldn't find the one vital clue that told him who had killed his John before he'd had a chance to touch his warm skin and feel his heart beat. All he had to hold onto was John's pale skull and a picture printed off the net that showed a serious man in uniform. (Sherlock privately thought that John had to have had a wonderful smile but couldn't find any proof.) It was beyond unfair and it drove him to near breakdown until one night when the blanket tucked around him on the couch and John said quietly, "Let it go Sherlock. If you solve it I may have to go on and I don't want to leave you. I'll just wait until you're ready to come with me, alright? Rest for a while. Please."
So Sherlock Holmes reluctantly gave up the greatest mystery of his life so he and John could both wait and if anyone thought it was odd that he asked to be buried with the skull he'd carried around for years... well, he was Sherlock Holmes, and it was a sad fact that that skull was the closest thing he'd ever had to a friend.
Not Even Death Can Stop Destiny
Still, John (Ex-Army doctor, killed three years previously, small in life, invisible in death) was remarkably helpful and Sherlock reluctantly came to the conclusion that he owed Mycroft enough to be *civil* every now and again. (John reminded him, most of the time, feeling as if he owed Mycroft too for making his afterlife exciting rather than horrifically depressing and lonely.)
Sherlock had been very good before he ended up with John, but that warm, oddly solid voice in his ear, that invisible but still tangible presence helped significantly and despite the fact that he frequently spoke to someone who wasn't there ("What do you think? No, not *you* Anderson, who could possibly want *your* opinion? ... Yes! Very good, except that you've missed the deeper indent on the carpet just there...") Lestrade and the rest of the world seemed to find him easier to deal with.
To say that Sherlock (And John, who hadn't had any idea he could do that sort of thing) was surprised the first time an invisible force had saved Sherlock's life was a massive understatement but both of them eagerly applied themselves to discovering the limits of the ability. Soon Sherlock found himself with cups of fresh brewed tea floating over to him in the middle of a good thinking session and his coat becoming singularly uncooperative when he wanted to go out while John thought he needed to rest.
All in all John was *exactly* what Sherlock would have asked for in his life with the glaring exception of being dead. And infuriatingly dead at that. Sherlock simply couldn't find the one vital clue that told him who had killed his John before he'd had a chance to touch his warm skin and feel his heart beat. All he had to hold onto was John's pale skull and a picture printed off the net that showed a serious man in uniform. (Sherlock privately thought that John had to have had a wonderful smile but couldn't find any proof.) It was beyond unfair and it drove him to near breakdown until one night when the blanket tucked around him on the couch and John said quietly, "Let it go Sherlock. If you solve it I may have to go on and I don't want to leave you. I'll just wait until you're ready to come with me, alright? Rest for a while. Please."
So Sherlock Holmes reluctantly gave up the greatest mystery of his life so he and John could both wait and if anyone thought it was odd that he asked to be buried with the skull he'd carried around for years... well, he was Sherlock Holmes, and it was a sad fact that that skull was the closest thing he'd ever had to a friend.