It was a quiet, normal morning in 221B Baker Street. Sherlock was bored and ready for a case. John was writing his blog. It had been a week since Sherlock's last case. Suddenly, Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs. Sherlock looked up.

"What is it?" He asked eagerly. "A client?"

"Yes, but he looks very worried." Mrs. Hudson said. "He's very pale."

"Send him up." Sherlock said. He looked towards John. "Finally, John! A case!"

"Yes, you must be over the moon." John said.

The man came up the stairs. Sherlock looked him over. He was shaking and looked as if he had just seen a ghost. The man gratefully sank into the client chair. Sherlock started to deduce him.

~ Unmarried.
~ Has a girlfriend
~ Has a gerbil
~ Allergies - Soy
~ Policeman

"What's your name?" John asked.

"William Johnson." The man said.

"You're a policeman." Sherlock said. "I can tell because-"

"No offense, Mr. Holmes, but I don't care how you figured it out." William said. "I have something very important to tell you."

"Very well. What is it?" Sherlock asked, put off that this man didn't care about his deductions.

"As you pointed out, I work as a policeman. Last night, there was some strange activity reported at a mansion. I thought it was just some kids or teens messin' around, you know?" William said. "I went to check it out. The mansion looked like it was from Victorian times. The door was locked shut. I had to break it down. I wandered around for a bit and then...I saw a ghost, Mr. Holmes."

"A ghost?" Sherlock scoffed. "Come now, Mr. Johnson, ghosts are made up to scare children."

"Hear me out, Mr. Holmes!" William said. "This ghost was wearing Victorian clothes, it was floating and it was transparent!"

"Well, did it say anything?" John asked.

"All it said was, 'Welcome, foolish mortal.' That was it." William said.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair. He didn't really know what to make of this. He would have told William that it was just some teenager messing around, but he didn't really have an explanation for the transparent part of it.

"Well, thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr. Johnson. It's very promising." He said. "Would you tell me the address? I would like to conduct my own private investigation."

William gave Sherlock the address. Sherlock assured him that he would contact him as soon as he had any information and then showed him out. After the door had been shut, Sherlock turned to John, grinning.

"Call Gary and tell him to meet us at the mansion." He said. "We're going on a ghost hunt."

"Do you mean Greg?" John asked.

"I mean Lestrade!" Sherlock said. "Just call him and tell him to meet us at the mansion at nine O' clock tonight."

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( Nine O' Clock )

Sherlock and John stood in front of the mansion, waiting for Lestrade. John gulped. The mansion did look very scary. Some of the bricks had moss growing on them and were crumbling. There was a graveyard in front of it with some very old tombstones and a greenhouse stretching out from the interior of the mansion. John was having second thoughts about going in.

"Don't be so childish, John." Sherlock suddenly said.

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"I can see your hand that's holding your flashlight shaking. You're scared." Sherlock observed.

"Well, forgive me if I don't want to go into a house that could be infested with ghosts." John said.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked.

"It's not like the ghosts are going to invite us in for tea." John said.

A car suddenly pulled up and Lestrade got out of it. He smiled at Sherlock and John, then his grin faded as he saw the mansion. He gulped as he walked up to his friends.

"So, this is the place?" He asked. Sherlock nodded.

"It is." He said.

"Well, what's our plan?" John asked. "What do we do if we meet a ghost who isn't exactly friendly?"

"If you meet a ghost and it doesn't seem friendly, text me the word 'GRIM' and your location. If the ghost seems friendly, text me the word 'GRINNING' and your location." Sherlock explained. "If the ghost doesn't seem friendly, get out as fast as you can. If you're hiding from it, stay at your location and I'll find you. We'll stick together until you two children are comfortable enough to split up."

Sherlock didn't wait to listen for any more questions. He went and opened the door to the mansion. It took a little effort, but he did manage to get it open. He looked up at the ceiling and smirked.

"Someone is here." He said.

"What?!" John said.

"Look up. The candles are lit. I doubt a flame could survive for several hundred years." Sherlock said.

"Okay, I'm out of here." Lestrade said. He tried to open the door. "It won't budge!"

He and John tried everything they could think of, even throwing their bodies at it. The door wouldn't open. Sherlock was completely calm.

"Relax. We'll just find another way out." He said.

The three men continued to the hall. They could see out the windows that it had started to rain. John tried to open the windows, but A clap of thunder sounded and lightening illuminated the room. Sherlock smirked to himself.

"How cliche." He remarked.

"This is really starting to freak me out." John muttered.

John and Lestrade didn't like being here at all. They were beginning to get very jumpy. John suddenly thought he saw a glint of light out of the corner of his eye and looked down the hallway. His jaw dropped. There was a candelabra floating down a hallway that pitch black, except for it. He elbowed Lestrade and pointed at it. Lestrade tensed up.

"Sherlock!" John called.

"What?" Sherlock called back. John held his fingers up to his lips and shushed Sherlock. he waved him over and Sherlock walked over.

"I don't see anything." He said.

"What? There's a...a..." John's voice trailed off when he saw the candelabra was gone. "Greg saw it, too, right, Greg?"

"I did!" Lestrade nodded. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Stop playing games with me. We have to get back to the case." He said. "Actually, I think that if you are okay enough to play games, we can split up."

"Fine, then I'm going with John." Lestrade said. "You're on your own, Sher."

"Alright. Not a problem with me." Sherlock shrugged. "I'll continue going down this hallway. You two go down that one."

Sherlock continued to go down his hallway, while John and Lestrade very reluctantly started to go down their new one. Sherlock came across two large doors. He opened them with ease and shined his flashlight in. It had to have been the mansion's library. There were several shelves of books and four squishy armchairs in the room. Sherlock noticed that there was also a piano with a vase of flowers on the top of it in between two bookcases. He walked over to the bookcases and began to examine them. The earliest book was from the late 1600's, while the latest was from the late 1800's. Sherlock concluded that whoever had died in here lase had lived here in Victorian times. He was about to leave when he felt a chill descend upon the room. he was grateful to be wearing his Belstaff coat and scarf. He was almost to the door when it snapped shut.

"What...?" He said quietly. He pulled on the door handle, but it wouldn't budge. He rolled his eyes. This must be John's doing. "Alright, John, you can let me out now!" No answer. "John, this isn't funny at all! It's very churlish of you!"

Sherlock suddenly heard something that made him stiffen up. The piano started playing all by itself. Sherlock shook off the eery feeling that he had and decided to investigate. He crept over to the piano and looked it over. The keys were moving. He looked down to the floor and his eyes widened. There was a shadow. A ghost was playing the piano. Sherlock swallowed and stood up. He backed up to the door, a little scared. He shook his head. He didn't get scared. Still, he hoped that he got out of the library, and soon.

Meanwhile, Lestrade and John were still walking down their hallway. The floating candelabra had made a reappearance and seemed to be leading them down the corridor. This hallway seemed never ending. There were many doors on either side of the hall. To pass the time, John and Lestrade were playing I Spy. It was currently John's turn.

"I spy with my little eye, something that opens." John said.

"Is it a door?" Lestrade asked.

"Yep. Your turn." John said.

"Alright. I spy with my little eye, something that is the entrance to a room." Lestrade said.

"Is it...a door?" John asked.

"Yes." Lestrade nodded. The answer had been a door for a while now.

"Okay, my turn." John said. "I sp-"

John was cut off when he and Lestrade heard something very creepy. It was the sound of a hinge creaking. A door opened and shut again. From what they could see, there was no one else there besides them. They both quickly shut off their flashlights. The floating candelabra was no where to be seen.

"I hear with my little ear something that makes me want to run." Lestrade breathed out.

"Was it that noise?" John whispered.

"Yes." Lestrade said.

"Then let's start running." John said.

The two of them ran to find Sherlock. They hoped they would be able to find him before a ghost got to them. Little did they know, Sherlock was having some trouble of his own.

The ghost was still playing the piano. Sherlock had a feeling that when it stopped, the door would open. He hoped it ended soon. He wanted to get out, and now. This pianist's playing wasn't very good, anyway. Finally, it ended very abruptly. The room warmed up a little and the door opened. Sherlock ran out and nearly crashed into John and Lestrade. They were both panting.

"Sherlock...you won't believe...what we just saw!" John gasped out. "I mean, seriously, you probably won't believe us."

"Oh, yeah? Try me." Sherlock said. "I just saw a ghost playing the piano, so I'm kind of willing to believe anything at this point."

"Wait, you what now?" John asked.

"I got locked in the library and the piano started to play. I thought maybe it was rigged to do so, but I saw a shadow on the library floor. I saw a ghost playing the piano." Sherlock explained. "Now, what did you two see?"

"We were walking down the hallway you sent us down." John started. "We heard a hinge creaking and turned around to see a door open and shut. We ran here after that. We didn't see anyone else besides us."

"Come on. We need to try and find a way out." Sherlock said.

The three of them continued throughout the mansion to try and find a way out. They saw and heard no more ghosts, but a thunderstorm was raging outside. In retrospect, though, the trio would rather be pelted by freezing rain than be dragged down to hell by evil ghosts. They passed a ballroom and John looked down. His eyes widened.

"Sh-Sherlock!" He stammered. "Look!"

Lestrade and Sherlock looked down to see dozens of ghosts having a ball. They were all dressed in Victorian clothing. John and Lestrade held up their hands as if to say, "We're done!" and Sherlock's mind palace crumbled to the ground. He curled up on the ground in a fetal position, his ego for once not mattering to him. There had to be a rational explanation for this, he thought. There was no proven way for the dead to come back to life. Sherlock uncurled himself and forced himself to stop shaking. He had to find out how this was done. He forced his mind palace to function properly again. He stood up and brushed himself off.

"Alright. We need to figure out what to do." He said. "There has to be a rational explanation for this. There's no proven way for the dead to come back to life. This has to be an effect like Pepper's Ghost or something similar."

"It looks so real, though." Lestrade breathed.

"Well, it's not." Sherlock said. "Come on."

The three men trekked up a flight of stairs into an attic. Sherlock shined his flashlight around. There were several paintings of a bride and her groom on their wedding day. Sherlock noticed something. The bride in all of the paintings was the same. The husband, however, was different in each of them. Sherlock guessed that the bride had murdered her husbands for their money. That was probably very likely. Suddenly, a breeze swept throughout the room. Sherlock stopped and switched his flashlight off. Lestrade and John froze.

"A ghost." Sherlock whispered.

"Sherlock...back away, very slowly." Lestrade suddenly whispered.

"What, why?" Sherlock turned around to see the bride in the paintings. She was holding a hatchet and her dress was covered in faint blood stains. He stood up straight to face her. "Oh, I see now."

"Go back to where you came from!" The bride hissed. "If you go now, I may spare you!"

"Don't try to scare me, because it isn't working." Sherlock said. "Now, how is it done?"

"How is what done, you insolent dog?" The bride asked.

"The ghost effect. I simply must know how it's done." Sherlock said.

"I am a ghost, you fool!" The bride snapped.

"No, you aren't. There's no proven evidence that the dead can come back to life, nor any proven evidence of the existence of ghosts. Now, how is it done? Light and smoke? Smoke and mirrors?" Sherlock asked. He stuck his hand through the bride. His hand felt like ice when he withdrew it from her.

"I am a ghost!" The bride said.

"Prove it." Sherlock challenged. The bride smiled sweetly at him.

"Gladly." She said.

The bride flew through the wall. Sherlock's eyes widened. She really was a ghost. Ghosts were real. Sherlock shook his head. No, this couldn't be. There was no proven way for it! Sherlock wished he had never to take this case. Everything he knew was crumbling to the ground at the moment.

John suddenly let out a yell of shock. Sherlock turned around and his eyes widened even more, if that was possible. The bride was standing over Lestrade's body. She had beheaded him. She grinned manically and laughed.

"Will he come back as a ghost?" Sherlock asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Oh, it usually takes a while." The bride shrugged. She wiped the bit of Lestrade's blood that had gotten in her hands on Sherlock's scarf. "Sometimes even years. You and your little boyfriend will join him shortly."

"REALLY?! EVEN THE GHOST THINKS I'M GAY?!" John shouted.

"Now's not the time for that, John! GET DOWN!" Sherlock shouted. He and John got down just as the bride threw her hatchet at them. "RUN FOR IT!"

The door slammed shut before Sherlock and John even got to it. They tried everything their panicked minds could think of, but the door didn't budge. They turned around the see that the bride had her hatchet ready again. Sherlock and John dove to opposite sides of the attic as the bride threw her hatchet at the door. Sherlock ran towards the window. He didn't know that to do next. The bride turned towards him, madness darkening her features.

"JOHN, RUN!" Sherlock shouted.

The words had just escaped his mouth when he heard the window open behind him. The bride pushed him out of it. Sherlock heard John scream his name and then felt the icy rain pelting his skin. The last thing he saw before he hit the ground and blackness swallowed him up was the moon.

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"Sherlock?" John said. "You okay?"

Sherlock opened his eyes. He was back in 221B, in his bedroom. Had the whole thing just been a dream? Was he a ghost now? It had all seemed so real. Was John dead, too?

"Did the bride get you?" Sherlock asked.

"The who?" John asked.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked.

"It seemed like you were having a fit." John said. "I heard you moving around in here, so I came to see if you were alright. You fell on the floor just as I opened the door. What were you dreaming about?"

"Um...nothing." Sherlock shook his head. "I'll be fine. Thank you, John."

"Any time." John nodded. He looked above Sherlock's bed and gave an approving nod. "I like that painting. Didn't think you appreciated things like that."

Sherlock tilted his head as John left the room and looked up to see what he had meant. What he saw when he looked at the painting up made his blood run cold.

It was the bride and one of her deceased husbands.

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Oh, my goodness, this took forever! I was almost done at four but then I accidentally deleted all of the text so I had to start over. The other one was longer and better. This was done for #fanficfrightday and I hope you like it! Happy Halloween!