It was very late at night, but Laura couldn't sleep. She thought that she would have gotten used to the beeping of hospital machines by now and the squeaking of carts and gurneys going down the hallway, but every sound kept her awake. Laura was in the terminal wing of Moriarty Hospital dying of leukemia; she'd been there for almost a year. She hated it there, even though the staff provided the best service in all of London. She was dying, dying with no end in sight, and she had no family or friends to speak of. If she did, she would petition them to get her discharged from the hospital as quickly as possible. Without them, she was stuck there, stuck in a never ending world of death and pain. She dreamed of a world where she could sit outside in the sun and listen to the birds. She dreamed of the country, of solitude, and of a peaceful death at the end. In the hospital, the staff worked tirelessly at a hopeless cause to keep her alive.
That's why Laura was awake at two in the morning, listening to the sounds of the hospital around her. The squeak of a nurse's tennis shoes going down the laminated hallways, the dull chatter of nurses at their station, the beeps and whirrs coming from other patient's machines; Laura could hear it all. Then, she heard a new sound. Light, fleeting footsteps moved by her window, and the barely audible brush of the curtain reached her ears. "Who's there?" She whispered, and there was a pause of silence.
"A business man," a low, smooth voice replied from the corner. It relaxed her as well as it gave her chills.
"What business could you possibly have with me, a dying woman?" Laura asked, only curious, not bitter. The low voice chuckled softly.
"That is my reason for being here. You and I each want something, and we can help each other. Usually, I take without negotiation, but, then again, very few people hear me coming." The deep voice admitted. It sounded elegant, as if from another century.
"What could you want from me?" Laura repeated, and the voice let out a sigh.
"I am a vampire, and your blood is my sustenance." The man's voice was calm, almost uncaring as it spoke. Laura felt her brows come down in a frown. What? "It is very easy for you to not believe me, as the idea of a vampire has become more fiction than fact, but I am a vampire." He spoke almost briskly now, and Laura, for some reason, decided to play along. What did it matter if this man thought he was a vampire? He was probably just an escapee from the psychiatric ward and nothing more. Besides, this was the most fun she'd had in almost a year.
"Alright, then. You're a vampire, you want my blood. What do I get in return?" Laura questioned, and the voice chuckled again, the sound intoxicating. There was something different about that low baritone, she decided. His voice was more than just attractive.
"Freedom. You have been here for almost a year, your death drawn out and prolonged until it has become a torture. I can free you from this place, from life, very quickly. My process is almost painless." This man laid out a very convincing argument and Laura laid her head back further into her pillows, thinking. His words were sobering, but true. Life had no meaning when she was cooped up, kept alive by artificial drugs and machines. Her daydreams of freedom were interrupted by her sudden realization of how absurd this all was, and she laughed softly.
"I'm negotiating my life with you on the grounds that you are a vampire. Surely you must know that I can't believe you," Laura told him.
"Perhaps I can convince you another way. May I turn on the light?" He requested politely, and Laura shrugged.
"I suppose so," she granted permission, and not a second later, the light was flicked on. She turned her head to look at the light switch, and her breath caught in her throat. Standing there, one long finger still on the switch, was a man. He was tall, pale, and thin- all long lines and angles. His stark white skin, smooth and flawless, seemed to be elegantly stretched to stay over his bones- especially his cheekbones. High and proud, they angled his face in the most beautiful of ways. He had a head of curly brown hair, and was clean shaven. Dressed in a very expensive and crisp looking suit, he watched her expectantly, curiously, as if he expected a different reaction. His eyes drew a lot of her attention, being the black color they were, but his mouth garnered her greatest attention. Laura knew that behind those perfectly sculpted lips there were, if he really was a vampire, fangs. He looked ethereal, even in the dim, yellowy lighting of the hospital, and that made her decision. Before, he very easily could have been a man dressed up, with contacts and acting lessons. However, the very essence of that man told her that he really wasn't a man, not at all. "I guess you really are a vampire after all," She noted finally, and an odd look crossed his face, his finger leaving the light switch.
"The truth is right in front of you and you are still not afraid." He murmured, half to himself.
"If you really are a vampire then I guess we really are negotiating," Laura realized, half to herself as well. The two of them stared at one another for a moment. "I guess introductions are in order then- unless you'd prefer not to," Laura said, an odd thought striking her. If she was a vampire, would she want to know the names of the people she killed? To her surprise, the vampire cracked an amused smile.
"I have no objections to introductions. Would you like to sit up?" He suggested.
"Please," Laura agreed, starting to push herself up with shaking arms. In an instant, two ice cold but gentle hands helped to prop her upright. Then, the vampire took the almost unused chair from the corner of the room and effortlessly moved it to the side of her bed, sitting gracefully and with a speed she couldn't follow. Reclining properly, Laura could get a better look at the vampire. Even though she'd seen him already, she saw something new that already fascinated her every second. "Laura," she introduced herself, extending a trembling hand (not from fear, but from illness) for him to shake. A smile tugging at the edge of his lip, the vampire extended his hand.
"Sherlock," he told her as their hands met. To him, her skin was warm, but not as warm as a normal human- she was dying. To her, his skin was like that of someone who was already dead- ice cold and pale.
"I know that you are probably very busy and have things to do, but I have a few questions- if that's alright," Laura said quietly after they'd let go. Sherlock leaned back in his chair, looking politely curious.
"No, please," he said, gesturing lightly with his hand. "You are a first for me and although I need blood to live it will be almost a shame to kill you." His eyes, that deep black color, seemed to swirl with concealed emotion.
"Well- I have a concern, first off. I don't know if you've looked at my chart, but I have leukemia. My blood is diseased, poisoned. Surely drinking it would kill you too," Laura told him, gathering her courage to continue speaking artlessly, as if this really was a business deal. Sherlock raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"You care if I die or not," he stated, a question in his tone. Laura shrugged.
"You're putting an awful lot of thought and care into letting me die peacefully," she pointed out, and Sherlock's lip twitched in amusement.
"Your concern is appreciated, but no, to a vampire, blood is blood. In fact, I prefer to 'prey on' those who are ill, who are dying. If they are already marked for death, perhaps killing them is less than a sin than killing someone healthy," his tone was light, uncaring, but the philosophy, the caring behind his words made Laura speechless for a moment.
"Secondly, are you Sherlock Holmes? The detective from the 1800's?" She questioned, and he gave her a wry smile.
"Yes," he answered simply, and she gave a little laugh of surprise, studying him just as carefully as he was studying her.
"I'm sorry- it's just that you've come so far, seen so much. The time you have- I don't even know what to think," She told him in awe, mentally flipping over the pros and cons of living forever. It scared her and stimulated her imagination at the same time. When Sherlock said nothing, his face settling back to a façade, a new thought crossed her mind. "Did your partner, Doctor Watson, did he…die?" She asked, and the smile returned.
"No. He was turned, as I was." He informed her, and his eyebrow rose again in surprise as she visibly relaxed.
"It's good that you aren't alone," she explained, noting his silent question. Sherlock openly stared at her, confusion behind that elegant mask. This was the first human he had met that wasn't afraid and that treated him like he was still a normal, human being. That type of kindness, right off the bat, took him off guard. "Well," Laura said after a moment, looking at her hands, "how would you like to do this?" She asked only when her conviction had returned. Never in a million years could she have thought that this strange opportunity could come to her, and now that it had, she knew that this was the way she wanted to die.
"Hmm," Sherlock mused, bringing his fingertips to his chin in a pose similar to prayer as he judged her. "Would you mind if I took your IV out?" He asked after a moment. "The medicine will not affect me, but it does leave a particularly bad aftertaste," he stated plainly, and Laura laughed softly, offering up the arm where the IV was taped to. Cold, gentle fingers that moved with practiced ease supported her arm, undid the tapes, and then slid out the needle. He shut the flow of the IV so that it wouldn't leak as he simultaneously bent her arm to stop the bleeding. She curiously complied, sure that he would have proceeded to suck out her blood from the already conveniently provided hole. At the scent of her blood, his posture had tightened a bit, but he hadn't immediately brandished his fangs and offed her. His control made her curious all over again. "Now, where to bite?" Sherlock murmured to himself. "Usually, I have very little choice; as I stated before, you are the first to hear me and willingly go forward. It is a nice change, but one that I am not used to…" he trailed off, his penetrating gaze traveling over her.
"Oh," Laura said suddenly, a thought slamming into her head.
"Yes?" Sherlock asked, nothing but patience in his tone. He sat on the edge of her bed, looking almost curious and eager. It was obvious that he liked the discussion, the peaceful negotiation better than killing indiscriminately. He liked it that she wasn't afraid or repulsed by his presence. Her willing and gentle acceptance of just another form of death put him at ease and sparked his curiosity.
"Won't this leave an incriminating mark?" She asked, and Sherlock actually smiled a full blown smile and she just got a view of his fangs. In a gentle smile, they didn't look frightening or dangerous at all. "It's not that I'll be able to mind, it's just-," She hastened to add, but Sherlock cut her off.
"You are strangely worried once again for my well-being, for the well-being of a vampire," He chuckled, clearly fascinated. "I will seal the wound- and even then- there is more fiction than fact in today's world about vampires. Even if the hospital performed an autopsy to find out how you died, no serious medical professional would believe that a vampire had drained you. There is no need to worry- no autopsy will be performed and no one will ever know. Over the past hundred years or so I have learned to be careful," he told her, amused, and Laura relaxed again. "May I?" he asked, gesturing towards her arm, and Laura gave him a nod. To her surprise, Sherlock simply licked the tip of his finger, as if to turn a page, and then swiped it on the crook of her arm that had been used for the IV.
Laura watched in wonderment as the pinprick vanished, newly healed skin taking its place. Sherlock then shifted so that he could pick up that arm. His hands were gentle but firm as he held her arm, sniffing delicately at the crook. "Where to bite?" he mused again, and she noticed how his eyes seemed darker with want. "The crook of the arm is a spot I have rarely ever chosen," he told her. "It is a more intimate spot- hard to get to if your victim is frightened and fighting back. Besides, a bite here will tap veins as well as arteries. Blood from veins will give sustenance, but fresh blood, oxygenated blood, always tastes better." He continued, gently placing her arm back onto the bed. "The neck, then; it is a stereotypical place to bite, but an efficient one. There is a clear shot to the carotid, and it is a strong artery; it carries a lot of blood that has just come from the heart. It is fresh," Sherlock leaned forward, cradling her neck in his hands, two fingers taking her pulse. He smiled almost sadly as her pulse stayed gentle and slow- Laura still held no fear. He tilted her head very gently to the side and sniffed there, the carnal urge inside him snarling. He could smell life- blood. Even though he could smell Laura's illness, the life still inside her overshadowed the death. "No, not there," Sherlock decided, leaning back so that Laura could turn to face him again. "That leaves the wrist," Sherlock's voice was softer now as he gently lifted her left wrist. "It is also a stereotypical place, but, again, it is also an efficient one. A good strong artery. Technically, the blood is not as fresh as if it had come from the carotid, but when it comes to biting, the more blood to be released, the better." He raised his eyes to find Laura watching him calmly, interested by his monologue.
A moment passed- Laura calmly waiting and Sherlock…he wasn't sure why he was pausing. Taking lives was a daily necessity for him- he was used to it. He had no reservations, especially because of how carefully he selected his victims. He'd tried living first just off of animals, and then off of blood donated to hospitals, but it was impossible to survive on substitutes alone. While blood was still blood, vampires were made to drink live, human blood and nothing else. Still, something inside him hated the idea of killing the young woman named Laura who was dying of leukemia. In the grand scheme of the world, she meant nothing. Her life was worthless- and yet, to him, it mattered. Her kindness mattered. Shoving the sentiment aside, he politely asked, "Are you ready?"
Laura smiled, already feeling a sense of release, as sense of thankfulness. She was giving her life to the best possible scenario at the best possible time. Sherlock was a vampire, but he was one with a conscience. He was polite, patient, and most of all, willing to quell her few concerns before he dined. He was a gentleman, and more than deserving. "Please," she gave permission, gesturing to the hand he had in his grasp. Without further ado, Sherlock licked the inside of her wrist.
"Antiseptic," He said in almost an apologetic tone. "A painkiller as well." He lightly tapped the inside of her wrist, and Laura felt nothing. The area now numbed and clean, Sherlock leaned over and sunk his teeth into the delicate flesh of her wrist. Laura offered no outward reaction besides a small gasp of surprise- the bite had barely hurt, but the feeling of something sucking on her was so odd. She relaxed further into her pillows, going boneless, as she watched Sherlock's bowed, curly head as he drank. He went at a slow pace, showing no signs of a feral nature that would have scared her. He made no mess (she couldn't feel any blood dripping off of her skin), and she started to feel the slow and gradual feeling of dying. It was peaceful, slow, just like she'd always dreamed of.
Laura closed her eyes, feeling the need to sleep and never wake up. She was starting to go numb all over- and it felt wonderful. All of a sudden, there was an added voice. "Sherlock, what are you doing?" The voice hissed, half panicked and half angry. The tugging sensation on her wrist stopped.
"What does it look like, John?" Sherlock's voice was sarcastic before he swooped back down and licked a rivulet of blood off of her arm before it could fall to the sheets.
"Sherlock, this is a hospital! It's forbidden, especially Moriarty's!" John swore angrily, and a low, sinister chuckle reached Laura's ears. She wasn't sure if she was dreaming or if what she was hearing was reality, but nonetheless she suddenly had a feeling of fright, of dread.
"How correct of you, Dr. Watson." A strangely feminine but definitely cold voice echoed into her room. "This is my hospital, and I take great offense to you sneaking in here and killing my patients. Is that the only reason you are here?" The voice claimed offense, but it was calm, uncaring. The name Moriarty seemed familiar, Laura realized. She was in Moriarty Hospital. Was it possible that the owner of the hospital was there? More ridiculous yet, could he be a vampire as well?
"I had to see for myself it's true- if Moriarty has turned to helping people instead of hurting them- and think of it this way- I am giving you more room to make more money. This woman was dying anyway. She agreed to this, and I have made no mess, caused no pain," Sherlock's voice mimicked Moriarty's bored tone. That icy voice chuckled and then cold skin touched her cheek, cupped her chin.
"People change, Sherlock. You've changed- become more patient, less wild. I've changed too; over the years I've found that it is easier to make your way in the world when there is the least resistance. It is more efficient for me to run a hospital- I have all the access I need to drugs and bodies, and that market is more than profitable. You see? Everyone wins," Moriarty explained with a type of glee that seemed to stem more from madness than happiness. There was a pause. "Hmmm, she's not quite dead, is she? Worse yet, she's not yet bled dry, either," Moriarty mused, and Laura heard someone stiffen. "Aha," he added softly when Laura's eyelids fluttered at his touch. "Should I clean up after your mess, Sherlock? Should I snap her neck now and keep things tidy?" Moriarty mused, and a hand slid around to the back of her head, as if in preparation to turn it sharply to snap her neck. Laura in her haze of dying, found herself not caring in the least. It wouldn't hurt and it would only speed up what was quickly becoming inevitable. Moriarty chuckled suddenly. "Dr. Watson, your beliefs betray your kind. The compassionate, caring doctor, aren't you? You'd rather try to save this miserable, dying human than do what is most efficient. How dull," Moriarty sounded like he was smirking, as if he found the current situation the exact opposite of dull.
"You are a trespasser on my property, and, worse yet, you decided to feed on a human that was on my property and, therefore, is my property." Moriarty chuckled at his own play on words, his hand snaking down her neck and disappearing. "Normally, I would have you executed- the both of you. However, you are a great man, Sherlock Holmes. You pushed me towards death so that a vampire could make me live forever. You have a worthy mind, like mine. Seeing you perish would be a sad day indeed- you are a fun distraction. To ensure your survival, I'll only ask for one thing in return for damaging my goods," Laura, even as she was dying, could hear the smile in his voice. "Bond to her. Turn her. Raise her. You've refused to create a vampire since you were created over a hundred years ago. Do what you fear most- and you and Dr. Watson can live." Moriarty bargained, and she heard Sherlock hiss. Confusion and delirium was spreading through her mind, making it hard to process what was happening. Was Sherlock upset because he didn't want to 'change her'?
"Fine," He suddenly snapped, and hands scooped her up quickly, effortlessly. Without another word, she was moving, and quickly, the echo of a high pitched laugh echoing after them.
"Sherlock, you are an idiot," She heard John's voice say angrily as they moved. Were they running? Laura wasn't sure.
"Would you rather have died, John?" Sherlock snapped.
"No, I would rather that you didn't purposefully gather Moriarty's attention. Have you learned nothing after a hundred and ninety years?" John demanded. A door opened. She was deposited gently onto a different bed, one that wasn't hard and uncomfortable like that at the hospital.
"I've learned plenty, John." Sherlock shot back.
"What were you even doing there, anyway? Are you really stupid enough to feed while spying on Moriarty on his property?" John continued, a hand taking her pulse at her neck, noting how it was slow, faint, just little flutters instead of hard, sure beats. Laura was close to death.
"He's been silent for too long, John. He claims to have changed, but I know him better than that. You and I both know that he's planning something and that we are the two people left on this planet that can stop him!" Sherlock said angrily, and then- nothing. Everything ceased to exist for Laura. In reality, both Sherlock Holmes and John Watson both whirled to face the now corpse on the bed, instantly noting that they could no longer hear a heartbeat.
"It won't be long now," John said quickly, shutting the door. Both men, sadly, couldn't reside at 221B Baker Street. They now lived in a spacious flat in Waterloo, complete with a darkroom with coffins and a sound proofed room at the center of the apartment. The men never used it, considering it was designed to 'dine in' as the vampire realtor had told them, but it was the only place they could turn another vampire without going directly to Mycroft. He would find out eventually, but Sherlock and John wanted to act as independently as possible before Mycroft found out and came to meddle. "Are you prepared to do this?" John asked Sherlock, who threw him a filthy look as he shucked off his suit jacket.
"She was willing, John. We negotiated. My end of the deal was simple- deliver her to death quickly and painlessly and now I must leave her on the edge of death forever." Sherlock told him as he briskly unbuttoned his cuff and rolled back his sleeve.
"She talked with you? Wasn't afraid of you?" John asked in surprise as Sherlock sat on the side of the bed. He licked the inside of his own wrist to sterilize it, letting his silence be his answer. Then, he bit into his wrist with a grimace. Dark black blood welled up from the wound. Going by theory, not by experience, Sherlock dabbed a finger into the cut and pressed the bloodstained digit to Laura's lips. After a moment, her whole body shuddered, coming to life when she had no heartbeat. That in mind, Sherlock angled himself appropriately and pressed his wrist to her lips next. To his surprise, she turned her head away. Most transitional people, inbetween humanity and becoming a vampire, couldn't resist the scent of a vampire's blood. Sherlock's venom had mixed the remaining blood in her veins, creating a combination that only needed his blood to start the transformation. The transitional stage was uncomfortable- and transitionals, seeking comfort, drink the blood that calls to them, only to lead them to 24 hours of agony until the transformation was complete. The fact that Laura was trying to refuse was a first.
Sherlock tried pushing more insistently, but Laura just groaned, eyelids fluttering as she tried to get up. Sherlock's free hand shot out to hold her thin shoulder down. "Laura, you must," he told her, and Laura ignored him, eyes managing to stay open even though they were hazy with delirium. He held her shoulder more firmly when she tried again to push herself up with weak arms. "Please," he told her, starting to panic internally, despite his smooth voice. Why was it that when he was forced to make a vampire the participant was unwilling? He had never heard of such a thing, and it only reminded him that he had promised Laura something and was about to give her the exact opposite. He was also painfully aware that unless he complied with Moriarty's one wish, John would be killed. So would Sherlock, but he didn't care anymore. However, when it came to John's life, it was something he would not sacrifice. It was his fault that John was sentenced to an eternity with him anyway…but that was another story for another time. Laura met his gaze for a moment, her eyes swimming with confusion and uncertainty, before she brought a hand up to hold his wrist steady. Unwillingly, compelled to drink simply because Sherlock, the kind vampire, had asked her to, Laura drank.
To her surprise, the blood tasted…good. She had been horrified to drink the black goop seeping across Sherlock's pale skin, but despite it being cold, it seemed to ease the uncomfortable feeling that something was missing in her chest. Sherlock's jaw had clenched since she started drinking, but he hadn't moved away. After a minute or two, Sherlock pulled out of her grip and hastily licked his wound to seal it up. Laura shakily wiped the blood from her face, starting to feel odd. Her mind told her that she was about to become a vampire, but she refused to believe it. "I'm sorry," Sherlock said suddenly, his voice so low she almost didn't catch it. She looked at him, confused and half horrified as it truly began to sink in. He'd bitten her. Moriarty had made a point to mention that Sherlock hadn't taken all of her blood. Now, Sherlock had just made her drink his blood. The pieces came together and she felt a gasp leave her as a sharp pain drove into her stomach. It was sudden, unexpected, and the worst pain she'd ever felt in her life. She felt Sherlock stand quickly as she curled into a ball, a moan making it past her clenched teeth. "John!" Sherlock half requested, half called for him in surprise. He remembered his own change, of course, but it was still distressing for him to know that he was creating that pain in someone else.
"I know, Sherlock. She's got twenty three hours to go. If you can't handle it, you need to go." John's voice came closer, and a cool hand brushed at her forehead, forcing Laura to realize that she was starting to burn up. John's hand felt like an oasis and her body felt like a desert.
"I-," Sherlock sounded upset, torn. "This is my mistake, John. My responsibility." Footsteps paced around the room and another pain, sharper, spiked into Laura, making her gasp. Her body temperature spiked. "There is nothing we can do?" Sherlock questioned John as Laura curled into a tighter ball, gasping for air. He sounded wounded, tired.
"Nothing," John replied heavily, and the cool hand found her forehead again, even though she was in her ball, she nearly jerked back. It was John's hand- and he hadn't felt skin that hot since he'd felt Sherlock turning. They'd turned at the same time and John, even in the depths of his pain, had tried to monitor Sherlock's condition. "Ah, no, try to relax," he told Laura as she dug her fingernails so sharply into her palms she drew blood. The new release of blood had cued both men into noticing that her heartbeat had restarted, Sherlock's blood resuscitating it enough just to spread around his venom and blood to change her and kill her again. John eased her hands out of their fists and Laura winced and flinched at his cold touch. Her skin had gotten so hot that touching something as cold as John was painful. He looked up at Sherlock as Laura started to pant in tight little hisses. The detective was watching with any entirely vulnerable expression, an expression full of guilt. "Give her something else to focus on." John told him, knowing that at this point, Sherlock needed someone to tell him what to do. Sherlock instantly turned around and left, returning seconds later with his violin.
As her pain increased and the night turned to day, the three of them, two vampires, one soon to be, were sheltered in a windowless, soundproofed room that was filled with the sounds of a beautiful violin sonata.
I know that I have no business posting another story when I already have so much work on here that isn't finished, but I also have SO MANY stories and beginnings of stories saved onto my computer that I feel like will never see the light of day (much like a vampire). I worked hard on them, so I might as well put them up, right? Right. Anyway, I hope this was satisfactory!
-BITCHIN