A lot can happen in 221 minutes.
…
In which John and Sherlock are kidnapped, tortured, escape, and have their first kiss; all before midnight on New Year's Eve. Also, vampires.
...
Written for the LWS Challenge Oct. 2014 'write a scary story'. Hella yeah. Enjoy.
…
221 Minutes
"John!" Sherlock called. His voice echoed around the room as he took the first step into a long, dark hallway. The moon's bright light spilled in through the windows, giving the door room a strangely illuminated feeling; dark enough to obscure, but light enough to see the faint outlines of objects. In the corners of the room, moonlight touched cobwebs sparkled like diamonds threads. The cold wind that blew in from the broken windows tossed the curtains around, making it seem like they were sentient and reaching towards you. If Sherlock wasn't a logical consulting detective, he would almost say the atmosphere was 'spooky'.
"John!" Sherlock called again, as if his flatmate would respond. Leave it to John to go into a 'supposedly' haunted house alone, and without a mobile, torch, or weapon of any kind. Captain John Watson: action man. "John!"
The house was silent, aside from the creaking steps of Sherlock's feet against the rotting wood floors. Coming to stand in the middle of the room, Sherlock stopped.
The creaking, however, continued.
"What the…" Creak… creak… creak… Sherlock remained perfectly still, his feet planet firmly on the floor. Sherlock looked around the room: empty, aside from himself.
Steps: slow, lightweight, quick on their feet. Must be John, Sherlock thought, slightly panicked. Yeah… Has to be. "John?"
The creaking abruptly stopped.
Has to be John, then. Oh thank –
A crash. Loud, nearly sounding like a miniature explosion.
Oh my god, what –
The creaking started again; quieter this time, and coming from a different direction: behind him.
Calm down, Sherlock. Calm. Calm. One, two, three. Sherlock turned abruptly around, his torch brandished out in front of him like a sword.
There was nothing there.
"John!" Sherlock yelled. It has to be John messing with me; it has to be. He's getting me back for all the times I've been a dick to him. "John!"
The creaking stopped again. The room went silent, aside from Sherlock's anxious panting and the rattle of the torch as it shook in his hand. "Shit…" he mumbled. I have got to the FUCK out of here.
Sherlock took a small step back, and the creaking started again. Louder, faster, and legato in pace; almost like running. Sherlock stood, frozen, as the creaking reached a fever pitch. Unable to move, unable to think, unable to much of anything except stand still and wait.
What are you doing? Move! Sherlock's brain snapped back into focus, and he frantically began shining his torchlight around the room. He looked for something, anything that could give him a clue. A footprint or an air vent or a –
Blood, pooled in the corner of the room. Sherlock shined his torch on it: deep red, bubbling a bit, still spreading slightly across the floor – fresh. Fresh blood.
Sherlock knew what was going to happen before it did. Still, that didn't prepare him for the sharp smack on the head and the swirling darkness that second him crashing to the floor.
...
Notes: Going to continue this, believe me. Very fun to write. Please follow and subscribe and comment and stuff so I don't get lonely!