In case of emergency, Eat me - a Sherlock bbc short
Author: Howlynn
Realm: Sherlock
Story Title: eat me prompt
Summary: This is for a prompt over on a Sherlock kink meme. Warning the menu is not for all. This is not slashy but has a reference to slash hopeful Sherlock. I in no way wish to condone nor do I infer that eating your friends is ok, or the ID of Sherlocks skull proves any such event has occured.
Character/Relationships: John, Sherlock, Lesrtade - not slash
I Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author note: Just a very short fill for a prompt.
This is the prompt - John and Sherlock are watching a tv show about extreme survival. Sherlock admits that if he had to eat John's corpse to stay alive, he'd probably leave John's face and nutritious brain 'til the very last - for company, you know. John is a bit ruffled and says he wouldn't eat Sherlock AT ALL, even if he was bloody starving.
Sherlock is shocked by this statement! He spends the next working day VERY LOUDLY trying to convince John that he should definitely eat Sherlock's corpse. He'd be welcome! It would be irrational not to!
Onlookers are variously puzzled and nauseous.
Sherlock sat stoically watching the telly with intense focus. John smiles and sips his tea. There is a heated discussion about how, in an extreme survival situation, human flesh should be considered a food source. They had gone on to list historical examples of cannibalism. The subject was thoroughly explored in such a way that Sherlock was riveted.
He was quiet once the show ended. John yawned as if ready for bed. Sherlock blurted, "I would leave your brain until last."
"Excuse me what?" John asks, confused.
"If you and I were on an island starving, and you died first, I would consume each ounce of you like Kobe beef, lovingly and reverently, but the brain, so nutritious and savory, and your face of course, I would save until the very last. I would regret the loss of your company. I would have to boil down the skull and keep you with me always, my dear John."
John's eyes wander to the mantle and look up at the eternally grinning skull. He starts to speak, the picture of the head in the cooler, suddenly becomes his own as a maniacal laugher sounds in his brain, remarkably resembling a certain flat mate, and the phrase 'flank of John Tartar' sends a shiver into the pit of his stomach.
"Planning on me being company for the skull are you?" he says noticing the hoarse quality to his voice.
Sherlock smirks indulgently, "Of course, if I am afforded the opportunity. The statistical odds of me out living you are quite good. I would be honored to be a source of nourishment for you as well of course, should my demise be preclusive of your own. "
John's face burned. " You, want me to eat you?"
"It would delight me." Sherlock says with a blush building and a small smile.
"Ok. Well. Let me. No. You can take my word on this, Sherlock. I would starve to death before I would do that. Nothing, nothing ever, would persuade me to chew up and swallow my best friend for one spare minute. No. That is just. No."
Sherlock stiffens into his overlord of the manor regale posture and his face blanks. "I see." Then he asks quietly, "Because you are a doctor? Anthropophagy has been trained out of you because I only am speaking of necro-cannibalism John, not homicidal cannibalism, and the likelihood of you acquiring Transmissible spongiform encephalopathy would be of no concern. In a situation of life or death…"
John looked at Sherlock so hard and so fiercely Sherlock stopped speaking. "I would not eat you and I don't want to discuss this anymore. I would mention that one of the first noticeable signs of Kuru is chronic insomnia and weight loss. And it is a bit before your time I imagine, but East London, two thousand and four. Peter Bryan. He ate his friend, Mr. Cherry. His best friend, who stood by him even when he was accused of something he was actually guilty of, the fool let friendship cloud his judgment. I remember that. You would have been living on the streets about then, wouldn't you?"
"John, I can't believe you. That is the most hurtful thing anyone has ever…." Sherlock's face went completely blank and without finishing his sentence he stood up, stepped on the coffee table as if it were part of the navigable walkway, stepped off and headed to his room. The door slammed so hard a small avalanche of equipment skittered to the floor.
John sighed. "That went well," He muttered. He considered going and apologizing, but the skull on the mantle grinned him out of it.
Four days later, at a cold storage facility, three bodies were discovered wrapped in plastic. Two were partially dismembered. John established cranial blunt force trauma for one, the intact body had her throat slit and the third body would have to have a closer inspection to determine proper cause of death beings so much of it appeared to be missing.
Sherlock is in his zone as John, Greg and Sally look on. Suddenly Sherlock stands and cocks his head as if trying to understand something. "If you were to change your mind and forego your silly assumptions that my flesh would be unworthy of consumption upon my death, what cuts would you consume first, John?"
"Sherlock!" John said with horror. "I am not a cannibal."
Sherlock wilted in annoyance. "That doesn't matter. If you were going to. If Sherlock Holmes lays before you dead, and you have decided to consume such a delicacy, where would you start? Would you boil a leg as a stew, roast my heart over a fire, crack my scull and fry my brain with garlic or saw through my ribs for an American style cook out?"
Lestrade opened his mouth and Sally Donovan sucked in her breath. John glared and through gritted teeth said, "I told you I was not discussing this anymore."
Sally made a squeak sort of noise and took a step backward. Lestrade grinned waiting for the punch line, crossing his arms in humorous expectation.
"Well, I am. If I were to partake of John Watson long-pork, the butchery would be as important as any to create a palatable cut of meat. That means, the blood must be drained and intestines removed at once. Now the heart, liver and kidneys along with the brain would have to be removed and consumed at once or…"
"Sherlock, Stop. Stop now. This is absolutely inappropriate for a crime scene." John is so angry he looks taller.
"It is hardly inappropriate at all. It is actually –"
John hits him. Sherlock looks at John with a face of pure betrayal.
Holding his mouth, he continues. "Oh for God's sake. The killer is in his mid-fifties, probably has a background in meat processing or a failed medical tech. He has black hair, Caucasian, probably was catholic at some point. He volunteers at a homeless shelter. This may not be his only processing location. He is eating these people. That is why I was asking about cannibalism. We have one. His victims are random opportunities, and hunting has been good lately, evidently. When we get the ID of the victims, I can't do that without skin, then we go from there. There may be more than one consumer. If the heart is eaten first, it may be ritual, which may mean we have a gang of perpetrators."
Lestrade drives John home, beings Sherlock couldn't be arsed to share a cab.
"So, the two of you discuss hacking each other up and eating each other on a regular schedule or just when the mood strikes you."
"I know what it looks like—"
"Do You?" Greg asks.
"Two thousand and four?"
"A bit, it does. Bryant. I watched them release him. His friend came an picked 'em up."
"And he killed him. You don't really think Sherlock's responsible for…"
"No. Course not. I suppose not. But, you ever notice, he introduces that bit of decorative bric-a-brac on the mantle. Just wonder sometimes who I would find it to be, if I turned it over to forensics. Don't you?"
"No. No I don't. He bought it on the internet. Ebay actually. Thinks it is entertaining to see people's reaction." John lied carefully.
Greg nods like he's agreeing. "Ok."
"Sherlock's version of a joke. That's all." John adds uncomfortably.
"Yeah. Ok. You're the one betting." Lestrade clucked his tongue with a wink, stopping the car in front of Baker Street.