This is my first fanfiction, I hope you enjoy it.
Firstly, It has got a tiny bit of show content, from the series 2 finale. Just a spoiler warning.
Disclaimer- No copyright infringement intended. All the characters belong to Steven Moffet and Mark Gatiss. But for the moment they are my puppets ;)
'Hmm, interesting. I've been stabbed, hung, and lost my head, but I've never been shot before. It kinda itches a little'- Vampire in Brooklyn
He opened his eyes, and darkness greeted him, he panicked but only for a second, deducing his exact position. St Barts morgue. Third cooling tank from the right.
He was paralysed. His body feeling like a weight was pressed against his chest. He lifted his head only to hit the roof of the box he was in. He felt his neck stiffen, then buckle, the pain almost unbearable, as the bones constricted and repaired themselves. All he had to do was wait. He took note of the injuries presented to him. Cracked skull, neck broken in three places, and a fractured wrist. An hour tops. Not bad, for someone who fell from a building less than 12 hours ago.
The cold was intense but he hardly felt it. Only remembering the temperature when he noticed the wisps of air, float from his mouth. The darkness was daunting yet comforting, he was used the these inclosed spaces, they had grown to be second nature to him. He had regained his eyesight long ago, and risking a delay in the healing of his wrist took a quick glance at his watch. 02:46. He sighed, impatient as usual.
03:17 the commotion outside of the coffin, had ceased about 15 minutes ago, the morgue attendant had gone. He was eager to escape the confines of the cooling chamber. His long legs, aching. Curse my tallness. He kicked open the hatch at his feet, with little effort. Lowering himself out he smiled. Jumping in glee, he'd done it; he'd faked his own death. Well I never really doubted myself. He set off through the corridors, recognising cameras, within an instant. Perfectly dodging them.
Soon he was at the lab's main reception. Reaching into the plastic bag, labelled 'lost and found', he pulled out what he thought would fit him, a purple flowered t-shirt, shorts, which even he had to admit were a bit too snug ,and some quite well tailored shoes. He could hardly go walking through the streets in the nude. Plus I don't think anyone would miss these clothes. He smirked, amused. He sighed exasperated, how he longed for his navy blue coat and scarf, he was lost without them. They made him who he was, they gave him a menacing presence. He chuckled, he hid it so well, and yet people still shivered when he walked into the room. Maybe he gave people like Sgt Donovan less credit than they deserved. They could see him for what he was.
He searched through the morgue, boredom cornering on the edges of his mind. He was being nosey. He finally came to Molly Hooper's desk, he was reluctant to go through it at first, knowing what he would find, a picture of furry grey kitten, presumably Toby, a dozen letters from an over-bearing mother, a miniscule amount of makeup, to which he recognised undeniably as the lipstick Molly had worn not too long ago, and piles of paperwork. He was right. Am I ever wrong? Tissues littered the desk top, along with a tiny compact mirror, that she was obviously trying to mop up her tears with. Crying over me? Shock clearly displayed on his face. After all that i have said to her?
Guilt washed through him, well he thought it was guilt, having never experienced the feeling before. His friends, would they ever trust him again, after all the heartbreak he'd caused them, he stopped. 'John'. Would he ever see HIM again, any of them again? Not anytime soon, anyway. He had lied to them all from the moment he met them. He sighed, repeating his mantra. 'They must never know'. He scoffed the thought forgotten in an instant. Looking into the compact mirror, he gasped. His refelction was sullen, the shadows under his eyes appearing very prominent. His black curls hung limply by his cheeks, having lost its charming shine, his eyes dark. His cupid bow lips, were parted, but dry. Dry. Oh very dry. His stomach suddenly growled in fury. He was parched, his throat suddenly alight with heat.
I need to feed.
His pupils dilated at the thought, the whole of his eyes becoming black. He strode towards the door. He would be back later, with a body to fill the container he left occupied. He gripped the door handle…
'I'll be back with my replacement corpse' he growled as if the room could hear. He opened his mouth, into a large toothy grin, sharp fangs protruding downwards, fully extended. His whole essence oozing blood lust...
Moriarty's men didn't know what was prowling its way towards them.
Let the investigation begin.