[Title: Save Me From Myself
[Pairing: JohnLock
[Other notes: AU
[Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock BBC or Sherlock Holmes in any way possible.
Prologue: How Far Has the Damned Fallen?
Five minutes past twelve. Still no sign of him amidst the blind darkness of the alleys, nothing but the silent drops of water that echoed mercilessly throughout the closed space—
"Where is he?" a hiss erupted from the shadows where two figures blended into the obscurity of the night. One continued, with the same voice from earlier, hoarse and anger-laced, "You told me he's coming—"
A soft sigh cut the noise, sending every single sound to a halt.
The two men froze, their pulses raising as silence ensued… They remained still, and alert, eyes constantly searching uselessly, their thoughts silently praying for safety and a miracle. Regret flushed through their very beings as every second passed. Oh, how they wanted to run despite knowing it was futile.
"My, my…" the baritone voice, more enticing than a siren's, resounded from was bitterly cold, every syllable rolled off like a perfect melody ready to triumph over theweak.
Inevitably, the two looked up—there, a lithe figure sitting cross-legged at the ledge of the tall building's façade adjacent to them. His eyes were bright crimson reflecting bloodshed and mayhem, his skin illuminatingly pale as the moon's radiance contrasting to ebony clothe. The ledge was his stage, the midnight sky his onlymilieu, and he was the climax—the actor that brought everyone to their knees with unsighted awe.
"You—" the latter's speech was cut off within his throat with a slight stifle as the virulent breeze suddenly pass them.
In a blink, the crimson-eyed stranger was before them with a bored yet calculating gaze, neither of the two had the power to move… they were immobile under the stranger's presence.
The stranger straightened himself up and muttered, "Dull."
In the tyrant's eyes, he saw measly humans. Boring, predictable humans. Both were waiting for a broker, a drug dealer who was intended to come out three, no, two hours ago. Their eyes were impressively dilated from extensively waiting in the darkness, and their hands constantly shaking from anticipation and apprehension. They were young, fresh out of college, and had a recent addiction to drugs—heroine. Judging by the state of their clothes, they hold a respectable position in the recently opened newsprint company, The Gazette. Inkblots from their hands, and a small smudge along one's collar and cuff, so they're likely in a hands-on job as a typist.
Out of bravery or stupidity, one spoke softer than a whisper, "…W-What do you want?"
"Two-hundred and forty-three," the stranger muttered rolling his eyes.
They looked at him in question, but fear prevailing over the others.
A heavy sigh, "Two-hundred and forty-three times someone asked me the exact same question."
Only then did his eyes glint a tone of boredom and something else, something more than simple desire… The stranger turned on his heels and walked away disappearing into the shadows casted upon the towering buildings leaving nothing two siphoned corpses.
ABloodStainedLetter,
over & out