A/N: BBC's Sherlock isn't mine, although I can claim to own a copy of every book in Doyle's Sherlock Holmes series. Here's my first (and probably only) zombie fic :)
The Body in the Bathroom
Sessha-chan
"Sherlock, what did you do?"
"Why do you think I did something, John? So hasty in casting blame," Sherlock tutted.
"Do you see any other mad genius scientists around here?" John all but growled. "I wish I had my gun."
"Would your gun help?"
"Yes."
The thumping on the door jarred them both and they pushed back, keeping it closed. They both had their backs pressed against the heavy wood.
"Given the obvious," Sherlock said, his voice irritatingly calm, "What good could a gun possibly do?"
"What? Against a zombie, you mean? A zombie in our loo?" John ground the words out between clenched teeth. "Don't you know anything about Pop Culture? They cover this eventuality extensively."
Sherlock just levelled John with an bland stare.
"Oh, for crying out loud," John muttered. "Get 'em good with a headshot and they're down for the count. Destroy the head, kill the zombie. Simple in theory. Never thought i'd be faced with putting all those zombie apocalypse films to use. I blame you."
"Again," Sherlock huffed, "this is hardly my fault."
"Let's see: you brought the cadaver home, you decided it would be fun to experiment with the formulae found in that mad scientist's journals, ergo, this is all your fault. Congratulation Sherlock, you have created the start of the real life Zombie Apocalypse. May God have mercy on your soul because history will tar and feather you."
"So dramatic," Sherlock complained. "Fine. If you insist. Go find something we can use. Not your gun. It's too loud. It would attract too much attention."
"Sherlock! We have a zombie in the bathroom!" John exclaimed.
"Brilliant deduction John, but we've already covered that," Sherlock said patently, rolling his eyes. "Just go. I'll hold the door closed."
"Fine hold on. Lemme think first before i go," John said. he closed his eyes and frowned, running through everything in the flat that he could think of that would do the job. "Got it. give me a minute." And he darted away. Sherlock heaved more of his weight against the shuddering door. There was an almighty crash (John), a scratching moan (the animated corpse), and finally the sound of approaching footsteps (John again).
"Open the door and get out of the way, Sherlock," John said firmly. There was a strange light in his eyes as he brought his weapon of choice to position.
"John? Isn't that..." Sherlock frowned.
"Open the door, Sherlock," John repeated. Sherlock did and scooted to press against the wall of the hallway just as the zombie stumbled to freedom.
A short lived freedom, it would seem, as John heaved the scimitar through the corpse's skull, destroying its brain. The body crumbled to the floor. Sherlock toed it carefully before crouching down to ensure that it was, this time, well and truly dead.
"I love this sword," John said with a self-satisfied grin.
"Isn't that-" Sherlock started to repeat himself (he was feeling a touch out of sorts, otherwise he never would have done such a thing) but John interrupted.
"Of course it is, Sherlock," he said calmly. "You think that kicking it under your chair would have kept me from noticing a fine piece of craftsmanship such as this? For shame."
Sherlock took a moment, mentally shrugged, and nodded. "Well, at least we know that the formulae work."
"Burn those notes, Sherlock. For the good of the world, burn those notes."