Title: The Lost Murderer

Rating: M for sexual themes, cursing, gore, death and maybe triggers for some.

Words: 1,678

Beta: Stormaggedon Dark Lord of All

Author's Note: I don't know where this particular story came from but I'm loving it! Murder is my cup of tea, apparently. I have a few parts done and It might be confusing at first but bare with me. No Sherlock in this chapter but he will come soon enough. JohnLock eventually (Implied for now).

Summary: The first body was found 9 weeks ago, the words "Find Me" scribed near the body. At first Lestrade wanted Sherlock to have nothing to do with the investigation but soon it became apparent that Sherlock had everything to do with the murders. Someone is after Sherlock Holmes and his blogger, John Watson. Someone who is willing to kill for their attention. Will they catch him before he kills again? Before someone close to them dies?

PART ONE

- 9 weeks ago (Unknown)

He started by gently tracing the inside of her thigh, following the path he had seen the man on the telly take to illicit a pleasurable moan from his conquest. The girl under him arched back, throwing her head to the side to hide a gasp between her raised arm and the pillows beneath her. He smiled as he continued tracing her skin all the way to the tip of her toes. Once there, he moved to the other pale leg and retraced his steps, his fingers slowly making their way back to her hips. The girl giggled once his fingers touched her stomach, stretching her arms above her head and leaning forward to catch his lips. But he was too quick for her. Darting his head to the side, he traced her jugular artery with his lips, planting little kisses here and there between her scapula, neck and clavicle. The pale flesh became covered in goose bumps when his lips lifted from her skin, a faint smile present on them.

"Is that good?" he asked her, his deep voice sending a visible shiver down her body. His lips hovered above hers as she inhaled sharply and nodded, her teeth biting at her lower lip. She was aroused, the smell and wetness was enough to prove this but he was unsatisfied. He reached towards her, cupping the sides of her face harshly. "Say it," he demanded.

The girl looked unnerved for a moment, her hands coming up to her neck trying to dislodge his fingers from her face. But then she smiled, as if she'd figured out what he meant and said, "It is good."

He smiled.

He pressed a small kiss on her lips, dislodging a hand from her face and moving it down her body until he reached her hips, and cocked an eyebrow. His hand moved between her legs, searching for his prize. She was wet – very wet – and it pleased him. He stared at her, her blue eyes closed in pleasure and her mouth opened slightly letting the ends of white teeth peaked between her pink lips. He stared at her whilst moving his hand over and over again and what he knew gave her pleasure. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, her pulse accelerating as she begun to reach her peak.

When she let out a shallow gasp, her hands grasping at the bed under her with a tight grip, he knew she was done for. His smile waned as he pulled his hand back from between her legs. She was satisfied, a faint smile on her face, whilst he remained flaccid and displeased. He felt a pain between his own legs, an aching need of disgust. This had been a mistake. She had been a mistake. She wanted nothing but her own pleasures, even if he was the one paying her for it. She had tricked him, plain and simple, and he wasn't going to take that.

Her eyes were still closed when his hand gripped her by the neck. She smiled, thinking that it was another touch of foreplay, her tongue licking her lips as she waited for him to make the next move. She wasn't expecting his grip to tighten. Her eyes snapped open as his thumb began to crush her larynx. She gasped, clawing at his hands and then his face when that failed. Her legs thrashed on the bed, her knee connecting with his back once before his fingers pushed harder on her throat and she began to pass out.

There was snap and a final exhale before he let go of her, throwing the now empty shell on the bed with disgust. He stood, reaching over to a chair a few paces away from the bed and recovering his shirt. He put on the shirt, turning to look back at the naked girl on the bed. She was beautiful, but even her beauty – or that of the others – were not enough to satisfy him. She was pale, thin, but with curves. Her lips would soon turn white, as would the rest of her body. Her eyes would turn glassy and her face would relax into either a look of horror or peace. He liked the horrified expression on this one's face.

As he finished buttoning his shirt, he reached his pants and continued to dress. He pressed a final kiss on the girl's cold lips and whispered, "Thank you." He slipped his hand into his pocket to get his phone out. He looked at the girl one last time, stood and then dialled a number into his phone. After two beats, he spoke into the speaker, "I did it." He hung up and put his phone away.

He crouched down on the floor by the bed, took out a large black marker and uncapped it. He spun the marker between his fingers for a moment, as if contemplating what he was about to do. In the end, he put the tip of the marker to the wooden floor and wrote out his message. This was the first of many; he could feel it. Without another word, he slipped from the room and walked out of the hotel, his curly hair flowing in the wind along with his long coat.