Disclaimer: If Sanctuary was mine, we would have seen on the show what happened right after Helen shot John. So, not mine, never will be. My words, however, are my own.
Parings/Characters: John, post-Helen/John (if I can put it that way)
Genre: Angst
Rating: M - Mention and description of some of the Ripper murders.
Word count: 1245

Thanks to ClassicCouples for the rocking beta and wonderful discussion over the Ripper's murder. She helped me make sure my timeline of event was good.

A/N: This is meshing Sanctuary cannon and real life events. Rapidly, I don't count the two April 1888 murders, so the first victim is Mary Ann Nichols – first from the canonical five. I also chose not to count Alice McKenzie. For more, please go here: http:/ladygj(dot)livejournal(dot)com/3484 (This will really help you understand where I come from with this story.)

Over all, I'm just following Sanctuary's habit of bending a bit what we know to be true.

Aftermath I - John

John rematerialized in a hurry, letting out a long deep scream. His hand flew to his right cheek where he had felt the burning metal of Helen's bullet brush his skin. He brought his hand before his eyes, only to see it covered in blood. Not his victim's blood like he was used to seeing. No. This was his blood. His blood, flowing from a deep cut created by his lover's firearm. He suddenly lashed out and sent every item on the dresser flying across the room. He then grasped the dresser's edges, breathing heavily, trying to calm his overwhelming rage. The man stared at his reflection in the large mirror before him, the hatred and frustration in his eyes. The man stared at his reflection in the large mirror before him. He felt as if the hatred and frustration in his eyes belonged to another, yet he could feel those emotions like knifes piercing his heart. And then, he saw the ravages…

The right side of his face was red, covered with the blood dripping from the laceration on his cheek. The cut was deep, it would take a long time to heal. That he was sure of. He was the one who inflicted these kinds of wounds, and they were usually done with his knife, not by a woman with a pistol. And despite how beautiful the said woman was… it hurt. A lot. But he wouldn't dare admit it aloud. John was far too proud a man for that.

#####

He had always thought he was above everyone else. Then, he crossed paths with James, Nigel, Helen and Nikola, and for a couple of years, believed he had met his match. Turned out he needed more. Scientific boundaries weren't enough for him. He felt like he needed something real. Flesh and bone. Not some formula to tell him he was better. Was that egotistical? Perhaps, but it was a need he couldn't control, let alone explain. It crept upon him and, before he knew it, he found himself in the streets of Whitechapel, blood on his hands, letting out a breath at the sight of the woman's corpse he had laid down on the ground and mutilated. He had strangled her until she lost consciousness, before cutting her throat from ear to ear. Her abdomen was opened by a deep jagged wound. Killing had been a fascinating sensation.

The second and third murders were simply to confirm that the incredible rush of emotions he had felt the first time was real. He just wanted to make sure – but with each prostitute he killed came more excitement. The discovery was wonderful and he couldn't help but put it to good use by murdering a fourth woman on the third night. Two murders within an hour – yet, distanced enough so that it would confuse the police. The hunt was half the fun. The truly exhilarating part was seeing his victim's blood pool on the ground. He enjoyed it, very much so.

But then James told him he had been assigned, unofficially, but still, to track down the Ripper, so John laid his nocturnal activities aside for a couple of months. He knew his friend was good. He waited until he couldn't take it anymore. Waited to the point where he was hurting his own fiancée in their love making because something was missing from his life. Helen never complained, blaming his attitude on some bad news he had received and didn't want to tell her about. On the contrary, she opened up to him in a way she never did before and suffered in silence until he brought her to her climax. John was glad, but he needed to do something so the beast within him would be appeased for a while. No matter what he had done – become – his fevered love for her had never diminished.

His fifth murder was the most horrible one.

Mary Kelly was found mutilated almost beyond recognition. Thighs and forehead skinned. Breast and nose severed. Entrails ripped and body parts piled on her bedside table. The Ripper had followed the woman inside her home, allowing himself all the time he needed to satiate his inner desires. It helped. For a long time, he was able to go on without killing anyone, but, when a new year started, he couldn't promise his future wife that he wouldn't disappoint her.

#####

Staring at himself in the mirror, he could remember everything. He could see it as clearly now as when he did his first incision into Polly's body… Polly. His first victim.

It seemed so long ago, yet only a year had gone by since then.

A metallic object, having avoided his wrath, drew his attention drew his attention away from the mirror. He extended his arm and took it into his palm. The gold chain made a little thud as it hit the wooden dresser, but John didn't even hear it, far too busy opening the locket in his hand. There she was. Smiling at him. Again.

He had tried to stop in 1889. After Mary, nothing had ever been the same for him. It was as if that last murder had been too much for him to handle. But no matter how hard he had tried not to, the Ripper had killed again. Nigel, James and Nikola had started having suspicions after the sixth murder. He had seen it in their eyes. But none of them had dared say anything. John had guessed they had no real proof and wouldn't come forth until they did. He also suspected though, that, most of all, they hadn't wanted Helen to learn about her soon-to-be husband's real agenda, in order to save her from a nightmare like what had happened tonight. John had taken the seventh girl under a bridge near Wapping, trying to fool them.

But when Helen had changed from the independent young woman he had fallen in love with to the dependant one she was now, trying to get him to stay more and more nights with her at her house, he had known something had changed. It was obvious she felt him pulling away. He didn't think she knew exactly what had changed; just that she knew she was losing him. She had even asked that they move the wedding closer, because she didn't want to risk losing him. After an evening of passion, he had left and never returned; letting her, and all of their friends, draw their own conclusions. He had failed the four people – the one person – he ever truly loved.

John closed his eyes and saw her face, half-hidden behind her firearm, pointed directly at him. 'This ends here,' she had told him. How much more wrong could she have been. The murders were something he had lost control of a long time ago.

A part of him flinched at the memories.

He hung the long necklace on the mirror, wedging the chain in-between the wall and the glass, making sure the locket stayed opened. From now on, each day he would wake up and look at his face, he would see two things: the scar on his right cheek and Helen's picture beside it. Remnants of a life that was once his. He had let everything slip away from his grasp for the simple rush of adrenaline every time his knife delved into a new corpse.

Jack smiled.

Somewhere inside, John screamed.

Yes, this is Aftermath I, as in Part 1. Part 2 will focus on Helen. So, they're both stand alones - just covering the same period of time. ;)

But that's only coming some time soon. It's not done yet!

Please leave a review! They make me happy. :)