"Mr. Holmes, may I come in?"
The woman standing on his doorstep had been sent by Captain Gregson, but Sherlock wasn't especially inclined to help her. So far, she'd refused to tell him a thing about her problem except that it was very personal and of great importance. The refusal to be straightforward was a source of irritation…and it was 2 A.M. When she called earlier that evening, she said it was the only time she could meet him in person in the near future. She had a night job at the morgue and would come during her lunch hour. "I don't expect you to come to the morgue to see me," she said with a light laugh in her voice, "it's scary out there."
Rubbish had been Holmes' mental response, but Gregson had confirmed he knew the woman, and Artemis Merrill, as Gregson described her, was definitely the woman on his doorstep. She was very tiny, maybe an inch or two shorter than Watson, who was no giantess. Pale, with dark hair and eyes, despite her small stature, she was buxom and curvy, although her dark pants and turtleneck did nothing to promote her figure. Despite the very modern look of her outfit, which included black trainers and a backpack big enough to hold a laptop, Artemis Merrill had something of an old-fashioned air about her, something down right Dickensian. From the tightness of her springy long curls, to the curve of her slightly pink cheeks to the formality of her stance, Artemis Merrill was…otherworldly, just as Gregson had said. She was also an uncannily perceptive morgue attendant according to Gregson. Despite not being a doctor, she often seemed to catch things going on with a corpse that others missed.
"Come in," he finally said, standing aside for Artemis Merrill to enter. "Watson," he cried out. "Our guest has arrived." For some reason, Watson had insisted on staying up with him to greet the mysterious visitor. She had been watching some horrible movie marathon or whatnot, but apparently had taken a few minutes to make tea. She put down the tray at a large table in what served as his "office" while Sherlock indicated for Artemis Merrill to sit.
"How do you like your tea?" said Joan, pouring the delicious smelling Earl Gray from the pot.
"I don't actually," said Artemis, as she settled herself in a high-back wooden chair.
"Would you like coffee instead?" asked Joan.
"No, no thank you," said Artemis. "I don't need that, thanks."
"Well Ms. Merrill," said Sherlock, sipping his tea plain from a mismatched china cup and saucer, "perhaps you can enlighten us as to what exactly you do need." Watson could hear the agitation in Sherlock's voice. But there was something else perhaps? Sherlock seemed to be watching Artemis Merrill's chest, with a somewhat bewildered look on his face. She was a pretty woman and well-endowed, but it didn't seem like him to be so obvious.
Artemis bent her head down to catch Sherlock's eyes and smiled at him, "Yes, I think it might be best that I just come out with it. I'm not breathing Mr. Holmes because I don't need to do so. You're observations are correct." Artemis resumed sitting up straight. Sherlock moved his gaze up to Artemis' face. His stole a glance at Watson, whose gaze kept switching from Sherlock's side of the table and back again to Artemis.
"I was trained as a medical doctor, Ms. Merrill and that's not possible," said Watson calmly but clearly.
"That's quite correct if you're a human," said Artemis, "but I'm not one."
Sherlock stood up suddenly, "this is all very interesting and a lovely parlor trick, but it is exactly," he looked at the clock on the wall, "2:08 in the morning. I'm sure this will all seem quite amusing at some point next time I have Captain Gregson over for cocktails, but now, I'm bored and tired. Have a good evening, Ms. Merrill; Watson, please let her out." Sherlock moved away from the table.
"Mr. Holmes, I'm not here about my status as a human being; I just wanted to get that out of the way so you could focus on my problem. I'm here because I need your help with someone who I care about a great deal. Surely you can relate to that?" Artemis said as her eyes flashed from Holmes to Watson. Holmes stopped moving; he rolled his shoulders several times, perhaps trying to relax enough to think over Artemis' challenge.
Sherlock turned on his heels. "Very well; I'll give you another minute," said Sherlock, and as if to emphasize the time, he continued to stand, vibrating it would seem, with an agitation that generated from the very core of his being.
"There have been three deaths in the last three weeks that have come to our morgue; these people have been drained of their blood, found in alleys, always near clubs. The police are keeping the detail about the blood loss secret; they don't know what to make of it. I know for a fact the killer is NOT a vampire. But there are posers out there Mr. Holmes…people who are confused, degenerates, you name it, who think they are vampires. Most of them use their 'powers' to confound others into having casual sex with them, but I think some of them have crossed over into killing. These bodies are their victims."
"And as a vampire, why would you not just take care of business yourself if you know who these people are? You travel the night; you are a predator, are you not? So why call me?" Sherlock was still buzzing with adrenaline, but at least he'd stopped tapping his foot and unleashed his arms to hang free by his sides.
Artemis Merrill smiled and that was the first clue for Watson that she might actually be what she claimed to be. The smile was colder and creepier than any smile she'd ever seen. And at the farthest edge of the woman's mouth, the incisors took up more real estate than was natural to a human; if someone asked her, she'd tell them the teeth looked more like fangs. Of course, having been a surgeon, she was somewhat aware of the strange things people had done to themselves cosmetically, including tooth implants to resemble certain members of the undead.
"Because I'm afraid of what I might do and who I might hurt. There is a young man who may be involved. His name is Adam Rodriguez, but he goes publically by DJ Ramrod. Awful stage name, but he works many clubs and is very popular. He was my…my ward for many years until he become of age. We have been estranged since he reached adulthood. But I have heard that he has become involved with a woman. She is one of these faux vampires, as are a number of her friends." Although it did not seem possible, Artemis Merrill had once again morphed into a rather small and distinctly worried young woman.
Sherlock put up a hand. "By ward do you mean you were his guardian or that he was your underage lover?"
Watson wondered how Artemis would take the cold-hearted comment, but she didn't even blink. Instead she gave another creepy smile, and with a rueful glance said, "You would have made a fabulous Victorian detective Mr. Holmes. You see darkness in the most innocent of circumstance and proceed unflinchingly. Captain Gregson was quite right to recommend you. As for your question, our relationship was free of any salacious behavior. He was my child from age 2 on. I was not untrained in the care of young humans; many years ago, I was a biological mother, and a good one. Unfortunately, if he is involved in these deaths somehow, it is entirely my fault that he came to it. You see, I killed his mother in front of him." It was at that precise moment that Watson knocked over her tea. She sprang up to get a dish towel from the kitchen.
"It was self-defense on my part. His mother came after me; she was a self-proclaimed bruja, a witch. She moved in next door to where I was living at the time and somehow figured me out. She set a trap for me, but I ended up killing her. I didn't realize she had a child until it was too late. I couldn't believe it. She had Adam there in the apartment when she set out to kill me. I don't know what she was thinking!" Artemis shook her head and hit the table top with a great deal of force. "He saw the whole thing. I tried to erase it, but it was always there. He was too young to manipulate; the memory became a big part of who he is now. I can't imagine he would kill someone, but I could definitely imagine that kind of behavior from some of the people he knows. If I kill them Mr. Holmes, I'll just send him further over the edge, and frankly…when vampires get angry, unpredictable things can happen. But if his friends are responsible for the killings, and the police caught them and put them away in jail, maybe Adam would have a chance to wise up and make something of his life. Maybe he could finally be free of this curse I brought upon him."
Back in her seat, Watson found herself staring at the wood where Artemis' hand had pounded the table. She could see that a dent of about a quarter of an inch had been pressed into the table top. It was impossible to call that normal; someone of her size could not possible have left that kind of imprint bare handed. She looked at Holmes only to see him pointing an index finger toward Artemis. Watson looked at her face, and was stunned to see them…a trail of blood tears ran out of her eyes and down Artemis' cheeks.
Holmes had ended up giving her much longer than one minute to talk. Artemis rose from her chair. "My lunch hour will be up shortly. Will you please help me Mr. Holmes?"
Sherlock stared at the woman/vampire/whatever she was; "I'm sorry, but this case is something with which I'm entirely unfamiliar. I will have to think on this and get back to you tomorrow evening."
"I will do nothing to influence your decision or make you regret that decision, whatever it may be. You have my word of honor." Artemis said the words solemnly, as if they were part of some sort of ritual. She then presented them with a small curtsy and left.
Shortly after they heard the front door bang shut, Sherlock turned to Watson, "Well, something new to test the sobriety. Who would have thought? Good night Watson." He then went straight to his bedroom.
"Good night Sherlock," Watson called out. She sighed and decided to wash up in the morning. "Maybe I need to do a drug test on me," she said to herself, ascending the stairs.