So I watched Warm Bodies for the first time a few weeks ago and it kind of changed me, mostly because it's the first time I've watched anything with zombies in it that hasn't given me nightmares. Seriously, even Shaun of the Dead gave me sleepless nights, because a zombie apocalypse is my worse fear. But Warm Bodies didn't scare me at all. It's probably because of the point of view – zombies seem a lot less terrifying when the main protagonist is one, instead of just the plucky human running away from them.
My first thought once the movie was over (besides oh my god this movie is so lovely and perfect and wow) was that Warm Bodies would make a great Johnlock AU. So fanfiction had to be written. Of course. I can link almost anything back to my otp.
Don't think that I'm spoiling you because I'm publishing three chapters at once though. It's literally just because today is the last time I'm going to be at a proper computer with working internet and everything (I may have an awesome new smart phone now, but I'm still pretty much internetless back at my house in the Dark Ages), so I'm trying to publish as much fanfiction as possible all in one go. I have no clue when I'm going to be able to update this, so please don't hate me. I will finish this fic, I am determined. It may take me a while, but I will not leave you all hanging forever.
So yeah. Reviews would be rather nice.
And I do not own Sherlock, nor do I own the concept of Warm Bodies. I am merely smushing them together for my own amusement.
Love and the Living Impaired
Chapter One – The Tedious End Of The World
I'm a mess. Every now and again I catch a glimpse of my reflection, and it's a bit of a struggle to come to terms with the state I'm in. I'm so pale. I need to get out into the sun more. My posture is terrible. And I'm so thin and drawn. I need to start eating better. I really am a wreck.
I probably shouldn't be so hard on myself though. I mean, I am dead, after all. We all are. Everyone I pass as I shuffle slowly across this park is dead. That woman walking down the opposite footpath to me is dead. That teenager sitting on the bench is dead. That man with no legs crawling across the grass is definitely dead. In the grand scheme of things, I really shouldn't get so caught up in my appearance. It's not like anyone cares what I look like. They're all far too busy being dead to care about anything.
I should introduce myself. I'm... er... my name is... erm... I think it began with an S. I can't really remember. I don't know how old I was when I died, although going by the looks of me I'd say I was in my early thirties. I can't remember what I did for a living when I was alive, but going by my clothes – what must have been a sharp suit, a big black coat and a scarf around my neck – I must have been someone important, or someone with money. Or possibly an undertaker, although I only want that to be true because of the irony. I can't remember how I died, or how long I've been dead for, but I suppose that hardly matters now.
Don't ask how this whole apocalypse thing happened. Like everything else, I've forgotten it. I assume it was a viral infection of some kind. A group of scientists playing God, or maybe chemical warfare gone horribly wrong. Whatever the reason, this is the world now. And God, it's boring. It's just us corpses and the few living humans still left, kept well away from us on the other side of the river, relatively safe in their City behind the huge concrete wall.
I was currently shuffling my way to the place I called home. Most corpses around here don't bother finding a place of their own. When you don't need to sleep or shower, having a roof over your head becomes kind of pointless. But I like having my own space.
The street where I live, in this dilapidated city whose name I've forgotten, no longer has a street sign so I have no idea what it's actually called. But on the front door it says '221B'. The flat I stay in is rather cosy, and oddly familiar. Sometimes I wonder whether I actually used to live here, back when I was alive. If I did, then I must have been a very strange person. The kitchen looks more like a laboratory, full of cracked test tubes, a broken microscope and a Bunsen burner, but hardly any traces of it ever being used for cooking. There are lots of books, more than the bookcases can hold, which all seem to be about human anatomy, common law and natural poisons. I've attempted to read them, but it takes ages. My corpse brain takes a long time to put words together, so it can take hours just to read one page. But still, it's nice that I can still read. There's also a beautiful violin in my flat, but my fingers are too stiff and fumbling to actually play it. I have an impressive collection of vinyl records though, as well as a record player that I managed to figure out how to use a while ago and I find very comforting.
I'm almost certain that no other corpse bothers listening to old vinyl records of classical music in their spare time, let alone go out of their way to collect new ones. But I'm not a normal corpse. That should be obvious to you by now.
One good thing about 221B is that I have somewhere to keep out of the way when the Boneies are out. Terrible name, I know. It's like a five year old came up with it. But 'horrifying skeletal monsters' is difficult to say out loud when you're a corpse, far too many syllables. The Boneies are what all us living dead have to look forward to in our future. They're the corpses who are so far gone that the dead flesh has rotted off their bones, leaving them as eerie black skeletons. You wouldn't think to look at them that they used to be living, breathing human beings, with jobs and families and hopes and dreams. They're nothing more than monsters now. They leave us corpses alone thankfully, but they'll eat anything with a heartbeat. I mean, so will I. But at least I have the good decency to be conflicted about it.
When I'm not listening to music or attempting to read in 221B, I like to walk around the streets during the day for what I like to call 'corpse-watching'. I watch all the corpses who shuffle past me and try to figure out what they used to be when they were alive. I'm not sure why I find it so amusing, but it makes the days slightly less dull and I'm rather good at it. For example, that man was probably a security guard who spent most of his time sitting down. That woman probably worked in an office, something in the media going by the frankly alarming shade of pink all her clothes are. That kid in the hoodie was probably unemployed.
Sitting at a bus stop outside what used to be a hospital called St. Bartholomew's is a female corpse. Her hair is in a loose, tangled ponytail, and she's wearing tattered trousers, a torn blouse and a white lab coat covered in dirt and congealed blood stains. Going by her appearance and the fact that she spends every day sitting outside a hospital, I assume that she was a doctor of some kind when she was alive. This is M (that's all of her name that she can remember either), and she and I are best friends. By that I mean we regularly sit alone at this bus stop, groaning and staring awkwardly at each other. Sometimes our groans turn into almost conversations, and on special occasions we manage to get actual words out. Although the words did tend to be basically the same, and today was no exception.
"H-hungry..." M stammered, leaning close to me so I could hear her quiet voice.
It took me a while to reply, but eventually I groaned out the word, "...C-City..."
So we set off to hunt, soon joining a group of other corpses also making their way towards the bridge across the river. One thing all us corpses have in common is our taste in food, and it makes sense to hunt in packs. Almost all the surviving humans seemed to be the gun-happy military types that would shoot a corpse in the head as soon as look at them, so we on the other side of the river believe in safety in numbers.
Oh God, we all move so slowly. We don't really run unless we're being chased or when we're doing the chasing, so just getting from A to B can be unbearably frustrating. Who'd have thought the end of the world would turn out to be so tedious?
Ugh, we're walking so slowly, it'll be ages before we get to the City. You may as well skip to the next chapter. This may take a while.