A.N: Another Being Human/Sherlock crossover, but this is not a continuation of my other one. It's a separate storyline, set earlier then the other fic. Let's please ignore all the ways this does not fit in with the two canons and just have some fun ;) Nothing mine, not making money with this.
„Mr Holmes, we need to talk." The pale man sitting quite nonchalantly in his armchair did not look like one of Sherlock's usual clients. He was too well dressed (grey three-piece-suit, moderately expensive, well tailored, someone for whom appearances were important but who did not want to stand out in a crowd) and too self-assured (sitting quite relaxed in a strangers living room, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded in his lap, breathing evenly, not nervous or scared, not subconsciously prepared for fight or flight).
At first glance he looked like your typical office worker, maybe an accountant or a banker, though the later tended to dress better and the first worse. And none of those two would wear this particular shade of grey (Unremarkable, easily overlook, not very memorable, perfect for someone who wants to go unnoticed). The most striking thing about his visitor was his fair, nearly albinistic, colouring which strangely seemed to make him blend in with the grey of his suit even more then darker skin and hair would.
He was clearly not used to working with his hands (no calluses, no scars, no wounds, manicured nails), but even though he was quite lean he was surely stronger then he looked (Fighting strategy: hit him hard and fast, use advantage of greater height and body weight, immobilize him as fast as possible, make John call that excuse for a policeman called Lestrade).
The stranger suffered Sherlock's scrutiny with an air of slightly amused indifference that told the detective that the he had expected it. He knew exactly who Sherlock was and what he could do. He also seemed to be drawing his own conclusions from his surrounding, blue-grey eyes lazily drifting over the apartment, taking in the clutter and the décor, now and then lifting a colourless eyebrow nearly imperceptibly (does not approve of what Mrs Hudson calls "a terrible mess").
When the stranger's gaze returned to meet Sherlock's he spoke again: "You are to instantly cease your investigations into a certain homicide case that occurred last week. You have been asking questions about things that aren't your concern. Your investigations have been noticed, YOU have been noticed." When he opened his mouth again to start on a no doubt well rehearsed and often used speech Sherlock flapped his hand at him. "And if I don't do as you say you'll make sure I regret it, yes, yes, fast forward past the threats please, they are mundane and boring. So I take it you are the one who's been messing with this case? The one who's been falsifying and destroying evidence as well as silencing witnesses?"
A flicker of annoyance tightened the man's mouth for a second, wrinkled the skin around his eyes, made him clench his hands around each other a bit. He was clearly not used to people talking back, to someone interrupting him or calling him boring. Who ever he was, he was clearly high up in the hierarchy of his business, someone used to being obeyed without questions asked. So this was clearly important to him, if it wasn't he surely would have henchmen for this type of job.
The man in grey forced a fake smile onto his face, the tone of his voice switching from low-key menace to false cheer and civility: "Indeed, I have been…let's call it involved in taking care of this unfortunate and terrible business. You see, there are certain …aspects to this incident that aren't fit for the general public, and like it or not that includes you, Mr Holmes. Your brother assured me you could be reasoned with…"
At the mention of Mycroft Sherlock snorted and picked up the bow of his violin to tap it angrily against his hand in time with the waltz he had last played on the instrument, "Tales from the Vienna Woods".
"You work with my brother then? Is this another of his schemes he doesn't want me to know about? Like that plane full of corpses?" The pale man rearranged his legs, straightened his waistcoat. "I do not directly work with your brother, no, we are in different departments altogether, but I do know him and we now and then have tea together. He speaks highly of you, but with a certain air of…shall we say weariness? But he does agree with me that the knowledge you are digging for is too dangerous to be revealed. You do not want to open Pandora's Box, Mr Holmes. The horror you'd unleash on the world is quite beyond your imagination."
Sherlock let himself drop down into the other chair, facing his visitor, fiddling with the bow while he went through the facts of that particular case in his mind. (Victims Tom and Ida Kent from Maidstone in, ironically, Kent. On their anniversary trip. Found dead at the river bank by a homeless man at 1 am Monday morning. Both of them very unremarkable, very boring, very middle class. No connections to organized crime. Cause of death exsanguination caused by sever trauma to the neck with injuries to both the carotid artery and the jugular vein. Coroner's report classified wounds as dog attacks, most likely by an animal trained to kill, suspected assassination. victims killed elsewhere and dumped on the river bank.) But both the crime scene and the corpses had told Sherlock a different story (signs of a struggle, two perpetrators, definitely killed on site, unexplained lack of the expected amount of blood at the scene. Neck wounds in no way compatible with a dog attack, though clearly too ragged and uneven for a knife wound. Most likely random victims.). But no one seemed even remotely interested in being told that they were wrong, even Molly had shakily asked him to leave it be. Now it all made sense, the way they did not look him in the eyes, the nervousness, the walls he seemed to run into no matter which way he'd turned with his questions. They had all been scared, had all been hiding something. And now he knew who had scared them.
The man's voice disturbed the tense silence: "This world you know is just the mirror-like surface of a deep, dark lake, Mr Holmes, but now and then the things that move beneath cause ripples on the surface, maybe even break through for a second or two into the light of day. This incident was one of those ripples, a reminder that there are things hidden behind this illusion of peacefulness, terrible things with teeth and claws, the stuff of nightmares. But people do not want to know that these creatures exist, they want to look at the beautiful surface and feel safe. And that is for the best. I and people like me have protected humanity from this knowledge for a very long time. And I want you to understand that though we work to protect humanity we are not above using…drastic means for the greater good."
Facts suddenly clicked together in Sherlock's head like magnetic balls, forming a shape, showing him the very disturbing solution to this riddle. It was a solution he had never honestly considered, filing it away under superstition and the silly plots of gothic novels. But if you eliminate all other possibilities whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. Vampires, he tested the word in his mind, it felt uncomfortable, childish, but it was very clearly what they were talking about. And within seconds he also saw all the implications of humanity finding out about those predators hiding behind human faces. He saw in the stranger's expression that his eureka-moment must have been written clearly on his face, and he nodded, confirming the other man's suspicion. "I see your point", Sherlock said, slowly, carefully, "and I think you are right. Be assured, I have no need to investigate this case further since you just provided me with the last piece of this puzzle. I see the picture now and that is enough for me. It is about solving cases, problems, not about telling others about it. I will keep quiet."
The pale man's face relaxed into a more honest smile as he got up and closed his jacket. "I am glad we could reach an agreement, Mr Holmes. Give my regards to your brother and remind him that he still owes me a chess-rematch. And thank Mrs Hudson for the wonderful cup of tea." He walked to the door and there, in a very deliberate move, turned around again and added: "I trust that you will tell your associate Mr Watson nothing about this little chat? And of course about that particular crime investigation. Should I find anything about this on that rather droll blog of his I would be forced to take action…" He fiddled with the pen in his pocket for a second before he bade Sherlock farewell and soundlessly left 221b Baker Street.
