The Bottle
Holmes clutched the bottle in his hands, the scarlet liquid inside tempting him. He knew he shouldn't drink it. It was given to him by that strange woman on the streets. He was having a night time walk, wandering through the streets and alley ways. A beautiful woman had jumped up in front of him, but she didn't ask for anything. She was as pale as a ghost, he raven hair hung around her waist and her eyes were as bluer than the ocean. She had handed him the bottle, promising him that he won't be disappointed. She said that she could see his mind needing something to stimulate him, something to really get his mind racing. He was intrigued and took the bottle from her, thanking her and walked away, having no intention of drinking the peculiar liquid. She had followed him, and he ignored her until he had enough and turned to demand her to go away. The women smiled, flashing perfect white teeth, strange for a beggar woman.
"What do you want gypsy woman? I have taken your bottle and you do not want anything in return, so what is it?" Holmes demanded.
"There is one thing, kind sir," the woman grinned something wicked. Holmes swallowed. The woman was dangerous and cunning, and clearly wanted something most horrible. But for some peculiar reason, that was the only thing Holmes could deduce about her. This confused him, as well as intrigued him.
"What is it?" Holmes asked. The woman stepped towards him and slid her hand around his neck. Holmes froze as her icy fingers made contact with his skin.
"Just one thing sir," the woman smiled and kissed him. His head spun and he couldn't think straight. He felt her tongue slide into his mouth and something cold and bitter go down his throat. His mind went slow and he couldn't process anything, but he certainly could process the agonising pain in his neck.
He awoke in the alley way with a pounding headache and a sharp pain in his neck. He groaned and arose, getting his bearings and making his way home. The woman was nowhere to be seen, no one was. Holmes stared up at the night sky. It was midnight from what he deduced. He ran his hand through his hair as he arrived on his doorstep. He wished Watson still lived with him. He missed the doctor dearly. He dug his hands in his pockets searching for his keys and pulling them out when he found them. He unlocked the door and stumbled inside. He closed the door behind him and sighed, stumbling to his room. Just as he took a step inside he collapsed to the floor. Exhaustion washed over him, his neck was stinging, his head was pounding and his heart felt like it was going to explode from his chest. He rolled over and heard something fall to the floor. He looked around and picked up the fallen object. It was the bottle with the red liquid inside of it. He sat upright and stared at it for a long time until curiosity had won him over.
He knew he shouldn't have drank it, he knew he shouldn't have taken the bottle from the strange woman, he knew he should've have escaped from her, but he didn't do any of those things. He swallowed down the liquid; it was cold and bitter like the substance that had filled his mouth. He dropped the bottle and gagged, trying to get the foul taste out of his mouth. He felt something cold spread throughout his body and he trembled. A great fire burst through his body as he collapsed to the ground. He tried to scream but only a croak escaped his throat. The pain lasted a good half hour, but it felt like weeks to Holmes. When the pain died down he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and threw and coughed up blood. He breathed deeply, but it felt pointless for some reason. He sat upright and ran his hand through his hair.
"Bloody woman, she lied!" he cried out. It was rough and raspy. His mouth was dry and a great thirst washed over his body. Every fibre in his body yearned to drink. Somehow he arose to his feet and stammered around, searching for something to drink. He found three bottles of wine, a bottle of bear and five jugs of water. He drank them all, but none of the quenched his thirst. I need it, I need to drink, the get rid of his thirst. And then I can think, he ran through his mind. He wandered out onto the street, not bothering to lock up the flat. The streetlamps hurt his eyes so he stuck to the shadows of the alley ways. There was a ringing in his ears, he could hear cats howling and dogs barking and muffled voice. He could smell the greatest of smells and the vilest of scents. He hurried through the alley ways, hoping to find a pub where he could drink. He didn't even see the young boy who ran into him. They knocked each other over. A beautiful smell filled Holmes' nostrils and his mouth watered.
"Sorry sir, really sorry sir. I was in a hurry home and I didn't see you, sorry sir," the boy said. Holmes' eyes locked onto the graze on the boy's hand. Without thinking he leaned over and grabbed it, biting into it with extended fangs. The boy cried out in pain. A rich warm beautiful liquid filled Holmes' mouth and trickled down his throat. He lapped up as much as he could; enjoying the blissful sensation that sizzled throughout his body. He stopped when the delicious liquid stopped pouring into his mouth. He licked his lips and stared at the lifeless body underneath him. He gasped and looked down at the hand he was holding. Two red crescent moons that faced each other contrasted greatly with the boy's pale dead skin. Holmes dropped the hand and pushed himself away from the corpse. He wiped his mouth and looked at his hand, surprised to see blood on it. His eyes moved back to the boy, shocked by what he had done.
"You could be more discreet you know."
Holmes turned to his left to see a familiar face. The woman smiled and walked over to him, studying the boy as she stood next to the detective.
"You, what have you done to me!" Holmes demanded.
"I have given you my promise," the woman grinned.
"What did you to me?" Holmes barked.
"I gave you a new life Mr Sherlock Holmes, a much more exhilarating one," the woman replied, "Don't look at me like that and say you didn't enjoy feeding on the child."
"I would be lying if I said no, but it is wrong," Holmes frowned. The woman chuckled.
"So young, so young," she grinned.
"Who are you?" Holmes asked, "How do you know me? What have I become."
"My name is Fala," the woman answered, "and you're not that difficult to find, Mr Holmes, and I'm sure you know exactly what you've become."
"A vampire?" Holmes asked. The woman nodded. "You…you turned me into a monster!"
"Monster is such a harsh word, but I guess it depends on your view of things."
"Monsters don't exist."
"Then surely you and I shouldn't exist."
"You're a mad woman."
"Look at what you did; what has happened to you, surely that is proof enough Mr Holmes."
"No! Vampires do not exist! It is not logical!"
"In your mind Mr Holmes," Fala gave Holmes a sly smile. It was starting to sink in.
"Why? Why did you do this to me?" Holmes asked.
"This is a lonely life Mr Holmes, a very lonely life," Fala replied, "But you can't just choose anybody, no, no, you need to choose someone who is already an outcast of society, one who is different from the others, one who can thrive in the new life, and you fit the description Mr Holmes."
"I won't stay! I'll kill myself, or make someone else do it," Holmes bared his blood-coated fangs.
"Real slayers aren't around anymore, and I doubt you'll find the correct way to die. You'll need help, and I'm the only vampire you know," Fala grinned. She lifted Holmes' chin up. He flinched from the contact of her fingers. A wicked smile spread on her lips. "You need me, Mr Sherlock Holmes. You're mine now."