Sempiternal Bloodlust
Disclaimer: The following is a fan based work of fiction combining characters from the show Sherlock and concepts from the anime Tokyo Ghoul. I do not own either of these shows, nor do I own the characters associated with them, with Anita Rose Taggitt being the only exception.
Saturday afternoon on Baker Street passed without incident, as the sun was hanging high in the sky at 1 P.M. The rays of the sun shined through the thin curtains of the flat on 221B Baker Street. For the time being, the living room that was brightly illuminated was void of any life, with the exception of the microscopic dust particles that moved through the air. A few moments later the sound of approaching footsteps resonated from the door opposite to the left side of the kitchen. John came downstairs and crossed over into the living room, wearing only a bathrobe, with a towel slung over his shoulders. He sat down in the chair that faced away from the kitchen. As his hair was still damp, he used the towel to dry it and catch the droplets of water the he missed.
He exhaled a sigh of relief and took in the bleak, but relaxing atmosphere of the living. Sherlock had left earlier that morning to take care of a case that Lestrade once again needed his help with. John didn't go with him, for the reason being that the last case they embarked on ended in a bloody struggle with a ghoul and John sustaining a minor injury to the leg. A leg that was formally believed to have been psychosomatically limping. Fortunately, the blood that was splattered didn't come from either him, or Sherlock. More accurately, the blood splatter came from the human that this particular ghoul had fed on. The blood was splashed in their direction, as a means of temporarily blinding them, thus allowing the ghoul to run past them, trip up John in the process, and make it's escape. As neither of them had the proper weapons with which to kill it they were forced to let the ghoul go. That is until Mycroft's people are able to catch it.
In the time that these creatures appeared on the streets of London, the whole city was fraught with trepidation and worry. The first attack was a trio of people, whose mangled corpses were found in an alley way on Shaftsbury Avenue. The carnage was too extensive for it to be deemed an animal attack, and as they continued, authority and government officials were forced to narrow their way of thinking, and adopt a more open mind as to what they were dealing with. An entire species of carnivorous cannibals who sustain themselves on the flesh of humans and other ghouls. Probably the most horrifying thing about them was the striking resemblance that they bare to ordinary humans, with the only exceptions being their biology, mentality, and diet. The only things that they're able to enjoy the same as humans are coffee and water, but these alone aren't enough to sustain their hunger. Other than that, human food tastes disgusting to ghouls. So far their origins remain unknown, but one thing was certain beyond all doubt: They needed to be exterminated for Queen and Country. And this is were Mycroft's come into play. Not only was Mycroft in charge of his own police force and secret Service, but he was also in charge of the organization known as the CCG. The acronym roughly translates to the Commission of Counter Ghoul and is a federal agency funded by Parliament which seeks to prosecute and eliminate any ghouls that cross their paths. Not just in London, but around the world.
Even Sherlock was left astonished by the vast amount of gore that painted the scene of the crime, but he continued on with his usual deductions. It wasn't until he had his own personal run in with a ghoul that he was left shocked and shaking with dread. The last time he was forced to contradict his skills of deduction was during the Baskerville case, and his own encounter with the beast. Before the previous night, he had yet to encounter a ghoul, but only examined the crime scenes ,and helped Molly examine the corpses that they left in their wake. Now that he had a clearer picture of what he was dealing with, and a bit of time to reevaluate his other cases, he was more determined than ever to keep the game afoot. Chances were that this next case involved another ghoul, and another mangled corpse for Molly to examine at St. Bart's. As John reached for the remote to turn on the TV, there was a knock at the door. He turned his head around and looked at it intently.
"Who is it?" He called out. His response was the opening of the door itself, with Mrs. Hudson quietly poking her head inside. Her eyes scanned the living room looking for Sherlock, but could see only John. A kind smile formed on her lips, as she invited herself into the flat.
"It's only me, dear. Has Sherlock come back yet?" She asked. Seeing that it was only his kindly landlady, John gave his full attention to the TV and turn it on with one click of the remote. He molded his body into a more relaxed position before turning to look back to Ms. Hudson.
"No, he's been gone all morning. Off helping Lestrade with another case." He said. As he looked back at Mrs. Hudson. He noticed that she was holding various envelopes, and slips of paper in her right hand and placed it on the table, which could only be their mail. His and Sherlock's.
"Ah. Off solving another one of these gruesome killings, I take it. It's a shame you couldn't go with him this time." She said. John could only shrug his shoulders at this, and agree with her silently. No sooner had she made this statement, a news story appeared on the TV with the reporter breaking the news of two murdered adolescent kids.
The teens were last seen leaving the London Aquarium. When they were found, their corpses were brutally mangled, and distorted, making them unrecognizable. The suspects in question are believed to be ghouls. Authorities from the CCG, as well as Scotland Yard are still on the lookout for said ghouls, meanwhile civilians are advised to stay safe when traveling alone.
` Mrs. Hudson looked back at the TV and grimaced at what she was hearing. John could only let out a heavy sigh, and continue watching the story on the news. As the reporter's voice came out as a voiceover, the footage that was shown displayed the police officers of Scotland Yard collecting evidence, and examining the crime scene, as standard procedure would dictate. The camera briefly caught a glimpse of Sherlock's face, but he only grimaced, and turned his back to it. Before the camera could pan over to Lestrade, it managed to catch sight of one of the bodies. The entire length of it was covered with a sheet, but the blood splatter that stained it came out in a thick spread, and covered every inch of fabric. The sight alone made John shift in his seat, as he was reminded of his own encounter with a ghoul. He could only count his blessings that he and Sherlock had had better luck than those kids. Mrs. Hudson was preparing to leave before she shook her head at the TV again.
"It just breaks your heart doesn't it? Imagine what their loved ones must be going through. If only these damn monsters would just die out". She said. Her countenance showed a mix of sympathy for the deceased, and contempt for the ghouls. Nevertheless, she shook her head dismissively, and made for the door, speaking to John as she did so.
"Well, never you mind. I'll be just across the hall, if you need me. I've left your mail on the table. Bye for now, dear." She said. With those final parting words, Mrs. Hudson was out the door and making for her own living quarters. John was left alone with only his thoughts to occupy him for the time being. His eyes scanned over the furniture of the living room, drowning out the noise of the TV completely. This continued for a few more minutes until his eyes landed on his laptop sitting as it always does, on the table that was adjacent to Sherlock's chair, and situated between the two windows overlooking the London Streets. The last cases that he could remember uploading to his blog were on his and Sherlock's encounter with the Hound of Baskerville, which was previously thought to be little more than a myth, created by the townspeople as a means of making a quick profit. And then there was their encounter with Jim Moriarty at the swimming pool, where John was made to where a parka that was decked out with explosives.
All the while, Sherlock and Moriarty tried outwit each other in brief contest of intellect, before Moriarty left the building, giving Sherlock time to remove the bomb and enjoy the moment of tranquility, only to briefly appear again, with his snipers trained on John and Sherlock. Sherlock's own solution to this was to detonate the bomb with the gun that he'd brought with him, killing the three of them together, at least ensuring that Moriarty was dead. He would have pulled the trigger, had the moment not been interrupted by a phone call that forced the consulting criminal to take his attention away from the two of them, and eventually leave, on the promise that Sherlock would be hearing from him.
Yet, with the rampant ghoul attacks that have been occurring throughout the city, Moriarty had yet to deliver on that statement. John could only hope that they had nothing to do with him, otherwise he and Sherlock would be made to dig their own graves. On that note, John turned off the TV, sat up from his seat, grabbed his cane, and exited the living room to get dressed, and plan out how to write his next entry. When he returned fully dressed, he'd all but prepared the words in his mind, right down to the description of the ghoul's piercing black and red eyes, and the gaping amount of blood that pooled out of it's mouth. Once his lap top was turned on, and a new blank, page on his opened up on his blog, John's fingers danced across the keyboard, writing one lengthy paragraph after another. Each one more descriptive than the one before it. Of course, he was careful to leave out anything involving Sherlock's shocked state at the sight of his first ghoul, knowing that the consulting detective would be highly offended. When he was finished, he sat back in his chair, and looked over his work.
As I'm sure many of you are aware, the streets of London have now become home to something that you would only read about in horror stories. They are called ghouls, and as recent news stories have shown, there's nothing fictional about them. Like so many of you, when the first attack happened, I assumed that it was the work of an escaped animal from the London Zoo. But after the news of more attacks started coming in, things began to take a turn for the worst. Seemed like every story that appeared on TV was concerning another murder for Scotland Yard to investigate.
I know that many of you are asking the questions "How is Sherlock handling this?" and "Has he encountered any ghouls yet?" And to answer these question, 1) Sherlock is handling this situation as he always does, with the same cold, but brilliant deductive abilities that he uses to see through everyone and everything he encounters. As far as these grisly murders are concerned, Sherlock has only examined the bodies with Dr. Hooper down at St. Bart's Hospital. 2) Yes, he has encountered a ghoul as of last night, during another murder investigation. I would describe his initial reaction, but he's sworn me not to tell under the threat of eviction. This isn't really the case, but you all know what I mean.
Hitherto last night, I was convinced that I'd seen more than my fair share of madness, death, and bloodshed, what with the war in Afghanistan. But after seeing what I saw, I couldn't have been more wrong. The ghoul that Sherlock and I saw, it was crouched down in front of a figure that was lying flat on it's back. Both of their faces were slightly obscured by the darkness of the night. Our flashlights were the only things that provided any sort of illumination. At first glance, we assumed it was a drug addict who killed his dealer for the sake of his next fix. That was until he turned to look at us, with fresh blood coating his mouth and both of his hands. In his right hand, he held the spleen of the deceased man laying before him. His pale, blonde hair was almost completely hidden by the black hood that he was wearing.
His sclera's (the white parts of his eyes, for those who don't know) were pure black, and contrasted with his piercing, red pupils. This is what's known as the kakugan, and is the single most distinguishing feature that separates ghouls and humans. Well, one of many distinguishing features, actually. But, back to the story.
For whatever reason, he was alarmed by our presence, probably thinking that we were part of the CCG. He reacted quickly, digging his hand into the corpse before him, scooped up a handful of blood and splashed it right in our faces with precision and accuracy. Our sense sight was completely cut off, leaving us with only our senses of touch and sound. We definitely didn't want to use our senses of taste, in case the blood slid down to our mouths. Thankfully, it didn't, but that didn't make the situation any less severe. Our ears soon picked up on the sound of running footsteps coming in our direction, and before I realized it, I was forcibly shoved into a wall, and landed hard on my left knee, thus bringing back the limp that I thought I'd gotten rid of in the time that I came to know Sherlock.
Speaking of the consulting detective, he was quick to come to my aid, and wipe the blood off of my face with the handkerchief he'd had in his pocket. I could also tell that he did the same thing to his own face, making absolutely sure that every ounce of the dead man's blood was gone from the surface of his skin. When I looked around me, I found nothing depicting where the ghoul may have run off to. Sherlock, as if reading my mind confirmed this to be so. Altogether I was relieved that we were safe, worried that we may me marked for death, should the ghoul come back for us, and annoyed that my limp had come back after so long.