For the beautiful and intelligent girl that I can't spend a minute without. Happy birthday. With love.
This Fic will have more chapters, but I don't follow any kind of schedule, so they will just appear when they appear.
"Let's kill tonight!
Kill tonight!
Show them all you're not the ordinary type"
John and Sherlock are being led roughly through a sea of photographers and journalists. Phrases were being yelled at them, trying to provoke them.
"You brutally tore 27 people apart!"
Sherlock smiles at that one, he recognizes the use of emotive language used in an attempt to get him to lose his cool and deliver a front-page quote.
"Some of the missing parts of your victims have been found in your refrigerator"
John almost laughed, this girl was hardly trying. Of course he knew where Sherlock kept the remains of his victims. He didn't always like it though; blood just didn't compliment the jam for his morning toast.
The camera flashes reminded Sherlock of lightning. He loved storms. They both did. It was raining the first night they killed together.
FLASH
Sherlock stands over the sink. The blood is staining the porcelain crimson before it mixes with the water and swirls into the drain. Tonight's victim had been young, young with pretty green eyes and bouncing red curls. He had almost regretted the waste of beauty as he slipped the gleaming steel over the porcelain skin of her bared throat. Not enough to stop though, he couldn't let John outmatch him, now could he? He glances up into the mirror and catches the gleam in John's eyes behind him. He feels a smile spreading across his chiselled features, one look at that knife in John's hand and his exhaustion was quickly being replaced with raw and animalistic lust.
It had been a normal night for the two most notorious serial killers London had seen in this century.
Both of these men knew that they would inevitably meet. Some of the task forces pursuing them even had theories that they were already working together. Their murders had an odd habit of being in sync.
After a while both John and Sherlock had come to embrace this and sent little messages to each other, manipulating the papers and the press as they pleased.
London was their stage and they loved playing with their puppets. And they both liked the fact there was another puppeteer, keeping life interesting.
Then they both had their sights set on the same puppet- a complete coincidence.
Sherlock was sure it would end badly, when he saw the shorter man with his hands around the throat of his victim. He felt possessive; he had been toying with her for weeks. This simply wouldn't do.
And then John had said the one thing that had could have changed his mind. His voice was calmer than the voice of a person who was strangling a young girl in a dark alleyway should be.
"You can cut her mate..."
Sherlock felt his eyes widening in surprise for a split second. He didn't like surprises. He yearned for control. All his life he had made sure to keep every string secure in his hands.
But somehow, he didn't feel annoyed. He felt excited. For the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes knew he had an equal and he didn't feel threatened.
FLASH