AN – I must comment – I have never written Sherlock. It was a bit of a struggle for me early in this, then it started to come to me easier. The writing may be choppy in places, and a little discombobulated (get the joke? =3) but it seemed to me that it would make sense that way.
The next chapter will be this happening from Sarah's point of view.
Chapter 2
She never ceased to amuse me. The most fun was being able to pinpoint her daily actions within seconds of her moving into my flat. With so few visitors, it was the most fun I had confined within my dark walls.
She always smelled of a certain lavender perfume her mother had loved as well – made in England, something that they held over from the move. The smell of a spiced lox on her clothes always told me where she had dinner – a specific bagel shop that made a salad she loved. The dirt on her shoes told me she walked through the park from her university to pick up my necessary evil.
She wouldn't look at me. That told me how terrible I felt also seemed to be part of my appearance now.
I could sense her fear. She had been gone to see her sick mother last week, and therefore had left me in my state of affairs. She never left me so long without due necessity. We learned long ago from her mother that if left unattended, I will find other ways of procuring my bodily needs. Though, I knew the landscape of London much better than the loud streets of New York. To this day, I'm still mad about moving from my home on Baker street – but no matter.
She was afraid that I would do something rash. I had only come at her grandmother once in a fit of need, but nothing had happened. Only frightened her out of her shoes and she didn't come near me for weeks. To send an 8 year old child to me instead of yourself – does that not make sense? To put a child in danger like such? At least, that would have been my thought if I had been in company of a young vampire. What if I had taken on Elizabeth? Children did smell wonderful. But the poor girl lived on to marry, bear children and raise another girl to look after me in my time.
Sarah Hudson. She carried far too many traits similar to that of her great-grandmother. She had little patience for me in my times of boredom. Like this evening. I clearly wasn't interested in anything but the box she had been hiding from me, so she left me to my will. Unlike my normal composed human-esque self, I dove on the box and ripped it to pieces only to get the bag wrapped to a cold pack inside.
It wasn't until after the bag was deflated and the clench in my throat ceased that I was thoroughly disgusted with myself. I detested my primal urges in every shape and form, and sadly I was bound to one for life. I couldn't stand the idea of killing an intelligent creature, so I had been force fed by the Hudson women for over a century. Even in my times of complete depression, those women would find a way to drug me and stick a needle in my arm. Even after Irene…
I finally was free. I could go out. Going outside in the state I had been in would have been a terrible idea. I could smell some delectable young woman and I would be back hiding in the darkness for weeks. But finally I could smell the ocean salt and the grime of the city streets as I landed from my 5th story flat window down on the sidewalk next to a homeless man.
"Good evening Harold."
"Evenin' Mr. Holmes." The man was crazy, apparently schizophrenic, so he calling me by name and telling people that he knew Sherlock Holmes and that he was a vampire wasn't going to alert anyone to anything. He had severe cataracts and couldn't see my figure well as it was.
I reset my coat along myself and clicked the ever-beloved cane of Watson next to my foot as I wandered on down the lonely street. I could still smell Sarah's perfume going east of here, possibly to her own lodgings. She did seem perturbed by me, possibly unhappy. It only made sense to try to cheer my friend up.
"Thank you for having roast beef for lunch, it was quite delicious…"
I never would think making her jump out of her skin wasn't amusing.
"HOLMES! Don't scare me like that. You're frightening enough already…"
"I should look better now, do I not?" She had already been into a grocery and carried fruits, vegetables – vitamins, iron supplements. For my welfare, no less. As I walked next to her, coat flowing behind in the cool air of November, she finally did look at me under the light of the near streetlamp. She looked tired, overworked – too much school work? Her job getting the better of her? No, she had no job at the moment. Mother told her best to focus on school work. To take care of herself, which she clearly was trying to do but to no avail. Her green irises were pale compared to normal. My notice of her ill-healing puncture wound was correct. She had some sort of infection brewing, and she seemed to know. I didn't taste infection moments ago. Something was definitely wrong in all of this.
"Yes, Holmes, you don't look like a zombie risen from the crypt. Is there a reason you're following me?" She turned away just as quickly and kept on her way, past the men and women wandering in the darkness. It was only midnight on a Wednesday, therefore few people were on the streets instead of in their beds readying for the next morning of occupation. Not particularly the best time for a young woman such as Sarah to be out alone. Those that were out meant nothing pleasant for who they found.
"No, not particularly…just needed fresh air, moonlight, something new to excite me."
"But that involves following me how?"
She stopped, and I stopped next to her. She reached one slender hand over to brush something off of my hat and I remarked her movements. Slow and shaky. Because of fear, or lack of energy? She did seem particularly impatient with me tonight. She took her hand back once she had done whatever it had been that she saw necessary to do, then stared right into me. She looked pitiful, sad – unhappy with me? No, not just me. With enough thought and provoking, her blood could sing to me her feelings. A bond of sorts that came from taking from one person long enough. She was weary of the world and her requirements. She was weary of her mother and her schoolwork. She slept little, worked a lot, and worried much.
"Nanny, I am merely escorting you to your lodgings. It is not safe for a girl in your condition to wander alone in city streets."
"What do you mean in my condition? I'm fine, Holmes."
She turned away from me, but I, being much quicker than she, grabbed her wrist softly and yanked up the long sweater she wore to show the wound in her arm. It was a dark purple around the edges, and greenish in hue at the scab.
"You're developing an infection. This is from after the extraction. You need rest and fluids." I gently tugged her sleeve back down to her wrist and let go of her, looking at her with strong conviction. She looked as if she could tumble over at any minute.
"Your eyes are sunken and your irises are pale in comparison to normal coloring. You seem to have little energy and you are not getting enough sleep. You will collapse at this rate, nanny."
She seemed to cringe at the sound of my words, but turned again and started walking onward. I stayed in place, but watched her walk on to see if there were any other things I had missed. She was having some trouble breathing – the cold air, perhaps. Nothing I could find otherwise.
"If you need me-"
"GoodNIGHT, Holmes!" She kept on walking and turned the corner not far from where I stood, and I stared off into the blackness for a moment. I could feel her still moving. She didn't have far to walk to her own flat. In my mind, I thought to myself how curious it was how attached I have become. Being the only person I conversed with for years now, she was similar to Watson in my possession of her. Not only did she keep me as level-headed as a monster could be, but did my chores and kept me clothed. She was Mrs. Hudson and Watson wrapped into one person, and not at all by her own choice.
I wondered if I should call upon her mother in the northern part of the state. Having known the woman her entire life, I did have a sense of connection with her. She wasn't as close to me as her daughter had become, but she still haunted memories from time to time. In what I was sure were her last days, I should make my way to see her for at least some sort of kind words. She had given part of her life to me, and had forfeited her child's life as well.
With one swift kick, I was up on top of the apartment building I had been standing by, surveying the night sky of New York. Nothing like Victorian England. Too many lights and noises of cars, horns, moving trains. Technology had made this world better than what I had been born in, but I wasn't a fan of cell phones, or automobiles or computers.
I should never have seen this world. But that wasn't by my choice.
