"I drank his blood, he is mine!" -Vampire Princess Miyu

River of blood flowing over factory floor

Story by Kitty Reily

Last night after a number of disturbances were reported from nearby neighbours, police were called to the abandoned warehouse, on the coast of Addlestone. The disused sweet factory has now been rendered inaccessible, by the Scotland Yard police force still searching through the buildings wreckage. Sources say 'it was a murder most fowl, the factory floor covered with blood and innards'. So far no bodies have been found. It has also been confirmed this was also the location of a previous crime, 4 weeks earlier. Where police consulted with deceased consulting detective Sherlock Holmes, 35…

Blah blah blah. Sighing he closed the paper, seemingly disinterested.

Mycroft entered the over-sized office, guarded by the heaviest of security. Sitting down at his desk, he stiffened. Something's wrong. He straightened his suit jacket, as he stood again. Realization dawning on him. He pulled out of the bureau a bottle of scotch whiskey.

'Hello brother' He stated simply, looking down at the glass of liquor in his hands. He waited. But no reply came. 'Sherlock, please don't pretend that you can fool me' Oh why does he insist on playing these childish games?

'I could if I tried' the harsh voice floated from the darkened corner. He sighed. Masking the look of pure relief on his face. Even he for a moment after Sherlock's death had considered the unlikely possibility of him being truly gone.

'Your handy work I see, up to your old tricks again?' Nodding towards the paper, gulping down his disgust, through his whiskey.

'Just the assassins that tried to kill my friends' choking on the last word. Wait, Sherlock had friends? 'I can see this displeases you' He hadn't realised his scowl was still prominent on his face.

'Yes, I used to be concerned for your well-being, but perhaps it's the public that I have to protect, from you' Fighting to keep his voice level, but still over emphasized the last two words. He knew the subject was a delicate one, so he didn't pursue it.

They had had this conversation before many years ago, and he didn't wish to repeat it. It repulsed him the thought of his brother being so inhuman. Others had described him that way many times, but it didn't become quite so literal until the 6th April 2004. The day he'd changed.

'I have come to ask you a favour' he scoffed, knowing that Sherlock never came to him for favours; he flushed away his anxiousness with another drag of whiskey.

'You want me to make the case go away?' referring back to the newspaper.

'Yes eventually, however first, I would like some clothes' Sherlock never 'asked' he always ordered. Why clothes? The answer came to him almost immediately, as Sherlock stepped out of the shadows into the morning light.

He grimaced at the sight, wanting to close the door on it. Sherlock stood his whole body covered in stale blood; his hair mattered to his head, completely sodden. His flowered shirt, however distasteful was ripped open, probably from a struggle that was lost. Only his cold blue eyes were noticeable through the curtain of red. His hands looked mutilated, intestine and kidney clogging up his fingernails.

He shifted on his feet, taken aback by this horror. He knew Sherlock could smell the perspiration build on his body. He nodded, then turned around to his desk, fumbling with numbers on speed dial. A moment later the clothes arrived, something he knew Sherlock would like.

'Get a shower too will you?' He demanded. In a flash Sherlock was gone, promising to return.

04:32am Mycroft had awoken to the fierce knocking on his flat door. At first it seemed fit, just to ignore it. But it continued. Louder and more forceful. Then he heard a cry from the hallway. Sherlock.

'Mycroft, I need you!' he seemed frantic from the sound of his voice, he dismissed this knowing Sherlock had never been scared in his life. He slowly approached the door, taking his mobile as an unlikely precaution.

He heard an exasperated sigh from the other side, and in a second had wrenched open the door. Sherlock looked terrible, he had been slouched on the door frame, sweat covering his head, though he was thoroughly wrapped in warm clothes and still shivering. He looked dazed, his eyes completely unfocused. How had he even managed to get this far?

He walked him to the leather settee, carrying most of his weight.

'How long have you been like this?' Brotherly concern rough in his voice.

'21hours and 22 minutes and 6 seconds' Still had control over his mind then, I see. Never misses a chance to show off.

He wrapped him up, Sherlock slipping in and out of consciousness.

This continued for the next few days, Sherlock seeming almost comma like. After the incident Mycroft had called in a specialized nurse to sit by his bed-side, he not being able to tend to his needs efficiently, when out at work. He did run the government after all, he couldn't take days off without good reason.

He had returned home late that night, and from the moment he stepped onto the premises and his chauffeur had driven away he could feel it. The weight of death, pressing in the air. The apartment was unlocked, but there was no indentation or shattered wood to signal a break in. He edged onto the landing, hearing movement from the living room.

He almost screamed, as his vision cleared, tears of freight. Sherlock was hunched over the broken nurse, suckling at her neck. Sherlock looked up at the new presence in the room. The eyes! Full of fury and hunger. In an instant he knew, Sherlock wasn't a man no more, but a predator. An animal.

A whistle brought him back to the real world, staring at the tall, dark haired man before him, he observed him. He looked normal, average…human.

'Clean up well don't I?' A chuckle erupted from Sherlock's throat. A rare sight. But you'd be happy too if you'd just over-indulged yourself on 'your favourite chocolate cake'.

'So what's going to happen now? Where will you go?'

'I know someone, they promised to give me anything I 'needed''

'Who?' worried for them.

'I'm going to go live with Molly Hooper, she just doesn't know it yet'