Oh my, many more reviews! I wasn't expecting my story to be this popular! O_o To my reviewers:
-Sno-Oki: Thank you for pointing out a little problem I have been having, I'm glad you are enjoying what you read so far XD
-Alex455: Yes, it is indeed a shame! I tried to get this update out as quickly as I could, but I'm currently in the middle of my A level exams so... .
-Hunter of Darkness: Thank you very much! I do know the whole idea of vampirism has been toyed with before, but I really couldn't let this idea go to waste!
-Kaiho Neko: Thank you again for the reviews, I hope this chapter will be as entertaining as the last two, if not more!
- Excel-chan: More motivation! Hurray ^-^ Here is another chapter for your entertainment!
Hoki Doki, back to Watson's POV, lets see what the good Doctor gets up to!
Outside assistance, inside information
[-]
''I have reason to believe the man I was pursuing that night was no ordinary murderer. Tell me Watson, what, pray tell, do you know of vampires?''
I had always looked upon the topic of 'The Supernatural' with a curious, if not scornful eye, just as I had always viewed Holmes to be the most rational, logical thinker that Lady Britain could have ever produced. Can you imagine my shock when the great Sherlock Holmes began to spout otherworldly theories concerning his condition?
''I do not see how superstition, vampirism, or children's stories fit into this Holmes. There is no substance to them, they are but tales for children and the superstitious.''
As a doctor, the theory itself was an incredible insult, an insult that Holmes apparently ignored whilst I silently fumed across the way. As his friend, I was concerned that perhaps the after-effects of his concussion were far more serious then I first thought they were, as never before had I heard Holmes theorise any one of his cases in such a way.
''My travels took me to the east, upon where I stayed with a group of monks for a month or two. I heard a great many things during my stay; impossible things, tales of the dead rising from their graves to consume the life-blood of the living, human sacrifice, possession!''
I couldn't help but stare angrily in his direction whilst running my hand through my hair. After all, on many occasions whilst abroad in Afghanistan, I had heard tales amongst the soldiers of such utter nonsense. ''Tales are tales Holmes. Surely you do not believe in such nonsense?''
He shook his head, his reply more disturbing then the theory of vampirism itself, for he repeated his own self made oath in relation to the subject.
''Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. You have heard me say as much on many occasions before now, but I can hardly think of a situation that it is more suited to.''
It brought me some morbid satisfaction that he chose to stare blankly at the door rather than confront my own gaze, and I fear it was the best as I found I could no longer fully contain my anger.
''I cannot bring myself to believe that you, a man of sound mind and body, would even pause in your deductions to consider such ridiculous conclusions! Listen to yourself man! Do you honestly believe vampirism to be the cause of these oddities?''
''No, I cannot bring myself to believe in such things, not without ample proof nor solid, unquestionable fact. Unfortunately, I have been presented with a few such facts, and this is how I believe the situation to stand.''
Finally, he chose that exact moment to meet my stare, and I returned it with all the intensity I could muster. Gritting my teeth as another wave of anger assaulted me, I began to walk towards Holmes with no real thought as to why I would do so. ''Then explain it to me. I see all you see, yet I cannot fathom how you could possibly come to such a conclusion. For one, you look perfectly fine, perhaps a shade paler then usual, but that is to be expected considering for the past three weeks you have eaten only soup and drank only water.''
My outburst had the most odd effect on Holmes, I do not believe I have ever in my many years of sharing rooms with the man ever seen him recoil almost in fear at my words, no matter how high I raised my voice, and now I found I could not stop.
''You sat in a room with the curtains half-closed, and yes, you did appear to suffer some discomfort, although Holmes, if you were a victim of vampirism, wouldn't you have been reduced to dust? I put your discomfort down to lack of any real nutrition and lack of movement, not vampirism!''
He attempted to cut me off, although the attempt was much in vain as I continued to voice what was on my mind, each word tainted with emotion I simply could not hold in check. 'No Holmes! I will not stand here and willingly listen to you trying to explain the after-effects of concussion and your poor eating habits in such a poor manner!''
He stopped as though he had completely given up, and I took the opportunity to voice the real reason for reacting in such a way, pacing up and down as I did so. ''Three weeks Holmes! I cared for you for three whole weeks, only stopping an hour at a time to ensure I was well enough to do so! I bathed you, kept your condition stable! Watched you stop breathing, watched your body still, and my blood ran cold with horror as I found that was all I could possibly do! Watch!''
''I appreciate your efforts Watson, I do indeed. I know for a fact I do not tell you enough, and I know I am blessed indeed to be able to call you not only my biographer, but my trusted companion. If it were not for your efforts, I would have surely expired long before now. For this, and for many more things; too many more things, you have my most humble thanks.''
At this, I paused mid-step in astonishment. Occasionally, Holmes might feel the need to express his thanks at having me by his side, but never before had he gone into such detail when doing so. His sincere expression was perfectly genuine, and I felt my anger drain away as the rain might wash away dirt. My words had obviously wounded him, and I felt a much deserved stab of guilt. I could not help but smile weakly. Today was indeed the day of many firsts.
''With those honest words said, I repeat my earlier question. Would you be so kind as to help me with an experiment of sorts?''
Despite my thorough objection to his absurd theory of vampirism, I sighed heavily and nodded an affirmative. I could never deny the man anything.
''I need a small sample of your blood.''
The bluntness of his statement caught me by surprise, and regardless of my willingness to help, I could not restrain my body from tensing in objection. Before I could think of any reasons to back down, I offered him my hand.
''I fear I must ask one more thing of you before I the incision is made.''
''Whatever you deem necessary Holmes.''
''I must ask you to stand by the door and make the cut yourself. After the cut is made... at the first sign of any unusual reaction on my part, I ask that you flee and lock the door behind you.''
Ah. He really was taking this theory a little seriously for me to give him my full support, but I decided to humour him regardless. I relieved him of the knife and walked purposefully toward the door, only pausing to remove the key as he requested, then spun around on my good leg so that he would be granted a clear view of my actions. The cut was quick, and I do not deny it stung quite badly, but I shrugged it off in favour of watching Holmes. The poor chap really was acting quite odd.
[-]
As the first drop of blood ran down the palm of my hand, I witnessed a strange sight. Holmes suddenly stood, his face extraordinarily pale, illuminated by the single candle upon his writing desk. His body had become rigid, and his eyes were transfixed upon my self-inflicted palm wound.
''Holmes?''
No reply. He remained where he was, how he was, eyes wide, stance way too stiff to be considered comfortable. I tried again, a little unnerved by his act. Obviously, he was seeking revenge for my scorn of his theories in the most appropriate fashion possible. He always did have quite the dramatic flare in him, and I felt my anger slowly returning to me.
''Holmes, come now old boy. Drop this pointless act.''
He was completely still, head tipped to the side inquisitively, bowed slightly, giving me the impression that he had begun to analyse me whilst intimidating me at the same time. I was ashamed to admit, his tactics really were working quite wonderfully. I made to move, only to find that as I took a step backwards to exit the room, he mechanically took a step forwards, scowling as he did so, as if my move had offended him somehow. I mirrored his expression with a frown of my own, then decided to take another step, this time forwards, expecting him to do the same in reverse. Instead of taking one step backwards, he took two large strides forwards, until he was a little less then two metres in front of me, his lip curled upwards on one side in a truly aggressive leer.
''Holmes? Really, you can stop now, you have made your point quite clear-''
He cut me off with a low growling noise from the back of his throat, and to my horror, my eyes met his for the first time, and that was when the alarm bells in the back of my mind began to command my attention. I had always secretly admired the silvery tones of his eyes, for never in my life had I encountered a human with eyes such as his. Amongst the eye colours of the human race, the most common colour was brown, hazel, then green, then blue. Grey eyes came after that, but silver? They really were quite extraordinary.
Now, as we stood in front of the other, I felt the colour drain from my face as I looked to examine them once more, only to find that instead of being completely silver with subtle slivers of grey, they were now rimmed with an incredibly beautiful hue of bright-violet. I involuntarily took two steps back, his words ringing loud and clear in my mind. Holmes took another step forwards, and as I recalled his exact words, my eyes lowered to his still leering mouth and the fangs which protruded over his bottom lip.
''After the cut is made... at the first sign of any unusual reaction on my part, I ask that you flee and lock the door behind you.''
Without warning, he smiled almost coyly, teasingly, revealing the full extent of the teeth I had seen before. Two rows of them, all razor sharp, white and gleaming, wet from his saliva. I stood trembling, paralysed with pure fear. His words echoed once more.
''Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. You have heard me say as much on many occasions before now, but I can hardly think of a situation that it is more suited to.''
Vampirism? I no longer had any doubt it my mind. I bolted for the door, not looking to see if he had followed me, not looking to see the horrifying expression on his face. Once outside, I slammed it shut and hastily locked it, sweat pouring down my neck. I could hear him moving on the other side, and if I didn't know any better, I would have been willing to bet that he was pacing after discovering some new development in his most recent case. Everything went silent for a moment, then I almost jumped in fright when I heard his voice.
''Watson? What happened?''
I reached to unlock the door, but found I could not touch the key for fear of what lay on the other side. I decided to reply, although I was completely shaken and my voice reflected this fact.
''Holmes? Is that you?''
Another moment of silence, then I heard a retching sound. Apparently, Holmes was vomiting.
''Yes, yes it is me Doctor... Tell me, what happened?''
I hesitated, not wanting to recall the sights I had just witnessed. I doubted I would ever sleep peacefully again. My heart hammered against my ribcage, and I thought it terribly ironic how at seeing Holmes' conclusion, it would react in such a way whilst Holmes' own would remain still for the same reason.
''I think your theory may be well placed after all.''
''I am glad you finally think so, although I struggle to recall the events that led to your change of view? Tell me Watson, how did you come to be on the other side of this locked door? I recall telling you to flee if I reacted in any other way then the usual?''
''Holmes you...'' I hesitated again, panicking as I recalled his taunting expression, violet-grey eyes and a shark's grin. I felt dizzy, and leant heavily against the bannister.
''Yes?''
''You... You changed Holmes. Your eyes... your posture... your very nature! Holmes, you had... You had fangs, and not just two! I fled the moment you approached me, but your approach Holmes! It was almost as if you were toying with me!''
Unsurprisingly, another silence followed, although this one reigned heavy and thick. When he did finally speak, guilt drown his words, making his voice small and slightly submissive; a shocking comparison to the creature I had faced not five minutes ago.
''Are you... That is to say... Did I hurt you Watson?''
''No, you did not Holmes, but you scared me something awful!''
My hand hovered over the door handle, and I debated whether it would be wise to look upon him so soon after my fright. My heart had not slowed much.
''Should I open the door Holmes?''
A heavy thud, a French curse and then a hasty reply brought my answer, although I could not bring myself to smile at the familiarity of his voice.
''Heavens no Watson! I cannot speak to you face to face until we are sure of my condition, and neither of us is knowledgeable enough in this area of expertise to properly formulate an effective plan of action! I simply cannot risk your well-being!''
''But Holmes-''
''No, I refuse it!''
''Then what do you propose we do?'' I shot back, anger quickly distilling my fear. Surely he did not mean to spend the remaining hours of the night locked forcefully in his room, facing this alone? His answer did nothing to calm my mind.
''I know not what to do.''
I watched the handle turn, and much to my alarm, realised he was testing his restraints. For some unknown reason, I placed my hand upon my side of the handle, just to be close to him in some form. Suddenly, an idea came to mind.
''Holmes?''
No answer, yet I felt the resistance upon the door handle, telling me he was still grasping it from the other side. I tried a different approach.
''Sherlock, answer me. I believe I know of somebody who might be able to help us.''
If he reacted at my use of his chosen first name, he made no sound to show it. Ironically, I ignored him ignoring me, and continued voicing my idea.
''Before I sold my practise and before I knew you were still living, several of my clients referred me to a spiritual healer by the name of Miss Sylvia, a person whom they swore by. Deciding to take my chances as my wife had recently passed away, I humoured my curiosity by paying her a visit. If nothing else, I thought it would stem my black mood. At first, I believed her ramblings to be total nonsense, especially as she told me with much confidence that you were not as dead as I believed you to be. Upon hearing this information, I bid the lady a very good day, and never returned. I do believe I should pay the good woman a visit and explain the situation to her. Perhaps she can be of some help.''
Still, Holmes refused to respond. With a heavy sigh and an equally heavy heart, I spoke once again, this time to bid Holmes farewell.
''Miss Sylvia should still be awake, the hour isn't late. Stay exactly where you are Holmes! I will hopefully be back soon.''
When he spoke, I knew his despair, for it was remarkably evident by the fact he chose to respond at all.
''Do hurry back Watson. I am not feeling my best...''
[-]
Once I had alerted Miss Hudson that Holmes wasn't feeling himself and that he should not be disturbed for any matter, regardless of what the matter involved, I stepped out onto the now empty street and hailed a hansom. My trip to Miss Sylvia's place of residence was as silent as the night itself, and it began to snow heavily. I shuddered as the harsh cold penetrated my winter clothes, and could not help but feel a strange sense of impending doom at the tranquillity of the usually busy roads.
Broken thoughts echoed within my mind over the events of the evening so far. Time and time again, I would receive images of him almost looming over me, even though we were still some metres apart when I chose when I fled. Against my better senses, I chose to willingly analyse what I remembered of him.
There was no question as to what he had now become, it was the question of what he would become because of his recent.. ailment that constantly worried my mind. I recalled the change was almost instant after he had lain eyes on my blood; how could he possibly continue his work when a fair share of the crime scenes he was called to analyse involved murder?
I closed my eyes, attempting to block out the harsh cold of the weather outside, but instead found an image of his changed eyes, cold, calculating but somehow oddly alluring, staring back at me in my mind. I felt as though they were examining my very soul, and was suddenly self-conscious.
The entire cab ride took little over ten minutes, an after paying the driver and asking him to wait, I entered Miss Sylvia's store, still amazed at the sheer volume of assorted jars and trinkets that lined all four walls. Miss Sylvia in question was sat upon a cosy cloth-buffet at the back of the store, dressed in an assortment of shawls and scarves. She was an unusually small woman, and walked hunched over with the assistance of a walking staff of about five foot. Her appearance might have been comical somehow, if it weren't for her gentle yet stern face and the eye patch that covered her left eye.
''Doctor John Hamish Watson.''
Her strange voice croaked slightly, and I found it quite unnerving. She stood, revealing her full height of four foot, and shook her staff at me. I had regarded this staff with curiosity before; the first and last time we had spoken, several small silver baubles and bells had hung from the top, jingling whenever moved. It appeared as though she had added a cats tail and a small length of rope to the décor.
''I have been expecting you. Let us go to your creature.''
I stood still, her choice of words provoking my protectiveness of Holmes. I coughed, then stood straight, too focussed on the task at hand to enquire into how she could possibly know of my friend's troubles. ''Mister Sherlock Holmes is in desperate need of your assistance, if you are willing to give it Miss Sylvia.''
Her eye twinkled in amusement, her breathing painfully heavy. I suspected she was very ill, although her manner and energy told me otherwise. The woman confused me to no end.
''The creature requires my assistance? It is no wonder, no wonder at all. It is indeed quite a predicament your friend has found himself in, is it not?''
I nodded stiffly as she made her way past me. I followed, choosing not to answer.
[-]
The return ride to Baker Street was completed in a heavy silence. Miss Sylvia had chosen to sit directly opposite me, and regarded me thoughtfully during the duration of our trip. She only spoke once throughout, and it came as our cab came to a stop outside of 221B.
''You will have to make a difficult choice tonight, Doctor John Hamish Watson.''
I said nothing, paid the driver, then opened the door to our shared rooms for our guest. I expected Miss Sylvia to find some difficulty with the stairs leading up to our sitting room, and was much surprised when she, despite her hunched stature, climbed them as quickly as I.
As I had requested, Holmes had remained in his room throughout the trip, and had made no attempt to escape. I had no doubt in mind he did possess the skills to eventually find a way to leave his room, but I felt guilty as I felt glad he has chosen to avoid me. As if he could sense my thoughts, I could hear his sorrowful music, played lovingly from his violin. Miss Sylvia sat down heavily in my usual armchair, so I reluctantly took Holmes', blatantly ignoring the fact that it was not as well worn as my own and smelt strongly of tobacco smoke, his own unique scent and something else which was distinctly chemical. I took what comforts it offered reluctantly, and then turned my attentions to Miss Sylvia.
