Chapter 3:
Interview With The Potential Vampire
Sherlock was quickly bouncing on the floor, confidently striding through the house and the officers. Excitedly making his way out and muttering all sorts of facts and hypothesis that had John struggling to keep up with his feet, let alone his break-neck-speed mind.
"Where are we going?" Asked the soldier, following his friend's silhouette to the next house on the row. The detective seemed to have forgone that sour mood he had before and was now portraying his usual active, almost playful self.
"We are going to have ourselves a chat with a vampire." He explained, smirking like the wicked child he was. Confusing the doctor at his 180 turn in perspective. He will never stop being amazed and baffled by this man. He just hopes this case doesn't turn out to be one of those where he works himself to the ground without food or sleep until he passes out.
"But, didn't you say you didn't believe in-?" John was cut off once again by his crazy flatmate; but this time he didn't mind much, his good mood was often contagious. Lately he found himself getting amused, rather than annoyed —much, mind you— by the odd customs of his detective. Except for the fact that he had probably messed it all up by bringing up the metaphorical elephant in the room.
"Of course I don't," Said friend commented. "But don't you think it is a bit coincidental that a client comes to us claiming his sister is about to be murdered and the very next day she turns up dead in the most bizarre of circumstances?" He asked, his wild eyes piercing the stare of the blogger, he did not wait for the other to reply and instead kept talking as was his usual way. "The idiot's mind probably misread antisocial sadism and violent tendencies and came up with creature of the eternal night."
John chuckled, "Fine," He said, if a bit confused. "So, now we are going to make some crazy clever stunt to break into his house to find out somehow?"
The other scoffed, striding intently closer towards the house. "Of course not, John." Sherlock said, stopping in front of the door and shuffling his feet on the welcoming mat. "We are going to ring the doorbell." He happily muttered and pressed the button, awaiting for the answer. "Hello, Mr. Masters. Mind if we come in?"
—o—o—
"So what brings you to my home, gentleman?" The man before him couldn't have been more alike to a ridiculously stereotypical vampire if he had actually jumped out of the pages of 'Dracula'. The genius noticed he even had that mysterious flair about him that allowed anyone to convince themselves he was an immortal being — that is if you didn't posses the detective's intellect— as he flounced around the floor of his sitting room.
"My partner and I have a few questions." John explained, casually taking the direct and domestic approach to things. Giving him plenty of time to observe and analyse the room. The whole house had an antique look, as it often was with London housing, but this one was different; not only did the base structure and decoration was Victorian, but the furniture and scarce pieces of technology were terribly old-fashioned. Sherlock also noted particularly that there did not seem to be any reflective surfaces or materials around. Even the spoons for the tea appeared to be made of mate porcelain. Supposed vampire, indeed.
The man himself was much more of a mystery than his quarters, but not less predictable. A slicked-back raven hair tied in a perfect ponytail at the base of his skull; meticulous appearance down to his fingernails, and a big wine-red good-quality dressing gown draped smartly over his shoulders since he claimed they had arrived just as he was preparing for bed. Sherlock was prepared to laugh at the obviousness of the subject, except John made him promise he would keep all smiles and signs of mirth away from crime scenes. "Partner? How… modern." He remarked.
The jab about the defining of their relationship made him slightly hesitant, meeting his blogger's eyes for merely a second. It was still a sore subject for the both of them, who had had the same exact questioning in the air for an eternity. In addition, the way he muttered the adjetive had both of them frowning. John cleared his throat after a moment, and soldiered on as he often did. "It's about Ms. Hollens, your neighbor."
"Oh! such a dreadful business." Mr. Masters claimed, sitting in the chair across from John. "Poor woman, so young and full of life." After all the frankly absurd elements of comparison between him and those creatures, —which the curly-haired man readily wrote off as nothing more than an accidental source of amusement— there was one thing the boffin was not able to dismiss in its entirety; the way the man spoke caused something brutal to settle inside of Sherlock, that particular brand of polite hostility that just doesn't go away no matter how amiable his actual speech.
"Well, yes." His blogger continued on, shifting slightly on his seat in discomfort, he must be getting the same reaction to the other man as him. "We'd like to ask you what was your relationship with the victim." He asked, fiddling with his little note pad: really nervous then.
"I hardly knew her." The older man responded. "Nothing more than a casual acquaintance, you see." He turned to look at the boffin and smiled politely, his body language told him he was more stating the fact that he knew exactly what he was doing wandering around the room, than showing agreeableness. A silent threat wrapped up in civility. "I'm afraid my way of life does not allow me much of a social life."
Sherlock watched him lounge casually on the armchair. Glancing at his nails in nonchalance, this was a man who was completely confident he had the upper hand in the situation. The genius was seldom in a position were suspects didn't feel intimidated by his looming presence; that in itself was a source of endless excitement. "And what about her brother?" He inquired, leaning back on the mantle and smiling politely. Out of the corner of his eye he could see John raising an eyebrow at his facade.
"Her brother?" Mr. Masters asked, supposedly confused by the question, as if he didn't know the man who lived right next to him and seemed to be close enough to be able to draw a conclusion of his character —albeit wrong and completely ridiculous that it was.
The younger man smirked and eyed them both under through his lashes, wickedly enjoying what he was about to do. "Yes," He started, feigning indifference. "The one who accuses you of being a blood-sucking immortal."
The eyes of the suspect flashed with obvious outrage, but he managed to tramp down any other outward reaction to the statement. "That again?" He did not look exasperated, but enraged; more along the lines of frustrated. "What a foolish, imaginative man!" He exclaimed sitting straight on his chair, the boffin had hit a nerve. "I'm simply a very private man."
"So you would call this a coincidence, then?" Pushed Sherlock. Coming closer to the man, taking full advantage of his height with the other's seated position.
The other did not even flinch, standing up in defiance, too. "I fail to see what else it could be." His civil words contrasted perfectly with his actions, the silver-gazed man could feel his blogger's stance change at recognising the danger, ready to launch in his defense if needed.
"How… convenient." The detective muttered in excellent mirror from his earlier statement. With the madman now blocking the view a bit, the doctor had the idea to get his phone out and take pictures and video of the scene, in case the man actually confessed to anything while frenzied, not that it would hold in court, but it was better than nothing.
"Are you implying I'm involved?" Mr. Masters demanded in indignation. Sherlock was clearly getting to him, making him show his true colours, even if the polite front never wavered.
"Mr. Hollens says you used to follow her sister; stalk her even" The doctor interrupted, creating a safety net in which they could fall. "Sometimes bringing other people over at night only to never come out in the morning." He commented, helping his friend in trying to make him lose his patience and show his hand.
Instead, the other just closed off completely. "That just tells me he is the one who has been stalking me." He said forcibly retying the knot on his dressing gown. "Excuse me, Mr. Holmes; but I'm going to have to ask you to leave my home." He walked to the door and opened it in an invitation to get out.
The dynamic duo made their way outside quickly, but in no way showing any real intimidation, it wouldn't do to show weakness in front of such a dangerous man. "And I will also ask you not to return unless it is to charge me with something." Their supposed vampire said as he banged the door closed, losing his composure for the only time.
"Well, that was of no use." John muttered storing away his mobile as they started walking away. Stuffing his hand inside his pockets, his shoulders hunched in obvious disappointment.
"Not at all." The detective smiled, and the curiosity immediately changed his soldier's expression. Hopeful for something interesting to come tumbling down his friend's mouth. The curly haired man obviously delivered.
"John, he may not be Count Dracula himself —although he would definitely would win one of those look-alike things," Sherlock said giggling, letting his friend join in on the fun. "But he is most likely the killer, we just have to find proof."
"And how the hell are we going to do that?" The blogger asked as they made a turn on the street corner and the detective stopped to raise his arm for a cab.
"By figuring out how our vampire drained his victim completely."
