It was close to midnight and a thick gray fog blanketed the darkened city outside. His heart pounding against his chest, John paced back and forth across the flat, occasionally stopping to glance up at Sherlock, who had been leaning against the windowsill and remained deathly silent. In his hands was a knife and a thick block of wood, which Sherlock was in the midst of fashioning into a stake.
The two of them hadn't said a word since they returned to 221b. John had immediately jumped in the shower and gotten changed into clean clothes, venturing back into the living room to find Sherlock in the middle of his whittling project.
"Changed your mind?" John gulped.
"This one doesn't have your name on it," Sherlock answered, hardly looking up from his task. "I'm saving it for the evil son of a bitch who did this to you."
John's eyes lit up in alarm. "Sherlock, we talked about this - this thing doesn't have a cure, and going on some crazy revenge trip isn't going make me feel any better!" The man charged forward, reaching for Sherlock's weapon. "If you can't do it, I will!"
Rather than pull away, Sherlock slipped a hand into his own coat and whipped out a bulky wooden cross, shoving it towards John as if he were creating a barrier between the two of them. He then got up and strode towards John, driving the other man backwards until he was cornered on the opposite end of the room. John bared his teeth at Sherlock in response to this.
"No, John, you talked about it," Sherlock was saying. "I've said it before, and I will again: I won't let anything happen to you, undead on not."
"A little late for that," John snarled back.
"You think I don't know that? Alex is still out there, and if driving a stake through his cold heart is the last thing I ever do, so be it. You, on the other hand, will stay out of it and not move a muscle until—"
But Sherlock never did finish his sentence, for almost immediately John had knocked the cross out of the taller gentleman's hand, sending it flying across the room. Had he been quicker to react, perhaps Sherlock would've had an easier time pinning John back up against the wall. Instead, he thrown to the ground with a loud thud.
Sherlock winced, struggling to stand himself up before John launch a second attack. If he didn't know better, he'd say John had practically doubled in strength since their last… aggressive negotiation. Seeing the other man rearing back towards him, Sherlock rolled out of the way and reached for the curtains, tearing them forcefully off of their rod. Despite John's best efforts, he refused to resort to fighting back with the stake he had carved.
When John came within several feet again, Sherlock threw the curtains over him, wrapping the braid-like cords around John tightly and knotting them in place. John let out a high-pitched screech and continued to thrash about in the trap as Sherlock hugged onto him, struggling to maneuver the both of them into his bedroom, where he chucked John into the closet and shut the door behind him.
As quick as he could, Sherlock propped a wooden chair up against the doorknob in place of locking it. From inside he could hear John's muffled (and rather profane) shouting. Once he'd made sure that John would have quite some trouble attempting to escape, Sherlock fetched anything containing garlic from the kitchen and stacked it atop the chair, just in case. With a sharpie he drew a giant cross over the door and, finally satisfied with his work, retrieved a crossbow from under his bed and set off on his mission.
-x-
"Come on out!" Sherlock screamed as loud as he could. "Come and fight me, you coward!"
Part of him worried that Alex wouldn't show. That he was simply wasting his time, running around the fog-covered graveyard in the dead of night to no avail. John would still be a vampire when he got back, successful in his endeavor or otherwise. He wanted to believe what he had told John about the whole thing, that he was still the same man despite his condition, but even that seemed impossible. After all, Sherlock had seen what John was now capable of, and it scared him.
What if he came back to find that was all that was left of what used to be his only real friend? What if John was right, and the only way he could help him was to honor his dying wish and… and…
Sherlock shook his head, refusing to dwell on such morbid possibilities. It was then that he heard a rustling in the nearby bushes. Focusing back in on the hunt, Sherlock charged forward, recognizing his moonlit figure.
No mistake, that was him: Alexander Theis, the vampire who was about to get his sorry ass a one-way ticket back hell. Sherlock pounced on the creature from behind, tackling it to the ground. From underneath him, Alex managed to wriggle onto his back just in time to see Sherlock lift a stake above his head.
"Stop!" Alex cried out in defeat, throwing both arms up defensively.
Sherlock hesitated, still poised to strike. It was a strange feeling, how wrapped up in anger and hate he had been just moments ago, but now that he had Alex exactly where he wanted him, it all seemed to fade away. The man lying helplessly at his feet couldn't be much more than a kid.
In fact, he was a kid and not a vampire at all. A single glance revealed the entire story to the consulting detective. It was a strange story. A story about a medical student who met a girl and fell in love. Not with her, but with the idea that she worshipped. With becoming something from another world, dark and misunderstood, just as Alex Theis was.
With a horrified look in his eyes, Alex removed a pair of fake fangs, as if proving a point to his captor. Sherlock lowered his weapon but still kept watchful eye on Alex as he reached for the mobile in his pocket and dialed Lestrade. "I found your guy… Yes, of course he was a fraud. They always are… I'm at the graveyard. Don't worry, this one's not going anywhere."
Sherlock waited with his prisoner until the cops arrived, handcuffing the man and forcing him into one of their vehicles. Lestrade offered his thanks to Sherlock, who politely pushed them aside, before rejoining his own men.
-x-
Meanwhile, John had been running down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, fearing that Sherlock was about to do something terrible and he was the only one who could stop it. Ironically enough, they ran into each other just as John was rounding the block's corner. Quite literally.
"Oh! Sherlock, thank God!" John gasped, jumping a step back.
Sherlock and John stared back at one another in silence, taking in all that had just happened. The army doctor finally spoke, attempting to relieve some of the tension they both felt in that moment. "So, uh. Good news: I'm not actually a vampire. In case you were still worried about that.
"No. No, I figured as much."
"And the killer, Alex? He was really…?"
"Human. An idiot, but you'd have to be to do all that to impress some fangirl. Unfortunately, Alex became too wrapped up in his own game to know when to quit, and Raven payed the price for it."
John nodded sadly, biting his lip. "…You weren't really going to, y'know, slay him, were you?"
"I thought he was a vampire!" Sherlock snapped suddenly. His words echoed across the empty alleyway and they fell into silence once more. This only lasted for a brief moment, however, when John threw a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stifle a chuckle. "Oh, shut up!" Sherlock hissed. "You were the one who was honest-to-God convinced that you were transforming into Dracula!"
Unable to contain himself any longer, John bust up into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. "I did!" he wheezed. "I really, truly did!"
Apparently his good attitude about the whole thing was contagious, as Sherlock couldn't help but join in after a while. The two of them attempted (without much success) to converse during the gigglefits, but their voices kept cracking between half-sentences.
"You looked so stupid in those glasses—"
"And then - then you grabbed the umbrella just in case—"
"I didn't want to be held responsible for your spontaneous combustion!"
Practically crying, the consulting derpfaces had little choice but to lean up against the alley's wall to keep from falling over until they'd finally begun to calm down.
"We're such idiots," John breathed.
"Hang on, I seem to have misplaced my left lung," Sherlock snorted, straightening himself again.
As their laughter died down, the dark alley went eerily quiet once more. John sighed softly, pressing his head against Sherlock's shoulder.
"Hey, check out that moon," he said, pointing up at the night sky. Sure enough, shining bright above them was a perfectly round moon. "I know you don't really appreciate space or anything like that, but… just look at how full it is!"
"Hm. I suppose it is quite lovely… I mean, if you're into that sort of thing."
Suddenly a high-pitched scream pierced through the calm, followed by a bloodcurdling howl. Sherlock and John froze in place and listened as the wolf's cry faded into nothingness. John swallowed loudly, giving Sherlock an uneasy look. His companion looked back at him, his face twisting into a crooked smile.
"Whelp. Hope you weren't looking forward to sleeping tonight, my dear Watson."
"Not in the least. Let's gank this motherfucker."
EL FIN C:
