[Title: Save Me From Myself
[Pairing: JohnLock
[Other notes: AU; Please read and review ^_^
[Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock BBC or Sherlock Holmes in any way possible.
Chapter Three: For The Past…
"He's gone." The seemingly fleeting statement caught John of guard.
"Who, Sherlock Holmes?" He questioned, the name a bit familiar on his lips.
Donovan nodded, "Yeah, h'just took off," she sighed heavily, "He does that…"
John looked around, "Is he coming back?"
"Didn't look like it."
"Right." John said. To be honest, his hands weren't shaking earlier… now, it was hard to keep it still for a few seconds, "Uh, sorry… where am I?"
"Brixton," the woman replied.
"Right," he breathed out, the place unbelievably vague to him, "Er… d'you know where I could get a cab? It's just… well, my leg…"
Donovan hesitated and pulled up the tape for him, "Er… oh, try the main road."
"Thanks." He muttered as he leaves.
"But you're not his friend." The woman calls out, he turns back to her in confusion, "He doesn't have friends. So… who are you?"
John licked his lips, "I'm… I'm nobody." The words cut himself—it was true, all true, "I just met him."
"Okay, bit of advice then," She said understandingly, "You're normal. He's, well… just stay away from that guy."
The doctor seems confused, "Why?"
"He's… There're rumors around—he's, I don't know if I should be saying this but," she looks around, almost scared herself, "You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off of it—the weirder the crime, the more." She shrugged, "And people fear him because he's habits… he resembles to a vampire but no one could truly prove it. One day just showing up won't be enough. One day, we'll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes'll be the one that put it there."
"You… think… he's a vampire?" John shrugged.
"Well, I wouldn't be surprised if he were," She ran her fingers through her hair.
"Why would he do that?—killing, I mean. He hasn't done it… has he?"
Donovan shook her head, "He hasn't killed anyone yet… but it's because he's a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored."
Then Lestrade's orders ended their conversation as she was called, she turned back to John and stated with finality, "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes." And with that, she left.
John limped down the pavement, to his right; a public telephone box begins to ring. He stops momentarily to stare at it, feeling paranoid, he shakes his head and walks down and right after—the phone stops ringing. A few paces later, John is already walking over Brixton High Road and tries to hail a taxi in which he fails quite miserably at. Each taxi passes, and by the fast food restaurant close by, the payphone begins to ring. He turns and sees that one of the serving staff was already going to reach it but it stops abruptly. Another few steps and another public phone box near him begins to ring, he goes inside and lifts the phone beyond his better judgment, "Hello?"
A man's voice speaks through the phone, dark yet smooth, "There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?"
John frowns, "Who's this? Who's speaking?"
"Do you see the camera," the voice spoke calmly, "Dr. Watson?"
Swallowing hard, John looks through the window of the phone box at the CCTV cam high up on the wall of a nearby building, "Yeah." He said, "I see it."
"Watch."
The camera which was focused on the same phone box he was using turns away.
A light pause, "There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?"
The doctor turns to the directed location, "Mmm."
And with that, the camera swivels away like the first.
"And finally, at the top of the building on your right."
Without much of a choice, John looked at it again. A bit amused than anxious, "How are you doing this?"
"Get into the car, Doctor Watson," the voice stated coldly just as a jet black car pulls up at the curbside near the phonebooth, "I would make some sort of threat, but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you." And with that. The line died out.
Again, without another option, he found himself sitting silently in the back seat of the car as it drives away. His instincts were screaming at him, to leave, to jump out, to do anything to get out of the bloody car. But he didn't, he already left that. He kicked that out of his life… So he placed his attention on an attractive lady sat beside him. Her only focus was her blackberry…
"Hello," John said after clearing his throat.
The woman looked at him with a bright smile and looked back at the phone, "Hi."
The doctor began small talk, "What's your name, then?"
"Er…" she fiddled with her phone, "Anthea."
John looked confused, "Is that your real name?"
She smiled, "No."
He feels that that was the end of their conversation and simply nods and looks at the rear window and turns back again, "I'm John." He pressed on.
"Yes, I know."
"Any point in asking where I'm going?"
"None at all…"
She turns and smiles briefly, then back to her BB, "…John."
"Okay."
They pulled up in a somehow dimmed and empty warehouse. But there was a man, in a suit standing in the centre of the area leaning poshly against a black umbrella with an empty chair before him. He watches John get out the car, "Have a seat, John."
"You know, I've got a phone." John said calmly as he walks towards the man, learning that it was good to ignore people's statements every now and then. He looks around the warehouse in question, "I mean, very clever and all that, but… you could've just phoned me. On my phone." He stops, leaving a few paces between him and the man.
"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet." The stranger stated simply with a fake smile, his voice stern, and face passive, "Hence, this place." He looks at John, "The leg must be hurting you. Sit down."
"I don't wanna sit down." He said, almost childlike. Almost.
The former male looks at him curiously. "You don't seem very afraid."
"You don't seem very frightening." John quipped with a frown, already tired of people coming in and out of his life because of some unconventional consulting detective.
With that, the man chuckles, "Ah, yes," he mutters, "The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" His eyes grew cold and his voice stern, "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"
"I don't have one. I barely know him. I met him…" John contemplates on the date, silently shocked at realizing his next word, "yesterday."
"Mmm, and since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together." The stranger smirked, "Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"
John ignored the implication and questioned harshly, "Who are you?"
"An interested party."
The doctor was getting more and more annoyed by the second, yesterday he meets Sherlock—now he's being dragged around by people trying to do God knows what, "Interested in Sherlock? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends."
"You've met him." The man spoke fondly, "How many 'friends' do you imagine he has? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."
"And what's that?"
"An enemy."
John looks confused; this was getting stupid, "An enemy?"
"In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch-enemy." He looks a bit thoughtful, "He does love to be dramatic."
"Well, thank God you're above all that."
The man frowns at the statement and John's phone made an attempt to go out for a text alert, he digs out his phone and opens it…
Baker Street.
Come at once
if convenient.
SH
"I hope I'm not distracting you," the stranger stated.
John looked at him, "Not distracting me at all," he replied casually as he stares at the text and places it back in his pocket.
"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?" the other asked.
John almost wanted to scream—This again?!—people were so intent on pushing him away, "I could be wrong... but I think that's none of your business."
"It could be." The former said again.
"It really couldn't."
"You seem not to understand, Doctor Watson. You do not know who or what, Sherlock Holmes is." The man's voice was sharp end rough edged, "You… you are from the Watson Clan, correct?" John looks taken aback, but the person continued, "My, it seems Sherlock Holmes really got a handful. The last male of the Watsons… Very interesting indeed. I was against the idea at first but based by your reaction…" The stranger trailed off and pulled out a book, "If you do move into, um… two hundred twenty-one B Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way." He puts the book away, "But I am exceedingly discouraging you of doing so… but if…"
"Why?"
The man smiled, "Because you're not a wealthy man."
"…In exchange for what?"
With a sigh, "Information. Nothing… indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel .. uncomfortable with." He said evenly, "Just tell me what he's up to."
"Why?"
"I worry about him." The stranger's voice had an affectionate tone, "Constantly."
"That's nice of you," John said insincerely, he couldn't help it.
Raising an eyebrow, the stranger continued, "But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a... difficult relationship."
Another text alerts John's mobile, he pulls out his phone and opens it…
If inconvenient,
Come anyway.
SH
The ex-army doctor looks up at the man, "No."
"But I haven't mentioned a figure," the man bribed.
"Don't bother," he slips his phone back into his pocket.
The man chuckled, "You're very loyal, very quickly."
The doctor shook his head, "No, I'm not." He said dismissively, "I'm just not interested."
With a heavy look, the stranger looks at him and takes out his notebook and opens it again, "'Trust issues'," he read out loud, "it says here."
John looks unnerve for the second time, "What's that?"
"Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?" The stranger looked at him in disbelief. This was unparalleled. This was simply too entertaining—Sherlock Holmes, certified killer and head of the vampires. Ruled mercilessly and brutally killed humans and vampires alike; detested hunters to his very core. And now, this loyal lapdog of the Queen, now the royal lapdog of Sherlock Holmes. My, Sherlock still has his manipulation on people.
"Who says I trust him?" John spat.
"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily."
"Are we done?" John questions.
The stranger looks up at John, "You tell me." His interrogate walked away and he called out, "I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen."
The doctor stops dead, his shoulders tensing then dropping. He shakes his head and turns, "My what?"
The man walks closer, "Show me." He nodded towards John's left hand as he speaks, and now he plants the tip of his umbrella on the floor and leans casually on it like a man who is used to having his orders obeyed. John, however, is not going to be intimidated and deliberately shifts his feet under him as if digging in. He raises his left hand, bending it at the elbow, and stands still. His message is clear: if the man wants to look at his hand, he'll have to come to him. Apparently unperturbed by this belligerence, the man strolls forward, hooking the handle of the umbrella over his arm as he reaches for John's hand.
John instantly pulls his hand back a little, "Don't."
"Remarkable."
"What is?"
The stranger smirked, "Most people blunder round this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield." He smiled, "And how right you are… You've seen it already, haven't you?"
"What's wrong with my hand?"
The stranger stares at his hand, "You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand." John nodded, "Your therapist thinks its post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service." John made a rejoinder but he continued, "Fire her. She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady… You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson..." he grins at his final words, "you miss it."
John stopped.
"Welcome back," the male spoke in a whisper, "Time to choose a side, Doctor Watson—the vampires…" The stranger said his eyes going crimson, "or the hunters…?"
"W-what?" John snapped out of his reverie.
"Another war is about to begin, Watson. And you have to decide which side are you on…" The stranger laughed, "Ask Sherlock Holmes for a change, it'll be… a fascinating conversation."
"The vampires have already been extinct for years!" John yelled.
"Try telling that to Sherlock," He walked to the ledge with a sickening smile, he dropped the umbrella as he stood on the ledge, "The name's Jim Moriarty—remember that." And he jumped back, a loud laughter echoing in his wake.
Sorry for the short chapter =_= I had to cut it there.
the-science-of-evidence,
over & out