A/N: I'm absolutely delighted at the number of people reading. :) Thanks so much! And a great big thanks to the reviewers, I do so appreciate reviews. Keep them coming guys, it's wonderful to know how everyone's getting on with this.
Warning: Mentions of some graphic and potentially violent things. I figured it was time to give you all a taste of Niles.
He shut the door quietly, locking himself away into the bathroom and bracing himself against the sink. His veins were on fire, his chest burning with need. He set his forehead against the mirror, feeling the cool glass, breathing in the smell of the metal rim that surrounded it. He could have taken the doctor right there, on the couch, fucked him senseless, pounded him until he the teeth tearing through his neck, the knife biting into his chest, the hand ripping out his heart went unnoticed among the moaning and the breathless ecstasy. Niles needed to eat - it had been too long, the cravings coming on too quickly, becoming distracting and uncontrollable. There were leftovers in the refrigerator, of course - stews and loafs and dishes the young surgeon had cooked for them out of the sweetest meats he and good Dr. Watson would ever savor - but Niles wanted something fresh.
He left the bathroom and slid into bed. John would be coming to speak with him soon, after his hormones relaxed and his conscience reasserted himself. He needed to look like he as asleep, needed to avoid any confrontations until the morning. He was liable to devour the doctor in this state… the man's scarred flesh, delicious voice, pleading eyes were more than enough to tempt him on a day to day basis, but with Niles' hunger at its peak and his libido still raging, there was no telling what amount of self control he could muster. Niles prided himself on the doctor's disassembly - it was only a matter of time before he turned his desires towards things beyond Sherlock Holmes - but he could not, would not rush it and spoil the experience.
John popped his head into Niles room a full forty-three minutes later, calling his name inquisitively and sounding tentatively relieved when he saw the younger man asleep. Niles smiled in his pretend-slumber. It was nice, playing cutesy, playing sweet - not because Niles particularly enjoyed being a housewife, but because he was so often and easily believed. It was an inflation of his ego whenever a patient called him an angel, an affirmation of his skills when a child clung to his shirt. He had learned as a child that love earned him more than fear or respect ever could, that intellect was easily defeated, that any man standing alone could be bested, but a man with the love of hundreds behind him was invincible.
He let a good five or ten more minutes pass after John left before he climbed out of bed, checking his phone. He had cut off his commissions for the month, knowing the Yard's unit outside their flat would have made it difficult to slip by unnoticed. No, he had to find somebody. He climbed onto the fire escape outside his window and took it to the roof. Niles couldn't take the streets tonight - Sherlock was bound to be watching, following.
He would watch and follow anyway, but Niles was going to at least make it difficult for him. And Sherlock wasn't about to compromise his own cover to bring Niles to justice. It was part of their game, not getting caught, and Niles had promised so many tedious things to the detective if he managed it while proving the young doctor's guilt.
Bonus points if you tell me how I did it, he'd added.
The adrenaline pushed him across the rooftops, up and down stairways, through windows and into the apartments of the unfortunate and the unsuspecting - but he didn't stop, not yet. He whizzed by their beds and out their front doors, leaving them with nothing but the fleeting impression of a dark-haired man in a nicely pressed suit, scampering about in the night. He had to be picky tonight. He needed a quick snack - someone quiet, meaningless, out of the way. But he so hated dining on rats. He avoided the seedy hideaways of the homeless, avoided his previous hospice and hotel haunts, went instead to the back-alleys and watched the criminal life of London unfold before him.
There were killers and muggers and robbers, people who wanted to disappear, people who would be expected to turn up missing one day because they got in over their heads. Niles could spot them from the way they carried their weapons - concealed but close at hand - from the way they stared at their victims - like they were stripping them down to their valuables - from the way they stalked about in the night - like he stalked them - that they were the ones. He picked one and slunk after him, smooth and quiet as a shadow, aware of the detective playing lost tourist in his gaudy cap and sunglasses two alleyways down. There was chloroform and the back seat of a car and the convenient use of a needle on a detective that got far too close for comfort.
Niles was actually quite concerned for Sherlock as he and his prize were driven back to his family home. If the detective were found he'd be terribly disappointed, and he was sure John wasn't quite ready for his return besides. Still, he couldn't exactly have taken him with him, and Niles comforted himself with the fact that Sherlock was a resourceful and hardy man, and would find a way to keep himself from being discovered despite the drugs he'd just slipped into his neck.
It felt like forever sitting in that car, and it wasn't soon enough when they finally arrived and Niles had the man stripped and strapped to a table. This was different from his usual - there was no acquiescence in this case, no pleadings for Niles to work, no admiration in the eyes of his patient, as there had been so many times before.
But it was no matter. He watched the man's struggles and licked his lips, pulling the latex examination gloves onto his hands with a snap. He would simply have to make him want it in other ways. The man on his table seemed to finally be collecting his wits, his thrashing becoming more violent against the thick leather straps that held him down.
"What is this? Who are you!"
"An executioner," said Niles, hesitating before donning his surgical mask. "And a very hungry man."
He saw the veins popping in his patient's forehead and neck, looked past the skin to the sinew and muscle and blood that ran beneath it - he couldn't help himself, he dug his scalpel in, severed a good piece of flesh and slid it between his teeth.
It was raw and warm as it ran down his throat - Niles' tongue captured every flavor, the metallic blood, the salty flesh, the sweet taste of muscle as he tore it between his teeth. It was rapture.
"You fucking little prick, I'll fucking gut you!"
Niles raised his eyebrows in annoyance as he was startled from his reverie. This time, he thought, picking a pair of pliers and hefty medical scissors from his table. I'll start with the tongue.
A/N: I did get the slightest bit carried away and have quite a bit more of the scene with Niles. I've omitted it because it's unnecessary and rather violent/graphic, but if anyone's interested at all in further observing how he works - because it won't be explained in much more detail in the rest of the fic - then I do welcome you to contact me and I'll send it over.
Thanks again! And thank you for your continued reading. Next chapters will be up as soon as I can craft them.