10 February 2014
"It's been over a week, Molly. I think if anyone here were going to attack anyone else they would've done it by now. You're welcome to keep looking for other accommodations but I think I speak for all of us when I say that you can stay here as long as you need, even wait out the chaos here if necessary," John says.
Mrs. Hudson nods her head in emphatic agreement. Sherlock makes a barely audible noise from his position hunched over the stove that John takes for agreement.
"Are — are you sure?" Molly asks timidly.
She's just returned from another unsuccessful attempt to find safe lodging. The seventh of such prospects, this one has been rejected because all of the former occupants have cleared out, leaving only an innkeeper, and Molly is not keen on staying alone with a stranger.
"Absolutely." John is resolute.
So Molly stays.
11 February 2014
Sherlock finishes the case on his own, without the help of the Met, and he doesn't let Lestrade forget it when he's pulled in to Scotland Yard by the DI.
"But you could have been attacked, Sherlock! I don't care how many times you get away with it, one day it's going to catch up with you and you'll be killed. I still don't understand your luck." Lestrade tries not to let on too much that he's also a bit envious of Sherlock's success, but his eyes give him away.
"You can scold me all you like, Lestrade, but it won't change the fact that during the past month I've prevented more crimes than half of your force combined," Sherlock says, with an insolent smirk. He puts his hands in his pockets whilst Lestrade glares at him. "So what is it?"
"What is what?" Lestrade asks, still scowling.
Sherlock exhales. "The case. You didn't pull me in to admonish me for curfew violation, or you'd be doing the same to half the city. Give your ego a break—" here John snorts, "—and just tell me what it is."
A very long minute passes before Lestrade sighs and says, "All right."
"We found him in Shoreditch, about a block from the church. He was unconscious, didn't even know those things could be, but he was. We're holding him here until we know what to do with him," Lestrade explains as they trudge down the stairs towards the holding cells.
They arrive in front of a fiberglass-fronted cell, as opposed to the steel bars of the other cells in the hallway. Two other cells are in the process of being fitted with transparent fronts as well, each more than a foot thick. The rest of the small room that the little party stops in front of is concrete.
Inside is a pathetic-looking man, drooped over himself in a far corner, shunning the bed. His head is down but his face appears to be extremely grey.
Sherlock takes a glance inside and taps the fiberglass. "This isn't necessary."
Lestrade is incredulous. "Sherlock, you do realize that these creatures are exponentially stronger than you or me, right? We were worried that the glass might not be thick enough, in fact."
Making a dismissive noise, Sherlock shakes his head. "Normally, yes, this pane could possibly be broken by a very determined vampire, but this man here," he gestures, "is starved. He can barely move. He probably hasn't fed for weeks. And before you say it could be an act," he says, when Lestrade opens his mouth in protest, "it isn't. I can tell. You should check his bodily fluids. He's probably nearly dry."
"It's a precaution, Sherlock. You never know what they might be able to do," Lestrade says. "Anyway, we're not worried about his health—"
"You should be," Sherlock interrupts. "Those are the questions you need to ask. Why is he this starved if you found him in the middle of the city? You should get some scientists down here. I'm sure there are hundreds of biologists who would kill to have access to a live vampire. How long can they survive without blood, for instance? Or what causes the allergic reaction to sunlight? You know how valuable that information could be. I'd suggest handing him over to the government, before the media or some crackpot scientist gets their hands on him. I can call my brother…"
John stares at Sherlock, repressing a laugh. "You? You're calling Mycroft? Now there's a first."
"Shut up."
Lestrade holds up a hand quickly as Sherlock is pulling out his mobile. "No, hang on, nobody's calling anyone."
The two pause. "Why not?" they ask in unison.
"Because," Lestrade says nervously, "there's something in him that we can't let the government see."
Sherlock narrows his eyes. "Tell me more."
"Wait, hang on, why are you letting us see it then?" John asks.
The DI looks around nervously, and then leads the duo to a side room.
"We've put a sort of trace in him. Mainly GPS and audio transmissions. It's deeply embedded, nowhere anyone will find it, and he doesn't know about it. We know that this could be incredibly important to science but right now, what matters is law enforcement and, as you did mention earlier, we've fallen a bit behind on that aspect of the job. If we could get an idea of the vampire orgnisation structure, locations, identities, etcetera, we'd be a lot closer to having some control over the situation."
Sherlock's brow creases, then smooths itself. "You've tagged him?" The contempt is evident in his voice. "Like a dolphin?" he sneers. "You think that you're going to release him and that chip in him is going to lay at your feet the secrets of the vampire horde?"
"It's not quite like that—" Lestrade begins, face flushed.
"Oh, but it is, isn't it? You idiot. You know how sensitive vampires are, don't you? Flawless sense of smell, incredible night vision, and you don't consider the fact that they'd be able to find your tag? Even if there was an organisation of any sort, which I still am finding difficult to believe, even if this one man was so weak that he couldn't feel the object embedded in his own skin, any other vampire that he'd meet would find the tracker within seconds."
Lestrade folds his arms. "I don't think—"
"That much is evident," Sherlock scoffs. "I don't think this vampire will be much of a help to you, anyway. He'd probably be killed by the first Generation he meets, if no Turned get him first."
"Why would they do that?" both John and Lestrade ask.
Sherlock nods through the window in the small room's door. "That man has abstained. If you check his bloodstream you'll find traces of drugs used to keep him from trying to feed from humans. Doctor, most likely, before he was turned. Most vampires, older ones especially, don't accept that kind of behavior. I've seen abstinent vampires killed for the practice."
John stares at his flatmate. "Wait, what? You have?"
"Through Mycroft's CCTVs," Sherlock amends. "I hack his feed on occasion just to see if I still can. After these kinds of attacks, I try to get to the scene as quickly as possible to examine the body before it deteriorates."
"You what?" John asks incredulously.
"I usually get back before you wake up," Sherlock says dismissively. "You sleep through any disturbances I make and the new sleeping arrangement has made it a lot easier to get out at night without bothering anyone."
John crosses his arms now. "We're going to talk about this when we get home," he promises.
Lestrade back and forth between the two of them. Finally he speaks. "Fine, okay. So you think we won't gain anything from bugging him. What are we supposed to do with him then? Let him go? I don't think so. Honestly, I might trust your opinion, but the rest of the Met doesn't, and the tag's already in him. It was an expensive bit of equipment but most people will see it that we don't stand to lose much in this operation, and a lot that we can possibly gain."
"Fine. Do what you want," Sherlock says in disgust. "Has he been examined by anyone at all?"
The DI shakes his head.
Sherlock hums neutrally, then arrives at a conclusion. "Mind if I take a look, then?"
"What?"
"You heard me," the detective says. "Is there a problem?"
"Sherlock," Lestrade begins, "that's a vampire."
Sherlock is already opening the door onto the main hallway. "A very weak one, yes. I take it you have no objections, then?"
John and Lestrade follow Sherlock out to stand in front of the glass-fronted cell again. "If he gets killed," Lestrade mutters to John, "you won't blame me, will you?" But he knows, as usual, that Sherlock is right.
Lestrade punches a ten-digit code into a pad on the wall and presses his thumb to a fingerprint scanner. Then he pulls out an ordinary key and inserts it into the cell door's keyhole.
"Something old, something new," Sherlock murmurs, glancing at the mechanism.
"Locks can't be hacked; biometrics identifiers can't be picked. You can't be too careful," Lestrade says quietly as Sherlock steps through the now-unlocked door.
The captive vampire remains in the corner, legs pulled tightly to his body. He raises his head slowly, eyes filling with what looks like terror.
Sherlock steps inside leisurely. He keeps his eyes focussed intensely on the other man as the door shuts with a quiet click.
The two scrutinize each other in silence. Lestrade is suddenly struck by how helpless the vampire truly looks, Sherlock towering over him. He has to remind himself that these creatures are incredibly manipulative and he should be ready to get Sherlock out at any moment.
John and the DI remain outside nervously, as the seconds pass, and then minutes, before the vampire tucks his head back under his arms and gives a muffled, "What do you want?"
It's the first sentence Lestrade has heard from the prisoner. His voice is thin, almost whiney.
Sherlock doesn't reply. Instead, he moves forward and sits on the bed, still looking at the vampire on the floor, who raises his head again after a few minutes. "Why are you still here? Are you going to kill me?" His voice is almost hopeful on the latter question, but Sherlock shakes his head. "I wish I was dead, Inspector, I really do. I didn't want to be like this." He finally starts talking earnest, though his volume doesn't rise very much. Lestrade and John have to strain their ears to hear.
"If you aren't going to kill me, you should leave. The drugs will wear off soon. I can start to feel it. Kill me. Please."
John raises his eyebrows in Lestrade's direction at this confirmation of Sherlock's deduction. He receives a short grunt of acceptance in return.
The vampire is still speaking. "I haven't fed from anyone since the first time, I promise. I can't be any help to you. If I knew anything I would tell you. You'd be better off with me dead," he says again. And then, more urgently, "I can start to smell your blood now. The drugs are supposed to numb my senses and cravings. I can tell you where I got them, if that's what you want. They do work, Inspector. If I tell you, will you leave?"
Sherlock shakes his head again. "I'm not an Inspector, and I'm not doing an official investigation," he says finally. "I'd like to talk. Intelligently, if you can manage that?" John barely detects the sarcasm below Sherlock's tone.
The vampire doesn't answer. Sherlock appears to take this as agreement. He leans forward, about to speak.
Suddenly, the vampire shrieks. "Why won't you leave me alone?" He curls up as tight as he can in his corner, and abruptly starts sobbing.
Then the wailing starts. "I thought, here at least, I could die in peace, but you found a way to get in, didn't you? You monsters, you want to make me like you?" He finally sees John and Lestrade on the other side of the transparent barrier. "You're human, help me!" he screams, wild-eyed.
Sherlock backs away slowly, hands up. The howling continues. "Fools, the lot of you! Wait until you're dead, will you?" And then, suddenly changing his tirade, "You're like them, aren't you? Monsters, all of you!"
Sherlock feels for the door behind him, currently closed. Lestrade hesitates, but the delirious vampire doesn't look like he's going anywhere, so he opens the door just enough for Sherlock to slip through before slamming it quickly.
Inside, the prisoner starts tearing at his own skin with his fingernails.
Even Sherlock is visibly shaken. "It could be a side effect of the drugs," he mutters. "Or he could be strong-willed enough to keep himself from feeding from me while I was in there, with this as a result. Mania in hunger, perhaps." He looks to Lestrade.
"He seemed rational enough when you first entered," the DI sighs.
"For a starved vampire, yes. But these could be withdrawal symptoms. If he's been on those drugs since he was turned, he's probably so dependent on them that he doesn't know how to control his thirst. It was lucky that the mania manifested itself before the thirst," Sherlock says.
"Damn right," Lestrade says angrily. "What if he'd ended up attacking you?"
Sherlock's mouth flattens. "I think we've established his weakness, Lestrade. He isn't in any shape to attack anyone."
"I don't know, Sherlock, that screaming looked pretty vigorous to me," John says as the group ascends the stairs back to street level.
"Text me if you find anything else," Sherlock mumbles, pulling out his mobile and scrolling through his short list of contacts.
"Wait, I thought you'd have a recommendation of some sort," Lestrade calls after the duo as they walk out the doors.
Sherlock doesn't pause as he sends the text. "He won't last a week, Inspector. Not hungry and without his suppressant drugs. My recommendation is a mercy killing."