The Immortal.

Sherlock Holmes was a once a Detective. He always had a knack for seeing things, things that others couldn't. He had friends, well actually one, but that all changed. While on a case something happened to Sherlock Holmes. Something that will haunt him for the rest of his life. A secret that not even he knows. Disclaimer to Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Greg Lestrade, Mary Morstan All rights to these characters belongs to the author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

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“Sherlock! I don’t understand what makes you think that the murderer came this way.” He called to the thirty year old man walking a few paces before him.

“Of course he would John!”

The man, Sherlock, replied looking around the corner. The long jacket swung along the floor while he hurried in front of his companion.

“How did you know that?”

“When at the crime scene I noticed something, well several things really. One, there was the blood splatters on the collar of the young gentleman’s shirt. They were small but definitely there. Secondly, there was the dampness surrounding the young man-”

“It had rained Holmes.” John interrupted him.

“No John, it wasn’t rain. I’m sure of it.” He replied, “There was a smell coming from it. It was faint but definitely there. Thirdly I realized that there were marks on their wrists and around their necks suggesting a struggle.”

“Ok, but that doesn’t tell us exactly why you think that they came down here-”

“I was getting to that! Now, may I carry on?”
 “Yes.”

“The fourth thing was that there neck were pierced with what, at first, looked like animal bites-”

“Animal bites? Sherlock there are no animals in London that could have done it!” John argued, “Unless you count the dogs that occasionally walk the streets but they’re usually close to their owners!”

“Exactly my point John!”

“Right…” John trailed off and glanced away in an unsure manner, “So what is your point again?”

Sherlock sighed and spun around. Excitement was twinkling in the eyes of the male as he quickly announced:

“It was a Vampire!”

A moments silence passed between the two men. The shorter and stouter of the two lifted his hand in the air to point before his movements paused. His eyes widened in disbelief as his eyebrows furrowed and his head retracted back a little, then finally forwards again. His mouth ajar.

“A what?”

“A Vampire John!” He repeated, “Isn’t it obvious that I had just said that? Anyone would think you weren’t paying attention!”

“Have you been on Opium again?”

“What?”

The smile that had once been on the brown haired man’s face dropped instantly.

“Have you been to one of the dens?”

“No, of course not John!” He said indignantly, “What business would I have going there?”

“I don’t know Sherlock. Maybe to get high! Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps you came up with this ‘Vampire’ nonsense while being high?”

“I have no business in those types of places John! So I assure you that my deductions are made off precise and accurate evidence!”

“Surely that if Vampires existed we’d have heard of reported attacks?” He paused, “In fact Lestrade would have come to you!”
            “Lestrade is an idiot. Even if attacks were registered they’d be passed on as something highly illogical. Probably something like animal bites.”

“Which is what you just said they first looked like!” John shouted at him flabbergasted, “Now who’s being illogical?”

“Oh please John, I merely said that at first they looked like animal bites. In reality what animal cleans up after itself? The blood on the collar had been missed.” He told John calmly, “Now can we go to catch them please?”

“Fine!” He paused, “I feel like I’m babysitting a child.” He whispered.

John followed Sherlock slowly observing as his friends ran down the streets occasionally peering through windows where he heard him sometimes mutter ‘not in here’, or, ‘I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.’ He found it amusing how the tall man seemed to still have not finished putting everything together.

“Aha!” Sherlock shouted, “That’s it!”

Sherlock’s’ shouts had thrown the other male out of his thoughts. He blinked slowly and hurried after his friends’ voice.

“What in the blazes are you doing Holmes?” John shouted, “Put that bloody brick down now!”

Sherlock looked down at the brick with a frown on his face before dropping it carelessly on the floor. He briskly walked over to John and took hold of his cane. John eyed his friend cautiously before having to steady himself as Sherlock ripped it from John’s hand.

“What-?”

The sound of glass smashing and the scream of a woman being heard a little to the left of him.

“Quickly now Watson!”

He saw a tall figure sprint across the street from him. His eyes narrowed as the figure of his friend came into view.

“We must hurry now or it’ll be too late!”

He hurried over to Sherlock, who seemed to be more interested in a rusted old door, only to have the cane tapped lightly on his head.

“Thanks to you my good man we shall now have the most interesting case of our era closed!”

“Holmes…it was a homicide and to be frank with you I cannot believe how you’ve-”

“Ah…now I see.” Sherlock interrupted, “I knew I needed the glass but couldn’t for the life of me understand why.”

“What are you-? What in the blazes are you doing man?” John shouted suddenly, “You could kill yourself!”

“V…a…m...” Holmes started, “P…y…r…e… all done.”

Both men stared at the door. One horror struck and the other smiling in amusement as the doors hinges seemed to be as good as new. Holmes pushed the door lightly and watched intently as the door swung open as if on it was doing so of its own will.

“There…now shall we go in? I’m sure with all the ruckus I’ve already made they’ve been alerted to our presence.”

His arm outstretched gesturing for the shorter man to go on through first. There were a set of steps through the door.
“Oh and before I forget here is your cane. Is it new?” He asked, “Perhaps a gift from ones fiancé?”

“Now is not the time Holmes.” The latter replied, “Let us get this over with.” 

“Very well my good man! Now we really should hurry.”

Sherlock raced down the steps leaving John to shake his head in bewilderment at his friends’ actions.

“Oh do come along Watson! We don’t have all day!” Holmes shouted from down the staircase, “Lestrade will get here any minute and I don’t need that bumbling idiot to take credit for the case – well – at least not until I’ve had chance to check my deductions!”

“I’m coming!”

John followed down the steps slowly before coming to a set of door. It had appeared that Holmes had already gone through. He pushed the door open following suit before stopping behind his friend.

“Now do you see that Watson?” Holmes whispered, “They personalities are that of feral animals, yet they have quite an appeasing look to them don’t they?”

“If you say so although personally I think this is rather absurd.” He replied, “Vampires…what has the world come to?”

A little ahead of them, in the dimly lit room, stood a circle of hooded figures each holding a chalice. Each took a sip in turns from said chalices while muttering incoherent words. The two crept over to what looked like a small part of a wall and knelt down to observe.

“I’d have thought they’d have been more interesting considering how they’re portrayed through Stoker’s book…”

“Aha!” Watson shouted through whispers, “So you have fabricated it?”

“No, Stoker created the wrong impression of them and I simply didn’t put it all together.” Holmes told him, “I must be losing my touch.”

“I can assure you Mr. Holmes that no one in this room has ‘lost their touch’ so to say.” A voice behind them said, “In fact I must say Mr. Holmes that we are all rather big fans of yours.”

Sherlock and john looked at each other before looking towards the circle. The whispering of the group had stopped and each figure had turned to face their direction. Both men stood slowly, Sherlock pulling on the ends of his jacket to sort himself out.

“Good evening Gentlemen. How is one on this fine evening?”

No reply came from the hoods as each took a step towards them. Sherlock furrowed his brows for a moment as the chalices dropped to the floor a red liquid spilling out of them.

“The cloaks are lighter,” Holmes muttered, “Watson, I think we may have overstayed our welcome.”

They carried on walking in silence as the cloaks slowly fell from them and black started to surround the two well-dressed men.

“Yes I think we should leave.”

“On the count of three?”

“On the count of three,” Watson replied, “Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

 Both men took off running up the stairs and back into the dead of night.

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