My crazy muse came back from Honduras where he went to get his nasty cigars "from the source" with this nutty idea.
It is the first thing I original I have been able to write in weeks. I hope it is enjoyable.
At least I hope it is worth have to watch his vacation slides trying not to claw out my eyes...seriously a nude beach? URGHHHH!
::UPDATE:: Because of the many excited replies and to keep my muse away from the projector...SIGH!...I have turned this into a longer work so enjoy!
All characters not belonging to Arthur Conan Doyle probably belong to Bram Stoker...enjoy!
The Case of the Resurrected Flatmate
Proper decorum, yes that is what this is concerning.
Even under extreme circumstances such as the ones in which we have been living in these last years that is the one constant that must be maintained at all times. Otherwise we cease being men and give over to the animal nature that seeks to overrule our manners.
That struggle is great within you my friend, and I fear someday it may leave you all together, if that day comes, I will honour the vow, and I will follow through like I promised.
However, I will live in hope that the day Sherlock Holmes has to kill his dearest friend will not fall within my lifetime, let someone else years from now fulfil that promise, because I honestly don't know if this head can overrule my heart in this instance.
You have not lost the battle against the feral predator nature just yet, I am happy to say, this evening was proof of that.
The scuffle was pitched, and it was hard to keep his concentration where it needed to be. Lestrade was struggling with a man far larger than him over to the right and Watson was under a pile of muscle to left, Holmes was finishing up dispatching the man who had the temerity to draw a knife on him with a nasty left cross.
"Lestrade do you need assistance?" Holmes called looking around for a new combatant.
"Mind yerself, I've got this sorted," Lestrade called, even though it looked like false bravado at the moment.
Holmes moved to assist, just as Lestrade, who looked on the verge of being overpowered and throttled, caught the man with a rather unsportsmanlike knee to the groin, and then smashed the man's bent over head with the remains of a chair leg.
"That was not very gentlemanlike, Lestrade," Holmes chided.
"You've accused me of many things over the years, but being a gentleman has never been one of your insults," Lestrade replied between pants trying to catch his breath.
Lestrade pointed over the mass of grunting bodies where their friend was still dealing with his assailants. "Why don't you see if Watson needs aid?"
Holmes shrugged and pulled out a pipe, lighting it with practiced ease as a full grown ruffian flew through the air past them and smashed into the wall. "Because, dear Lestrade, Watson has not needed physical assistance for some time now."
"Watson, cease toying with those men so I can arrest them and be done with my night!" Lestrade demanded with a note of irritation.
Watson was holding one man off the floor with casual ease while a larger man had an arm around his throat from behind and another man was trying to trip him up. He sighed at the bother of it all and used the man he had held in the air to knock the man holding his legs off and then tossed the man on his back on top of the other two. "There," he said as he wiped his hands, "satisfied?"
Before Lestrade could comment the tip of Watson's own sword cane burst through his chest from behind. They all had a moment were time slowed down staring at the bloody blade in shock.
"Ow...I liked this coat," Watson complained.
The man who had snuck up behind him and struck the blow looked stricken at his lack of incapacitation.
"That was a lethal blow, automatic hanging, so this man's life is forfeit, what say you?" Watson remarked casually as he pulled the sword cane from his back and dropped it to the floor with a clunk then turned and grabbed his cowering impaler.
Holmes blew out a plume of smoke in a manner that betrayed his boredom, "I concur."
"Just get it over with," Lestrade informed with a wave.
Fangs showed under his thick moustache as Watson smiled and in a flash buried his teeth into the man's neck bearing him to the floor, soon the would be killer's heels were drumming on the floorboards as his hands spasmed while Watson stayed fastened to his neck.
"That's the third one this month, are you sure he's not turning?' Lestrade murmured to Holmes as he lit up a cigarette.
Holmes shrugged. "I am fairly confident that he can hear you Lestrade."
Lestrade shrugged. "He knows the laws that govern his continued existence; he would be the first to tell you the question is fair, need I remind of the vow he made us..."
"You remind me of nothing, Lestrade, you know my memory," Holmes informed him archly.
Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Are you quite done, Watson?"
Watson stayed at the neck but held up a finger back to Lestrade to give him a moment.
"How long does it take to drain a man?" Lestrade complained.
"On Watson's behalf he was a rather large bloke," Holmes informed with a smirk.
"I hate that gurgling noise," Lestrade grumbled.
Holmes blew a smoke ring before remarking, "I have never had my life's blood sucked out through two holes in my jugular mind you, but I don't think it would give me cause to hum Mendelssohn."
He was rewarded with one of Lestrade's textbook glowers.
Watson drew back with a gasp of breath. "That hit the spot," he remarked with a contented sigh.
He turned to the other two men. "To enter my own opinion to the conversation in progress, I am not turning; I will swear to any oath you wish to put to me."
Lestrade grimaced. "That statement might be more apt to be believed if your moustached was not currently dripping with your...ummm...repast."
Watson looked positively appalled when he realized that he did indeed have blood in his moustache, he made his way over to what appeared to be a basin and began to clean it fastidiously.
"You could just shave the damned thing and be done with it," Holmes called in a teasing tone.
Lestrade and he exchanged a look before Lestrade added, "why not go clean shaven, you are the only parasite I've seen with facial hair, that has to be an affectation of the recently dead."
Watson shot them a glare his eyes glinting red. "We've had this particular discussion, and the term is Vampyre."
Lestrade and Holmes mocked being frightened. "And so we have," Holmes remarked with a grin.
"I should drain you both and be done with it," Watson grumbled.
Lestrade and Holmes laughed at that. "Come on, dear boy, let's have cocktails at Simpsons to celebrate, I think they can make you a Bloody Mary."
Watson smirked. "This is Thursday, so it's a Bloody Susan."
Lestrade looked sick. "I'll pass."
He blew his whistle and the constables that had been awaiting such a signal came pouring in. "We've got six to arrest and one snack," he called to the Sergeant in charge, he nodded and tipped his hat nervously as he passed Watson.
Watson's eyes showed a flash of pain at the sidelong glances he was receiving.
He retrieved his cane trying to not startle anyone and sheathed it still covered in his own blood.
"I've got to go change, I'll see you there, I feel like a bit of a fly," Watson murmured as he passed then and headed out.
Lestrade sighed. "I know he wishes he could go back to human, but he really is doing a lot of good in his current state."
"He is practicing as a doctor again, has a midnight clinic for Vampyres who need medical care, but he used to enjoy the sunlight so much I know it pains him," Holmes mused.
"Remember what Van Helsing said," Lestrade said cautiously, knowing that he was treading on a touchy subject.
Holmes gave him the glower he deserved. "He still wears a silver crucifix, he could not do that if he were completely soulless, he is the most obstinately stubborn man I have met if anyone can remain a man he can."
"And if he does go over, how will you know?" Lestrade pressed not liking his role.
Holmes glowered at him then pulled a silver chain out from behind his cravat dangling his own piece of jewellery.
Lestrade nodded his eyes grave. "I pray to the good Lord that you'll never see it light."
"So do I, Lestrade," Holmes replied with a weary resignation, "so do I."
I believe in you, my friend, I still trust you at my back, and I know that you rely on that belief to bolster your own.
I find it amusing that we see each other now as much or more than before you stopped to help Lucy Westenra that fateful night, with my habits I'm am nearly a Vampyre myself, minus the monotonous diet of course.
I was told by Van Helsing something I have never related to Lestrade, or to you that for that matter. He said that he had never met anyone who was able to fight against the dark cravings for longer than a few short months, and he was certain that I would be staking you before the year ends.
That conversation took place three years ago now, and you still kiss your Saint Christopher before you head out at night without it burning your lips.
In a world in which nightmare boggles have stepped into the gaslight announcing their existence to the world, in a time of miracles there is still one that trumps them all in my mind.
Your heart, dear Watson, I cannot trust the creature you've become entirely, but your will is something upon which I will bet my life without hesitation.
I feel a need to record the events of that dark time here for posterity's sake, so if in some future moment you choose to remember me by my words you will have this reminder of those first days...how I had to bury the best friend I've ever known...and how I got him back.
The people have spoken, I am working on the next chapter now.