The Saturnalia of London - Sherlock Homles x Vampire the Masquerade

The fog only seemed to get thicker as Dr Watson walked towards 221B Baker Street. He had decided on walking there as he didn't desire anyone knowing his whereabouts at the moment, Especially Gabirel who seemed to have an uncanny ability to see through the fog. Maybe he was watching now? Dr Watson pulled his heavy overcoat closer; he should have never taken that job. It didn't take long to arrive at Baker Street, the cobbled paths had a soothing effect on Dr Watson as if he was walking away from his problems. Considering what he was about to do, his problems could multiply. The door leading to 221B Baker Street was rotten and the placement of the door was warping. A flaking note on the door read "The resident is currently not accepting any guests." Dr Watson ignored the note and carefully opened the door. There was a moment of doubt in Dr Watson's mind as he walked up the stairs, was Sherlock his best hope?

The door to the living room was wide open, steeping inside Dr Watson saw a person laying on the ground looking up at the ceiling. Around him were candles and books in a circular pattern. The person laying there was of course, Sherlock Holmes. Watson Hadn't seen him for a what would be now a few months, but Sherlock's figure was still as taut as ever with what he could swear was the same buttoned shirt and jacket with matching pants he had worn the last time Watson saw him.
"Don't you know how to read, no guests it said."
Sherlock seemed in throw the words together like a juggling act in a circus. Watson decided to catch him off guard for once.
"I wasn't aware that I was so long forgotten to be considered a guest."
Sherlock bolted out of his trance like state and sat up looking for Watson whereabouts for a moment before fixing his eyes on him.
"Watson, Watson what a pleasure to see you again, how long has it been?"
Sherlock looked dazed but still sharp, Watson wasn't sure if it was the drinking or drug use that had dulled his senses but it did find himself glad to see Sherlock somewhat.
"A few months, maybe more, tell what ritual are you re-enacting?"
Sherlock wrestled with floor for a moment before standing up in front of Watson.
"Surprisingly European in origin, great for the lower back, you must try it some time."
Holmes wit had at least been unimpaired by his habits.
"That I will, are the candles a necessary part of the ritual?"
Sherlock was returning to normal and was seemingly excited by some conversation.
"Explicitly so, without it your mealy laying on the ground".
Watson didn't want to break the moment of reunion with his bleak circumstances but the feeling of the looming danger was crawling over him. Sherlock must've have sensed Watson change in demeanor, he shifted closer to Watson.
"You're not here for a social call, are you?"
Watson pointed at the two chairs at the far end of the living room.

"let's take a seat and have a chat."
They sat opposite sides of each other and Dr Watson began telling Holmes the events of the night. Sherlock listened intently until the very end of Watson story. Ending the story, Watson pulled his pipe from his jacket pocket and began to smoke. Holmes sat quietly steeping his hands together, looking at the ground. Finally, he raised he his eyes at looked at Watson.
"It would seem you are indeed in far deeper than you could imagine."
"Far deeper?"
Holmes stood up from his chair and slowly walked to the fireplace against the far wall, reaching for his pipe that was on top of the fireplace, then lighting it.
"Dark forces move in the shadows, even more sinister and intelligent than we may deduct them to be."
Watson stepped closer to Holmes hoping to hear even a grasp of hope. Sherlock took a long puff on his pipe before continuing.
"I have been tasked several times with finding missing persons, a job I find rather rewarding I might add."
Another long drag on his pipe, followed by more silence from both men.
"On the odd occasion however, I was approached by a trio of men, at night, then told to give this one case a miss and it was added in no uncertain terms that if I continued to investigate that case, it may very well become my last case."
Watson could see the similar thinly veiled threats in both his and Sherlock's encounters. There must be a connection to them. Watson now took his turn to break the silence.
"Did you happen to find the bodies of these missing persons."
Holmes looked into the fireplace, it was barely lit, Watson wasn't sure of what he hoped to see in there.
"Only once, that was the time I encountered the men."

Watson was finally able to deliver his punchline.
"Did you examine the body, if so, did you notice any odd marks on the body."
Sherlock looked away from the fire and then directly at Watson.
"There was two slightly larger than pin sized holes on the neck."
Watson heard the confirmation he feared. Deciding to continue the line of questioning and put any doubts in his mind regarding the connections to rest.
"Sherlock, tell what did the man who spoke to you look like?"
Holmes gave Watson a look that confirmed they were now both on the same page. Sherlock took a long puff of his pipe, breathing the smoke out slowly.
"He looked like a proper gentleman with a look tailed coat and waistcoat, long black hair pulled back and piercing eyes."

 

Neither Watson or Holmes had a great deal of time before events could go south. Both men had a run in with the same gentleman, someone who Dr Watson was now directly tied too. Although Sherlock and John's relationship was more distance now, he was Watson's best and maybe only hope to resolve the problem that faced him. Why was their relationship so distance? Watson desperately wanted to branch their differences but he feared Sherlock's reaction and he needed him to be focused. John felt some guilt for not patching up their friendship before asking Holmes for his help, but John reasoned with himself that this was the only way. Beside everything they were now both tied to this case. Sherlock was gathering his hat and coat from various random locations around his flat, order was greatly missing from his life. Regardless he found his things and both of the men exited the Baker street residence.
"Are you planning on telling where we are going"?
Sherlock smirked as he put his coat on.
"The pub."
Someone who is been cryptic, at least implies there is something to be figured out before you can discover their true meaning. Going to the pub was taking cryptic to needle in the haystack difficulty. Watson decided to amuse Holmes.
"Why are we going to the pub?"
Sherlock was striding through the foggy streets, Watson wondered if he even heard him.
"Well I want to question the parties involved with my cases but it would rude to wake them at this hour."
Maybe the pub was the best choice. Sherlock slowed his pace and walked alongside Watson.
"Also pubs are great places for information regarding the local happenings, many a great tale starts at a pub Watson."
Watson was pleased he actually got his answer.
"Also many tales start and end at pubs."

Sherlock picked up his pace again.
"Well, we'll just to wait and see what kind of tale awaits us."
The night was still as foggy as before, the few streetlamps around barely even pieced through the fog. Holmes continued down the street for what seemed like a few blocks and then stopped outside a row of shops. A dim lit building was just ahead with the sign O'Reilly above the door. Sherlock headed inside and held the door open for Watson.
Inside the pub was dull and lifeless. The bar sat in the center of the room on the right side. Stools were around it in a odd order and small round tables with some chairs stacked on the tables as if they were shutting up for the night. The pub air hung with smoke and alcohol. The bartender stood behind the bar cleaning glasses. He looked in his forties, clean shaven with slightly greying black hair and wearing the typical bartender attire. He looked up at us as if he only just realized we were there, he looked exhausted.
"Evening gentleman, we are about to be shutting up for the night."

Sherlock smiled and started stacking the remaining tables.
"A thousand apologizes, we've had a long night, I'll make a deal with you."
The bartender watched Sherlock stacking table up and looked at Watson for an explanation. Watson in turn shrugged and sat on one of the stools. The bartender looked back at Sherlock.
"What deal?"
Holmes was just about finished with stacking the table.
"One pint for me and my friend and I'll help you with these tables."
As Sherlock finished speaking he stacked the final table and sat at the bar alongside Watson. The bartender just stared at Holmes.
"Is that deal, good sir?"
The bartender signed and grabbed two fresh mugs and started pouring two pints. Sherlock looked over the bar.
"Pour one for yourself sir, you look as if it's been a long night."
The bartender laughed slightly finishing the two pints and passing them to Holmes and Watson.
"Every night here is a long night."
Sherlock drank a mouthful of his pint.
"Drink with us sir, you're in good company, tonight has been long for us as well."
The bartender looked more at ease and poured himself a drink. Watson decided he better join the conversation.
"what makes the nights around here tedious?"
The bartender, now with drink in hand looked directly at Watson.
"I just work here, the owner of this pub had to get a loan to keep this place afloat."
Sherlock perched forward towards the bartender.
"Trouble concerning unpaid fees for said load?"
The bartender continued to drink, looking at both Holmes and Watson.
"This conversation is to stay between us three gentleman, understand?"
Both men nodded and bartender put his drink down and continued.
"When payments aren't made, patrons start disappearing."
This part of London seemed cursed, stories just this was not as uncommon as one would think. Money was in short supply and many unsavory character chose to exploit that. Sherlock rustled in his jacket pockets, pulling ten pounds out and handing it to the bartender.
"The drinks are only two pound for both."
Sherlock waved his hand.
"The extra is to make up for what I'm about to ask you."
The bartender pocked the money and looked slightly worried.
"Has any of your missing patrons ever been found?"
He skulked his drink, taking his time.

"I hear stories that once or twice they have, but the investigations were stopped abruptly."
Sherlock hadn't touched his drink since he first mouthful. He was poised and paying full attention to the bartender.
"Did you happen to hear if there was anything odd about the victims?"
The bartender frowned and looked slightly surprised.
"Yes, there were some sort of marks on the necks, guessing it was from rodents, most of the bodies were dumped in rubbish heaps."
Watson started to regret finding those marks. He should have just looked the other way. Sherlock reached his hand out and shook hands with the bartender.
"Gentleman's agreement of confidence, thank you for the drinks, we'll leave and let you shut up for the night."
He looked relieved and returned to his cleaning. Watson and Holmes stepped back into the night. The two men headed back towards Baker Street. The foggy night was finally starting to clear, Sherlock's Baker Street flat was just ahead. Slowing to a gradual stroll, Holmes broke the silence.

"Watson, considering what happens to people who don't uphold their end of the deal with these individuals we have encountered-"
He stopped himself, he looked blankly into space before continuing.
"I realize your fear regarding the possibility of processing the body in your clinic impacting your medical practice."
Yet more silence, Sherlock stepped towards the door of his Baker Street, possibly buying himself more time to think.
"I fear until we know how much danger you are in; you should follow the instructions they gave you to the letter."
In other words, buying more time with raising as little suspicion as possible. Watson knew this was the only logical path forward, he still couldn't help but want to push back.
"Sherlock, I could delay the transfer till we find more information."
Holmes frowned and started to open the door in front of him.
"John, if they can make people disappear, they easily have the ability to trace whether or not you transfer the body, it's too risky."
Cold hard reason, it undeniable when you're faced with it, but it still hurts.
"I can't disagree with you; god knows I wish there was a better option."
Sherlock stepped inside, standing in the doorway for a moment.
"It's the only option for now, Watson meet me here at midday so we can find another option if possible."
It was the only choice, Watson nodded at Holmes and both men when their separate ways. Sherlock searched his flat high and low for something of interest, while Watson returned to his clinic. Processing the body didn't take long and Watson for the most part was too exhausted to think of much else. Sleep came to Watson eventually that night, Holmes on the other hand was entranced with one of his many books.
Midday arrived fasted that Watson had hoped for. He was outside the Baker Street flat once again and was waiting on Sherlock. He came down out the door in a rush and continued walking past Watson.
"Follow me Watson, we're almost out of time."

Out of time for what exactly, Watson had no idea as usual and just followed Holmes down and around several streets and alleyways. Sherlock broke his fast pace as they entered a small alleyway, a shop was ahead, the entrance was behind a wall with cracked cobblestone stairs leading to the door. Rarities and Amusements was the shop's name. Sherlock stopped completely just in front of the stairs to the shop.
"I know my interests of late have caused a divide between us, but I think if you get me a chance to show you the exact nature of what it is, you will be surprised."
His interests were what was considered dark arts and unnatural cures for aliments. Watson been a man of modern science was shocked by the process of these that it had made a drift between himself and Holmes. But he wanted to hear what Sherlock had to say.
"These are not dark arts, just lost knowledge of old."
Watson was doubtful, he still hoped for a logical answer to all of this.
"I'll trust you Sherlock, please don't make me regret it."
Holmes smiled and pointed to the shop.
"Inside is my contact for all of this old knowledge, he is known as the Antiquarian."
Inside the shop it looked like half a collector's dream and half an herbalist's hut. A number of odd jewels and boxes were laid about the place with herbs and what looked like vitals of liquid hung on the walls. Behind what looked like a long wooden desk sat a small elderly man with a mostly bald head and an unusually large nose upon which he had a pair of round glasses. The was surrounded on each side of the desk with books, scrolls and charts. He shifted a stacked pile of books to one side after realizing he had guests.
"Go away, I'm busy, come back another day."
Like a doorway, he shifted the pile of books back in front of him and continued with whatever he was doing. Sherlock looked at me and smiled slightly.
"O Antiquarian, the man who knows everything."
The pile of books jolted aside this time and the man stared at Sherlock like a wolf hunting prey.
"I am not he, but I am the Antiquarian, you have been reading what you brought last I see, Sherlock."
Sherlock moved closer to the desk as Watson stood back slightly.
"Yes, quite the book, five hundred years is long for just one man."
The Antiquarian laughed hoarsely.
"Maybe more, so why are you here?'
Sherlock glanced a look in Watson's direction.
"I seek knowledge regarding a very particular subject."
The sound of the Antiquarian's chair moving forward across the wooden boards filled the room for a moment.
"Tell me Sherlock, what knowledge do you seek?"
Holmes leaned towards the Antiquarian; Watson moved closer so he could hear what Sherlock had to say.
"I seek knowledge about vampires."