Chapter Text
I step up on to the ledge of Southwark Bridge. The cocaine I took has long worn off, and the pain of hunger for blood begins to rise. It's the worst pain I've ever felt, more painful than when I was bitten, though, to be fair, I can't remember the event all that clearly.
Looking over the edge, and I see the reflection of the moon in the Thames. I always loved looking at the Thames as a child, so calm on the surface yet incredibly deadly once you descend into its black waters. My father used to take me on long walks along the South Bank. We'd walk past the Tate Modern, the Globe Theatre, we even made it as far as the National Theatre once. But that was so long ago...
What has become of my life?
A bite to the heart in the middle of the night, and the next morning finding myself surrounded by dead bodies all drained of their blood, that's what.
My throat burns with thirst just thinking of my first kill. But I won't have to worry about that for long, one quick dive into the water and two years of hell will be erased.
I quickly put the note I'd written explaining who I was, what I thought I was, down on the ledge beside me. I didn't have anyone left to address it to, but it would surely help the conscience of the poor sod who would find my body washed up somewhere along the river.
One more step, and it'll all be over. My foot is inches from being over the edge. So close...
"Oi! Mate!" the voice of a young man standing behind me calls out, "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" I groan.
"It looks like you're about to make a big mistake." he says sternly.
It's 3 in the morning, what's this guy doing here anyway?
I turn around to get a better look at him. He looks so...ordinary. Young, no older than his early twenties, surprisingly short, with short blond hair. He was nothing too special to look at, but as I kept staring I could feel my teeth begin to slip out, preparing for a bite. His skin smelt so fresh, his blood so sweet... I was craving him as much as I was craving a hit of cocaine.
No, stop it! You said you were done with this. No one has to suffer anymore if you just jump. Go!
"Please, just step down." he begins to walk closer, putting his hand out trying to calm me, "Whatever it is you're going through, you can work it out."
"You take one more step towards me and I swear I will jump." I threaten, inching back to prove myself.
"I can help you through this." he pleads.
"You don't know what I am! What I've done!" I shout, walking closer to the edge. "No one can help me now."
I lean back until gravity takes over, pulling me the rest of the way into the black water.
"Oh my god!" the man runs to the ledge as a last ditch effort to save me, but he is too late.
Already I feel the cold water pierce through my thin sweater and quickly I'm sucked beneath the surface. As I fall deeper, and my limbs loose their feeling. I can see the man standing at the ledge running nervous fingers through his short hair. The cold water grips my lungs, they contract in pain and all the air stored in my body escapes.
The pain blazes through my body. I can't take it, this is what I wanted, but now I'm not so sure. I try to move my limp arms, but suddenly they don't listen. The heavy water holds them back with its icy grip.
Please God, let me live.
I should have taken his offer, being a vampire can't be worse than the pain I'm feeling now. I could have found a way...
Slowly my vision blurs, and consciousness evades me.
*****
"I was wondering when you'd get up."
I blink. Bright lights surround me, a familiar face stands above me. I move my arms, they slide across crisp white sheets. I begin to feel it all around me, I'm lying in a bed.
Whose bed?
I look up again, it's the man from the bridge.
Where am I?
"You're probably wondering where you are." he answers, "This is my flat. This is my bedroom." He points at where I'm lying, "That's my bed."
I sit up silently, the white linen falls away from my chest which is bare apparently. Mind you, now that I think of it, I'm not wearing anything at all. I give my host a questioning glance.
"Your clothes are in the wash." he answers again, he's quite good at jumping to conclusions. "That's how you treat a patient with hypothermia."
"You take off their clothes and seduce them into your bed while they're mostly unconscious?" I hoarsely comment.
"Don't get clever. I slept on the sofa." He stands there for a moment, arms crossed, "I'm John, by the way. John Watson. I'm a med student at St. Bart's so you don't have to worry about..." he trails off trying to find the right words, "...being embarrassed or anything. I work on cadavers, so I've seen a lot worse. And a lot better, actually."
I laugh at his attempt to distance himself from the awkward situation by immediately resorting to sexual innuendoes.
"Your name?" he persists.
I hesitate. Why do I trust him? For all I know he could be some crazy serial killer. But then again, who am I to talk. "Sherlock."
"Sherlock...nice name."
"You're a rubbish liar. It's a terrible name."
"Yeah, you're right. It is bloody awful." he smiles, I laugh again. He moves slightly towards the door, "Kettle's just boiled, extra clothes are in the closet, bathroom's just next to it. You can come out whenever you're ready."
"Thanks," I mumble back, I doubt he heard me. He closes the door behind him, and I get out of the warm bed. I open the closet door, rows of plaid shirts and ugly kitted sweaters stare back at me.
Does this guy even own a mirror?
I glance next to me,
Apparently yes.
It's been a long time since I've looked at myself. Skin paler than ever, hypothermia will do that to you I suppose, dark curls a mess from sleeping. My hands trace over the scar just above my heart; two thin, yet incredibly deep puncture wounds surrounded by scorched skin given to me by my creator. I feel my heartbeat, just slightly faster than it was last I checked. This is probably what John was referring to. He'd likely ask me about it, too.
I settle for a pair of jeans and white T-shirt. Everything is just a few sizes too small. I wish I had my old clothes back, I wish I had my old life back before everything went wrong...
After taking a quick shower and running a comb through my mess of curls, I walk out into the main room. The whole flat appears to be as simple as the bedroom, boring white walls and light wood flooring. The kitchen stands to the left of the front door, and the den to the right. John is standing over the stove preparing tea. He looks back at me, and smiles,
"Sorry about that, I forgot how short I am." He brings me a cup of tea.
I take a sip of the drink, it's very good. Could use sugar though. "It's fine," I answer, "I'm abnormally tall."
"Right. How old did you say you were?"
That's a difficult question. Anatomically I'm eighteen, but I've been eightee for two years so technically I'm twenty. He wouldn't believe that though.
I shrug in reply, "Don't really remember." I look like a tramp anyway, and tramps don't remember things like that.
"Right then." He sits at the kitchen table, I follow. We sit in silence.
He looks at my chest, the spot right above my heart, and I can tell he's tempted to ask about it. He doesn't, though, thank god.
The early morning sun peaks over the windowsill and illuminates the slight highlights in his golden hair. There's nothing particularly striking about him, but I still can't look away. He moves his arm to rub the back of his neck, likely sore from sleeping on the sofa. I look at his arms, incredibly toned for just a med student, there must be more to him than meets the eyes.
Eyes. His eyes are actually quite beautiful. A deep blue, so blue the sky doesn't even compare. The only other person I've seen with such vibrant eyes was my...
No, don't bring them into this.
"So, Sherlock. Tell me a bit about yourself." he interrupts.
I look down at my tea, struggling to find something to say, "I live on the streets, I used to have a family, but they're all gone now..."
I'm a blood sucking vampire and could drain you in less than 5 minutes
"...and I was supposed to die last night."
John clears his throat, "You're welcome."
"I didn't thank you."
"Yes, but you should have."
"Why did you save me?"
"Because I'm a bloody med student and I took the hypocratic oath. It's my job to stop people from dying."
"You're a med student, you haven't taken the hypocratic oath yet."
"Yeah, well I'm practicing. I'm likely to come across a lot of suicidal young men when I go off to..." he stops himself before he tells me too much, "In the future. Being a...a doctor and all."
Suddenly it clicks. My brain is a bit slow from almost dying a few hours before, but I can still deduce, "You're going off to war, aren't you?"
He stops drinking his tea for a moment, I've probably shocked him just a bit. "How the hell did you know that?"
"I didn't know, I noticed. You're a medical student and you're likely very busy with work,” I point to a stack of papers in the den, “I can see you have a pile of assignments sitting on the coffee table you've decided to put off, yet you keep yourself incredibly fit. You don't just find the time to work out, you make time. Building up muscle for something then.” I lean back in my chair and relax slightly, “You were up last night at three in the morning, but you were sober so not drinking. You were alone, not with any fellow students, so it wasn't something school related that you were up for. My best guess was that you were walking around in the middle of the night trying to get used to the time difference between here and somewhere in the Middle East." I rattle off.
"Why the Middle East?" he asks matching my speed.
"Because that's where the wars are."
"Well, that...was amazing."
I'm surprised by his positive reaction, "You think so?"
"Of course it was. Extraordinary, quite extraordinary."
I pick up my tea again, "That's not what people normally say."
He does the same, "What do people normally say?"
"Piss off."
He bursts into laughter. I'm not really sure why, that wasn't meant to be a joke. "Well, you're right about everything." he says between giggles.
"Obviously."
More laughter, "I'm going to Afghanistan for training in six months."
He begins to clear the table before I can get him to talk more on the subject.
"You could've been wrong, though." he says from the sink, "I could have been up because I just wasn't tired."
"Oh please," I begin, "you slept like a baby last night, on the sofa no less. You were exasperated."
"Yeah, well diving into the Thames to pull your sorry arse out kind of drained me."
I smile, "Thank you."
He smile back, "You're welcome."
"Now, I have to go to class," he says after a moment of silence, "but you're welcome to stay here. And help yourself to whatever's in the fridge!"
He gathers some textbooks, grabs his black jacket, and is out the door. I, again, am left alone.