fic bbc Sherlock: "Stretching." Vampires and hunters. chapter 5

[ariadne_chan]

Title: Stretching
Author: ariadnechan
Characters John/Sherlock, John/OCS; Irene/Moriarty, Irene/Kate, Irene/OC, Mycroft/OC, Mycroft/ Lestrade, Elsie(OC)/Holmeses, Moriarty/Elsie Holmes and Sherlock Holmes one sided,Moriarty/OCs.

Fandom: Sherlock BBC fusion with Vampire: the Masquerade; some Bram Stoker’s Dracula; and my own vampire world.
Rating fic: R/ Chapter: PG-13
Disclaimers: Most of this is not mine. Conan Doyle, Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat, Wizard of the Coast and Bram Stoker contributed a lot. I just put it in a shaker with my love and some of my own vampire creation and voila!

Betas: My wonderful and fabulous friend mildred_bobbin You are awesome and I love you! And thanks for the head ups in french to Sebahme!

Summary for the fic: The Holmes family had being hunting the rogue vampire, Moriarty, for centuries. Little by little he had been taking the world into his web but now the
Vampire Council has sent "The Sword and The Healer" to resolve the situation. Meanwhile, London was rearranging itself to receive a new wild card, Sherlock Holmes.
Summary for the chapter: Annais put on her best poker face before entering Moriarty's study. Some hours later Sherlock takes a cab.
Warnings: Spoilers for Asip, Canon au, Moriarty is crazy. My best try in the cabbie's talk, really bad english, and worse, because is what i got of it.
You can find the fic In: Here chapter 5 in AO3


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Chapter five



'I Will Not Let You Down...Purpose of Mine.'





Moriarty's Den, earlier 2009.






Annais Fernand was used to the work. It usually involved cleaning some vampires, faes or humans that had fallen from grace in James's eyes. Her new assignment was a novelty.


A human, a cabby, would be the executioner of some werewolves in order to make some political point of Moriarty clear, but without it tracing back to him. She had argued that she had never left a mark or clue leading to him, or her in the work. But James had been adamant, and final, and Annais was not prepared to fight him just to keep her pride.



So she had followed the cabby's choices of victims. Annais used her powers to dominate the Weres at some distance, so they followed the cabbie without protest to the place of the killings and the human did the rest.


The first had been a notorious business werewolf, an architect, who had worked for James. The second was a kid, that one she didn't understand, but she stayed in her post checking that everything went according to plan, so no one could link anything to the cabbie’s boss.


The third was a female in the government, a politician. And the fourth was also a strange choice, also female, a journalist, but no one of importance, a goth who worked with the occult or something. And there Annais had made a mistake. The werewolf left a carved note to warn her kind about the killings. James wouldn't be happy about it.


Annais put on her best poker face and entered his studio.


"So where were you exactly when that bitch decided to make doodles on the floor?" Moriarty shouted.


"I was ten meters away as always, boss. The problem was that stupid cabby let her do it, because he thought it was fun leaving a clue to the Yarders. I think we must finish him. He has started to act erratically and he is looking forward to meeting Sherlock Holmes next. I'm here asking for your permission to clean the operation."


James looked very interested at her report, and his humor was improving for some unknown reason.



"No, Annais, I like this little lab rat of ours, he has some je ne sais quoi that amuses me, and you know things doesn't amuse me anymore. We will let him play one more round." Now James was positively grinning.


Aren't you a little worried for your pet, Sherlock? He is only human, boss." Annais was worried, because if something happened to the guy it would be her fault for sure.


Moriarty dramatically put one hand to his mouth as he considered, and then his face contorted in anger. "NO!"


"No, no, no, and you know why not my beautiful doll?" he said while rising from his seat and standing much too near to Annais for her taste. "Because you will be there, Ma chère taking care of him for me." James smiled at her with all his teeth showing, his canines extended, but his eyes seemed innocent.


Annais instinct was to flee, but she stood her ground. "Of course James, I will take care of everything as usual." Her lips quirked into a small smile.


James pet her hair. "That’s my girl," he said while his face showed wickedness. "Now go and play with your toys, feed well, tomorrow you will have too much work to do any of that."


James swirled around and reached his desk, dismissing her with his hand. She didn't need to be told and left at once.


Annais went to the kitchens. She doubted she would have sufficient time to hunt so she grabbed some blood bags to pack for some provisions and a meal. She went to get some rest for three or four hours before she had to go out again to follow the human cabbie.


Annais started to realise that James wanted to get caught by Sherlock and Sherlock alone and this cabbie was really an incentive. She would need all the energy she could muster for saving that little detective from himself before Jefferson Hope could kill him. Moriarty was sure to have more games prepared for his new favorite, and more stupid work for her.




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London, 221b Baker Street, several hours later.



Sherlock had never felt so alive and happy than he did now with John Watson at his side, being at a crime scene with him, with his rapt attention. Then at the flat with his eyes piercing him, wondering about him, Sherlock wanted to be pinned at the door and ravished by John right there. But he needed to know everything about this man because there were layers upon layers upon layers, and he knew there was more there still. Sherlock was greedy with these new feelings that burned in his chest.


He had been a little afraid at the restaurant when John had drilled him with his eyes and so openly asked if he had a relationship. But the cab had arrived in time and then the chase had followed. Running through his London, pursuing suspects, even being wrong had never been so exhilarating.


And the case was spectacular, werewolves being targeted because of one thing in common, they worked in protecting the ‘Saint lines of power of the city’; which comes from, they believed, the mother earth, Gaia.


For shape shifters the planet was alive and had certain places where the magical force of the mother was more prominent and this power nurtured the Earth. So for some clans of shape shifters, especially Werewolves, this was like a crusade and the only reason several of them lived in the cities at all.


The victims were all activists in this mission: the first werewolf was an architect working in the protection and reconstruction of parks and botanic gardens around London. The second a female in the government, a Junior Transport Minister, trying to relocate large highways so it didn’t disturb more green environment. The third was a young cub, ecology activist, apparently he was very good hacker, an ability very rare in werewolves. And the fourth, Jennifer, was a journalist who work in the occult and promoting awareness about the evil of some industries like Pentex INC. Her diary gave him more in light of the connection between them all, and about how they were really trying to protect the points of power in London and in the places near the city.


All of these projects were in direct keeping with ‘Mother earth’ or shape shifters around the world protecting their numbers, and some magic power that supernatural beings used as a source of some kind. He must study more about alchemy and magic, apparently. Maybe Moriarty and his web were after the location of these points of power for some reason? He needed more data.


But there was something, always something amiss, and now it was a simple taxi driver. Why didn’t Sherlock see it right away? A cabbie hunted in the city in plain sight and everybody trusted intrinsically in the driver to take them to their destination. A cabbie would know a perfect location at any given time for the perfect murder; an abandoned place to kill and leave a body without being exposed.


Dwelling on his mistakes would not resolve the puzzle, so he must concentrate on the now.


Sherlock knew there were things he must do alone. When he read the message on the phone he knew. In one ten thousandth of a second he analysed every potential outcome so he sent John away and ran to the right where he knew the cab was and also the murderer.


And here there was a man in his fifties. Short, white hair, unassuming, but his eyes now said a simple, different thing, they said I killed before and I will continue after I’ve dealt with you.


"Cab, for Sherlock ‘olmes. I know all about you, an' I know you’ll came alone. Please enter."


For a moment, Sherlock had the intention to correct the awful grammar of the man, but he really want to resolve the case, so he let it slip and enter.


"You have an advantage over me, I don't know your name, or where are we going," said Sherlock in a calm, even voice.


"I'm Jefferson Hope, and we're gonna to a good quiet place, Mr. ‘olmes. We'll ‘ave a proper chat and you'll gonna kill yourself."


Sherlock observed the cabby and his environment. There was a picture of a young girl, like fifteen years old and another woman apparently folded over on the photographic paper. There was a book about werewolves and another by Nietzsche in the passenger seat in the front.


"How did you get interested in Werewolves in particular? Something that happened in your family?" Sherlock tried to convey nothing of the curiosity he felt in his voice.


"Dey said, you’ll try to be ol’ clever with me, you’ve got yourself a secret admirer you know?" The cabbie said nonchalantly.


"An admirer uh. And what did this person said to you about me?" asked Sherlock, really curious now.


"E said your really somethin', I read your blog, dat was proper thinkin' alright, not like ol’ dat airhead we must put up ol’ day. So I said to meself, I' want to know this Sherlock ‘olmes, to see for meself." Hope grinned. "An' ‘ere you’re!"


"Of course you are a clever man yourself. But why so interested in werewolves in particular, Mr. Hope?"


"Why not? They ar' not even humans! They don' count!" The cabbie was starting to get upset.


Sherlock soothed him because he wanted to know more, getting the man mad, wouldn’t help, so early in the game. "That is the truth, but in that case, why were you playing with lesser beings?"


"Mr. ‘olmes, they’re intelligent ol' right and dey are in the places humans must be, so dey’re fair play, and I gave ‘em a chance to win to ol' of ‘em. But I outwit 'em, just like I’ll outwit you
Mr. ‘olmes." He was positively sure of what he was saying.


Sherlock looked at the windows, he knew where they were going, odd choice. There were better and faster ways to get to Rolland-Kerr Further Education College, but they arrived anyway.


The man showed him a pistol loaded with silver bullets he used to lure the shapeshifters out, but really both of them knew it was not needed with him.


Sherlock followed the man into the building, anxious to know what will be happening next. He wanted to resolve the puzzle and finish the case, so he could come back to John. John, he had forgotten about him. Would he be worried? Maybe mad with him?


It was strange indeed, that the sandy-haired man was in his thought in this moment at all. Sherlock shook John from his mind and focused on the man who was opening a lab room for them. The persistence of John Watson in his mind at inconvenient moments was a puzzle for another time.


The cabbie offered him a seat in front of him near a big window, Sherlock accepted and the real game began.



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What Sherlock Holmes could not possibly know was that they were not alone. Annais Fernand was never far behind, jumping and running after them in her city. And when the cab finally stopped she was there. When they entered the building she was behind them like a shadow, and again when they sat in the lab. She was behind the door which was opened a little bit, sufficiently for a crossbow to find it's target when the time would come. The gun was an extension of her and it was set already on her mark, the old man on the right.