#foxievampire

[galtori]

Chapter 3!

The next morning, John woke early and got ready. No one had bothered him that night, so he supposed that Sherlock hadn't found any work. John wasn't sure if he should be glad about that or not. He got ready and brought a bag with him, packing his swimming suit. He repeated his appearance from last night, limping around to the front. A different servant answered the door today, but when he stated his name, he was shown into a large dinning hall and his bag was taken, presumably to a coat rack room. Ten minutes later, Sherlock showed up. Just as he set down, several servants came out bearing different dishes. "I wasn't sure what you wanted, so I made sure to have them cook several different dishes. I apologize for my tardiness, I stayed up later after the party." "I can't imagine what you were doing, Mr. Holmes," John answered amicably as he tucked into a lovely quiche and some waffles. "Oh please, call me Sherlock. Mr Holmes ages me." Sherlock stood and began taking something from each of the different plates. John had all but smack the other man with a spoon to keep Sherlock from taking all the crepes. "Oy, save some for me. And I don't see how you keep such a small frame if you eat like that," John remarked as Sherlock finally settled down to eat. "Dr. Watson, what you see is very atypical of me. However, I am not working today, therefore I am famished." Sherlock then poured them both tea, which John gratefully accepted. "Now now. That is hardly fair." A small smile quirked Sherlock's lips. "Very well, John. But when I am working, I dislike eating. My mind becomes the focus of what I do. Everything else is transport." With that, he tucked into some eggs. They stayed in companionable silence for maybe 10 minutes an older woman entered the dining room. "Good morning Sherlock. I'm glad to see that the mess was cleaned up as always. Oh, and you have such a large breakfast in front of you. I'm glad about that too. Oh, hello," the woman finally turned her attention to John. "You must be the fellow Sherlock mentioned earlier this morning." "I didn't see Sherlock meet anyone else last night, so it must be me. John Watson," he introduced himself, shaking the woman's hand as she helped herself to breakfast. "I'm Mrs. Hudson. I technically own this estate, but Sherlock has been good enough to give it life lately." With that she settled down to eat near Sherlock, and the three continued breakfast in comfortable silence.

After breakfast, Sherlock took John to tour most of the bottom floor. Mrs. Hudson joined them long enough to get to her own room, where they parted ways. As it turned out, that was one of the few rooms guests weren't allowed in during Sherlock's parties. They also passed the ballroom, which held a handsome organ that was played by the supposed heir of Mozart, if the grapevine was to be believed. Sherlock insisted that he was, though he was not the closest heir. Apparently there was a second that Sherlock hadn't found yet. And of course, that person, whomever he or she was, would be welcome to the residence to play. John quietly chuckled as Sherlock spoke of plans for sonatas and concertos. A great deal of it flew right over his head, but Sherlock always managed to keep him just enough in the loop, adding details and explanations whenever the doctor grew too confused. After a tour of the downstairs, they took in parts of the upstairs, and one of the towers. John had never seen so many books in the same building his whole life, and that included every library he had ever known. None of them came close to the Holmes residence. Sherlock also provided a good deal of stimulating conversation. Apparently, they had both served in the English military around the same time, though John hadn't recognized Sherlock's division. At that moment, a manservant came into the room, announcing that a police chief had arrived. Sherlock sat up and set his tea aside before responding. “At last,” he whispered, then raised his voice. “Send him in at once.” Now he turned his attention back to John. “This is what I do.” But before John could ask any questions, the a man came into the room. The man was dressed in the easily recognized blue police uniform. John would place him in his 40's, with signs of graying hair. The man gave John a strange look before focusing his attention on Sherlock. "You have a case." Sherlock stated, staring out a nearby window at the bay. "There's been a fourth suicide. This one left a note," the man replied. John remembered glancing at the paper before he left his cottage and remembered seeing an article about a string of suicides. "You're talking about the three suicides that were in the news? The ones that people are starting to think are linked?" John spoke, wishing to confirm his suspicions. "Will you come, Mr. Holmes?" The man asked, ignoring John in favor of Sherlock. "To answer your question, Dr. Watson, yes. And to ask you another, would you like to see my work?" Sherlock asked, and John had to blink. "You would want me to come with you?" "You are an exprienced army doctor. A second medical opinion wouldn't hurt," Sherlock casually told him. John glanced at the man in the doorway again, who seemed to be watching the entire exchange with an intense interest. "Why not? I don't know how much stranger my day could get," John finally relinquished. His sister would insist that he really had gone mad. "Very well then, Captain Lestrade. We will join you. Give me a moment to gather my things and inform Mrs. Hudson, and we will join you outside." With that, Captain Lestrade turned and walked back the way he came. Once the man left hearing range, Sherlock jumped into the air, giving a small whoop of jubilation. "Come along, Dr. Watson! We have a case today!" With that, the man almost bounded from the room, John limping on his cane to keep up. The pair then went to Mrs. Hudson's room. John arrived in time to see her emerge. "Mrs. Hudson, I don't know when I'll be back. There's been a fourth suicide. There's a serial killer in New York! Leave something for John and me tonight.” “I'm not your housekeeper,” the woman insisted. “And it isn't right for you to be so happy, dashing about like this because of murders.” But the woman was chuckling and straightening Sherlock's coat. “Who cares, Mrs Hudson?” Sherlock asked enthusiastically. “The game is on!” He shouted jovially, then kissed the matron on the cheek before dashing out the front of the house. John tipped his head towards Mrs Hudson and limped after Sherlock. Today would definitely be interesting.

[galtori]

Whoops!

Finally, they were sitting downstairs in the organ room with two glasses of champagne, analyzing the drunken fools passed out or too drunk to notice either of them, noting who slept with who, who had how much to drink, and other various ‘deductions’ or so Sherlock called them. Mostly it was John guessing and getting things horribly wrong before Sherlock would step in and correct him. But after guessing at least one thing about each person, some of the hired help came in and began to clear out all the drunken fools, most likely into cabs.

“Well,” John drained the last of his drink. “I think they’re going to start herding us out of here. So I will part here and bid you goodnight, Sherlock. Perhaps we can meet up some time later.” Sherlock chuckled.

“Don’t be ridiculous, we have no need to move,” he replied, completely relaxed and at ease. “Carry on, but allow this man to stay,” he addressed the working men, pointing at John. “He is my neighbor, and any request he makes of you should be treated as a request from me.” The two men turned to Sherlock, looked at John, and then nodded before turning back to their business.

Neighbor. He is my neighbor. John thought had seen it all tonight, but apparently it was the night for John Watson to be wrong about everything.

“Yes, I am your neighbor,” Sherlock’s voice brought him out of his near-stupor, and it wasn’t until then that John realized he had spoken aloud. He turned to see Sherlock analyzing him over the rim of his champagne glass, a small smirk playing at the edge of his lips.

“I told you I was looking for you,” was all that John could say. Perhaps it was rude, but John felt a little tricked.

“You never asked what my last name was, nor did you ask if I had seen Mr. Holmes. Though most ordinary people would have introduced themselves properly,” he conceded. After a few more moments, Sherlock began again. “If I have offended you by not addressing this, I do apologize. I meant no offense.” If it had been any other person speaking, John wouldn’t have believed them. But something about Sherlock’s posture, more rigid than before, and his tone, more hesitant than John had heard all night, made Sherlock’s point better than his words. John waved off the apology.

“I’m more curious about why you didn’t tell me who you are,” John stated. At that, Sherlock sat up.

“I wanted to get to know you better and show you around. I also needed to make sure you weren’t boring like the others,” Sherlock explained, almost as if it were obvious. “Either way, if you wish to come back tomorrow during the day, I can show you the rest of the house.”

“So you would just open your house up to a complete stranger?” It wasn’t that John was ungrateful, but he was shocked that a man of Sherlock’s wealth would open his house so easily to a stranger. Wasn’t he concerned about the things John could do?

“I have no concern about you stealing anything from the house. I would know the instant that thought crossed your mind. You’re more concerned about someone stealing from me than you are getting caught, that much I can tell from your face. My security is good enough that I have no concern about any unwanted fellows wandering in and stealing anything, and I would know if a new staff member showed up.” John opened his mouth to argue the point of the parties, but Sherlock moved to still him for a moment longer. “And that is also why I watch all of my guests leave the party. I will know the instant they try to steal anything of value. You have no cause for concern, and I know you well enough to trust you.” Sherlock gave John a strange look at the last statement before continuing. “And besides, I may need a consulting physician in my line of work.”

“You still haven’t specified what that is. If I’m going to consult you in it, I feel that I should know what it is.” John wasn’t one to put his foot down often, but when he did, it was on important things. And he was an honest man; he wouldn’t do dishonest work.

“Come by tomorrow, and I hopefully I will be able to show you. If work shows up before then, I will send one of my men or come by and wake you myself.” John gave a confused look at the timetable. What sort of work didn’t show up at a scheduled time? And the possibility of coming in the middle of the night? Who worked such ridiculous hours? “Though perhaps night time may not be the best time for you to learn about my work.” After a moment of consideration, Sherlock straightened again. “If it is an eight, I will come and fetch you myself. For five through seven, I will send one of my men. I would not bother you with anything less than a five.” Sherlock then nodded to himself, pleased with the amendment, though it meant nothing to John. “Regardless, you are welcome to come by tomorrow to see the rest of the house. I dare say that the beach is beautiful this time of year, should you wish to bring swimming trunks with you.” It had been over two years since John had relaxed at the beach, though he was still unsure of his knee and shoulder.

“I think I shall come by tomorrow. If it turns out to be anything like this evening, I would be a fool not to pursue such excitement when it is only just next door,” John finally conceded. His sister would think him queer, seeking this much excitement as an old soldier still haunted by his memories on the battlefield, or so the army physician said in his discharge papers. But at the moment, he didn’t care what his sister thought.

“Very well, Doctor Watson. Tomorrow it is,” Sherlock agreed. But as he limped down the front steps of the Holmes residence, John knew he was not being foolish. For the first time since the war, he felt his blood thrum through his veins. And when he undressed and finally lay down to sleep, he slept knowing that the next day would bring a challenge.

[lazaruslaz]

FOXIEVAMPIRE ----> CODENAMELAZARUS

I hope you guys like the URL change :).

[iunosteel]

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Comment: You freakin invented Baynecroft, dearie. *mwah*

[galtori]

Well, now that we've had sleep and time to think about it

The party roared at the Holmes residence every night, but John Watson found no reason to investigate his neighbor’s parties. He had received no invitation, and his mother had always told him that it was rude to arrive at someone’s party without an invitation. So it was with great surprise one morning that John Watson awoke to find someone knocking at his door.  Pulling on trousers and a shirt, John answered the door to find an envelope on his doorstep. Confused, he didn't even go back inside to open the envelope. Inside was an invitation, written in flowing handwriting, inviting him to his neighbor's party. But as he read the invitation a second time, he felt a sudden prickle on the back of his neck. It was an old sensation he remembered from fighting in the Great War, and he turned, trying to find the eyes watching him, but only finding the darkness cast by the trees in his yard.

As night rolled in, the Holmes mansion lit up once again, and cars began to pour in as John limped around to his neighbor's front door. From those cars emerged the wealthy, the famous, the young, the old, the commoners, and everyone in between. John was in awe as he stared at the front of the mansion properly. He had seen it during the day, on his way to work at a small clinic in Manhattan. But it had always been dark in the mornings. It had never looked anything like this. Yet it seemed like everyone else passed by without a care for the decor, for the attention to detail, for the flowers lining the walkway, for the fountain where they all parked their cars. Once John walked onto the main path, he found himself swept up into the crowd, jostling to get inside. He could only hope that the crowd wouldn't push him onto his bad leg. If he fell, he was fairly sure he would be trampled by the masses trying to get in.

Fortunately, John managed to find his way to the center of the party without falling flat onto his face, though there were one or two incidents where a funny bloke tried to take his cane. But it seemed that no one had met the mysterious host. And even more maddeningly, he seemed to be the only there by invitation. Every single soul had laughed at the card he showed them.

After three drinks and almost two hours of waiting for this mysterious Holmes man to show up, John decided to go search the house for the host. He started in a disused dining hall (though technically it had been repurposed by a few couples to make use of its dark corners and lack of occupants), and worked his way around the house. It wasn't until he reached the library that he found anyone interesting at all. Curled up by the fire with a bottle of champagne was a thin man with a mess of dark curls and several books.

John took a moment to look at this possibly sober man before he interrupted the silence. "So what have you heard about this Holmes fellow? Everyone seems to have a different story." After a few moments, the man looked up from his book.

"I've heard a number of things. I've heard that he's a cold-blooded killer, that he's a freak, that he's a git, that he's a ghost, that he's a government front." The man began to lean forward, laying down the book and steepling his long fingers together in front of his face.

"Hadn't heard the government one yet, but at this rate, I might start believing the ghost rumor." John comments.

"Perhaps you should try to seek him out," the dark-haired man advised. "It would certainly put these rumors to rest."

"At the very least, I know he exists. Or at least I think he does. I seem to be the only one here with an invitation." He held out the card, waiting for a scoff that never came. Instead the mysterious man took hold of it with his long fingers and examined the card for a moment before handing it back to John. Tucking it back into his breast pocket, he regarded the mysterious man for another moment. "Well, I'm going to continue looking for him."

"Oh, I always love a good mystery." The strange man stood, and it wasn't until then that John realized that this stranger was much taller than him. And impeccably dressed as well, going by the suit. "Sherlock," the man introduced, holding out his hand. John switched his cane to his other hand before he reached for it, introducing himself as they shook.

“John Watson.” The grip was good, and John could feel the strength in that grip and those fingers.

When they pulled away, Sherlock walked ahead to open another door, leading into another large room. "So, your injury was in France, end of the Great War. Am I correct?" John turned in surprise.

“How did you –” John began, but Sherlock waved him off.

“Your suit has hints of French influence. You’re a former soldier based on your posture and how you enter a room, also by your search pattern. Also, the calluses on your hands are a good indicator. But they’ve become softer,” he explains, almost too quickly, but John is able to keep up with him.

“That’s incredible. You got all that without me saying a word?” John was flabbergasted. Who could do something like that? Sherlock glanced back before shrugging.

“Most don’t say that. But it is fairly obvious. All one has to do is observe their surroundings,” he explained. The pair now head upstairs, continuing their search for Mr. Holmes. John slowly limped up the stairs while Sherlock seemed to bound up them with ease.

“So what else can you observe about me?” John asked once they were both upstairs. Sherlock lead John to the nearby fireplace before focusing intently on the man. John had to keep himself from squirming, Sherlock’s gaze was so intense. It felt as though his clothing was stripped away, leaving him exposed and vulnerable to this stranger. Sherlock then crossed his arms behind his back, circling John like a vulture or a hungry lion. After he circled John once, Sherlock smiled and began to talk more.

“You haven’t been doing anything related to the service since the Great War. Can’t be something overly active given your limp, but you’re still fairly active. You don’t work as a clerk or in a grocery store; you would have kept muscles in your arms. But given your sharp gaze, you need your intelligence. Your nails are kept trim, and your hair in good condition, so you interact with people on a frequent basis. Best guess is a doctor. Also, you aren’t as well off as most of the people here. Your suit is technically still in fashion, but that’s because it’s a classic style. You take good care of it, but a few little tells say that it’s a little over a year old. The cufflinks are knockoffs, though they are good imitations. Most soldiers have found their own place in the world by now, but your leg keeps you limited. You do have some family, based on the watch. But it wasn’t meant for you. That isn’t a knockoff. You wouldn’t buy it for yourself, given the cufflinks. If the gift was meant for you, it would fit better. You can see how a different hole has been used at one point. It isn’t something you wear all the time, it would have more marks on it if you did. Extended family wouldn’t bother with a gift like that, they would think of someone closer to them. So that means it’s a sibling. But you can’t be close to that sibling; if you were, they would pay for more things. Given the frown lines when I talk about this sibling, you are the one limiting the contact. Left handed given how you open doors. Anything else you want to hear about?” John was stunned. Absolutely stunned. Flabbergasted, floored, gob-smacked. It took John a few moments to regain his composure. But he could tell that Sherlock was pleased, given the glint in his eyes.

“That was amazing. Phenomenal. Spectacular. Brilliant.” Was there anything this strange man in front of him couldn’t do? “And yes, I am a doctor. What do you do?” He was fascinated by this man and just had to know more about him.

“I do several things. I –” he hesitated before continuing. “I assist a few people on different matters. Various things that keep my mind occupied.” John was curious to know more, but stopped himself from asking. If this Sherlock man wanted to keep his life private, that was his business.

“At this point, I’m not sure if this Holmes fellow will be able to top this adventure,” John joked as they cleared yet another room. By now, the party was winding down, and the pair went to one of the large windows, watching everyone stumble out to their vehicles. “So, what do you see about those two people down there?” John asked, curious to see what this companion of his could do. Sherlock glanced over before grinning.

“Tell me what you see first,” he replied. John flushed briefly before he focused in on them, trying to pick out details.

“You can see that both of them have been having too much fun. Their clothes are ripped. Probably from just being in the crowd.”

“Anything else?” John looked over, expecting to see a patronizing look on Sherlock’s face. Instead, he found genuine curiosity and gentle reassurance. Bolstered, John looked back out and focused on them. But before he could gather any more meaningful information, the pair climbed into a car and drove off.

“I couldn’t see anything else before they drove off,” he admitted. “So, how did I do?”

“Fairly well for your first time, spare the fact that you were wrong. However, I saw them come in and once more last night. The suit has been torn for almost a day. The dress however, was just this night. So this is their only nice outfit. But they had a fight tonight. Probably about the car, but it is a little difficult to tell. Inferring it’s about the car because they’re driving it around with stains and scratches. But she was holding her wrist, and his suit was torn. So they get into an argument, she was the one who started it, given her distaste of his appearance. But he fights back, pins her wrist down. She’s trying to move out of his grip when she injures that wrist and tears the dress. It’s been half a year, it doesn’t move like it used to. Which explains their torn outfits.” John takes a moment afterwards to shake his head.

“That’s cheating.”

“It is not,” Sherlock insisted. “Using information gathered over more than one sighting is not cheating. It’s simply taking in your surroundings. Now, what about that pair right there?” Sherlock pointed to another pair. John focused his attention again, and they continued for quite some time like this. 

[galtori]

Ok kids, here you go

The party roared at the Holmes residence every night, but John Watson found no reason to investigate his neighbor’s parties. He had received no invitation, and his mother had always told him that it was rude to arrive at someone’s party without an invitation. So it was with great surprise one morning that John Watson awoke to find someone knocking at his door.  Pulling on trousers and a shirt, John answered the door to find an envelope on his doorstep. Confused, he didn't even go back inside to open the envelope. Inside was an invitation, written in flowing handwriting, inviting him to his neighbor's party. But as he read the invitation a second time, he felt a sudden prickle on the back of his neck. It was an old sensation he remembered from fighting in the Great War, and he turned, trying to find the eyes watching him, but only finding the darkness cast by the trees in his yard.

As night rolled in, the Holmes mansion lit up once again, and cars began to pour in as John limped around to his neighbor's front door. From those cars emerged the wealthy, the famous, the young, the old, the commoners, and everyone in between. John was in awe as he stared at the front of the mansion properly. He had seen it during the day, on his way to a small clinic in Manhattan. But it had always been dark in the mornings. It had never been anything like this. Yet it seems like everyone else passed by without a care for the decor, for the attention to detail, for the flowers lining the walkway, for the fountain where they all parked their cars. Once John walked onto the main path, he found himself swept up into the crowd, jostling to get inside. He could only hope that the crowd wouldn't push him onto his bad foot. If he fell, he was fairly sure he would be trampled by the masses trying to get in.

Fortunately, John manages to find his way to the center of the party without falling flat onto his face, though there were one or two incidents where a funny bloke tried to take his cane. But it seems that no one has met the mysterious host. And even more maddeningly, he seems to be the only there by invitation. Every single soul has laughed at him that he presented the card to.

After three drinks and almost two hours of waiting for this mysterious Holmes man to show up, John decides to go looking for himself. He starts in a disused dining hall (though technically it's been repurposed by a few couples to make use of its dark corners and lack of occupants), and works his way around the house. It isn't until he reaches the library that he finds anyone interesting at all. Curled up by the fire with a bottle of champagne is a tall, thin man with a mess of dark curls and several books.

John takes a moment to look at this possibly sober man before he interrupts the silence. "So what have you heard about this Holmes fellow? Everyone seems to have a different story." After a few moments, the man looks up from his book.

"I've heard a number of things. I've heard that he's a cold-blooded killer, that he's a freak, that he's a git, that he's a ghost, that he's a government front."

"Hadn't heard the government one yet, but at this rate, I might start believing the ghost rumor." John comments.

"Perhaps you should try to seek him out," the dark-haired man advised. "It would certainly put these rumors to rest."

"At the very least, I know he exists. Or at least I think he does. I seem to be the only one here with an invitation." He holds out the card, waiting for a scoff that never comes. Instead the mysterious man take hold of it with his long fingers and examines the card for a moment before handing it back to John. Tucking it back into his breast pocket, he regarded the mysterious man for another moment. "Well, I'm going to continue looking for him."

"Oh, I always love a good mystery." The strange man stands, and it isn't until then that John realizes that this stranger is much taller than he is. And impeccably dressed as well. "Sherlock," the man introduced holding out his hand. John switched his cane to his other hand before he reached for it, introducing himself as they shook. The grip was good, and John could feel the strength in that grip and those fingers.

When they pulled away, Sherlock walked ahead to open another door, leading into another large room. "So, your injury was in France. Am I correct?" 

[tothehouse-downtheriver]

HEY ALL YOU SILLY HEAD WEIRDOS LISTEN UP AGAIN. Posting again cause of that so pro pic.

LISTEN UP CAUSE I THINK YOU GUYS WILL APPRECIATE THIS STUPID WALNUT’S WORK (X)

SHE’S REALLY WEIRD AND AWESOME SO JUST KEEP AN EYE ON HER. AND BE PREPARED.

no really start building shelters and get in your cellars and get a decent food supply and lock your doors

(AND IF YOU HELP SPREAD THE WORD I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER)

[tothehouse-downtheriver]

HEY ALL YOU SILLY HEAD WEIRDO FACES OUT THERE WHO ARE AWESOME.

LISTEN UP CAUSE I THINK YOU GUYS WILL APPRECIATE THIS STUPID WALNUT'S WORK (X)

SHE'S REALLY WEIRD AND AWESOME SO JUST KEEP AN EYE ON HER. AND BE PREPARED.

no really start building shelters and get in your cellars and get a decent food supply and lock your doors

(AND IF YOU HELP SPREAD THE WORD I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER)