[Sherlock Holmes ACD AU] --- For all Eternity
Title: For all Eternity
Author: Alaylith
Rating: PG
Fandom: ACD AU
Characters: Holmes, Watson
Words: 1.643
Warnings: supernatural, blood, wounds, a little bit of horror (but not much; I can't really describe it)
A/N: This is my entry for the Watson's Woes challenge 18; I hope it's fitting enough.
Originally I had planned it to be more parts and a lot different, but sadly I got another project which I had to finish until today. I only had a little over 1 hour to write this piece and am only able to post it now as I just finished said other project.
It is okay, but I wanted to write it differently.
I know that it is said that the story has to be finished for the challenge and this story is finished, but is it acceptable if I write other pieces for it / for the universe which I created here?
I would really like to someday write my other ideas I had for this, but was unable to now... ;(
Otherwise I hope you like it and I am sorry for it's poor state, but there was no more I could do for this little piece. *hugs it comfortingly*
And excuse any mistakes, got no energy left to check. ._.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The room is dark, only the fireplace is alight with dancing flames.
A man sits in a chair in front of the fire, his clothes black as the night and his eyes glow slightly in the darkness.
His pale hands cradle a book, his grip almost lovingly as he fingers the worn pages.
The book is very old, the cover bent and ripped. Several of the pages are torn or missing. Many of the pages have dark stains on them, which are a dark red in the warm light of the fire.
Finally he reaches a part of the book where the pages are not destroyed and even after so many years the old ink is still visible on the yellowed pages.
There is a date at the top, which is not readable, but the initials beneath it can be read. His fingers gently trace the letters, his eyes sad and lost in memories.
JHW
For several long minutes he stares at these three small letters, before he sighs and starts to read the entry in the book.
For the last several weeks people died suddenly without any possible explanation. Men, women, children - rich and poor; they were all the same.
Even the great Sherlock Holmes was unable to find any evidence or traces of foul play and I myself worked several long hours in the hospital with my colleagues, trying to find the cause and hopefully a cure.
There were two manifestations of this mysterious sickness.
Most people grew sick as if they had a cold, but the fever would rise with time and they would start to vomit blood, accompanied by strong spasms of pain. They slowly died a horrible and painful death.
Dozens, maybe even hundreds of people died this way.
Only a few people had other symptoms. They occasionally had painful spasms in their stomachs and got very often headaches. They mostly coughed blood, but never in greater amounts as if to be worried.
Then one day they would start to cough so much blood until they choked to their death.
Nevertheless, it was a horrible time for the whole of England and it was only later that we learned that other countries had the same sickness.
The common believe was that the sickness reached Europe through a ship and that it spread this way, but we never had the time to investigate as…
The next pages are torn or the ink is specked with a dark red substance. The man turns over the pages until he finds one which is readable again.
I do not know any words with which I could describe the horrors I witnessed in the last days. Nothing in my whole life can be compared to this nightmare. Afghanistan was a child’s play to this horror.
All the dead of the mysterious sickness which tortured our country for the last few months came back to live, even though you can not call their state as alive.
Dozens, hundreds of corpses rose from their graves in the night and wandered the streets, murdering all living beings they encountered on their way.
I will never forget the screams of the dying as they were torn apart, still alive to experience the pain and the horror.
The living dead, Zombies as Holmes called them, could not be stopped and they killed everyone and ate the flesh and drank the blood of the living.
The next page is missing and the handwriting on the next one is shaky and almost unreadable.
I did not know how many wounded I have had treated, when I heard his voice.
We fled the hospital with as many patients as we were able and found a refuge in abandoned houses near the Thames. For some reason the Zombies do not go near the water and we were safe for the moment.
I blinked as I heard my name, but between all the moans and weeping I thought I imagined it.
“Watson!”
This time I recognized the voice and immediately looked up. His tall and lean figure towered over the masses of broken and bloodied people, his features even paler than normally and his grey eyes searched hurriedly over the faces.
As his eyes landed on me I could see how the tension left his body and his shoulders dropped. I painfully swallowed the lump in my throat and rose to meet him halfway.
Without hesitation he embraced me with his long and sinewy arms, his breath hitched and he dropped his head upon my shoulder.
“Holmes…,” I murmured tiredly and returned his embrace, my arms shaking and tears gathering in my eyes.
“Watson…,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from hours of crying and shouting. “I found you…”
The man takes a shuddering breath, as he traces the stains of tears on the page and with a heavy sigh he turns over the page to continue.
I did not know where Holmes was.
As London burned around us and the streets were filled with black smoke and heavy fog, we were some of the lasts living beings in the city.
All other humans had fled the city, even the country if possible, as the Zombies took over the reign of our once proud home.
Fire and water were the only things which were able to stop and destroy these monsters and so it was decided that London had to be burned to take as many of the undead with it as possible.
As Holmes is one of the men who knew London best the decision was not hard who would be the one responsible for London’s destruction.
And without hesitation I followed him as he went to burn the place which he had protected for the last years against the evil that was humanity.
Now as a last act he had to protect the city against the evil that was everything else but humanity.
But the Lords, the stronger willed, intelligent and gruesome leaders of the Zombies, would not easily accept their defeat and sent their troops to stop us.
We were still able to start the fire in most parts of London, but now we had to run for our lives as the Zombies hunted us through the smoke and fog.
I had lost sight of Holmes, but I knew that it was impossible to look for him. Besides he knew the streets better than I, if anyone would be able to escape it would be him.
I could only run and hope to reach our meeting place and wait for him there...
I was a fool not to think that the Lords had more planned to stop us or at least to destroy us.
It did not take long for me to reach a crossroad and there was a Lord waiting for me in the darkness. The Zombies were only the hounds which led the prey to the trap laid by the hunter.
The Lord, once a proud and strong man in life, was a mere shadow of his earlier existence. His pale skin glowed and his eyes burned a bloody red like the fire which surrounded us.
I had no time to react as he was faster than the human eye could see and within moments I felt his hands closing around my neck and his face looming over me as he pressed me to the ground.
He licked his lips and I could see the pleasure in his eyes as he watched me dyeing.
Just as my eyes started to close I heard a feral growl in the darkness near us and a shadow jumped the Lord and pushed him down from me.
I was only able to see their shadowy forms as they fought and my mysterious rescuer was even more brutal than any Lord or Zombie I had seen before.
I shuddered as I listened to the painful screams of the Lord as he was ripped apart and I tried to scramble backwards as the shadow turned toward me.
As he stepped forward I could feel how my heart stopped beating and the breath left my lungs.
Pale skin glowed faintly in the light of the fire and the tall and lean figure looked down upon me with eyes that were alight with a cold glow like that of the moon.
“Run,” Sherlock Holmes said as blood dripped from his chin and hands. “Watson, run.”
The last pages are missing from the thin volume and the man closes the book with a sigh. He taps it against his lips, his eyes staring thoughtfully into the fire.
“You are reading this again?” A voice calls from the door and the man turns slightly to look at the other man, who enters the room.
“I still can not understand it,” the man in the chair says and the other steps nearer to the fire.
“What do you not understand?”
“Why you stayed with me,” Sherlock Holmes says and looks at the book again. “I just can not understand it.”
John Watson shakes his head and takes the old book from the hands of his friend. “Do not worry, you will understand it.”
He puts the book on the table and then looks back to his friend. “Even if it is going to take centuries for you to understand it. We have all the time in the world.”
Holmes smiles, when loud screams arise outside and they both look towards the window.
“The hunt started,” Watson states and Holmes stands from his chair. “Care to join me, old fellow?”
Watson looks at him and smiles lightly. “Always, my dear friend.”
At this both start to walk forward into a world which was once alight with live, but now is only shrouded by the darkness of death.
But no matter if alive or dead, they will both stay together.
For all Eternity.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author: Alaylith
Rating: PG
Fandom: ACD AU
Characters: Holmes, Watson
Words: 1.643
Warnings: supernatural, blood, wounds, a little bit of horror (but not much; I can't really describe it)
A/N: This is my entry for the Watson's Woes challenge 18; I hope it's fitting enough.
Originally I had planned it to be more parts and a lot different, but sadly I got another project which I had to finish until today. I only had a little over 1 hour to write this piece and am only able to post it now as I just finished said other project.
It is okay, but I wanted to write it differently.
I know that it is said that the story has to be finished for the challenge and this story is finished, but is it acceptable if I write other pieces for it / for the universe which I created here?
I would really like to someday write my other ideas I had for this, but was unable to now... ;(
Otherwise I hope you like it and I am sorry for it's poor state, but there was no more I could do for this little piece. *hugs it comfortingly*
And excuse any mistakes, got no energy left to check. ._.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The room is dark, only the fireplace is alight with dancing flames.
A man sits in a chair in front of the fire, his clothes black as the night and his eyes glow slightly in the darkness.
His pale hands cradle a book, his grip almost lovingly as he fingers the worn pages.
The book is very old, the cover bent and ripped. Several of the pages are torn or missing. Many of the pages have dark stains on them, which are a dark red in the warm light of the fire.
Finally he reaches a part of the book where the pages are not destroyed and even after so many years the old ink is still visible on the yellowed pages.
There is a date at the top, which is not readable, but the initials beneath it can be read. His fingers gently trace the letters, his eyes sad and lost in memories.
JHW
For several long minutes he stares at these three small letters, before he sighs and starts to read the entry in the book.
For the last several weeks people died suddenly without any possible explanation. Men, women, children - rich and poor; they were all the same.
Even the great Sherlock Holmes was unable to find any evidence or traces of foul play and I myself worked several long hours in the hospital with my colleagues, trying to find the cause and hopefully a cure.
There were two manifestations of this mysterious sickness.
Most people grew sick as if they had a cold, but the fever would rise with time and they would start to vomit blood, accompanied by strong spasms of pain. They slowly died a horrible and painful death.
Dozens, maybe even hundreds of people died this way.
Only a few people had other symptoms. They occasionally had painful spasms in their stomachs and got very often headaches. They mostly coughed blood, but never in greater amounts as if to be worried.
Then one day they would start to cough so much blood until they choked to their death.
Nevertheless, it was a horrible time for the whole of England and it was only later that we learned that other countries had the same sickness.
The common believe was that the sickness reached Europe through a ship and that it spread this way, but we never had the time to investigate as…
The next pages are torn or the ink is specked with a dark red substance. The man turns over the pages until he finds one which is readable again.
I do not know any words with which I could describe the horrors I witnessed in the last days. Nothing in my whole life can be compared to this nightmare. Afghanistan was a child’s play to this horror.
All the dead of the mysterious sickness which tortured our country for the last few months came back to live, even though you can not call their state as alive.
Dozens, hundreds of corpses rose from their graves in the night and wandered the streets, murdering all living beings they encountered on their way.
I will never forget the screams of the dying as they were torn apart, still alive to experience the pain and the horror.
The living dead, Zombies as Holmes called them, could not be stopped and they killed everyone and ate the flesh and drank the blood of the living.
The next page is missing and the handwriting on the next one is shaky and almost unreadable.
I did not know how many wounded I have had treated, when I heard his voice.
We fled the hospital with as many patients as we were able and found a refuge in abandoned houses near the Thames. For some reason the Zombies do not go near the water and we were safe for the moment.
I blinked as I heard my name, but between all the moans and weeping I thought I imagined it.
“Watson!”
This time I recognized the voice and immediately looked up. His tall and lean figure towered over the masses of broken and bloodied people, his features even paler than normally and his grey eyes searched hurriedly over the faces.
As his eyes landed on me I could see how the tension left his body and his shoulders dropped. I painfully swallowed the lump in my throat and rose to meet him halfway.
Without hesitation he embraced me with his long and sinewy arms, his breath hitched and he dropped his head upon my shoulder.
“Holmes…,” I murmured tiredly and returned his embrace, my arms shaking and tears gathering in my eyes.
“Watson…,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from hours of crying and shouting. “I found you…”
The man takes a shuddering breath, as he traces the stains of tears on the page and with a heavy sigh he turns over the page to continue.
I did not know where Holmes was.
As London burned around us and the streets were filled with black smoke and heavy fog, we were some of the lasts living beings in the city.
All other humans had fled the city, even the country if possible, as the Zombies took over the reign of our once proud home.
Fire and water were the only things which were able to stop and destroy these monsters and so it was decided that London had to be burned to take as many of the undead with it as possible.
As Holmes is one of the men who knew London best the decision was not hard who would be the one responsible for London’s destruction.
And without hesitation I followed him as he went to burn the place which he had protected for the last years against the evil that was humanity.
Now as a last act he had to protect the city against the evil that was everything else but humanity.
But the Lords, the stronger willed, intelligent and gruesome leaders of the Zombies, would not easily accept their defeat and sent their troops to stop us.
We were still able to start the fire in most parts of London, but now we had to run for our lives as the Zombies hunted us through the smoke and fog.
I had lost sight of Holmes, but I knew that it was impossible to look for him. Besides he knew the streets better than I, if anyone would be able to escape it would be him.
I could only run and hope to reach our meeting place and wait for him there...
I was a fool not to think that the Lords had more planned to stop us or at least to destroy us.
It did not take long for me to reach a crossroad and there was a Lord waiting for me in the darkness. The Zombies were only the hounds which led the prey to the trap laid by the hunter.
The Lord, once a proud and strong man in life, was a mere shadow of his earlier existence. His pale skin glowed and his eyes burned a bloody red like the fire which surrounded us.
I had no time to react as he was faster than the human eye could see and within moments I felt his hands closing around my neck and his face looming over me as he pressed me to the ground.
He licked his lips and I could see the pleasure in his eyes as he watched me dyeing.
Just as my eyes started to close I heard a feral growl in the darkness near us and a shadow jumped the Lord and pushed him down from me.
I was only able to see their shadowy forms as they fought and my mysterious rescuer was even more brutal than any Lord or Zombie I had seen before.
I shuddered as I listened to the painful screams of the Lord as he was ripped apart and I tried to scramble backwards as the shadow turned toward me.
As he stepped forward I could feel how my heart stopped beating and the breath left my lungs.
Pale skin glowed faintly in the light of the fire and the tall and lean figure looked down upon me with eyes that were alight with a cold glow like that of the moon.
“Run,” Sherlock Holmes said as blood dripped from his chin and hands. “Watson, run.”
The last pages are missing from the thin volume and the man closes the book with a sigh. He taps it against his lips, his eyes staring thoughtfully into the fire.
“You are reading this again?” A voice calls from the door and the man turns slightly to look at the other man, who enters the room.
“I still can not understand it,” the man in the chair says and the other steps nearer to the fire.
“What do you not understand?”
“Why you stayed with me,” Sherlock Holmes says and looks at the book again. “I just can not understand it.”
John Watson shakes his head and takes the old book from the hands of his friend. “Do not worry, you will understand it.”
He puts the book on the table and then looks back to his friend. “Even if it is going to take centuries for you to understand it. We have all the time in the world.”
Holmes smiles, when loud screams arise outside and they both look towards the window.
“The hunt started,” Watson states and Holmes stands from his chair. “Care to join me, old fellow?”
Watson looks at him and smiles lightly. “Always, my dear friend.”
At this both start to walk forward into a world which was once alight with live, but now is only shrouded by the darkness of death.
But no matter if alive or dead, they will both stay together.
For all Eternity.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~