BBC Sherlock Fic: Malediction
Title: Malediction
Author: kitmerlot1213
Word Count: 1105
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Paring: John/Sherlock friendship, Anderson/Sherlock one sided
Genre: Horror/mystery/friendship
Rating: "R" for some swearing and violence
Warning: This story is not meant to represent that people who practice witchcraft are inherently evil, and I do not mean any disrespect, this is simply a scary Halloween story.
Disclaimer: This story is for fun and no profit, and I do not own any of the characters from BBC Sherlock--I'm just borrowing them briefly.
Summary: Anderson's admiration for Sherlock goes to far.
A/N: This was written for spook_me and again, I do not mean any disrespect to anyone who practices witchcraft.
He had tried everything-EVERYTHING-in his power to discredit John Watson in Sherlock Holmes’ eyes and none of it worked.
Anderson tried to imply that John’s medical opinion was invalid, that he was letting his personal history or his PTSD cloud his judgment but Sherlock had scoffed at him questioning John’s medical expertise.
And of course John had been proven right in the cause of death, and as Lestrade loudly pointed out, John had been correct at naming the cause of death at nine of the last ten crime scenes they’d visited and Sherlock had smiled proudly at his friend each and every time.
Anderson wanted that smile directed towards him, he wanted Sherlock to look to him for the answers and to smile at him approvingly.
But that would never happen as long as John was around, so that meant that John would have to be gotten rid of.
This was the hard bit because Sherlock would be able to spot a faked crime scene faster than a normal person could blink, so Anderson realized that he would have to falsify the evidence after it was gathered.
Technically he wasn’t a member of New Scotland Yard anymore but that didn’t mean he still didn’t have access to the lab at St. Bart’s or that he didn’t have some tricks up his sleeve.
After Sherlock’s death, Anderson’s life had gone rapidly downhill and he had lost everything: his job, his wife, his friends. He’d been chucked out of his flat and was actually sitting in an alleyway when he’d met a warlock named Cromwell Stone and Anderson’s life changed yet again.
After he got over his shock that warlocks actually existed, he learned not to ask questions and that whatever Cromwell needed, Anderson got by whatever means was necessary, so now Anderson was standing in the middle of St. Bart’s lab surrounded by vials filled with animal blood, black candles, and jars upon jars of ingredients that he didn’t want to know about.
Anderson turned as Cromwell seemingly glided into the room and he watched silently as the warlock began to arrange the various objects in a pattern on the floor. Then, he knelt in the middle of the design, his hands folded into the sleeves of his cloak and Anderson watched as he gathered his strength.
“Ready?” The older man’s voice was gravelly, as though he was speaking with stones in his throat.
Anderson nodded, his eager gaze never once leaving Cromwell’s stooped figure as the warlock began to chant.
And that was how John Watson was arrested for murder. Anderson had stood on the pavement opposite the Baker Street flat when an inspector from NSY had come to arrest John and he had to bite back a grin when he saw how distraught Watson looked.
Well, it served the little doctor right because Anderson was the one who deserved to be at Sherlock’s side because he would never abandon the detective. He would never leave Sherlock to marry some woman and it was high time Sherlock realized who his true friends were.
Sherlock must have texted the rest of their friends-Anderson noted that he hadn’t received a text yet-and soon 221B was filled with people hand-wringing about poor John’s being set up. Mrs. Hudson and Molly looked like they were crying, Angelo and Mrs. Turner were trying to get everyone to eat and Mycroft and Lestrade were standing to the side in deep conversation.
And Sherlock, well Sherlock look devastated but Anderson soon realized that no one doubted John’s innocence, and they were trying to figure out how the evidence had been mishandled.
DAMNIT, John Watson was supposed to lose all of his friends’ respect, especially Sherlock's.
Fuming, Anderson turned away from the scene, and he was so consumed with his anger that he failed to notice that a certain pathologist watched him leave with growing unease.
Anderson stared in shock as the news report. John Watson had been released from police custody just as quickly as he’d been arrested. Apparently, NSY admitted that the DNA evidence had been falsely labeled as being John’s and that when the blood was tested again, the true killer was revealed.
What the fuck was going on?! Cromwell had assured Anderson that the spell would last. Maybe the evidence bag was switched? Either way, Anderson knew that another nightly visit to St. Bart’s was in order.
Anderson crept quietly into the lab, the light from his torch bouncing off of the metal drawers as he made his way to the refrigerator.
His hand was reaching for the handle when the lights were turned on.
He gasped in fear and threw his hand up to cover his eyes but he gasped again when he saw who was in the room with him.
It was Molly Hooper but not the buttoned up Molly he was used to seeing. This Molly was dressed in a simple yet elegant black dress, her hair loose and her lips a dark red. She looked gorgeous and Anderson swallowed reflexively.
He was about to speak when she cut him off.
“Phillip, I’m surprised at you,” and Anderson was thrown off again as even Molly’s voice was different. Gone was the timidly sweet voice and in its place was a throaty purr.
Anderson swallowed again and Molly continued to speak. “Using magic to hurt innocent people?”
She shook he head mockingly at him. “Don’t you realize the karmic payback you’re going to get from that? And let’s not forget what Sherlock is going to do when he finds out.”
For the first time that evening, Anderson looked alarmed, but he needed some answers first. “How did you figure out that it was a hex?”
Molly rolled her eyes at him. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been practicing witchcraft? I can spot spell work a mile away and shoddy black magic is even easier to see.”
She had begun to move around Anderson, pouring out salt in a circle around him. “It was child’s play to reverse your spell and of course Cromwell was happy to reveal what your intentions were against John Watson.”
She turned and fixed him with a stern gaze. “You will be held accountable for trying to ruin an innocent’s life, especially as John’s a friend of mine.”
He tried to laugh derisively but his mirth died in his throat when he found that he couldn’t move.
He watched in mute horror as Molly began to brew a portion on the lab’s Bunsen burner, her strangely melodic voice drowning out the pounding in his heart.
Author: kitmerlot1213
Word Count: 1105
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Paring: John/Sherlock friendship, Anderson/Sherlock one sided
Genre: Horror/mystery/friendship
Rating: "R" for some swearing and violence
Warning: This story is not meant to represent that people who practice witchcraft are inherently evil, and I do not mean any disrespect, this is simply a scary Halloween story.
Disclaimer: This story is for fun and no profit, and I do not own any of the characters from BBC Sherlock--I'm just borrowing them briefly.
Summary: Anderson's admiration for Sherlock goes to far.
A/N: This was written for spook_me and again, I do not mean any disrespect to anyone who practices witchcraft.
He had tried everything-EVERYTHING-in his power to discredit John Watson in Sherlock Holmes’ eyes and none of it worked.
Anderson tried to imply that John’s medical opinion was invalid, that he was letting his personal history or his PTSD cloud his judgment but Sherlock had scoffed at him questioning John’s medical expertise.
And of course John had been proven right in the cause of death, and as Lestrade loudly pointed out, John had been correct at naming the cause of death at nine of the last ten crime scenes they’d visited and Sherlock had smiled proudly at his friend each and every time.
Anderson wanted that smile directed towards him, he wanted Sherlock to look to him for the answers and to smile at him approvingly.
But that would never happen as long as John was around, so that meant that John would have to be gotten rid of.
This was the hard bit because Sherlock would be able to spot a faked crime scene faster than a normal person could blink, so Anderson realized that he would have to falsify the evidence after it was gathered.
Technically he wasn’t a member of New Scotland Yard anymore but that didn’t mean he still didn’t have access to the lab at St. Bart’s or that he didn’t have some tricks up his sleeve.
After Sherlock’s death, Anderson’s life had gone rapidly downhill and he had lost everything: his job, his wife, his friends. He’d been chucked out of his flat and was actually sitting in an alleyway when he’d met a warlock named Cromwell Stone and Anderson’s life changed yet again.
After he got over his shock that warlocks actually existed, he learned not to ask questions and that whatever Cromwell needed, Anderson got by whatever means was necessary, so now Anderson was standing in the middle of St. Bart’s lab surrounded by vials filled with animal blood, black candles, and jars upon jars of ingredients that he didn’t want to know about.
Anderson turned as Cromwell seemingly glided into the room and he watched silently as the warlock began to arrange the various objects in a pattern on the floor. Then, he knelt in the middle of the design, his hands folded into the sleeves of his cloak and Anderson watched as he gathered his strength.
“Ready?” The older man’s voice was gravelly, as though he was speaking with stones in his throat.
Anderson nodded, his eager gaze never once leaving Cromwell’s stooped figure as the warlock began to chant.
And that was how John Watson was arrested for murder. Anderson had stood on the pavement opposite the Baker Street flat when an inspector from NSY had come to arrest John and he had to bite back a grin when he saw how distraught Watson looked.
Well, it served the little doctor right because Anderson was the one who deserved to be at Sherlock’s side because he would never abandon the detective. He would never leave Sherlock to marry some woman and it was high time Sherlock realized who his true friends were.
Sherlock must have texted the rest of their friends-Anderson noted that he hadn’t received a text yet-and soon 221B was filled with people hand-wringing about poor John’s being set up. Mrs. Hudson and Molly looked like they were crying, Angelo and Mrs. Turner were trying to get everyone to eat and Mycroft and Lestrade were standing to the side in deep conversation.
And Sherlock, well Sherlock look devastated but Anderson soon realized that no one doubted John’s innocence, and they were trying to figure out how the evidence had been mishandled.
DAMNIT, John Watson was supposed to lose all of his friends’ respect, especially Sherlock's.
Fuming, Anderson turned away from the scene, and he was so consumed with his anger that he failed to notice that a certain pathologist watched him leave with growing unease.
Anderson stared in shock as the news report. John Watson had been released from police custody just as quickly as he’d been arrested. Apparently, NSY admitted that the DNA evidence had been falsely labeled as being John’s and that when the blood was tested again, the true killer was revealed.
What the fuck was going on?! Cromwell had assured Anderson that the spell would last. Maybe the evidence bag was switched? Either way, Anderson knew that another nightly visit to St. Bart’s was in order.
Anderson crept quietly into the lab, the light from his torch bouncing off of the metal drawers as he made his way to the refrigerator.
His hand was reaching for the handle when the lights were turned on.
He gasped in fear and threw his hand up to cover his eyes but he gasped again when he saw who was in the room with him.
It was Molly Hooper but not the buttoned up Molly he was used to seeing. This Molly was dressed in a simple yet elegant black dress, her hair loose and her lips a dark red. She looked gorgeous and Anderson swallowed reflexively.
He was about to speak when she cut him off.
“Phillip, I’m surprised at you,” and Anderson was thrown off again as even Molly’s voice was different. Gone was the timidly sweet voice and in its place was a throaty purr.
Anderson swallowed again and Molly continued to speak. “Using magic to hurt innocent people?”
She shook he head mockingly at him. “Don’t you realize the karmic payback you’re going to get from that? And let’s not forget what Sherlock is going to do when he finds out.”
For the first time that evening, Anderson looked alarmed, but he needed some answers first. “How did you figure out that it was a hex?”
Molly rolled her eyes at him. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been practicing witchcraft? I can spot spell work a mile away and shoddy black magic is even easier to see.”
She had begun to move around Anderson, pouring out salt in a circle around him. “It was child’s play to reverse your spell and of course Cromwell was happy to reveal what your intentions were against John Watson.”
She turned and fixed him with a stern gaze. “You will be held accountable for trying to ruin an innocent’s life, especially as John’s a friend of mine.”
He tried to laugh derisively but his mirth died in his throat when he found that he couldn’t move.
He watched in mute horror as Molly began to brew a portion on the lab’s Bunsen burner, her strangely melodic voice drowning out the pounding in his heart.