: Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2016Prompt
: Amnesty #08
Genre Shift: Sherlock Holmes as any genre other than mystery/crime drama. (E.G. musical, romantic comedy, sci-fi, horror...)Rating
: NC-17 / Mature / not-very ExplicitUniverse
: Watson, HolmesWordCount
: Gore, Blood, Horror, Living Dead, Body parts; not-very explicit descriptions; you can see worse in TV, but better be safe than sorrySummary
: It was a hot day when the world ended.
It was a hot day when the world ended.
Watson can not explain how it happened or why, but suddenly the world exploded in absolute chaos around him.
There are no words to describe what has happened and there is only one thought going through his mind as he stumbles through the streets that have turned to sand.
Get back to Baker Street; get back home
There is no other thought his mind is capable to form as he avoids the grasping hands of the creatures
- he can no longer think of them as humans - all around him. The people have been hacked to pieces, some carrying their lost limbs with them, while other people's flesh is rotting and falling of their bones; they carry sickness and fever like clothes on their bodies. His wounds burn as if he was just freshly shot and blood covers his hands and clothes. The buildings start to burn, the flames dance high in the sky and Watson feels relief when he can see Baker Street - the only building not on fire - just ahead.
He stumbles through the door, closes it tightly against the masses of hands trying to reach for him and locks it. He leans his shaking head against it and takes a shuddering breath.
A moment later Watson springs around, his mouth opening to shout for their dear landlady and tell her of the horror on the streets. Only to scream in shock and turning his head away, as deep agony fills his chest. For Mrs. Hudson's eyes look directly at him, while the head is pierced upon the end of the hand rail and the rest of her body not to be seen. Watson puts one hand over his mouth as sobs threaten to tear through his body and he bends over as sickness boils in his stomach. He takes a few calming breathes, realizing that there is nothing more to be done for her, but Holmes - Holmes
must still be alive! He presses himself against the wall to be as far away as possible from the head and starts for the stairs, when suddenly the head turns around to look at him once more.
"Dr. Watson, would you like some tea?" the horrid head speaks with Mrs. Hudson's voice and Watson cries once more in dismay, before running up the stairs and throws open the door to the sitting room. And there Holmes is, as always standing tall and proud and his head lowered in thought as his back is turned to Watson. Watson has to swallow the urge to weep in joy at seeing his friend alive and he takes a shuddering step inside, prompting Holmes to turn his head and look at him.
All breath leave his chest in a shocked gasp as he looks into Holmes' eyes. They are completely black.
"Ah, there you are, Watson," Holmes greets him in his normal voice and comes toward him, his dark eyes never leaving his face. "You have come just at the right time; you have something that I need,my dear fellow."
With this Holmes lifts the knife he holds in his hand and Watson, frozen in fear, shakes and graps Holmes' arms as he stops in front of him; Holmes' name a silent plea on his lips.
He does not even know what he is begging for.
Nothing has ever compared to the pain he feels when Holmes cuts into his chest and then rips out his heart. Watson falls to his knees, his eyes still locked on the man he considers to be the best and the wisest man whom he has ever known and Holmes looks at the heart with cool calculation, the blood dripping from his fingers. "Hm, so that's how one looks like," Holmes murmurs and then shrugs, before lifting his jacket to reveal a gaping hole in his chest on the left side. He places Watson's still beating heart within and covers the hole with his clothes again, before shaking slightly like a wet dog.
"No surprise you limp so heavily and are so slow, such a heart is heavy! Such a burden to carry, how tiresome. Would you care for some music?" he asks suddenly and turns away to pick up his violin with bloody hands.
Watson kneels on the ground, silent tears running down his cheeks and even though he sees how Holmes' start to play, all he can hear is the beat of his heart, nestled within his friend's chest.
And he realizes that Death can not claim him as long as his heart still beats and he is neither alive nor dead.
He is forever cursed