Demon

“I’m here, Graham. What so special about this case?” Sherlock demanded as he and John arrived at the scene of the crime.

Lestrade led Sherlock to the crime scene. Blood was decorating the area, and a body was missing a head. “The room was locked, as were all the windows. Mr. Waters and his son were sleeping when the boy heard a scream. Looking up, he saw a demon holding his father’s head. As the boy screamed, it turned around, shook his head, and disappeared after saying, ‘Anyone who seeks me will suffer the same.’”

Sherlock turned around, looking at the boy, who was about 12 or so, “this isn’t something you make up stories about, boy,” he ordered, “Now tell me exactly who you saw doing this. Obviously, someone you know and are trying to protect.”

“Sherlock!” John and Greg yelled together.

“What? The boy is lying.”

“That was a bit not good. The boy is scared and upset. Be gentle with him,” John corrected him.

“Why, he’s apparently making this up,” Sherlock didn’t understand how either man couldn’t see that the boy wasn’t telling the truth.

The boy came forward crying and angrily shoved a picture into Sherlock’s hands. “I’m not lying. I took this picture with the Instamatic camera my father brought me right before that demon disappeared with my father’s head.”

After looking at the picture, “It seems someone is trying to make this into some sort of demon. Really, who would believe it? Graham, when you get more, let me know.” And then Sherlock threw his coattails behind him, walking out. “Coming John?”

John held his temper until they entered 221B. “You hurt that child. He wasn’t lying.”

Sherlock sat at his microscope, inserting a slide. "I am unwilling to listen to you or that child and your idiotic ideas. I have better things to do. If you believe in non-existing demons, be my guest. Just do it somewhere else."

John opened his mouth and then closed it. Turning around, he stomped down the stairs, slamming the door. Sherlock lifted his head, surprised John had left, then shook his head, wondering what he did this time.

Getting up to get some tea, Sherlock stipped over a rug, falling and hitting his head.

Sherlock was sleeping to be awoken by a noise. Turning on the bedside lamp, what he saw made him blink.

"I'm really here," the demon said.

"There are no demons," Sherlock insisted.

Laughing, the demon said, "If that is true, then what am I."

"I hit my head earlier, and you're an imagined creature that the picture that boy showed me from the case I was working on."

"So you don't believe in me. I have a challenge for you."

Sherlock smiled. He enjoyed someone who thought they could outsmart him. "And this challenge?"

"You have five days to catch me. Each day you don't, I kill someone you know. If you haven't caught me on the fifth day, you die."

"And if I catch you?"

"Then I go away from here."

Sherlock knew he could catch the fool. "You have a deal."

Then, with a puff of smoke, the demon was gone. "Well, so much for my dreams," and I fell asleep.

//////

The phone rang at one in the morning. Sherlock reached for it after checking the time. "This better be at least an 8, Graham."

Greg's voice shook as he answered."Sherlock, this isn't time for you to act up. I need you now."

"Fine, but it better be up to my standards for me to get up this early. Send me the address."

Sherlock arrived at the scene to find Greg upset, the team silent, and Sally with tears in her eyes. "What's going on? Did Anderson mess up the evidence again?" He asked, looking over the quiet scene and noticing Sally leaving the area crying.

Walking to the covered corpse, he lifted the sheet. Before him, what's the body a Philip Anderson with his head lying on his chest. The number five was carved into it. Turning around, Sherlock addressed Greg. "It looks like we have a serial killer. I would say the same person who killed the man earlier this evening killed Philip."

"What do you have?" Greg asked.

"Nothing yet. I'll check out my people and see if anyone has something to help us with identifying the perp. I'll also check out these soil samples." Sherlock informed Greg before heading for a taxi. As he entered it, a whisper was heard.

"One down, four more days to find me."

Sherlock looked around but no one was there. "Just my overworked mind." he thought.

Sally approached Greg, "Did the Freak find anything?"

Greg shook his head no. "He's going to check out what he found, but I don't think he'll find anything."

"I doubt he'll try too hard, he never liked Phillip," Sally said.

"You're wrong Sally. One thing I know about Sherlock is that he doesn't like an unsolved mystery and this is one."

///////

After checking with his homeless network and examining the soil samples, nothing was evident. It was like someone just floated it, killed Phillip, and left. Although tired, Sherlock began to look back in the past to see if there were any similar cases and fell asleep on top of the books he was searching through.

A ringing was beginning to irate Sherlock's sleep. Reaching over, he picked up the phone without opening his eyes. "Yes, what do you want this time?"

"Sherlock, come immediately, please," Greg sounded as if he was about to collapse.

Gathering his clothes, Sherlock quickly dressed and headed toward the same site as the previous scene, almost afraid of what he would find. When he arrived, Greg was sitting in the grass by the body.

"Graham, what's the situation?"

Greg spoke so softly it was hard to hear "Female, in her 30's, police officer. Her gun never left her hoster."

Sherlock headed toward the body but stopped before uncovering it. Taking a deep breath, he removed the sheet. Sally lay under it, head on her chest and the number four carved into it. The look of terror glared, almost accusing him. Place the sheet gently back down.

“When did it happen?”

“According to the person who found her, it was about two when he heard a yell and found her.”

“What was she doing here? At that time of the morning?” Sherlock demanded. “She should have never been here alone.”

“This isn’t her fault,” Greg said forcefully then calmed down. “Phillip was her friend. She hoped to find something to help solve his murder. You’re aware friends try to help when friends are in trouble, don’t you?” Then immediately regretted his words.

Sherlock looked at him. “I do understand that is what friends do. I get back to you the second I find anything.” Then turned and left.

The day was long. Sherlock returned to the scene after Sally’s body was removed. He searched every inch of the area but found nothing.

Then he went to the morgue to talk to Molly and look over Phillip’s and Sally’s bodies. “Anything you found?” he asked her.

“Just some slime they both had around their neck. Where it's from, I haven’t been able to identify yet.” Greg had joined him to look through evidence also.

After finishing looking over the bodies, he asked for some of the slime and the use of the morgues microscope. Spending the afternoon testing the slime against other substances, he finally discovered that it was oral drippings.

“That sounds like the killer bites the head off, Sherlock. Even I know there's no mouth big enough to do that,” Greg laughed

“I didn’t say their heads were bitten off, I just said what the slime was from,” Sherlock huff. He put his coat back on. “I’m going to look into other items and get back to you if I find anything.” Then left in a huff. When he entered the cab, the whisper of three more days ran in his ears.

“Will he be able to find anything more?” Molly asked.

Greg looked at her, “I hope so.”

//////

Another day of running around, talking to his people, and looking into what could cause the amount of slime that was on the bodies. Walking tiredly up the stairs to his flat, Mrs. Hudson exited her apartment.

“I have extra tonight. I thought you might want to join me for dinner.”

“On a case, food slows me down,” he told her as he continued up the stairs.

She followed him upstairs with a dish. “Sherlock Holmes, you will eat something, or I’ll call your Mother.”

Mumbling, he took the dish, giving her a look of frustration. Sitting at the table with him, she watched as he ate everything on the plate she had given him.

“Happy?” he asked as he finished.

“Very. now you get some sleep to start fresh in the morning.” She ordered, knowing he won’t listen to her.

He once again fell asleep while reading books he had on demon cultures and beliefs. When the phone rang at three, he stared at it, almost afraid to answer. It stopped, and he was hopeful that was it but it rang again.

“Yes Greg. What is it?”

“I need you at the morgue now.” Sherlock could hear the anger and angst in his friend’s voice.

“Who is it?” Sherlock asked.

“Just come down if you will,” Greg begged.

When Sherlock arrived, he knew who it would be, although he hoped not.

As he opened the door, he saw the sheet-covered body on the floor with the shoes Molly always wore. He swayed towards the doorframe, “Is it……Molly?” he asked, not coming into the room.

Greg looked up from where he was sitting near her and nodded. “Who is doing this? Do you know anything?”

Sherlock went and knelt by the body. Gently, he pulled the sheet back. Molly was lying with her head on her chest, a three carved into her forehead.

Standing, Sherlock angrily said, “No, but I intend to stop this now. No more people will die by this maniac.” Then walked out the door to a whisper, “Only two more days to find me.”

“Sherlock,” Greg yelled after him, but the man kept walking away.

Instead of returning home, he headed toward Mycroft. Picking the lock and turning off the alarm, he headed toward the library, where Mycroft found him later. Sherlock sat on the floor looking through all the books he could find on supernatural piles on the floor around him.

“I’d ask what you’re looking for, except, it seems like you think the killer you’re after is a demon. Really, you know there are no such things,” Mycroft said as he sat in his favorite chair.

“Who ever is doing this is acting as if he was. I intend to stop him now.” With that Sherlock, stood heading toward the door.

“Brother dear. Listen to yourself. You seem to be so tired you can’t think straight. When was the last time you ate. You need to rest before you fall down from exhaustion.”

“I been woken up each night by the phone and I ate yesterday. I need to go.” And ran out.

When he reach the flat he ran up the steps, “Sherlock supper.”

“Not now, Mrs. Hudson, I have something I need to do.” He ran to his bedroom, threw his door close, and yelled.

“Alright, you won. I surrender.”

The demon appeared in a cloud of fog. “Oh no, Sherlock. When I made an agreement, I keep it. You have two “

“Didn’t you hear me? I give up, surrender, and admit I was wrong. You proved who you are. I admit defeat, take me now.”

“One more day before it’s your day.” The demon smiles wickedly.

“And another one of the people I know will die. Take me instead.”

“We have a deal, Sherlock. Your part of the deal is sealed.”

Begging,. “So my parents, brother, Mrs. Hudson, DI Lestrade could die next. No, take me.” Sherlock’s voice implored.

“I find it interesting your best friend's name wasn’t mentioned. See you in two days,” the demon disappeared, leaving Sherlock kneeling on the floor.

Sherlock grabbed his phone, hitting the one number he hoped could prevent the next death.

“Yes, brother dear, what can I do for you?”

“Mycroft put extra security around John for tonight,” Sherlock ordered.

“Why?”

“Just do me this one thing, and I’ll do the next two assignments you need me to without a complaint,” Sherlock's pleading voice.

“Sherlock what is happening? Talk to me,” Mycroft offered.

“Please just do it.”

Mycroft was concerted. “Consider it done, but tell me what is wrong.”

“Thank you,” then hung up.

/////

Pacing the floor, Sherlock walked himself into exhaustion. Sitting for a moment, his eyes closed without meaning to.

At four, the phone rang again. Sherlock stared at it and let it ring. When the ringing stopped, he picked the phone up to look at caller ID. He was surprised to find Mycroft's name on it. As it was unusual for him to call that late, Sherlock called back.

“Mycroft, what do you want at four in the morning? I was busy,” Sherlock demanded.

“I have a car coming for you in ten minutes. Greg needs you at a crime scene.”

Now frustrated with his brother, he demanded. “So why didn’t he call, and why are you sending a car?”

“Sherlock, just get into the car,” Mycroft ordered before hanging up.

Grumbling about overbearing brothers, he climbed into the car. When they arrived at the scene, Greg was waiting for him. Grabbing his arm, he said, “Before you go, I need to talk to you.”

Looking at the DI, Sherlock knew. He pulled away and raced to the sheet. Lifting it, he dropped to his knees. “John, no, you can’t be dead. No. John, John, John,” he cried out.

John had worried after Mrs. Hudson had called him about Sherlock just sitting on the couch without answering, eating, or sleeping. Going up to the flat, he found Sherlock sitting on the couch, eyes locked on a spot on the wall, not answering, just shaking and repeating his name repeatedly.

“Come up, Sherlock, wake up for me,” John said, shaking him gently. After trying a few times, Sherlock looked his way.

“You’re alive?” Sherlock asked in a quiet scared voice.

“Oh, of course, I’m alive. I’m just worried about you. Mrs. Hudson said you hadn’t moved in a day.”

“Is Molly fine?” Another quiet question

“Sherlock, what is going on? What happened?” John asked.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said as he walked toward his room. “I’m really tired and going to rest now.”

John watched him go and decided to stay around and ensure Sherlock was okay and just needed sleep.

In the other room, as Sherlock closed his eyes, the demon reappeared. “Next time, before you make a statement about what is or isn’t, check your faces. This time I just gave you a taste of what I can do. Next time it won’t be a dream.” Then disappeared, leaving Sherlock to sleep peacefully.

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