Disclaimer: The following is a fanbased work of fiction that combines elements of the anime Tokyo Ghoul, and the show Sherlock. Neither of which belong to me, but to their respective owners. If you like what you're reading, be sure to leave a vote and a comment.

John continued silently reading to himself, so far, satisfied with what he'd written when he heard the lock on the door, to the living room of their flat begin to rattle. He turned his head around slightly, but still kept his eyes on the computer screen At the very right hand corner of the screen, on the digital clock it read 2:32. There was a fifty, fifty chance that it was either Sherlock, or Mrs. Hudson again. Either way, John was in no position to stop his reading; unless it was actually Sherlock, then he'd be compelled to stop. When the rattling stopped and the door came open, John turned around only to see the consulting detective himself dressed in his usual long jacket, with his blue scarf around his neck. His left hand was shoved deep inside his pocket, while the right one was clutching a bag that he could only assume contained more human body parts for the refrigerator. His countenance displayed its usual bored indifference after solving a case, but this time, it was slightly glazed over by a touch of uncertainty and fatigue. John noticed this, but decided not to keep his remarks to himself.

"So, how was your day?" John asked. Sherlock regarded him with a silent shrug of his shoulders, and moved toward the kitchen. John could only raise his eyebrows in surprise and watch Sherlock from his seat in front of his laptop. As he predicted, the consulting detective was removing dismembered body parts, wrapped in plastic from the bag and making room for them in the refrigerator. His back was to John, so his facial expression, while doing it was unreadable. From where he was seated, John could make out an arm, a foot, a spleen, a liver, and a heart, all of which were probably collected from the crime scene that Sherlock just came from. The sight of the dismembered organs did nothing to faze John, but what really surprised him was the fact that they came straight from the crime scene itself, seeing as the blood was still fresh on the plastic, and dismembered organs were usually thrown in the crematorium at St. Bart's; so they couldn't have come from the morgue. This peaked John's interest.

"I thought Anderson would be against the idea of you taking evidence from his crime scenes? Isn't he worried about you contaminating it?" He asked. At the sound of this, Sherlock turned to look at his flat mate, with bored indifference still displayed on his face.

"Yes, well with all the rampant ghoul activity going on throughout the city, even Anderson is getting desperate for answers. That includes excepting my help. Don't know why it took an entire species of inhuman killers for him to finally take my word as gospel, but who knows, and who cares." He said. With that final remark, Sherlock closed the refrigerator with a satisfying slam, having deposited the last body part. He pulled loose the scarf around his neck, and turned to move toward his bedroom. Once again, John was at a loss for words for Sherlock's cynical remarks, but he definitely found it interesting that Anderson would actually accept Sherlock's help on a case, given their previous animosity. John merely raised his eyebrows and turned back to his computer, though not exactly looking at it, but looking out the window at the everyday London scenery. It seemed as though the ghouls presence was changing everything around London. There was a new police system in place, people were in a state of uncertainty as to who they could trust, and now Sherlock and Anderson were starting to get along. That would be about the only thing that John was liking about this situation.

When Sherlock reappeared, his coat and scarf were gone, leaving him in only his button down blue shirt, black pants, and black socks. He sat in his usual seat, in front of the kitchen, crossing one of his legs over his knee, taking a more relaxed posture, though his countenance showed that he was in deep thought, as always. John turned to look at him, waiting for him to begin a lengthy conversation about the case, but nothing came. He should have expected this kind of behavior from his flat mate, but after a case like this, he'd thought Sherlock would be talking up a storm. A pregnant silence engulfed the two of them for another 5 minutes, with the only sound being the faint tapping of John's fingers on his knee caps. As it looked like Sherlock wasn't willing to talk, John started the conversation with the first topic that came to mind.

"So, I'm almost done typing up this latest case." He said. At the sound of this Sherlock turned to look at John with raised slightly raised eyebrows.

"Oh. I imagine your readers will eat this one up. Though, not the way the ghouls eat us up." He said. John rolled his eyes at that last statement, choosing to ignore, as this was just Sherlock's standard way of making conversation. In what seemed like an afterthought, Sherlock looked back at John, glaring suspicious daggers in his direction.

"You didn't include the part about my incredulity, did you?" He asked. If looks could kill, John would be another corpse on a slab for Molly to examine. Such was the way that Sherlock was staring at him. John showed Sherlock the palms of his hands, thought they still rested on his knees, as if showing a gesture of defeat.

"No, I didn't include anything about your being scared". He said, rolling his eyes. Sherlock' suspicious glares were sustained for a few more seconds before he finally settled back into his former comfortable position in his chair. John let out a short sigh and turned back to his laptop. He read over his work for 5 more minutes before he continued typing up the conclusion. Sherlock ignored him for as long as he could, until the sound of John's fingers dancing across the keyboard provoked him to stand up from his seat, and look over John's shoulder at his work. Sherlock rolled his eyes and released a sigh of frustration.

"Oh, for God sakes, John. Did you really have to include that part?" He asked. John looked back at him in confusion as to what he was complaining about this time.

"What have I done wrong now?" He asked. Sherlock simply reached out his hand and pointed to one of the typed paragraphs on the screen, outlining it with his finger, and quoting the lines.

..."Speaking of the consulting detective, he was quick to come to my aid, and wipe the blood off of my face with the handkerchief he'd had in his pocket. I could also tell that he did the same thing to his own face, making absolutely sure that every ounce of the dead man's blood was gone from the surface of his skin..." Is it really that difficult for you to read over your own writing, John?". He asked, irritated. Said flat mate was at a loss as to what Sherlock was talking about, until it finally dawned upon him that the only thing that worried Sherlock more than people knowing he was afraid of a ghoul, was the misconception of people thinking he and John were a couple; wiping each other's faces with the same handkerchiefs and staring lovingly into each others eyes. Realizing this, John's eyes widened slightly as looked back and forth between the screen and his flat mate, unsure of what to say. But as far as Sherlock was concerned, there was no need for words, as John's eyes were speaking volumes.

"Look, John, it's your blog. Do with it what you will, just don't give your readers false hope. That's the last thing they need at a time like this." He said. With that, he turned and walked into the kitchen for a cup of tea. John was left staring at the empty space that Sherlock had just departed from, and scoffed at the thought that even his more intelligent readers would fall under such a ridiculous notion simply from one sentence. Of course, a lot of people had more than a few theories about his relationship with Sherlock being more than professional, and way beyond platonic. Just the thought of it made John quickly shake his head dismissively, and go back to typing the rest of his entry, determined to see it through to the end. When he finally finished his pressed Submit, and sat back thoroughly pleased with himself, and waiting for the people of London to read over his latest adventure with Sherlock.

The aforementioned consulting detective was still in the kitchen, leaving John to his own devices for the time being. Seeing the time again, John saw that it was now 4:00. This Saturday was moving slower than normal, but the only thing that they could do was wait until it ended. When Sherlock came back into the living room, he had a cup of tea in his left hand, he picked up his violin with his right hand, and moved to sit in his chair, facing the kitchen. John looked at him from out of his peripheral vision, but other than that paid him no mind. He opened another tab on his laptop and scanned the internet, reading various news stories that ranged from international, to national, to local affairs, all of which seemed to talk about how to handle the ghoul population. It seemed as thought the media couldn't find anything else to talk about. Making money off of the innocent people who've lost their lives, and the families torn apart by grief. John found himself wondering who were the real monsters here. He continued reading for a good five minutes before he grew a bit depressed by all of the gruesome deaths, and closed out of that tab, leaving only the one on his blog open.

He got up from his seat and moved toward the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, not even sparring a glance at Sherlock. It wasn't long before the sound of a beautifully played violin filled the air, but as this was still standard Sherlock behavior, John let it go over his head. When he returned with his own cup of tea, he noticed that Sherlock was glancing at his laptop, seeing the comments that were coming in.

"So as always, I see your blog is booming with comments about our latest case. Hopefully your readers will regard this one as a cautionary tale, instead of the usual action packed dribble that you've grown accustomed to writing". He said sarcastically. Hearing this, John set down his cup of tea, and moved to where his laptop was sitting. As Sherlock had said, comments were coming in by the minute. As he also said these comments were regarding the attacks that have been plaguing the city.

BonnieBunni: I get where you're coming from. The way things are headed ,I'm scared to go out at night.

HueManatee: Remember the good ol' days when the London Streets were safe?

HannahtheHobbit: Glad to know that the two of you are okay. Do your best to keep our streets safe, the CCG isn't moving fast enough.

DickthedestroyerofWorlds: If only the ghouls would make themselves useful and kill the criminals and bad guys.

As John read through the comments, the last one that he saw had him raising his eyebrows in interest. Sherlock noticed this and turned to look at the laptop. He skimmed the comments until he came across the last comment on the blog. Now he too was raising one of his eyebrows in interest.

"Looks like I was right, your readers aren't as small minded as I originally thought they were. They're even more idiotic for posting rubbish comments like these." He said. Once again, John was furrowing his eyebrows together in confusion. Of course there were the occasional comments whose contents were unsavory enough to be taken down almost immediately, but whatever Sherlock was implying was not getting through to him.

"What could you possible be getting at this time? Personally, I kind of agree with this chap."Said John. Now Sherlock was now looking at him incredulously, as if John had suddenly morphed into a carbon copy of Moriarty. He couldn't understand what Sherlock was so shocked about, and tried to defend his point.

"Look, this might sound a bit pessimistic, but with everything that I've seen in Afghanistan, I'd say that these ghouls have got us backed into a corner, even with Mycroft's people on the hunt. Of course, we'd be better off without them, but unless they do decide to start killing people who genuinely deserve it, we humans are pretty much at the bottom of the food chain". He concluded. Sherlock's previous look of shock was now one of indifference, as he simply raised one of his eyebrows and went back to plucking the strings of his violin. At this, John couldn't help but be confused, expecting his flat mate to have some kind of comeback to John's "less than intelligent" statement.

"Well?" He asked Sherlock. Said flat mate glanced in his direction with one eyebrow still raised.

"Well what?" He responded. John glanced between Sherlock and his laptop expectantly, whilst tapping his fingers on his knee cap.

"This is usually the part where you give some cynical, smart ass remark." He said. But Sherlock simply plucked away at his violin strings, not even looking at John anymore, but looking off into space. Another 5 minutes went by without another word from Sherlock. Now John was thoroughly confused

"Sherlock? Anyone home?" He asked. The consulting detective finally acknowledged John's presence with a simple look in his general direction.

"Yes, what is it?" He asked. John regarded him with the same expectant gaze that he wore before.

"Anything to say? About what I just said, with the ghouls and humanity, and whatnot?" He inquired. Sherlock plucked at one more string on his violin, before giving his answer.

"What do you want me to say other than that I agree with you?" He responded. John's eyes almost immediately widened in shock.