The curious narrative of one Sherlock Holmes

I am sure that you have heard from Mr. Vatler about the last case I took upon before my presumed and famous disappearance. My dear Watson, I am afraid that I hadn't revealed the full extent of my investigative work to you before. It is a rather awful betrayal of trust, I suppose, but I hope you will forgive me.

Mycroft had contacted me earlier, two months ago before the Sussex case in fact, reporting of similar kinds of victims. Now, as I have said before, he is basically the British Government. He had access to the going-ons in the entire country, atleast the official records anyways. He gave me a few cold cases for reference. I couldn't believe that I had missed including them in my extensive history of crime, but that's that. Victims like this have popped all over history, and ancient sources have described the killers as "Pale with bloodsucking canines and deadly claws which fade into mist." All over history, people have been shown to be afraid of such creatures, sending whispered warnings all around.

Now what was it that William Shakespeare had said in his famous play, "Julius Caesar"?

"Yond Cassius over there has a lean and hungry look
He thinks too much, such men are dangerous."

Well, he might as well be wary of me, anyways.

I had gathered data from dubious sources, dubious to the general public anyways. They spoke of people striking from thick mists and leaving behind such dead bodies in their wake. I have extended the network of the Baker Street Irregulars into the entire country, with Mycroft's help. However I shall not bore you with the details.

When I received the case from Mr. Vatler, I already had a strange sort of working hypothesis. The officials would laugh at me if I said this, for I had no proof and lack of evidence to the contrary doesn't prove my point either. It is a faulty way of thinking, and it doesn't gather much credence in my precise thinking methods.

However as implausible and absurd my theory was, my intuition said that I was heading in the right direction. As I have said before, when you eliminate the impossible, all that's left is the truth, however improbable. Curiously enough, Mycroft happened to take my words seriously.

Considering that he is better than me in constructing theories, I took this shot in the dark for the time being.

Tell me now, good Watson, you have heard of vampires right?

Pale bloodsuckers who resemble humans, armed with fangs and an ability to collapse into mist?

We all believed they were nuances of fantasy, crafted mythical creatures based on imagination. However, to my rather expected shock, I discovered that they existed pretty well in flesh, and were simply another previously undiscovered link in the food chain. Undiscovered in respect to humans.

A vampire jumped at me out of nowhere, giving me no opportunity to react. I struggled, but found it to be in vain as I felt strength ebbing from my veins along with the blood. I had been in near death situations many times, especially the close brush with Professor Moriarty a few years ago.

However, this time I was powerless, in the clutches of an unimaginably powerful creature. Helpless to struggle in the face of certain death. As I felt my consciousness completely leave, a voice sounded, oddly distorted, as if someone was speaking through an incredibly strong wind.

It said, "Don't worry, you will wake up hungry."

In my utter delirious state, I hadn't paid much attention to it, but after waking up from what felt like a coma after approximately fourteen or so hours, I realised what it meant. I was delirious, with hunger this time as I dug myself out of wherever I had been buried, a bush if I recall correctly, however said hunger may or may not have affected my judgement which I am sorry for.

To my incredibly good luck, the person I happened to find wasn't a human, but instead a vampire, not the one which had targeted me, however. He took pity on me, and I must have been looking piteous enough to attract such sympathy. Atleast I have retained my coat, which I found to my delight could shift into mist along with me, sparing me the trouble of seeking pairs of clothes to preserve modesty after shifting back.

The thing is, as you might have guessed by now, which is kind of obvious, I am a vampire. I got turned into one by extremely unfortunate circumstances and there is not reversal of said circumstances so I am stuck in this form for as long as I live, as a vampire. Which would probably be outliving human lifespans by atleast a century, a really sobering and upsetting thought.

For the record, not all vampires drink human blood. Technically the requirement is blood, from any possible creature. Though, one of them have started on how delicious human blood is, though most find it distasteful as they have been converted from humans, and even if their species might have changed, preying on humans still counted as a form of cannibalism.

I tracked the vampire who was stirring up trouble and using his vampiric abilities to cause unwarranted chaos and murder. Some of them happened due to personal grudges, some simply for fun. I suppose I cannot blame him, for he regards humans as an exotic delicacy, a forbidden fruit. Drinking human blood is technically forbidden, unless under pressing circumstances. So basically he was breaking the vampire law and I ended up being assigned to bring him down.

I have been following you ever since I got word of him being spotted in London. It was to watch over you, for I have been worried as you tended to follow my rather unhealthy habit of not sleeping. I hope that you will forgive the sudden scare I gave with the violin. You sincerely needed sleep.

I realised that he was likely to target you after me and after keeping watch over you for a few days, sure enough, you led me straight to him. His bloodlust was palpable when he spotted you, disgusting in fact—

Even if I hadn't been assigned for this case, I will make him pay for even attempting to kill you. He would have sucked you dry and then cut your head off. An efficient way to prevent vampiric transformation.

And

For who it is, I believe that you have an obvious suspicion, don't you?

Yes, you are right.

It is the forensic scientist, Dr. Landsteiner.

He is killing off humans for fun.

"Holmes, you scared me."

"I know," the detective mumbled, looking at the floor, seemingly interested in examining the floorboards for the millionth time. He felt thin but firm arms around him and Watson's voice near his ear,

"Please DO tell me before Mrs. Hudson and I die of worry and Scotland Yard dies of overwork."

The old laughter of Sherlock Holmes echoed in the rooms of 221B Baker Street once again.