SUPERWHOLOCK Imagines

Imagine: Killing

*WARNING: MAY BE GROSS TO SOME READERS. CONTAINS GORE AND MORE.*

Ever since you were a young child, you've been interested in death. You would walk down the streets of your childhood home, finding roadkill. You stare at it in amusement as you looked at the guts pouring out. The way the animals looked so different when dead amused you. So much so, that you wanted to see it more.

You would catch wild animals outside and bring them to your home, sneaking them in. You'd use different tools to cut them open to see how they function. Then, you'd dispose of the bodies and wash away the blood as if nothing ever happened.

Eventually, you were caught and put in an insane asylum for a few years. When they thought that those sick ways were gone, they let your mother take you home. But, you moved to London and out of her reach when you turned 18.

Only to return to your sick ways.

You're now the most wanted criminal in London. You killed prostitutes, finding it hard for anyone to miss such petty whores. You cut their uteruses out and studied them, seeing the amount of times unborn children were removed. You loved the feel of their blood on your skin and the way their organs slipped through your fingers.

You've had many kills by now. Maybe around twenty. Who were you kidding? You knew exactly how many you killed.

27.

You laughed to yourself as you gazed down at your latest victim. She was pretty, sure. She had on a long brown haired wig and a tight red dress that stopped right below her ass.

But, your laughing was cut short.

"Ah, finally I have the pleasure of meeting you, Jack the Ripper," a voice called out in the dark. You winced at the use of the name the public gave you. It was a disgrace, assuming you to be a man. You don't consider yourself anything. Just a mere human walking amongst other humans.

You all have the same insides after all.

"The names Sherlock. I've been tracking you down for quite a while now. You're tricky, yes. But, you've left trails. Each victim had something similar to that of your childhood. A marking. You always leave an X right above where you cut," the man continues on, walking towards you. You stare at him as his trench coat flaps around behind him.

"That's how I found you. I knew that I'd heard of your case before. It used to be animals that suffered your ways. Now, you've moved on to humans. Why is that?" He questions, stopping in front of you.

"That's none of your damn business," you hiss, spitting in your face.

"Oh, but it is. You've come into my territory and you've killed the people here. I have every right to know and if you don't tell me I'll force it out of you," he fires back before turning and walking away.

Before you could even react your hands were pulled behind you back and handcuffs were slapped on.

"[Y/N] [L/N], you are under arrest for the murder of 27 women," a voice whispered behind you, pulling roughly on your arm. You follow the man and sit in the back of the police vehicle.

I will get you, Sherlock.