Sherlock's Transformation (On hold)

Prologue

"John!"

Sherlock exclaimed as John jumped from the roof of St Bartholomew's hospital, his eyes streaming with tears. It was his fault; he could have prevented yet another death and more blood on his hands. If only John knew that he had been with him for the last year and a half, everything would have ended differently.

Sherlock collapsed onto the knives that he was standing on, piercing his skin, letting all of the blood from the people that he could have saved out. This is what he deserved, a slow and painful death for all of the devastation that he had caused.

Lifting his left arm, Sherlock reached out longingly towards the fading body of John, blood clouding his vision. His hand started shaking vigorously as a pool of blood formed in front of his face, making him choke. He knew that he would not be able to last much longer. Any movement that he made resulted in more agony and blame for what the victims of Moriarty had gone through.

One question was racing around inside Sherlock's head: "why John and not me? John should not have to suffer for what I have done."

Sherlock screamed throwing his torso out from under his cover, panting heavily, his eyes wide. It had happened again; he had been dreaming about faking his death from John's perspective. Sweat and tears ran down his greatly distressed face, burning his eyes in the process, before dripping off his cheekbones onto his grey pyjama top.

"It's alright." He kept telling himself, "It was just a dream, just a silly old dream." No matter what Sherlock said or did, he could never convince himself that there was nothing to worry about. The memories of John had come back to haunt him every night since his fall in January last year. How he wished he could return to 221B to see John, however, he knew that he must not until people started to forget who he was.

Sherlock buried his face into his hands, rocking back and forth on his bed while wiping away his tears. He reached over to his bedside table fumbling around for his phone to check the time - 04:32. At least tonight he had managed to sleep for six hours compared to the average of four and a half. Sherlock gave a lengthy sigh, ruffling his tangled, coal black hair, then stared out at the buildings through his window which was directly in front of him. He must have forgotten to close the curtains when he went to bed.

It had been far too long since he was out at night solving cases. Sherlock remembered the joy of the chase, blood pumping through his veins, just him and John against the rest of the world. Tears flooded into his eyes again but this time he managed to hold them in. Biting his lip, he took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling.

Sherlock slid out of bed and glided gracefully over to his window, standing tall as always with his hands placed behind his back. Sorrow spread over his face as he could see flashing blue lights in the distance about four roads away. For all he knew John could be there waiting for him to turn up at a crime scene.

"I could go down to help..." Sherlock soliloquised, "No. Don't be stupid." Sherlock laughed turning his head to look at his replacement skull which was sat on a wooden chest of drawers to the left of him. It looked back blankly.

"Why are you looking at me like that? It was just a suggestion." He snapped.

Sherlock returned to the window but this time with his chin lowered, glaring through his eyebrows. His eyes narrowed as an evil smile spread across his face. Moriarty was infecting his thoughts. He tried to resist the temptation but he was so bored! Where was his joy and excitement, the thrill of searching for the serial killer?

"If I can no longer go to crime scenes, why don't I bring them to me?"

Ideas filled his mind. It had restarted. His mind was once again like an engine, racing out of control. A rocket, tearing itself to pieces, trapped on the launch pad. Sherlock looked down, eyes widening, unfamiliar with his new mind. Slowly his gaze returned to his skull which appeared to be grinning back. The process had started; insanity was taking over.

"I'm no longer a sociopath but a highly functioning psychopath."