Sempiternal Bloodlust

Chapter 2

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.