Halloween Vault #2

I. CHASED BY ZOMBIES

★ WINNER OF THE HALLOWEEN VAULT #2 FAN-FIC PROMPT★

"Do your bloody deduction thing and get us out of here!" John seethed as he slammed the door of 221B shut on the horde of zombies that were chasing them.

"They're zombies, John!" Sherlock shouted back. "They don't have behavior patterns! The only deducible thing about them is that they're dead!"

The two threw the bulk of their weight against the door to barricade themselves from the flesh-eating monsters.

"I can't believe we're going to die from zombies," John moaned in disdain. "Zombies, Sherlock!"

"You can blame Mycroft for this one," Sherlock grunted as the zombies delivered a powerful kick from the other side of the door and jolted the pair. "He wouldn't listen to me, and now the entirety of London has turned into actual morons."

The famous duo had been working on a case for the British government before the outbreak. Mycroft had recruited his brother to track down the whereabouts of a stolen super-virus that the government had planned to use as a chemical weapon. Somehow, it had found its way into Moriarty's hands and the villain had unleashed it upon the public.

"Speak of the Devil." Sherlock rolled his eyes as his ringtone screeched and caused the zombies to thrash even harder. Sherlock pushed himself off the door and answered his mobile, leaving an incredulous John to struggle with the strength of the mob.

"Are you still alive or did one of the zombies become smart enough to answer a mobile?" Mycroft's bored voice came from the other end.

"I'm alive," Sherlock confirmed. "No thanks to you."

"It's hardly my fault," Mycroft responded. "The virus had adverse effects. It was supposed to kill people and keep them dead. Not turn the world into zombies..."

"How do we fix this?" John yelled loudly for Mycroft to hear.

"Oh good, I see your pet has survived," Mycroft said. "I need you to do me a favor."

"A favor? Seriously?" Sherlock scoffed. A chorus of grunts came from John and the zombies outside. "We're a little busy at the moment!"

"Don't become so snippy, it's part of 'saving the world'." Mycroft said "saving the world" like one would say "cleaning out the fridge".

"What is it?" Sherlock asked.

"Get to the Scotland Yard. You need to find Moriarty, if he's still alive. He has to have the cure."

"Why don't you do it?" Sherlock snapped. A fit of laughter erupted from the other side.

"Good luck, dear brother. Please, try not to die," Mycroft ignored Sherlock's question and hung up the phone. Typical.

"So, what's the plan?" John asked between groans.

"How good are your acting skills?" Sherlock asked.

~~~

"Sherlock, this is absurd!" John seethed. "They're not this stupid!"

After pushing a table against the door and raiding Mrs. Hudson's make-up, the two had snuck out the fire escape in new guises: zombies. Thankfully, Sherlock still had an abundance of dead body parts in the fridge which they used to cover their scent like undead car fresheners.

"Shut up, John, it's working," Sherlock whispered back. He flailed his limbs and let out a series of monstrous moans.

Their plan was near fruition: an abandoned taxi was in sight. After miraculously making it in one piece, the two hopped in and sped off to the Scotland Yard.

As they wound themselves around the cluster of overturned desks a thudding sound caught their attention and stopped them cold. The Scotland Yard had been surprisingly quiet until then...With an exchange of looks they slowly crept towards the source and found a zombie repeatedly walking into a closed door.

"Anderson," Sherlock sighed. "Somehow you're even less daft as a zombie."

Unthreatened, Sherlock and John pushed past Zombie Anderson and ran for the cells. They paused before pushing through the doors, unsure of what they would find. A cold shiver ran down their spines.

The cell straight ahead of them held a man with his back facing them, but Sherlock could recognize the telltale Westwood suit of his adversary from anywhere.

"Sherlock..." Moriarty's sinister voice echoed around the cement room. He slowly turned to face them and Sherlock and John found themselves taking a step back in shock.

His pale skin was stretched tight across his bones and he peered at them with sunken black eyes. Moriarty was a zombie...

"Looking for something?" Moriarty cackled, his bones cracking as he lifted something into their line of sight. One by one his bony fingers peeled back to reveal their holy grail: the cure.