Sherlock- Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde AU

The beginning of the end

It wasn't unknown that the genius, who resides in the flat 221b of Baker Street, was peculiar within his profession and methods. The way he was quiet yet, infamous as a consulting detective, seemed almost intimidating to the underground criminal network. Some found him a worthy appontent, others saw him as a mere stepping stone, a roadwork, a minor inconvenience. Nevertheless, his brilliance, within the area of deductions, was immense; and his vast intellectual prowess was truly admirable by all. And soon, almost everyone began to recognise the name: Dr Sherlock Holmes.

Unfortunately, he, himself, didn't share the same positive emotions towards his abilities, as he always strived for more. Something greater, anything greater. Being the alleged smartest man in the world wasn't enough for the self-proclaimed high functioning sociopath; everything simply appeared dull. Well... that was until he made a revolutionary break through.

The year was 1886. The very year when the first practical dishwasher was invented, however that discovery was immeasurably insignificant compared to the break through Sherlock was about to make. He documented his findings, as he went along, within a small diary, it began like so:
'September 13th 11:56pm.
I have started this alone, and I must finish it alone. I know there is no longer a choice. I know I must use myself as the subject of the experiment.'

And with that final note, he injected it. The serum that could change everything or nothing, so many out comes could come from this, so many possibilities; a two sided coin of fate. The colours within the syringe swirled and changed from red, to orange, to white and back to the same crimson red. It was mesmerising how something so small and seemingly insignificant, could be large and revolutionary.

The substance slowly snaked through Sherlock's veins, making them seem brighter and shift into a fiery, sunset pink. Though, this was a tad bit strange to the curly haired brunet, but he didn't let anxiety linger on his mind more than it should; there are more pressing matters to attend to right now. 

'11:58pm.⠀⠀
Consumed 10 centilitres of formula HJ⁷;
•A salty, bitter taste.
•Stings the tongue.
•Warm in the gullet.
•Heat spreading strongly through my veins.
•A slight feeling of euphoria.
•Light headedness.
•No noticeable behavioural changes.'
It seems symptoms had already began to occur... was that meant to happen?

From the first few signs of the drug, all Sherlock tried to do was focus on the out come, on the very reason why he began this. He was doing this so he could figure out whether or not the psyche could be altered, almost contorted and swayed into either the direction of righteousness or into the path of hell's gates. If this were to be true, hundreds and thousands of criminals would be cured and moulded into that of something spectacular, a model citizen! Why, it could even affect their thinking and intellectual capabilities! And, if they weren't able to be redeemed by the serum, maybe an even greater opponent would be there for him to take down and really set him a challenge.

Watson would finally come to his senses that all that nonsense of 'marriage' was nothing compared to the likes of sci-

Oh god... what... was that feeling? A pang of pain, similar to a blade cutting through a finger tip. Again, it happened again but, this time; it felt like there was more pressure, more of an intent to inflict pain. Again. Again. Again. Consistent and breathtaking, merciless and agonising. Another pain. A knife, like a knife stabbing into his intestines and cutting them up slowly before dragging it up to his pancreas, his stomach, his liver, his spleen. The way it travelled through his body, it made him want to rip off his skin and muscles just to stop the blade from cutting into him so inhumanly.

Several screams, whimpers and chokes of pure, unadulterated pain and anguish escaped the man's throat before he dropped to the floor, clutching to his body and digging his nails into his flesh where he was able to. Yet, no one would come, of course no one would. He had made sure the vicinity was empty before conducting this experiment. Mrs Hudson was out at the pub since, Sherlock had suggested that she should relax. And John? Well, he was on a date with Mary, the only person top of his friend's priorities.

Over and over again, he cried out for his companion. He begged, he pleaded, he even prayed. The man, who believed God was a ludicrous figment of the human imagination, was actually praying and wishing for this to end. For it all to just stop via God. Was this it? Was this how he died, how he was beaten? By his own hand in the pursuit for knowledge and understanding for something not meant to be reckoned with by humans.  

The indescribable pain continued for seconds more as he writhed on the floor in a worthless attempt to stop this, until he began to feel peculiar. I would say 'he felt peculiar within himself' but, this wasn't himself. This was so much more than himself, this was something- no- someone new, different... charming. And just as the pain began to subside, a large, condescending smirk crept upon the being's face like a crack on glass and as cold as the blood of a corpse.

The person hoisted himself up onto his feet, a light and giddy feeling continued to wave through him yet, he didn't seem to care. All he did was smile, a dead look within his ocean eyes, which turned them into more of a deathly, pale blue. The life, that once inhabit the previous male, was drained and was replaced with something much more sinister.

"Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. What have we got here?" Said the new being, his words drooled off of his tongue as smooth as velvet. An accent, other than British, was present within his voice. Irish. Now, that may not seem threatening and more of a case of bipolar disorder but, believe me when I say, if you could hear the new vocals, you wouldn't have said that it was Holmes'. Oh no, you would've heard a different person entirely. The pitch and tone had completely changed to a more soft and delicate sounding voice, almost like his vocal chords had been surgically removed and replaced with someone else's. "What is this useless piece of meat set before me? It looks so... dull." He sighed as he looked at his hands, eyes flicking rapidly as if he were reading the contents of a news paper article.
⠀⠀⠀
With a smooth and precise stroll, he relocated himself in front of the mirror within the bathroom. To you and I, all that was reflected was simply the detective's reflection but, to him, it was a raven haired man. The style of his hair was slicked back with gel, and the skin was tanned but, only sun kissed. Eyes like melted dark chocolate, swirling around and mixing in a hypnotic way. This only provoked a gentle laugh from him as he tilted his head in a few directions, almost as if he were testing out his body. And, by God, did it feel so good to be alive, all of the sensations being so strong and pure. It was truly invigorating as he felt his heart pulsate from inside of the vessel's chest, the warmth of the blood that streamed throughout the body. Even the sights around him were so incredibly fascinating.
⠀⠀⠀
"This'll do. This will definitely do. Won't it, Mr Jim Moriarty." The soft spoken man impersonated Sherlock as he viewed himself with such a vulgar and lusty expression, admiring his features while touching at the eye lid. He stretched the bottom lid down of his right eye, looking at all the tiny, red veins. To think they were full of blood only made him want to open them up and see the contents; maybe at a later date. "Yes," replied the new man.
⠀⠀⠀
"I do believe it will... my dear." Said Jim Moriarty.