"Consequently, if you believe God made Satan, you must realize that all Satan's power comes from God and so that Satan is simply God's child, and that we are God's children also. There are—"
"Boring!" Sherlock Holmes ejaculated, stretching his arms out over the couch dramatically.
John Watson looked up from the book he had been reading and frowned, folding it shut in his lap. "I'm sorry, but when someone asks me to read them a story to help pass the time between cases, I don't think it's very polite to call themboring."
"I wasn't calling you boring. The book is boring."
"And I like the book. So yes, essentially, you are calling me boring."
"Is that so? In that case yes, I suppose you are also boring. Sorry for the confusion."
"And what do you mean, 'boring'?" John went on, reopening his copy of Interview With the Vampire and scanning his eyes across the page that he had just stopped at. "It's a gothic romantic period piece."
"I specifically asked you to read me something exciting."
"Vampires are exciting."
Sherlock shut his eyes and pressed his hands together across his chest. "No, they're really not. Aside from being entirely fictional, vampires are both cliche and archaic and any synonym of the two. To sum it up in one word: boring."
"It's Anne Rice. This thing's a classic."
"Would you read Gossip Girl if someone told you it was a classic?" Sherlock shot back.
John hesitated for a moment before jumping up and tucking his novel beneath an arm. "I think we're done here," he announced, taking several steps forward.
"Oh, John, don't be like that!" Sherlock exclaimed, craning his neck backwards to try and look at his flatmate as he spoke to him. "It's not your fault that the book was terribly boring. I'm sure you have plenty of other stories that I might like better, maybe something about—"
"Then read them yourself!" John spat, disappearing into the kitchen with a huff.
Sherlock waited for a moment to see if John would return. When he didn't, the consulting detective let out a rather exaggerated sigh before turning around and flopping onto his stomach.
That evening, John had reclaimed his armchair and was in the middle of plowing through Interview With the Vampire by himself when there was a knock at the door. "Pizza's here," he called out, hardly bothering to look up from his book.
A little ways away from him Sherlock showed no signs of moving, let alone getting up to answer the door. Grumbling something to himself, the doctor creased a page to mark his spot and set the book down in his seat before opening the flat's door himself. Sherlock waited patiently as he paid the delivery man and relieved him of his package. John then shut the door with a hip and set the pizza box down uneven over several stacks of miscellaneous papers that covered their coffee table.
Sherlock slid forward and opened the box, grabbing a napkin with which to wipe down any excess grease on his slice before picking it up. With a roll of his eyes John took his own, not bothering to do the same. "C'mon, a little grease won't kill you," he mused.
"Fat from melted cheese? No, probably not. However, if you knew half of the things it could do to you over time and in large quantities…" Sherlock took a bite from his pizza, immediately dabbing the napkin against his mouth afterwards. "And let's face it, attempting to cut out a few unnecessary calories from my diet is a much better use of my time than fantasizing about Edward."
"Lestat!" John hissed back. "…and I don't fantasize about him. That would be weird."
"Of course you don't."
John pouted, biting into his slice in silence. Just then there was the slight buzzing sound of a mobile going off. John looked up once more. "Hey, I think that's—"
"Yes, I know. It's me." Sherlock fished around his trouser pockets for a moment before finding the object and the text message he had just received:
Turn on the telly. Might find it worth your while.-Lestrade
"What was it?" John asked curiously, all the while attempting to pull off a string of cheese that had gotten stuck to the bottom of his chin. "New case?"
Without answering his friend, Sherlock reached for the remote and flipped on the telly. It had already been set to the local news, where a middle-aged Asian reporter was in the middle of a live broadcast.
"…what the police can confirm is that the body found did, in fact, have a set of visible puncture marks on the back of her neck," the newscaster explained as she pressed a microphone close to her chest. "Officials hesitate to pinpoint a cause of death, but locals seem convinced that who - or what - is behind all this should be obvious."
The screen cut to two young boys. "It was the vampire!" one of them squealed excitedly. The second pushed in front of his companion, coming a little too close to the camera. "Yeah, it's true! We saw it!"
"You saw it?" someone asked from behind the camera. "And what did this… vampire look like?"
"Uh-huh! He was, uh, really tall! And he was wearing all black - and a cape! And he was really fast! We saw him fleeing the scene when he - he - he TURNED INTO A BAT!"
John snorted upon hearing this. "No wonder the police are baffled, if some cooky kid's 'eye-witness account' about some guy turning into a bat is all they have to go off of." He waited a moment for Sherlock to make a comment as well, but was answered by silence. John tilted his head up to see Sherlock already throwing on his iconic peacoat and scarf. "You don't seriously believe their story?" he challenged.
"Oh, come now, John," Sherlock smiled. "I've been cooped up all day, and you know I can't resist the interesting ones."
"Interesting? I thought you were just going on about how vampires wereboring?"
"The concept of vampires themselves? Quite boring, yes. However, how often does one get the chance to hunt one down? Now that's what I call exciting! Now hurry up John, we haven't got all night!" Sherlock did a little jump for joy upon exiting the flat.
John sat by himself for a brief matter of seconds before ripping off a second and third slice from the pizza, making an effort to get into his coat with the two of them in one hand (he accomplished the second sleeve by shoveling them both in his mouth at the same time), and scurrying after Sherlock.
TO BE CONTINUED…