Darkness Follows...(BBC Sherlock Fanfiction).

Chapter 11- A Serial Killer Named Jeff.

Darcy's POV.

There was a man sat opposite him, an older man. The serial killer.

"You're just in time." He smiled at me creepily and I stepped further into the room.

"Just in time for what?" I queried, crossing my arms and putting on a brave face.

Sherlock looked at me almost worriedly, while the killer's smile widened, "The game."

I frowned and he motioned for me to walk closer to him, I took a hesitant step forward and stared at the killer in front of me.

Shaving Foam Behind Left Ear. Nobody's Pointed It Out To Him. Taxi Number Around Neck, So A Taxi Driver Then.

I shifted slightly so I could get a better look at him,

Clothes: Recently Laundered, At Least Three Years Old. Keeping Up Appearances But He Isn't Planning Ahead.

Three Years.

"Oh, three years ago. Is that when you were told?" I announced and Sherlock smirked a little at me, looking at the ground.

The killer smiled, "You're a proper little genius too, are you? I was never warned about you."

I frowned at Sherlock but didn't get a chance to ask him what he meant as the killer asked, "Would you care to sit down?" He gestured to the seat opposite him and next to Sherlock. I walked hesitantly over to the chair and pulled it out slowly, creating a scraping noise that filled the room and I sat down cautiously. I shot a worried glance at Sherlock who smiled back sympathetically before looking at the killer sat opposite us and glaring at him.

"Humour me, Miss...?" The killer started and drifted off expecting me to answer.

I sighed, "Byrne."

"Miss Byrne, when I was told what?" He asked and leant forward slightly, knitting his fingers together.

I copied his movements, trying to keep up a slightly confident persona, "You're a dead man walking." Sherlock looked at me proudly and leant forward as well.

"So is Mr 'olmes." He answered and nodded his head in Sherlock's direction.

"Why not me? Why am I not a dead girl walking?" I interrogated and he frowned at me, "Because, Miss Byrne, I wasn't told about you. I wasn't warned."

"So you weren't told to try to kill me." I clarified and he shifted his gaze back to Sherlock. "Aneurism." He stated and tapped his forehead, "Right in 'ere."

Sherlock smiled in satisfaction where as I smiled sympathetically at him, a man condemned to die and nothing to help him. He turned to killing, what else did he have to live for?

"Any breath could be my last." He continued and I glanced down at the bottles on the table. The one on the left had been pushed towards Sherlock and myself, the other was further behind. I frowned, was this some sort of game?

"And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people." Sherlock reiterated and I glared at the man sat across from me as I remembered that this man had killed people. I should hold no sympathy for him.

The killer smirked, "I've outlived four people. That's the most fun you can 'ave on an aneurism."

"I could think of something else you could've done." I muttered to myself but they both seemed to hear me and I got shot a glare from the serial killer. Not a brilliant way to start, Darcy, peeing off the murderer in the room.

Sherlock stared at him, thoughtfully, "You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children."