Sea Druid

It was a fairly quiet night in Whitby; it almost always was. Though the past month Sherlock had overheard rumors of people going missing. So far it had only been word of mouth; people said that victims had two small puncture wounds on their necks as if being bitten by some kind of animal. Now with the death of one Miss Lucy Westenra, Sherlock found himself even more reluctant to call up John to ask him for his help on this case.

Sherlock didn’t believe in the supernatural… that was a plain fact. However, these deaths were very real, and if there was even the slightest chance that he could be put in danger… he didn’t want John to go through the pain of losing him a second time… for now the best course of action was to lay low and figure this one out for himself.

As the world’s greatest detective mused over what was going on in this small England coastal town he noticed that the pub had gone eerily quiet. He looked up and saw an older man stalking towards his table. He was tall and thin, deathly pale, pointed ears and teeth, and held silver hair on his head and upper lip.

“May I join you sir? The rest of the tables are filled and frankly everyone else looks… timid. You seem the most interesting in the bunch.” The older man held a rich accent in his deep voice… It was somewhere in eastern Europe. Sherlock couldn’t quite place it, but he found himself nodding along anyway.

“Do you have a name, stranger?” Sherlock grinned smugly as he pried at the stranger.

“You may call me Vladimir…” The man nodded and sat across the table from him. He wore dark silks so this Vladimir was most likely a Nobleman of some kind. He also was draped in layers of wool for a dark black cloak. He didn’t have a ring though so either he was a widower or he probably didn’t have any family.

“Well you can call me Arthur.” Sherlock extended his hand to the man and offered his alias. Vladimir took it and Sherlock had to stop himself from physically recoiling at just how cold and lifeless the man’s skin was. “It’s nice to meet you Vlad.”

“You in turn Arthur.” His voice held a certain… charm to it. It was almost hypnotic how easily it put Sherlock at ease.

“So do you have family from this area?” Sherlock tilted his head in a morbid curiosity. Why on earth would an eastern European nobleman come all the way to a small coastal town in England if he had no relatives to visit?

His eyes turned to slits as he studied Sherlock. “No… I’m here on a… personal business venture…” His voice was steady and cold. Whatever this personal venture was it certainly didn’t seem like it was pleasant for this man to think about.

“What a coincidence! So am I! If you get the chance you should head down to Chichester! I’ve heard the Cathedral is to die for.” He advised, trying to get a reaction. He was aiming to tell a lot about this stranger just from his sight seeing spots. Was he more interested in the arts or the history of England?

Vlad’s face kept that plastered smile, almost as if it was stitched on, but his eyes and voice grew cold. “...I’ve never been one for cathedrals…”

Interesting… “Hm, then how about Hampshire? Winchester used to be our nation's capital, you know. Plus they have a lovely river.” Sherlock advised. What exactly were you hiding, Vladimir?

“I don’t do well with water.”

Sherlock hummed, “Oh I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t mean to pry and trudge up some bad memories but might I inquire as to why not?” He was practically begging to know what this foreigner was hiding. ‘Spill your secrets, Vlad.’ He thought.

“If you don’t mind… I’d rather not say.”

“Well, what can one do about that?” He mused rhetorically. This guy would be a tough nut to crack but Sherlock was determined to get to the bottom of it. He would just have to think a little outside the box.

The man was dressed in layers so he was most likely from somewhere cold. The wool cloak and silk clothing were also good indicators of that. His accent wasn’t quite German but it was as thick. Eastern European countries that get a lot of snow… there were Russia, Bulgaria, and Romania. These were Sherlock’s best bets for where the man was from.

Sherlock quickly ruled out both the Russian nobility and the Austro-Hungarian nobility (just for safe measures. After all, there were quite a few territories that received heavy snowfall…). None of the reigning noblemen were old enough to be this man. The white hair alone easily put Vlad in at least his sixties if not seventies. Plus most of them were married with children. While Bulgaria’s reigning noble was unmarried he was even younger so that was out of the question.

That left only one man… a reclusive count that had rumors about being an undead man who… drank the blood… out of people…

“Um… Mr. Vlad, if you don’t mind… When did you arrive in England?” There was no way this guy was actually a dark creature of the night. It must’ve just been rumors!

“I arrived… August 8th I believe.”

Sherlock felt his blood run cold. That was impossible! The only ship that landed in England on that day was The Demeter… but all the crew on that ship were proclaimed dead for at least several days, and on top of that their captain was found tied to the wheel!