[He lowers the body, as much as the grip would allowed, gently prying the handa off. His lips pursing, fangs pressing against them as he could feel the life leaving Moriarty, for the moment numb.

All the emotions running hot in him went cold, as he scans the room, thinking, mulling - part of him wanted to bolt, to flee into the night but upon seeing Dracula's mangled corpse, his eyes narrowed.

Before he goes, he had to make sure the man didn't rise. He searches the house, finding everything flammable possible, dragging the corpse behind him outside, using the cleaver to sever his head, before building a bonfire over the body, setting it a light - instincts forcing him to scramble away before he works on the head, smashing the fangs with the cleaver handle, and despite his natural aversion, stuffing garlic into the maw before pitching it into the lake.

Then he sits, staring at the fire, legs pulled to his chest, arms folded over them]