Mycroft leaned in, and John stood still, ignoring the instinct to take a step back. Mycroft raised an eyebrow when John tensed, and reached for his neck, running his fingers over the scars that Sherlock had left.
"You're too messy of an eater, Sherlock," the tone was scolding, and Mycroft sighed as he dropped his hand, "You should have picked me, John. I don't feel the need to mark up my things, or run them to exhaustion. Sit down, you're about to collapse." John glanced over at Sherlock before letting himself be guided to the sofa. He sat down, making a soft sound in relief. Mycroft ruffled his hair, and John almost protested to being treated like a child, but Sherlock protested for him.
"Don't touch him, Mycroft. He's not yours." Sherlock sat in his chair, tapping his foot in impatience and irritation. "And we're not going."
"Mummy won't allow that."
"You'll have your fat, grubby hands all over John the entire time. I don't know how you got to be so fat without having a steady mate to feed off of. "
John sighed and got back up. He was much too tired to be dealing with the two brother's bickering. "I'm going to make some tea." He knew the explanation was not needed; both of the Holmes would know what he was doing, but John was too polite to just get up and leave without a word. He padded into the kitchen and put on the kettle.
"How many patients with simple anemia today, John?" Sherlock called in from the living room, "You would think that their partners would be able to tell, at least. Idiots, everyone."
John almost sighed. Sherlock had moved from arguing with to ignoring Mycroft. He took a deep breath. "At least half of them. As always, anemia from overfeeding is most of the cases that we get in the clinic."
Mycroft scoffed. "At least they aren't keeping their mate awake and starving almost constantly for a week in between working to pay the bills and cases, and then expecting them to still have enough energy for cleaning, sex and feeding."
John padded back into the living room with his cup of tea, noting that Mycroft had sat in John's own chair, and picked a spot on the sofa, closing his eyes. "Stop fighting. Mycroft, why are you here?"
"The holidays are coming up."
John made a soft sound to indicate that he was listening.
"Sherlock is expected to show up at Mummy's hive with his mate."
John sighed and sipped his tea. While vampires like Sherlock and Mycroft preferred to live alone, in a more humanlike way, others preferred to live like the old vampires, in hives with a Queen or King. Sherlock and Mycroft's mother was the queen of a hive, and John had only met her once, during his and Sherlock's wedding, earlier that year.
John glanced at Sherlock, who looked at John pleadingly. I don't want to go to Mummy's for the holidays…
"I don't know any hive etiquette."
"You aren't expected to. Besides, you're much more polite than most of the people there."
"I was hoping that Sherlock and I could go see my family."
"You're a terrible liar, John. You show all the signs of lying so readily. And we all know that you two were going to spend it here, together. No excuses." Mycroft turned back to Sherlock and John relaxed, taking another sip of his tea and closing his eyes. "Sherlock, you're going to go. Mummy told me that if you don't show up, she'll come and get you herself and we both know that it will not end well if that happens."
Mycroft stood up. "I will see you two then." He walked over to John and gently touched his cheek. "Get some rest, John. Don't let my brother run you into the ground."
John made a non-committal sound in response, and didn't open his eyes. He almost didn't want Mycroft to leave.
The hand pulled away, the umbrella at the door picked up, and Mycroft was gone.
Sherlock was on John seconds later.
John groaned. This was why he hadn't wanted Mycroft to go. Anytime after John saw Mycroft, Sherlock would essentially stake his claim on John, and John had absolutely no energy left. He pushed against Sherlock, turning his head away. "At least let me take a nap, first," he pleaded.
"Please?" John groaned softly.
John sighed, but put his tea down and complied, barely pulling off his jumper and shirt before Sherlock was on him again, holding him down and nuzzling his neck. "I won't take too much," he muttered before pushing his fangs into him. John let out a soft sigh and let Sherlock feed; the vampire hadn't eaten in a few days. Sherlock pulled away harshly, trying to leave another scar. John made a soft noise, the sudden pain surprising him. He cracked open an eye. "Go get the plasters," he muttered, pushing against Sherlock gently, feeling the blood drip down his neck. Sherlock pulled away, rummaging in the kitchen and pulling out a large plaster. He smiled when he saw John, almost fast asleep on the couch. He crawled over John again and licked up a bit more blood, before applying the band-aid. He picked up his tired mate and carried him to their bedroom, putting him down on the bed.
"You're mine…" he whispered softly as John snuggled under the covers. John made a soft sound of agreement, and Sherlock pulled away, leaving the room and pulling out his violin.
If there was one thing he liked about the way that vampires and humans had evolved together, it was that a human mate belonged to the first person they had sex with. Forever. It changed the chemistry of their brain. Vampires could change lovers if they wished, but humans were in bonded with whoever stole their virginity, human or vampire.
Even though he knew that John was his, he knew that John could just as easily have been Mycroft's. They had both been after John - Sherlock even knew that he had been that close to losing him. Sherlock had come home to John and Mycroft kissing, blood dripping down John's neck and on Mycroft's lips, their hands wandering over each other. His presence had stopped Mycroft from taking John from him that night, and he had managed to win John in the end, but he had been so close to losing him. He put down the violin after a final flourish of the bow and sighed. He supposed he should cook for John.
Sherlock put together a casserole from the food in the fridge and hopes it will taste alright. He didn't eat human food, although he was capable of doing so, and even if he did, it would just taste strange to him, not good or bad. Just odd.
Sherlock sat down in a chair and huffed. Now, he was bored, and he couldn't just wake John up. He pouted. John was going to get in trouble for having to sleep as much as he did. He stared at the ceiling, finding the imperfections.
And that's where John found him when he came downstairs, still tired, but less so, drawn in by the smell of food. He smiled and crawled into the pouting detective's lap. "You were so bored you cooked?"
Sherlock sat up and hugged John, nuzzling his neck. "Yes. You're very boring when you sleep." John chuckled softly and kissed Sherlock, before pulling away. "Well, let me have dinner and then I'll try to entertain you."
Sherlock followed John into the kitchen, encouraging him to eat quickly.
Later, they stumbled into bed, wrapped tightly around each other.
The next morning, Sherlock was gone.