Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun.
Warning: Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; our boys locked in together, some progress between them but oh boy, Sherlock is seriously a stubborn bastard.
Love isn't brains children, it's blood.
Sherlock was going to skin his brother. That was all there was to it. Sneaky, meddling, self-important, fat bastard. He went over several imaginative methods of extermination even as he stayed crouched beside John, measuring his pulse. This close now he could smell the tranquilizer, one specially formulated for genetic hunters, and had to admit to relief. When John woke he'd be a bit groggy at first but it would clear quickly. The cell they were in was barely long enough for John to lay out and just wide enough to allow Sherlock to crouch beside him.
He'd been stupid. Found out that John had gone to visit James Murray then caught scent of him being abducted when he'd left to catch his hunter. He'd tracked him and let his worry at seeing him face down in the cell override his mind. He'd rushed in and wound up locked inside the cell with John.
John awoke to a pounding head and the knowledge that he had absolutely no idea where he was. He opened his eyes but all he saw was darkness. He'd known that Moriarty would come after him but he hadn't known it would happen quite as quickly.
His muscles tensed for fight when he realized he wasn't alone. He turned but the fight went out of him when he figured out that it was Sherlock who was next to him.
"Did they manage to get you too?" He reached out, feeling for Sherlock in worry, wanting to check that he was okay.
Sherlock snorted, "Not Moriarty. My fat bastard of a brother is the one who's arranged our charming accommodations."
"Fucking hell...Why?" John tried to stretch and realized that the room they were in was tiny, more like a closet than a room. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness and he could see that Sherlock was not happy. John didn't feel exactly chipper himself but at least the headache was clearing.
"Good question. I believe that I am simply going to choose the explanation that my brother is an arse and leave it at that." He helped John maneuver into a sitting position at one end of the closet then sat at the other himself, twitching a bit when, even with knees drawn up, their feet brushed. Meddling bastard.
John shook his head, longing to punch Mycroft right in that overly long nose of his. "Are you okay, did they drug you too?" When John reached out, he rested his hand on Sherlock's knee. He could feel Sherlock's warmth under his fingers and it made them tingle.
His fingers twitched, feeling the warm rush John's touch gave him, but he didn't shift further. "I'm fine. Wasn't drugged."
"'Kay" John had more questions but his head was still a little fuzzy and frankly he was glad not to be alone. Small spaces had never been his friend, especially after he joined the army. Small spaces like this never meant anything good. "Went to see Murray, he doesn't care about Moriarty, doesn't care about anything other than his work."
"I know about you going to see him," Sherlock's voice was dark and irritated. "Murray may not care about his brother but Moriarty obviously does not share the dispassion."
"Don't use that annoyed tone with me. I was the most fitting one to go see him and you know it." John sounded stubborn. "He has cameras everywhere and I noticed two shifters among the faculty. Moriarty definitely has his brother watched."
"Precisely why I am 'annoyed' John. What if they had been the ones to tranq you? You had no back up. You didn't tell me you were going." That both irritated and hurt. It made him feel as though John didn't trust him.
"You wouldn't have let me go...Besides Sherlock...You're not the one to talk about telling before doing." John wasn't accusing, he was just stating facts.
"I wouldn't have wanted you to go. I am well aware that you can not be deterred once set on something. I had thought when I agreed that we would do it all together now that went both ways." If this was even half of how John had felt to be cut out and not allowed to help then Sherlock would admit, to himself, that he'd deserved the broken nose and more beside. Still he had apologized and given his word that they would work together to deal with Moriarty from the broken nose on and somehow John going without seeking Sherlock's help in a plan made him feel as if the hunter thought his word worthless.
John shifted so he could cup Sherlock's face and make the vampire look at him. "I didn't think straight, you got hurt Sherlock, you got hurt and it could have gone really bad. I want nothing but protect you, keep you safe. I went because I thought it was better for Moriarty to go after me than you...I wanted to end this because you don't deserve this, you don't deserve to hide, to be anything less than the marvel that you are and everyone should know it."
He kept his eyes averted, looking at the tip of John's nose, "Am I not allowed to help you protect yourself then?" He could see what Lestrade meant about making decisions for someone else being 'not good' from this.
"Yes you are, of course you are." John rubbed his thumbs along Sherlock's cheekbones. "I want us to protect each other, be a team. I made a mistake...you can punch me in the nose if you want to."
He shook his head, eyes half closing in pleasure at the little strokes over his cheeks, "I don't want to punch you." He never wanted to hurt John. Never.
"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry." John shuffled forward on his knees, continuing his soft touches to Sherlock's face. "I won't do it again, never leave you behind. I promise."
"Don't make that promise;" there was something painfully lost in Sherlock's voice, "No one is capable of keeping it." He'd seen that proven time and again when he'd been left behind over and over, many times the ones leaving him not doing so by choice.
"I do, I will be the first then because I do make that promise to you." John's thumb rubbed over Sherlock's bottom lip and leaned closer. "I will never leave...Don't you know already? That I am completely yours?"
"John...I'm not good for people." He couldn't help but lean into the touch despite himself, "I cause pain and suffering to those I care for by simply existing but I'm not strong enough to walk away. You should leave, should run before I'm the end of you."
"Buggering bullshite!" John's voice was sharp in the tiny space of the closet. "You are good for me. To me, you are perfect and just being near you makes me a better man. Being with you is everything...It's being forced to be without you that would ruin me. Please Sherlock...I love you." John's heart pounded as he said those words but they needed to be said.
Sherlock made a soft whimper. "I know. It terrifies me. The more people love me the more they get hurt and if you were hurt because of me," one hand wrapped around John's wrist, "it would destroy me but God help me I can't...I can't stay distant."
"Don't, don't stay distant. I can take care of myself. I am here to stay...For as long as you want me." Fighting down his fear, John leaned forward until he could press his lips against Sherlock's. Sometimes actions spoke stronger than words ever could.
He trembled, humiliating but he couldn't help it. A soul deep warmth spread through him at the soft touch of John's lips against his and he leaned into it. He was weak and selfish but he couldn't keep trying to convince John to go, not when everything he'd been aching for was being handed to him. He was certain he'd be damned for it but he'd accept that when the time came.
John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pulling him close to him, enveloping him against himself as he kept on kissing him. He would take care of Sherlock; spend his life showing the other just how much he was worth and how much he was loved.
He melted into John, making a soft sound of both approval and demand. His arms went around John's waist to help him cling tighter. He parted his lips and flicked his tongue against John's lips, asking for more.
Moaning, John flicked his tongue against Sherlock's, deepening the kiss and tasting Sherlock's mouth. It was exquisite and it made John's body burn at the same time it felt like coming home. He continued to hold Sherlock close with one hand and the other went into Sherlock's hair, scratching along his scalp.
A moan escaped him, completely independent of his will. John just had to do that didn't he, find his weak point without knowing it and take ruthless advantage. He sucked at John's tongue in retaliation and shifted to his thigh rubbed against John's groin. His nerve endings felt alive with sensation.
Oh God, feeling Sherlock's thigh rubbed at his erection drove him crazy and John couldn't help but rub against the touch, seeking more friction. He groaned into Sherlock's mouth and fisted his hand in Sherlock's hair pulling his head back so he could kiss and lick his way a long, pale neck.
Sherlock groaned and wiggled his hands under John's jumper so he could touch the warm skin just above the waistband of his denims. He helped John shift against his thigh as much as he could, enjoying the reactions and cataloguing them for later reference.
"I love you and gods I want you, you drive me insane Sherlock...absolutely insane." John kept his mouth against Sherlock's throat, biting down gently as he pulled his jumper and t-shirt over his own head before moving to work on Sherlock's buttons.
This was probably a bad idea, they were locked in a closet, probably a monitored closet at that, but God when he felt John's teeth against his throat it sent a shock of such staggering lust through him that he was almost surprised something didn't catch fire. His hands stroked over John's skin, finding scars and caressing them to memorize their shape and location. He lightly scored his nails over the broad ribcage, enjoying the jump it triggered.
John nearly growled when he finally got Sherlock's shirt off. He didn't care where they were just that he had Sherlock in his arms, warm and responsive, it was heaven. He ran his hands over Sherlock's torso, flicking a pale pink nipple when his brows furrowed in worry and he tore his lips away from Sherlock's addictive skin. "You've bled through your dressings."
He made a dissatisfied sound at the loss of mouth and hands on him before John's words registered. He looked down and made a neutral hum, "Inconvenient."
"Idiot." John ran gentle fingers over the red stained dressings. He didn't have any bandages here and nothing to clean the wounds with. "These should have healed more than this by now. Were you thinking and not eating again?" There was a soft scolding note beneath the worry in John's voice.
"No," it was followed by an almost petulant pause, "I simply left the house once I became aware of where you'd gone after I woke up."
"Well shite." John couldn't say much more since it was partly his fault, he had to admit that. "Oh Sherlock, my Sherlock, what am I going to do with you? You need to feed." John knew the solution; he only needed to talk Sherlock into doing it.
"I'm fine John. It can wait until Mycroft's merry minions return and release us, which shouldn't be too long. It's not as though I can actually bleed to death."
"No but I know what happens to a vampire with blood loss and so do you." John really didn't like the thought of Sherlock bleeding but he knew what a stubborn git Sherlock could be. Instead he slipped his hip over Sherlock's and straddled the other man, going back to licking and sucking at his neck. "Don't you want to bite me though? Mark me and make me yours?"
Sherlock's hands went to John's thighs, gripping as he automatically tilted his head back, eyes drifting half closed again in lazy pleasure. Of course he wanted to bite John. It went without saying that he wanted to taste his blood and lay a permanent mark on him. But he didn't like the idea of it being this way. "Nnnn. Not like this." He didn't want it to be an emergency feeding in a tiny little closet because he was injured. As much as he spoke against sentiment, he was as much a victim to it as anyone else and he wanted the first time he bit John to be special.
John nosed along Sherlock's collarbone. "No? I want to mark you, make you mine and be inside you. I've dreamt about it, longed for it for so long."
He shivered and made a soft, pleading sound, pleading for what he didn't really know. "Of course I want that, to mark and be marked and oh God to have you inside me but not like this. Not here, not because I'm injured and bleeding. I want it to be...more, special." So much of his life's important moments had taken place under duress. He wanted just one moment, one of the most important, to be different.
John moved to kiss Sherlock again softly. "Then we wait love, until it's you and me and a soft bed where we are all alone. Just don't ask me to stop kissing you." He placed butterfly kisses all over Sherlock's face, still straddling him.
He leaned into the kisses, "That would be stupid," he met John's mouth with his in a short, intense kiss, "Do you have your phone however? The sooner I can contact the fat bastard, the faster we can get out of this closet."
"Hm." John nibbled on Sherlock's bottom lip and canted his hips into Sherlock's as he reached into his front pocket to pull his phone out. "Can't hate him too much though if he got you to be mine...Might even give him cake."
Sherlock made a soft growl but took the phone to text Mycroft.
'Bleeding, claw marks opened up. Get. Us. Out. Or else. - SH'
A very naked, very shagged out Mycroft fished for his phone on the desk and stared at the screen, letting out a disappointed huff.
'Have you kissed and made up then? Easier to get blood in then you out if you're still stubborn. - M'
Sherlock was not about to answer that question. It was for him and John and he was not giving his brother the satisfaction.
'Get us out NOW Mycroft, unless you want Greg to hear about the tooth fairy, and to see the duck portrait. - SH'
Grunting in defeat, Mycroft rested his head on Greg's stomach. He sent a text to his minions to let the two captives out.
'You can thank me later little brother...And the duck portrait is burned. - M'
'I'll thank you when hell freezes over you fat bastard, and Mother had a copy made before the original's unfortunate destruction. A copy I may just have photographed multiple times over the years as technology improved. - SH'
Sherlock returned the phone to John just as the door opened and the minions were looking in.
John blinked at the light and scrambled off Sherlock's lap, suddenly very aware that both of them were without their shirts. John didn't like the thought of anyone other than him looking at Sherlock and he had to stop himself from growling.
Mycroft placed his phone back on the desk and pondered if he should get dressed. If he was going to die at his brother's hands he should probably have his clothes on.
Greg played his fingers through Mycroft's hair, "What is it? Did they work it out or not?"
"Sherlock is refusing to tell me, which means yes." Mycroft turned his head, still resting it on Greg's belly but now looking up at his lover. "His claw marks opened and he would refuse to feed from John in those circumstances so no choice but to let them out."
"Bloody idiots the both of them. Well at least they won't be dancing round each other like skittish cats anymore. Got a question though," he stroked Mycroft's cheek, "Why has Sherlock been able to keep feeding from the bagged blood even though he's been completely John's for a long time now?"
"Sherlock has shut himself off so completely he wouldn't let himself tie his soul to someone else like that. Not even John. I'm hoping that will change now." He rubbed his face against the soft skin of Greg's belly.
"I hope so too. Poor kid," he shook his head, "I'm glad John came along when he did."
"Me too." Mycroft honestly didn't know what he would have done if John hadn't shown up. He'd slowly been losing his brother. Groaning he shifted so he could reach for his shirt. "Sherlock's not going to be happy when he comes home though and I rather not die naked."
"He is not going to kill you," Greg let Mycroft slip away to dress and started pulling his own clothes on, "If he tries I'll remind him that I've still got that video of him high as a fucking kite after Adler injected him with...whatever the hell it was."
Mycroft made an annoyed face as he buttoned up his slacks. "I don't know either, Sherlock wouldn't let me analyze his blood afterwards. Whatever it was it was powerful enough to knock a vampire out within minutes...I really hate not knowing."
Greg hummed and fastened the last button on his shirt going over to squeeze Mycroft's shoulders from behind, "I can bring it up to John, mention that it could be something Moriarty's people have in stock and that we can't have an antidote if we don't know what it is."
"Well I suppose that if it's something you bring up in passing to your very possessive and protective hunter friend that wouldn't be me taking advantage right? Mycroft looked up over his shoulder with a smile for Greg.
"Not at all," he kissed the back of Mycroft's neck, "We might as well go get ready to face the music."
"Yes, I suppose we might. I still have a bone to pick with the good doctor too for going after Murray without backup. "
"That was a bonehead move yeah. More like something Sherlock would do. They're rubbing off on each other."
"Mmm and not in a good way, as distasteful as it is to think such things about my brother." Mycroft straightened his tie and waited for the storm to hit.
The ride back to Mycroft's home was uneventful, but the entire way Sherlock was massively aware of John holding his hand in between forcing blood bags on him. Then he was accosted by Hettie's fussing as soon as they arrived. "I'm fine Hettie."
"Well I am going to check that for myself before I believe it." She ran her hands over him and forced yet another bloodbag in his hands. "And you," She glared at John. "Don't even get me started on you."
John nearly took a step back.
"Please don't. John and I have already discussed it. There's no need to get started on him." He let her eyes his side and tsk, "I should probably use a blood poultice I know."
"If you know that then you should go wash up and wait for me to bring a blood poultice to you." Hettie's voice was still sharp in her worry but she did notice Sherlock's defense of John and the way their hands were still linked. That made her want to jump and squee but she had a feeling Sherlock wouldn't appreciate that. She couldn't stop herself from reaching up and petting Sherlock's cheek though, he was her little boy just like Mycroft was.
He kissed her cheek before pulling John with him to the suite. "I'll deal with Mycroft later." His irritation over being locked in a closet had waned but the anger over the fact that he'd had John drugged and literally kidnapped was going strong. Very strong.
John squeezed Sherlock's hand and released a breath of relief when the doors to the suite closed behind them. Right now the impersonal rooms felt like heaven without minions watching their every step. "Hettie is right, you should wash out all closet bacteria from the wound." He was more pissed than anything, that Mycroft had managed to snag him meant that he hadn't been watchful enough.
Sherlock made an assenting sound and stripped his shirt off. He'd not even bothered to grab his coat once he'd learned of John's destination, an obscenely rare occurrence. He grimaced as the movement pulled on the claw wounds and opened them up yet again. Blasted hellhounds.
"Wait." John didn't like the way the wounds opened. "Come." He pulled Sherlock along with him to the bathroom and sat him down on the closed toilet so he could clean the gashes. Even with the gaping wounds it was difficult not getting distracted by the expanse of white, beautiful skin in front of him but John did his best to let the doctor in him take the front seat.
Sherlock controlled his flinching, not wanting to make John feel guilty when he was being as gentle as possible, "I truly do loathe being injured by hellhounds. It's such a bother being stuck in place for days." Not to mention the secondary effect of the venom contained in the claws if the victim survived long enough, which seemed to be kicking in now.
"I'm sorry Sherlock, I know it hurts but it needs to be cleaned. It will feel better when Hettie comes with the blood poultice." John was as light on his fingers as he could be but he knew that with the hyper sensitivity from the hellhound's venom every touch would hurt.
"No reason for you to be sorry." His hand snuck to splay over John's hip, concentrating on the wool of the sweater rather than the delicate dabs at his side that felt like knives cutting deeper. "Dr. Who after Hettie brings the poultice? On low volume of course." He was going to be useless in very short course as the sensitivity spread from his nerve endings to all his senses. Fourtunately it only lasted twenty four hours but that was twenty four too many in his opinion.
"Sounds like a plan." John would look after Sherlock, make it as easy for him as he could. He knew how much Sherlock hated not being in complete control of himself.
There was a soft knock on the door and Hettie came in, walking straight to the bathroom without hesitation. "Here you are love, we will fix you right up." She and John helped putting on the poultice and dressings. Working as quickly as they could to make it easier for Sherlock.
He couldn't quite contain the hiss of pain as the poultice and dressings were applied but he didn't complain. "Thank you Hettie."
"You are welcome sweetheart." Hettie placed a kiss to the top of his head. "There's blood waiting for you in the sitting room and a nice plate of Shepherd's pie for you John. Just relax tonight. I will personally keep Mycroft out of your hair for the evening."
"Again, thank you. I'll find a more appropriately proportionate expression of gratitude for that once I'm freed from the bed rest John will no doubt enforce."
"Damn right." John agreed, rolling up the dressings he hadn't used and putting away his kit. "I double Sherlock's sentiment though, thank you so much Hettie, for taking care of him."
"Oh, anything for my boys." She leaned forward, kissing John's cheek and showing that she now considered him part of the fold as well. "I'm just downstairs if you need anything." She couldn't wait to find Thomas and tell him that John and Sherlock were together now.
Sherlock knew exactly what she was thinking, having dealt with her for most of his life, "Tell him not to gloat." He chose not to put his shirt back on, no point really when he'd wind up taking it off again when it came time to change the dressings.
"Oh dearie, you know he'll gloat anyway." She beamed at them and nearly skipped out of the suite. Sherlock had been alone for so long, this was a cause for celebration.
John wanted to help Sherlock to the couch but he knew it would hurt more than help at the moment so he just followed behind Sherlock and put the DVD of Dr. Who on before sitting down on the other end of the couch reaching for the plate of food.
Sherlock nibbled on the corner of a blood bag, sipping a bit every now and again, drawing a lot of blood into his mouth then pushing it back into the bag, drawing the one bag out as he watched the action onscreen and waited for John to finish his meal. He watched the ninth doctor scolding the every-sexual Jack Harkness for flirting with vague amusement.
"I had a wet dream about Captain Jack Harkness in Afghanistan, much to the amusement of my men." John devoured the food on his plate while watching the screen.
"Really?" Sherlock looked over at him, tilting his head in question, "Why?"
"Screaming out a male name while having a hard on that could pound nails is definitely a source of amusement in the army. I got more than one offer of help." John smiled fondly, he had been well taken care of in the army and made a lot of good friends.
"Did you take anyone up on that offer?" It was his usual innocent curiosity. Past lovers were in the past, no need to feel jealous now. If any of those past lovers were to appear looking to reconnect however...that would be a different story.
"Not at that particular moment no." John wouldn't lie, he'd had male lovers before Sherlock but he had never loved anyone the way he loved Sherlock. Sherlock was special and John knew it was for life, the vampire was the only one he wanted from here on out. "Nothing my own hand couldn't relieve."
"Interesting family dynamic, the army."
"Yes, they become the family I wished I had and I wouldn't trade them for anything." It wasn't only the adrenaline and fighting that John missed about the war, it was the camaraderie and familiarity as well.
"I am glad you had them." He watched as John played with his food and wished he'd finish already. "I know you still speak with Lieutenant Murrey, do you have regular contact with any others?"
"Nah, the occasional e-mail and we try to meet up when they are on leave." It was not the same though, when you were in battle with someone you shared everything, once you were out, you were out and John didn't mind. He had Sherlock now and he treasured that so much more.
"Do you ever want more?" It was a soft question, "Beyond what's connected to me I mean."
John thought about it. "Did my life turn out the way I expected it to? No it didn't but I don't want more and everything not connected to you is a moot point...You are everything."
It was a comforting answer. Perhaps it wasn't what people would consider healthy to be so wrapped up in each other but it worked for them. Sherlock nodded at his plate, "Are you finished with that?"
"Yes, yes I am." John looked down at his plate and placed on the sofa table.
Sherlock then grabbed his blood bags and lay down, snugging his head into John's now empty lap, his injured side up. That was better, more comfortable, less pressure on the wound from gravity, and he had contact with John while they watched the DVD and he drained the blood bags.
Smiling, John gently raked his fingers through Sherlock's hair mindful not to touch skin since he knew that would hurt Sherlock. This was nice, it was like home.
Sherlock finished the blood bags and felt his eyes drooping, the gentle tickle of John's fingers in his hair soothing until he found himself drifting off just as Rose Tyler was destroying the Daleks.
To be continued…