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; aftermath from last chapter's events. A lot of Mystrade, smut.
Love isn't brains children, it's blood.
Of course Greg wasn't that lucky as to get some rest and quiet. He and John followed Anthea, who was pushing the wheelchair Sherlock was in, and Mycroft to Mycroft's office. As soon as they were inside, Mycroft sitting behind his desk and Anthea rolled the chair to a stop beside the small sofa that John dropped into, Greg went to perch his bum on the corner of Mycroft's desk and watched as Anthea folded her arms across her chest and stared at Mycroft.
"Anthea, no intention of being rude but could you please just tell us what you asked to meet about?" Greg deflected her glare onto himself, "We're all tired and I'm the only idiot in the room not in need of medical attention of some sort. So..."
She nodded, though she still looked as though she'd like to smack Mycroft over the head, "When I consulted Delphi I was given more than just the riddle but due to rules of fate could not impart that knowledge until all this came to pass. Mostly because of what Moran was but partially because of what Sherlock is."
"The Balance...or half of it anyway. That was what Moran kept talking about." John reached out and took Sherlock's hand in his, lacing their fingers together. "Just what was Moran? Obviously powerful but he didn't seem anything other than human, I couldn't sense anything different about him."
Mycroft was still stony silent and turned away from Greg but he listened intently to what was being said. Part of him was numb, despite the monster she had turned out to be had lost his mother today, he was now the oldest of his clan and he had no idea how to feel about that and with Greg so angry no one to seek comfort from.
Anthea tucked a hair that had fallen into her face away, "Moran was a god." She only quirked a brow at the choking nose Lestrade made, "A lesser god born of Lyssa and one of her attendants but still a god."
"Poor man, talk about getting shafted." John shook his head. "I mean I'm not sorry he's dead, he hurt Sherlock so he should most definitely be dead but still. The bloke waits eleven thousand years only to get stuck with Moriarty, that gotta sting." John hated, absolutely hated what Sherlock parents had done to him but he couldn't help but wonder what would have been if they hadn't. Would Sherlock still be Sherlock and would John ever have met him? And the thing Moran said about Greg having been the executioner...John didn't know what to think.
Greg made a sound that was perilously close to a growl, "A god. What the bloody hell is this mess about? What's this Balance and what does it have to do with Sherlock? And why did Moran do what he did? And why did you tell Mycroft to stay in the van?" It seemed to him it had actually been safer with them in the thick of the fight.
"Because Moran, after being shot out of the window, was going to go for the van," she held up a hand when Greg surged off the desk, mouth open, about to spew rage all over her, "and had Mr. Holmes stayed in the van he'd have had just enough time to inject the hind's blood into Moran before even getting bruised."
Oh Lestrade was seething now, he'd managed to bank his temper but it was back in full force now. He pressed his lips tightly together and sat back down on the desk but his hand went to wrap around Mycroft's wrist, possessive and astonishingly gentle despite his anger.
Mycroft cleared his bruised throat, not pulling away from Greg's grip but not doing much else either. "Forgetting my disobedience for a moment, just what did my parents do? The Balance, the Heart and the Head? What was it all about?"
"The Balance was meant to be just that, a being born into the world to create balance between the Underground and humans. Born of the Underground but raised by humanity so as to understand both sides." Anthea shook her head sadly, "Powerful, very powerful. To the point that even the greatest masters wouldn't have been able to bring down the Balance once reaching maturity. Violet and Sieger took that to mean that the baby would grow to usurp your place as Britain's master."
"So they tried to abort," Sherlock's voice was soft, curious, and not particularly upset.
She nodded, "The Fates stopped it every time without damage until the attempt that almost killed Violet as well. At that point something had to die, to pass on into the ether, because it had gone too far. The Fates chose the 'Mind' as Moran called it, knowing that they could retrieve it and, in time, fuse it back together with the 'Heart' of the Balance."
"But then the Holmes' called forth the spirit rift and broke the 'Heart', making it impossible to fuse the two back together. And the 'Mind' was born as a human. Is that something like what happened?" John held on to Sherlock's hand tightly. He wondered if he would ever get over this feeling, this mind-stopping fear of losing Sherlock. Knowing that Sherlock was meant to have been someone else, that Moriarty was meant to be someone else...He didn't know if that made it worse or better. Perhaps Moran had been right and John had only gotten in the way of Sherlock's true destiny.
"Yes, somewhat. The 'Mind' was born in Moriarty, not as him. 'Mind' isn't really accurate for a description of what it is. It is more of an understanding of purpose, the logic of a king."
"Knowing what has to be done for the good of the whole." Greg's thumb started making circles on the inside of Mycroft's wrist.
"Yes. Or put into a madman, knowing what should be done to create the most chaos. The Mind alone is amoral, the power of it being directed by the desires of who it's born into."
"I understand what you are saying but I'm afraid I still do not understand all of it." Mycroft's voice was still hoarse. "How did Moran find Moriarty?" There were so many questions, when did their mother join forces with them? How had Moran planned to heal Sherlock's heart if John hadn't come along? Was Sherlock safe now? Was his soul complete? So, so many questions, Mycroft just didn't know how to ask them or if they even mattered anymore. He settled on asking the one that did matter to him. "Is Sherlock safe? No more gods or madmen after his soul?"
"Yes. No one else will be coming after Sherlock. The Fates reclaimed the Mind and are holding it until such a time that the Balance is actively needed or Sherlock wishes to become it. He remains the Heart however."
"What is the Heart if the Mind isn't a mind then?" Greg frowned in confusion.
"Well, think about what John has been to Sherlock. Compassion and moral compass. Sherlock had to lock away all of that for survival. I suppose, in base terms, the Heart is to the Mind what John is to Sherlock. Moran found Moriarty because of a prophecy, a very fuzzy one. Simply put, chasing the Balance was to lead him to his ultimate destiny. He assumed that was to be the Balance's partner."
John squeezed Sherlock's hand. "It sounded to me as if Moran has chased his destiny for a very long time. I don't think he had any idea what to be if he wasn't with the Balance." John still couldn't help but feel a little sad for the god. "I think he really cared for Moriarty as well, at least in some ways."
Sherlock hummed, "Am I considered a broken soul?"
"No." Anthea shook her head, "You're a complete soul by all the laws of fate. That's why they cannot force the Mind on you unless you request it or the existence of the universe is at stake. Because of the rift your soul was dying, past the point of reincarnation, so the Fates consulted Psyche and arranged to have your soulmate placed on Earth. You, Doctor Watson, have driven the three ladies to nearly tearing their hair out repeatedly over the millennia in all your incarnations. Your soul was actually casked to avoid that anymore but then Sherlock needed you."
"Hmm, it sounded to Moran like I was just a mistake, an accident..." John shifted on the small couch, feeling mostly like a walking bruise. "The truth though is that I don't really care. Fates or no fates, gods and men...If Sherlock needs me I will come, I can't imagine it to have been any different through the ages or that it ever will be any different. I love him. I John Watson love him, to me he is perfect and he always has been."
"You're not an accident for certain. You were always supposed to meet up with Sherlock, technically you should have done much sooner," she looked incredibly amused, "but you decided to join the army."
Sherlock chuckled, "Good. I like my Captain Doctor just as he is."
John grinned. "Just as I like you just the way you are...I don't know what it would have been like if we had met earlier but I actually think we met when the time was just right." He rubbed his thumb over the back of Sherlock's hand.
"Yes you likely did."
"Is that all Anthea?" Greg looked at her, "I mean is there anything else we need to know about the mess that happened tonight?"
"Not really, but I do need to speak with Mr. Holmes privately so..." she arched her brows and looked pointedly at the door.
"Come on Sherlock." John knew how to take a hint, besides he looked like a slaughterhouse with dried blood all over his face and neck and the doctor in him shuddered at the infection risk of having left it alone for so long. Besides he wanted to be alone with Sherlock, wanted to wrap himself around the other and just know he was there. He wheeled his mate out of Mycroft's office and toward their suite.
Mycroft stayed in his seat, knowing he had little other choice if Anthea wished to speak with him.
Greg looked between them, squeezed Mycroft's wrist, then walked out of the office. He didn't head to their rooms however, choosing to lean on the wall and use the time to bank his temper down again.
Anthea moved to the vacated sofa and sank down on it with a weary sigh, "You scared the hell out of me sir." It was stated without anger or malice.
"I'm sorry, I really am Anthea." Mycroft left his office chair and went to sit on the arm of the couch. "I couldn't stay in the van. I was watching my loved ones hurt." He rubbed his neck again. "Would you have stayed?"
"If another nymph with Delphi ties warned me to stay in the van? Yes. Stop rubbing, you're making it worse," she reached up and pulled his hand away from his neck, "But then I understand the way the threads weave and about the reasons for warnings on a different level than you. So I know why you left the van, hence the reason I'm no longer angry with you as I've had the time to work through it quietly here." She pulled his hand open and tapped sharply on a new line that was appearing, "Lieutenant Lestrade has not yet had that time. Consider how you would be reacting were the situations reversed. He is the only one of those that went in who came out unscathed and he was in the middle of the action. In his mind you were supposed to be safe in the van but you, a vampire, have bruises on your neck. He's not angry at you sir, he's scared because he could have lost you and he's angry about the situation."
Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He knew that Anthea was right in everything she was saying. Knowing she was right and liking it were two different things though. "I have no idea what I am doing Anthea, I'm not used to being considerate of someone else's feelings and I am not good at it. Perhaps there's more of my parents in me than I like to admit."
"No one ever knows what they're doing when it comes to a relationship. Just do not push him away, right now you both need each other very much." She traced a finger along his heart line before releasing his hand, "I will handle the clean up. Go to him, he's waiting outside the door."
"Thank you and even though you don't like hearing it, take some time off after the clean up is done. Recharge your batteries." Mycroft leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek before getting up and leaving the office, finding Greg leaning against the wall in the hallway. It was difficult but Mycroft managed to hold out a hand that wasn't shaking toward his lover. "Let's go to our rooms shall we?"
He curled his fingers around Mycroft's, nodding carefully. He held tight as they walked through the house to their rooms, not letting go for even a moment, then, as soon as the door was locked, he pulled Mycroft in close against him, practically wrapping himself around the taller man while they were standing.
Mycroft wrapped his own arms around Greg and leaned his head on his lover's shoulder. "I...I am sorry and I do...apologize for scaring you. It was not my intention. I simply couldn't stand it to sit there and just watch any longer. You were hurt and Mother...Mother...Well that hardly matters. The point is that I am sorry."
"There's not a scratch or a bruise on me," he ran his hand over Mycroft's hair, "I'm tired and dirty from the fight but I wasn't hurt. You don't need to be sorry. I understand, I know why you left the van, I'd have done it too in your place." He shifted just enough so his hands were lifting Mycroft by the bum so he could carry him over and sit down on their loveseat. "So you don't need to be sorry, you're forgiven, were as soon as I could think, after the adrenaline faded." He shifted, ghosting his lips with the lightness of butterfly wings over one of the bruises on Mycroft's throat.
He cupped Greg's face and brought their lips together. "They're just bruises, they will fade and quickly too, a couple of days and they will be gone completely." Mycroft kissed Greg's cheek and forehead. "I love you."
He pressed his forehead to Mycroft's, "I love you too, so much, and I am so sorry baby." He ran his fingers in a petting motion through Mycroft's hair, "I know today hurt you."
"You have nothing to be sorry for, absolutely nothing. The betrayal and learning the truth about who Mother really was, what she was capable of hurt more than her death." Mycroft leaned into Greg's touches. "I am thankful you took her out, that may be cowardly of me but it is true. If you hadn't it would have fallen on me and killing one parent is hard enough...no matter how necessary it may be."
"I'm sorry that you're hurt at all. I'm sorry that she betrayed you, that she did...everything that she did. I'm sorry because I hate to see you hurt," he brushed his lips over Mycroft's gently, "and because I don't quite know what to do to make it better."
"Oh Greg, you are making it better by being here, by being you and by letting me love you." Mycroft clung to the other man, all pride and shields gone. With Greg he could be just Mycroft. "Without you, I would crumble."
"That'll never happen because I am not going anywhere baby," he brought his knees up so that Mycroft was cradled in his lap and he was surrounding him as best he could. "I'm here, so fucking glad to let you love me and grateful that I get to love you back."
Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes, burrowing as close to Greg as he could. He knew they should clean up, Greg must be hungry as well but he couldn't get himself to move, didn't want to lose the physical contact he had with Greg right now even for a moment.
Greg continued petting and holding Mycroft, the banked anger finally fizzling out with the contact. He rocked a little bit where they sat, comforting the both of them. "You're feeding tonight, no arguments baby. You're hurt so you need blood."
He closed his mouth on the argument that had been about to slip out. Damn Greg for being stubborn and for being right, he was hurt and drained emotionally and he needed to feed. "Fine but not before you have fed and fed properly."
Greg kissed him, "I'm alright with that compromise. A shower and change into comfortable clothes for both of us first then we'll eat." He ran his hand down Mycroft's back. "And after that we're just going to curl up together, watch horribly rendered historical movies, and rest."
"That's the best idea I've heard all day. It sounds so good I might not even argue about how inaccurate those movies are." Mycroft held on to Greg. "Come on then, don't think I'm going to release you even for a shower, luckily I have a big one."
He chuckled, "Indeed you do." Once inside the bathroom he began stripping Mycroft's clothes off and letting him do the same to his. He caught Mycroft's hand to press a kiss to his wrist.
"I meant the shower you great pervert." Mycroft was grinning though. As soon as their clothes were in the hamper he pulled his lover into the tiled shower, putting the water on and pulling his lover close, pressing a kiss to Greg's wet shoulder before gathering soap in his hands and ran them over every inch of Greg, cleaning him lovingly.
Greg's lips trailed over Mycroft's chin. "You enjoy when I let my perverted mind out to play, don't try to pretend you don't." He was washing Mycroft in return, making sure every crevice and dip and rise of his body was squeaky clean.
"I do, I thoroughly enjoy your perverted side since I am usually the one benefiting from it...Wait, scratch that, I better be the only one benefiting from it." Mycroft let his lips run over freshly cleaned skin, kissing and nipping.
"Of course you are. My God why would I ever want anyone else when I have you?" He nudged Mycroft so that the water from the shower could rinse the soap away, his hands still smoothing over the vampire's skin.
Mycroft could think of a thousand reasons why Greg could do better than him but he wasn't going to draw attention to them by naming them to his lover. Oh no. Mycroft was as possessive as they came and now that he had Gregory Lestrade as his own he was not about to let him go. He rubbed himself against Greg. "If we continue this for much longer than I am afraid the rest of our plans will be spoiled...it seems I can not be around you without wanting you."
Greg gave him a peck on the lips, "We'll see if we can squeeze some of that in after eating." He turned the water off and grabbed towels for them.
Mycroft hummed in contentment as he dried himself with the soft flannel. "I suspect Hettie has spent the whole time we were gone cooking and baking for both you and John so we'll see if you have any energy left after eating. Can we call up for food for you?" Mycroft didn't want to put on another suit or clothes at all other than a pair of sleeping trousers.
"Abso-bloody-lutely. I am all for not leaving our quarters for at least twelve hours, preferably twenty four." He finished swiping the water from his body and grabbed the robe Mycroft had given him off its hook, shrugging into it.
Walking out of the bathroom naked, Mycroft walked over to the dresser and pulled out a pair of sleeping trousers in dark blue silk before phoning down to the kitchen to have Greg's meal brought up.
Greg just leaned against the wall and watched Mycroft move in the pajama bottoms. He was moving fine, obviously the bruises on his throat were the only injury but those were more than enough, especially since he could hear a note of roughness in Mycroft's voice that didn't belong. He walked up behind him and looped an arm around his waist in a gentle embrace.
Mycroft stilled what he was doing immediately and leaned back against Greg, his own hands resting on top of the arm around his waist. "What's all this? Not that I am complaining one bit."
"I just need to hold you." Greg rested his cheek on the back of Mycroft's shoulder. "I'll probably be clingy at odd times for a while. I apologize in advance."
"Never, never apologize for wanting to touch me, it's not as if I ever would mind and I just might cling back in return." Mycroft reached up with one hand to bury it in Greg's silvery hair. "I love you and I am yours."
"Mmm," he kissed the back of Mycroft's neck, "Works both ways amour. By the way, after we've rested there's something I want to talk to you about. Nothing bad so don't get all tense."
"I want to talk are rarely good words, forgive me for tensing up." Mycroft turned in Greg's hold and looped his arms around his lover. "What is it you wish to talk about?"
Greg opened his mouth but someone knocking on the door stopped him from saying anything further, "Dinner's here," he kissed Mycroft's brow and went to open the door, taking the tray from the minion there with a murmur of thanks before closing the door and balancing the tray with one hand so he could pull Mycroft into bed with the other. He settled into bed with mycroft pressed against his side, and turned the telly on. He kissed the look of irritation off Mycroft's face before setting into his food. "After we've rested and recharged a bit baby. I promise it's nothing that should upset you, hopefully it'll even make you giddy in happiness. I hope so anyway."
"Giddy?" That made Mycroft's brows draw together at the bridge of his nose. "Have you ever seen me giddy Greg? You should know that you are only making me more curious and I do not handle curiosity very well...I suppose it is a Holmes trait." He settled at Greg's side though and watched the telly as his lover ate. "Well that is just stupid, the army never even went that far south during that war, why can't they just do their research properly?" He waved a hand at the telly.
"Because they like to make up things that will be more of a good fairy tale for the people watching the movie?" He popped a bite of chicken into his mouth. He ate one handed and the other kept Mycroft tucked close against his side.
Mycroft grumbled about the idiocy of people but in all honesty he was quite happy being tucked against Greg's warm body in their own bed, safe and sound. Even if the movie was helplessly inaccurate.
It didn't take Greg log to finish eating, he was too tired to want to draw out the meal really, and set the tray on the nightstand. He threaded his fingers through Mycroft's hair, "Your turn baby."
Shifting up on his elbows Mycroft pressed his lips to Greg's over and over again before running them over Greg's jaw and down his neck. He kissed that proud gorgeous neck as well, loving opened mouthed kisses as he licked the skin, feeling Greg's pulse under his tongue. A growl of both possessiveness and hunger rose from his throat and then he slid his fangs into soft skin and again it was heaven, feeling the salty tang of his lover's blood on his tongue.
It felt better this time than it had the first and Greg made a soft, almost subvocal moan. He held Mycroft closer, his head tilted back to give him complete access. The little flicks of Mycroft's tongue and soft drawing sucks actually had him growing hard, arousal seeping through him. It wouldn't surprise him if Mycroft could taste it in his blood.
It was wonderful, Mycroft had to pace himself, remember to take small sips and not drink too much. He was aware of Greg's arousal but it only made his blood sweeter. He continued to feed, moving his hand beneath Greg's robe and wrapped it around his lover's arousal, slowly stroking it in time with his licks and sucks.
He made a low, husky groan. When that elegant, capable hand curled around his prick he lost every thought in his head but how good it felt to have Mycroft touching him and feeding on him.
The sounds Greg was making was almost as delicious as his blood. He swiped his thumb over the leaking head of Greg's erection, relishing in the twitch of his lover's hips. He gave a few more sucks before licking the puncture wounds closed. Mycroft kissed Greg's neck before moving down Greg's body and wrapping his lips around Greg's cock.
"Oh God baby, the things you do to me." He leaned back on his hands and watched as Mycroft's incredibly talented mouth drew him in. "Drive me absolutely out of my mind amour."
Mycroft shivered a little at the French endearment. He pulled off Greg's prick long enough to give his lover a smile. "Good, that is my intention. Do you have any idea how delicious you are absolutely all over?" He licked at the erection in front of him before swallowing it back down.
A reverent French curse hissed out of his mouth. He allowed a shiver to ripple through him and lost himself in the sensation of Mycroft's mouth working him over for a few moments. Then he reached down and tugged gently on the vampire's hair, "Come around baby, let me taste you too."
That got a moan out of Mycroft, though he was reluctant to pull his mouth off of Greg even for a moment but there was no way he was refusing an offer like that. He moved around and swung a long leg over Greg's chest and scooted backwards before he went back to work.
Greg immediately worked his lover's pajama trousers down and licked a stripe from the tip of Mycroft's cock to the base. He licked and kissed and scraped his teeth ever so lightly on the shaft before finally taking the head into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the slit as he slid his hands up the back of Mycroft's thighs to squeeze his bum.
The almost teasing touches made Mycroft ache and crave, he had to stop himself from thrusting downwards into Greg's mouth. He bobbed his head and did his best to focus on giving Greg pleasure. He held himself up with one arm and brought his other hand between Greg's legs, massaging his sack as he took his lover down his throat.
He moaned, his hands clenching just a bit on Mycroft's arse, and took Mycroft deeper into his own mouth. He snuck the fingers of one hand between his lover's arse cheeks and rubbed teasingly over the puckered skin of his entrance.
Mycroft twitched and shuddered, goose-bumps breaking out across his skin and he moaned around the cock in his mouth. Gods, Greg knew just how to touch him. Mycroft continued to roll his lover's balls in his palm and picked up pace as he sucked him, his bruised throat ached a little as he hummed but to see Greg lost in pleasure it was all worth it.
Greg made an odd little squeak that he be embarrassed about later pulled back to lick up Mycroft's cock, over his balls, taking time to mouth them, and up the crack of his bum. He licked over Mycroft's hole, one hand slipping around to stroke his lover's cock as he did.
Oh God, Mycroft was going to come, it felt too good and he knew he would not be able to hold out for much longer. He sucked Greg's cock more vigorously as small whines escaped him and he bucked his hips a little, helpless movements as pleasure was spearing through him.
A rumble of a moan echoed in Greg's chest, the whines coming from Mycroft and vibrating around his cock were going to toss him over the edge any moment now. Rather than worry about it, he gave his attention to bringing his lover off. He circled his tongue over the pucker then slipped it inside the ring of muscle. He rubbed at the tip of Mycroft's cock as he fucked him with his tongue in time to the movements of his lover's mouth on his cock.
He groaned as a particularly enthusiastic suck pulled his orgasm out of him and he came, spilling into Mycroft's mouth.
Mycroft drank him down greedily, just as he had done with Greg's blood. His lover's touches and the way he climaxed set Mycroft off as well and he shuddered, a broken version of Greg's name on his lips as he arched his back and came across Greg's neck and chest.
He pulled back from rimming Mycroft to scatter kisses over the skin of his arse, his hands gently stroking what skin he could reach, over ribs and back and thighs and bum in the after glow. "Je t'aime ma cher."
"I love you too." Mycroft turned and snuggled up against Greg, he used his discarded pyjama trousers to wipe his semen off of Greg's chest and then wrapped his arms around the other.
Greg's own arms came up to curl around Mycroft, his lips brushing over his temple. "How do you feel?"
"Boneless and brilliant." Mycroft threw one of his legs over Greg's in an attempt to shuffle even close to his lover. "How about you?"
"Pretty much the same," he was stroking Mycroft's side lazily but he paused to grab the coverlet and pull it over them in a warm cocoon.
Mycroft did not need much sleep but it had been an exhausting day in every way and lying here with the man he loved made his eyes droop and his body heavy. He rubbed the tip of his nose against Greg's skin before closing his eyes and allowing himself to relax completely.
Greg smiled and held Mycroft more securely while the telly droned on in the background. He was knackered so he closed his eyes and slipped into sleep easily, secure in knowing they were home safe.
To be continued…