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 some more angst, John in bike leathers.
Love isn't brains children, it's blood.
In the morning, Sherlock was still right there, holding John and staring up at the ceiling as he composed music in his head. Two hours ago he'd already finished planning out his meeting with The Woman to stave off hunger, his self-hatred, and boredom and now he was sinking back into the self-hatred and composing music to express it.
John woke up gradually, feeling warm, content and safe. It took him awhile to remember where he was and what had happened. Once it came back to him though he stiffened momentarily before forcing himself to relax. The morning after could be horrible and awkward or John could behave as normally as possible and do what he could to at least keep his friendship with the vampire that he loved. He stretched and pulled away gently, not going far though, just stretching out right next to Sherlock on the bed, also looking up at the ceiling. "Good morning."
"Yes, good morning," Sherlock wondered if it was safe to just leave the bed and go ask Mycroft about the motorbike right now or if that would make John think...not good things. Probably safer to remain where he was and assume his thinking pose as he added a violent arpeggio to his mental composition.
"You know I can feel your energy crackling all the way here." John quirked his lips, baffled but thankful that Sherlock had stayed while he slept. He would have thought the vampire would leave just as soon as he was fast asleep. "You can go, I don't mind and I know how you get after having been still for so long." He rolled to his side so he could look at Sherlock. "Thank you for this, I slept like a log. Um...Is it okay if I borrow your shower?"
Sherlock was on his feet in an instant and waving toward the bathroom door, "Of course. Use whatever you'd like," he was wiggling his feet into his shoes then opened the door, nodding when he saw the bag he'd expected. He brought it back into the room and threw it so it landed beside the sofa, "Mycroft had some of your clothes delivered and I believe you wanted to call Mrs. Hudson."
"I did yes and I'll do it right away. Tell Mycroft thank you for the clothes if you go to see him before I'm out of the shower." Seeing the relief on Sherlock's face as John had told him he could get up stung some, it really did but it was just another thing he would bury deep down. He'd slept uninterrupted for the first time in a long while but he would not ask for this again. Just once had been enough for something to shift between them and not in a good way. John was so sorry he had put Sherlock through it to begin with. All he could do now was to pretend it didn't matter and go back to being Sherlock's friend, just his friend.
He reached over and dug through the pockets of his denims until he found his mobile. He tapped in Mrs. Hudson's number, wanting to tell the landlady that he was safe and well and that she didn't have to worry about him.
The genius hummed and went to a desk, pulling out paper and pencil to quickly scribble down the music streaming through his head. "Soon as I'm done with this I'll be seeing him. I'll bring back leathers and a helmet."
"Ta for that." The thought that he might get to ride a bike made John perk up. He could really use that sense of freedom right now. Maybe that would help him put all other thoughts out of his mind. He finished his call with Mrs. Hudson, telling her he was staying with a friend for the time being and that she shouldn't worry. Then he grabbed the bag with his clean clothes in it and headed for the bathroom and a hot shower. His shoulder was paying the price for him having been so tense earlier. It was stiff and aching this morning but hot water should help loosening it up.
"There's a muscle rub in the medicine cabinet," of course Sherlock had noticed the stiffness immediately even as he continued to scribble down notes.
John had to chuckle, it was just so Sherlock to notice everything even when he was clearly busy with something else. It was part of what made him so amazing. "Thank you for that information as well. I'm going to shower but I'll see you later then." He walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
Sherlock twitched with irritation, not being sure if the note he heard in his head would translate into audible music correctly. He needed his violin to fully compose but that could wait. He finished laying down the notes and scratched out a title above them 'Taedia' before bursting into a flurry of movement once again, walking out and down the corridor to annoy Mycroft in the breakfast room.
Mycroft was sitting with the morning papers spread out on the table around him, sipping slowly at a cup of tea. He was still not hungry for anything other than Greg, it was quickly becoming a rather serious problem. At least he wasn't as idiotic as Sherlock and his doctor though. Mycroft had watched them on his cameras last night and he had cringed from how stupid they both were. Both of them loved the other but they both got tangled up in misunderstandings and hurt. Really how someone as brilliant as Sherlock could be so utterly moronic when it came to love, Mycroft found it hard to understand. He looked up as Sherlock entered the breakfast room. "Good morning little brother."
Sherlock stole the untouched cup of blood from Mycroft's elbow and took a sip. He truly was hungry and that was dangerous. "Mycroft. How was your evening?" It was mindless chit chat, set up for a request and a routine they'd established centuries ago.
"Restful and nice, thank you for asking. I hope yours was the same." Mycroft of course knew it had been nothing of the sort but Sherlock had a tendency to get so very upset when he learned that Mycroft watched him. Really he was only trying to look out for and care for his younger brother. Mycroft couldn't see what the big deal was.
"Oh yes, wonderfully peaceful." You could cut the insincerity with a knife. "John sends his regards for the clothes."
"But of course, we couldn't let him be uncomfortable in yesterday's clothes now could we?" Mycroft took another sip of tea. "I was only doing what any good host would do for their guest."
"And it is so appreciated. I wonder if you could be imposed on a bit further." Sherlock drank more deeply from the mug; he might have to stop by the kitchen for a pint bag.
"What kind of imposition are we talking about then?" Mycroft watched Sherlock devour his mug of blood and pressed the intercom button, asking the kitchen staff to bring another bag of blood up for his brother.
"John will be going out to interview some of Carl Powers' schoolmates, see if any of them will remember someone who had cause to harm him or someone he bullied, do you mind too terribly if he borrows one of the motorbikes?"
"Is that all? Of course I don't mind." Mycroft waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "If he finds one he likes he can keep it, I have plenty of them after all."
Sherlock eyed his brother suspiciously for a moment before nodding, "Thank you. I'll let him know." He finished the cup of blood just as the blood Mycroft had ordered arrived. He took it with a considering look and once the staff member was well out of earshot he spoke again. "You should tell Lestrade before he finds out for himself. As amusing as I would no doubt find it if he were to shoot you, if he finds out on his own he may very well cut you off." And as much as he and Mycroft annoyed each other, as much as he occasionally wanted to break something over Mycroft's head, they were brothers, there was a damaged sort of love there, and he did not wish to see Mycroft as wounded as he would be should Lestrade leave him.
Mycroft knew that Sherlock was right, knew that Greg was 'the one' for him and he honestly didn't know how he would cope if Gregory should leave him. "How does one go about that?" It was a seriously asked question. "How does one tell the person one is in a relationship with that one is an entirely different species? That one isn't human?" Both Mycroft and Sherlock were born vampires, they had never been human.
"You're asking me? I've never had occasion to know," Sherlock nipped the corner of the bag and drew on it, swallowing the blood that filled his mouth, "I would suggest you ask Hettie, or perhaps Thomas the best way to go about it. They are drawing near their octennial."
Pursing his lips in thought, Mycroft considered his options. "I'm asking you because you know Greg, in some ways you probably know him better than I do. You understand how he thinks and I can't afford to muck this up." He hesitated for a moment before catching his brothers eyes. "Sherlock...I want to bloodbond with him." In the vampire world that was as serious as you could get, binding their very souls together for eternity.
Had he been less self possessed, Sherlock would have dropped the blood bag in shock. He'd known that his brother was seriously in love but he hadn't known it was that serious. He dropped all pretense of mocking Mycroft and sucked contemplatively on the blood, brows furrowing as he studied his brother. He saw little signs that gave away Mycroft not having fed for an impressive amount of time, a blue tinge around his cuticles, lines cutting in deeper than usual around his eyes, the irises of the eyes themselves darker than normal. This was indeed serious. "The rash of vampire murders last year, the ones perpetrated by the Barton hunter clan, bring those up. I believe Lestrade realized that what we are exists but he convinced himself otherwise. Start with that, with making him aware that vampires are real and not savage, indiscriminate killers."
Mycroft nodded. "I think that could be a good place to start." he was nervous though, so bloody nervous that Greg would turn away from him in disgust. "I'm having dinner with him tonight, I'll bring it up then." Mycroft looked at his little brother. "When are you going to allow yourself the chance of being happy Sherlock?" It was a question asked in honest concern.
"I am happy, or rather I will be once it's safe to return from the 'dead' and get back to my life," it was a blatant lie. He'd be content then but not happy. He drank the remains of the blood bag. He knew Mycroft was referring to his refusal to tell John how he felt but there were some risks it would be too foolish to take, even for him.
"Now that's not true and we both know it, I won't push though, I promised to stay out of it and I intend to stand by my word." It was difficult though, to stand on the sidelines and watch both his brother and John hurt when it was so clear that they both loved each other.
"Appreciated," He moved his lanky form toward the door, "Good day Mycroft. Do try not to start a war with the Parisian consulate, good wine is already difficult to come by." It was a rule. Sherlock always left with some parting shot. It was only when he didn't that they both knew something was wrong.
"I'll try, any mentioning of escargots though and all bets are out of the window, you may have to learn to appreciate beer instead." Mycroft looked down at his papers. "Give my regards to John and don't forget to feed him before he leaves for the interviews."
Sherlock just waved before he exited the room, stopping by the kitchen to pick up a simple breakfast of tea, toast, and sausage. John didn't eat much in the mornings, a holdover from his military service. He carried the small tray back to the suite and set it down on the coffee table, managing to get onto his laptop and start typing just before John came back out.
John felt a little more like himself after showering and he was glad for it. He was wearing a pair of clean denims and a black button down shirt, no jumper since he remembered that he should dress less John for the interviews. "Oooh food." He noticed the breakfast tray and moved over, nothing better than the first cup of tea of the day. "Did your conversation with Mycroft go okay?"
"Mmm," he wrinkled his nose and shot off an e-mail to The Woman to set up a meeting. "He gives his morning regards and you're welcome to have one of the motorbikes if it catches your fancy." He used the computer as a shield to keep from staring at John. John in jumpers was oddly cute and sexy at the same time, in a button down and just the denims he was simply sexy, and very distractive.
The teacup hovered somewhere between the table and his mouth as John just looked at Sherlock with wide eyes. "Christ, he can't say such things. If he's not careful I might just take him up on it one day."
"That would be the point of the offer. Mycroft does not say things he doesn't mean, unless he's in discussion with foreign dignitaries." He flattened his mouth in an expression of disgust when The Woman replied almost immediately to his e-mail, with a load of innuendo and ended hers with the ubiquitous 'Let's have dinner.' Then his lips curved up in a positively evil smirk as he replied back in the positive, actual dinner in a private dining room at Il Morso Cremisi.
"It's still not on, I would never take advantage of a friendship like that. Borrowing a bike, that I have no problems with but nothing beyond that." John devoured a toast in two quick bites. "Who are you talking to over the computer that has put that expression on your face?"
Sherlock had a feeling that on the next occasion appropriate to receive gifts, John would be finding a motorbike with his name on it from an anonymous gifter. "The Woman, arranging a meeting at Il Morso Cremisi. Day after tomorrow, at nine." He closed out of the e-mail account and began hacking into the NYS database. "You'll be coming with of course."'
"Of course, no way I'm leaving you alone with that Succubus. She would do her very best to have you for dinner." John bit into a sausage, chewing thoughtfully, pondering just what he could do to make that sliver of jealousy and resentment that always showed up at the mentioning of Adler's name go away.
"Good, though I've no intention of falling for the same tired line twice." He wasn't a fool. He broke past the firewalls of the database with embarrassing ease and manipulated a few files to have Sally Donovan's report called into question as well as having himself put down officially as the paid expert consultant for each of the cases he'd worked. It would take away the excess stress the DI was under and preferably help Mycroft's cause.
"I know you wouldn't but I don't put anything past Adler, she might have picked up some new tricks along the way. It's what happens when you spend your time with the Moriarty's of the world." John finished his breakfast and put aside the tray.
"Mmm," he finished his duplicitous online activities and closed the laptop, laying back, hands in his thinking pose, "Moriarty is a rarity. A human genius with an underworld at his beck and call. All the resources of my brother without any of the rules, passing under the radar for years."
John hummed in response. "How did he get people to follow him they way they did...Still do. It can't be all about money and from everything I've seen, Moriarty is very much human. How did he manage to build his shadow empire and keep it hidden from the likes of you and Mycroft? I really don't get it."
"Charm. Seducing others into being willing to do anything for him. Some humans are well possessed of an excess of charm. You for example."
"Me? Did someone drug your blood this morning?" John looked at him with raised brows and bafflement written all over his face.
"What makes you think I had any?" Sherlock kept his eyes closed though his lips twitched at the tone of John's voice. "And yes you, John 'Three Continents' Watson is what I believed your very inebriated former comrade called you. Hit on your boss during the interview, still was hired and got a date, which was intruded on by your flatmate, wound up in a flat filled to the brim with books strewn all over, chemistry experiments in the kitchen, were kidnapped, said boss was nearly impaled by a crossbow bolt, barely saved, and not only did she walk out under your arm, she continued to date you for two months afterward. Charm was certainly involved."
"First of all I can always tell when you've had blood and you definitely had some this morning, you're looking less sallow than usual when you've fed." John rubbed at the short bristly hairs at the nape of his neck in slight embarrassment as he spoke. "Charm is one thing, having success pulling is quite another. You don't need much to succeed when it comes to pulling, just appear confident even if you're not and offer them a warm bed at the end of the evening. That's usually all there is to it."
"Sarah was not just pulling John," Sherlock felt his sluggish heart beat a bit faster knowing John paid that much attention to him. "You have quite a bit of charm, when you're not preoccupied with something or someone hasn't pissed you off."
"Sarah was...a mistake. She's a lovely sweet woman and should never have gone there." John had just desperately wanted someone, or rather had wanted to want someone that wasn't Mr. tall, dark and vampire. Going after Sarah when he'd known he couldn't love her had been a mistake and he'd ended up hurting her. They were okay now, perhaps even friends but he should never have gone there in the first place. "And usually someone or something manage to piss me off, especially any day that I'm forced to face Anderson."
"Perfectly understandable, it's Anderson," Sherlock's fingers began tapping together as his mind sifted through thoughts and information, "I stand by my observation however. The only reason you aren't dangerously charming however, is because you don't realize how charming you in fact are."
John fidgeted a little where he stood, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with all that praise, especially when it came from Sherlock. "I don't think I'll ever see myself that way but I'm not going to waste energy arguing over it either."
"Regardless my point is that a human with enough charm can end worlds. Hitler was human, as was Napoleon, Churchill, Chairman Mao, Margaret Thatcher. Add genius to the charm and you have something very dangerous."
"I get that, and just because I don't see it in me doesn't mean that I don't know it exists." John bit at his bottom lip absentmindedly. "Moriarty is definitely dangerously charming, he knows exactly what to say and how to say it...Even when he's strapping you into a semtex vest but still...He had all the moves and words down but something is still wrong...It's like he's completely empty inside."
Sherlock cracked open his eyes and slid a look over at John. He'd wondered about that, about what Moriarty had said or done before he'd entered the pool. "You're right, he is." That had been an astounding revelation. Realizing that he was facing a true sociopath when he was always simply playing at the role. Astounding and uncomfortable.
"Seeing that, and listening to him talk there at the pool. That was when I knew how completely different the two of you were and are. Moriarty may feel a connection to you but he's nothing like you. He's so far beneath you that he can't even reach the soles of your shoes...I think he knows it as well and it's eating him up from the inside."
"If he's still alive. He may not be and his body was recovered to maintain the fiction of me plunging off a building in disgrace."
"Mm, yeah that could be the case of course." John didn't think so though, his gut feeling told him that Moriarty was alive and John had learned to trust that instinct.
"Not likely I know." Sherlock tilted his head back to look at John upside down over the arm of the chair, "Is Lestrade likely to run from Mycroft?"
John grew still, looking over Sherlock and his sprawled out, upside down position. "I don't know, it doesn't sound like Greg to do that, to run. He's more likely to tackle any issues he has head on." John ran his fingers through his hair. "Do you think he loves your brother? Because if he does then that's all that matters, you don't run from love, regardless of the shape you find that love in."
"I've no idea. It's not as though I've been near Lestrade when he's dealing with Mycroft to measure his pulse and pupil dilation." Sherlock didn't mention about Mycroft's desire to bloodbond, that was private to his brother, "I do know Mycroft loves him, oddly enough."
"Then I hope that Greg loves him too and that he won't run. I think he might be pissed and he has a right to be but I think he'll stay...I hope he will." John really hoped it would work out for Mycroft and Greg for both their sakes.
Sherlock nodded and moved on. He trusted John's opinion on emotional motivations, especially those of people they knew. "I've sent the names of the first four schoolmates to interview and their locations to your phone. Top of the list is Eric Lansing, Powers' best friend but also his closest competitor."
"Ah best friends but also the one most ready to slander you when you're not close by." John rolled his eyes. "Had a few of those in school with me as I grew up...Luckily they swayed toward more posh sports than rugby so I didn't have to deal with them very often." John looked at the information on his phone. "I'm going to head out soon, help me choose a bike to borrow?"
Sherlock rose to his feet easily without comment, nodding as he hitched his clothes into place. "Stop by 221 before you return and get my violin? Composing isn't the same without hearing the music outside my head."
No John couldn't imagine that it was. It had to be horrible having a head full of music and no outlet for it. "I'll get it, I need my laptop as well so I had already planned to stop by."
"Hm. Thank you. There's a cabinet of leathers and helmets in differing sizes in the garage so you'll have the appropriate protection on the motorbike."
"That'll be fine, I don't plan on sliding out but it's been nearly a lifetime since I last rode a bike, some protection might be a good thing." John followed Sherlock down toward the garage. They saw a few of Mycroft's underlings as they walked and just because the one bringing the food the night before had been uncomfortable meeting a human, John did his best to practically fling his humanity at the vampires they did meet. It would at least annoy some of them and it amused John.
A couple times one or two of the others seemed as if they were about to attack John but one intent look from Sherlock stopped them. He knew that John would hold his own in a fight but not only did they not really have time for it, he simply did not want one of his brother's lowly minions laying a hand, in any way, on John. Human or not the doctor was far above them. They reached the garage, filled with dozens of vintage vehicles and the tools to maintain them.
"Doona even think aboot sneakin' off wi'out talkin' wi' me Sherlock Holmes," it was a warm voice with a heavy Scottish burr, and it was coming from underneath an Aston Martin.
John stopped at the sound of the voice and smiled at the expression Sherlock got on his face, like a little schoolboy who had been caught sneaking a cookie before dinner time. Though he hadn't met the voice yet it was a voice that inspired both calm and safety to those that listened to it. John watched as a pair of heavy working boots came into sight, shortly followed by the rest of the man.
"I was not," Sherlock held out a hand to the man in coveralls, helping him to his feet, "sneaking off as you put it Thomas. I don't intend to leave the property today."
"Aye sure an' ya don' laddie," thin lips parted in a cheerful grin. The man was somewhere between John and Sherlock in height, possessed of flaming red hair, not obviously bulky but it was clear he had strength in a wiry body and the wide, blunt fingered hands and he stood like a fighter, "Doona mean ya weren' gonna sneak off afore I got hold o' ya. Ya were gonna sneak back inta tha hoose an' no' even say hello or intraduce me ta yer friend." He turned his friendly gaze on John and offered his hand, "Thomas MacAlister, I understand ya met my Hettie last night."
John took the offered hand and gave the redheaded vampire a smile. "John Watson, yes I did have the pleasure of meeting Hettie last night. Wonderful lady and I must say that she brews the best cuppa I have tasted in my entire life."
"Tha's my lass." You could hear the complete adoration in his voice, "It's nice ta finally meet the lad's doctor, hunter doctor if I'm readin right. So yer after usin' one o' the bikes then? Any bike brand ya favor over others?"
The surge of rightness that went through him at being called Sherlock's doctor was nearly staggering and something John would have to analyze later on. "Not really, back when I had a bike it was a Ducati but I'm not picky. Just steer me clear of the largest muscle packages out there...I've always found that rather pathetic...'I'm short and small but look at the giant metal prick between my legs'..." John scoffed.
Sherlock couldn't help the twitch of his lips at that, even as hearing John called his made him feel warm down to his core. He might occasionally think of John as his but hearing someone else say it was a different feeling. It meant that other recognized a bond between him and John, no matter how little it resembled the one he really wanted.
Thomas laughed heartily, "Oh now that's a lad. Weel if yer up for nostalgia, there's a couple of Ducat's here." He lead John over to where the bikes were lined up nice and neat.
Sherlock went to pick out some leathers in John's size from the cabinet behind the bikes.
John almost moaned out loud as he saw all the pretty bikes, all of them in top condition, clean and obviously well cared for. "Mycroft do like the thought of his minions driving black bikes doesn't he? Such a drama queen." John looked over the mostly black bikes when his eyes caught another black bike but this one had details in a bright clear electric blue color. He ran his fingers along the Ducati. "Oh but this one, this is just pretty."
"Aye that she is an' a dream ta ride. Just tuned 'er up last night." Thomas radiated approval.
"Oh I can just imagine the feel of her underneath you." John had to check that he wasn't drooling openly. It really was a gorgeous motorcycle, one made to be ridden. "Would you mind terribly if I was to take her out for a little spin today?"
"No' at all laddie. Good bikes need ta be ridden," Thomas went to the pegboard and retrieved the keys for the bike.
John was walking over to where Sherlock was getting leathers and a helmet. There was a slight bounce in John's step and he had difficulties containing his smile. "Isn't she a beauty? Thank you Sherlock for asking Mycroft if I could borrow a bike for the day."
God. If it made John get that delighted look, Sherlock would have danced naked in front of Anderson. "You're welcome," he handed John a jacket and leather over trousers with padded knees before plucking up the helmet that matched the bike.
Still not being able to stop grinning like some sort of half-wit. He took the leathers, pulling the over trousers on and the jacket after that. "There, I think I'm ready to battle the roads of London now."
There was something about John in motorbike leathers that went straight to the unruly beast Sherlock's libido had become of late and had it sitting up and howling. He looked over John's shoulder at Thomas to disguise it as he held out the helmet and answered, "Yes, perhaps the city's occupants should be warned."
"Boring, you're not even going to let me use some innocent pedestrians as human bowling pins? Where's your sense of adventure man?" John pulled the helmet on and swung a leg over the frame of the bike, accepting the keys from Thomas. "I have my phone with me so just text if you can think of anything else that I should ask during the interviews and such. Be good today, don't irritate your brother too much or else he might not let me play with his toys anymore."
"What would be the point? Mycroft won't be any fun to irritate today so you may rest your mind on the matter."
Thomas chuckled, "Even th' mighty fall ta their heart's desire laddie."
"Well I still say that you should behave...Although I suppose I could be persuaded to look the other way if you were to...oh I don't know...Break into Anderson's flat and rearrange his sock drawer? I wonder how long it would take him to crack and tell Sally that Sherlock is haunting him..." John snickered and turned the key, loving the purring sound the bike made. "See you later."
Sherlock nodded and watched John pull out of the garage and down the drive. He could feel Thomas' eyes on him, sharp and observant, and looked over, lifting a brow.
The former enforcer shook his head and pat Sherlock's shoulder, "Now ya know I doona nag. I leave tha' ta Hettie an' Mikey. So ya can come wi' me an' have a drink and tell me what's on yer mind."
Thomas had been the one who'd taught him how to defend himself, who'd listened to Sherlock raging over the stupid nannies and ridiculous children he was forced to consort with and their tiny minds, and the only one who'd not judged him for his addiction to cocaine users' blood. So Sherlock simply turned in the direction of Thomas' office, "Tell me you finally procured a decent bottle of liquor. The swill masquerading as whiskey the last time I had a drink with you made my mouth numb for a week."
To be continued…