A/N: Hello! This is going to be a Sherlock Vampire AU and it's going to contain slash. Pairings will be Sherlock x John and Mycroft x Lestrade. Enjoy!
He was so terribly bored, there had been no new cases to suit his intellect out there so he just lay on his floor, glaring at his ceiling. It was a grubby place, but it was all he could afford then; his damned brother had stopped lending him money and said he should get a real job. That he should do something that actually paid and wasn't consulting about crimes. He refused, however, and just had to deal with addicts. With the thought of addiction he let out a long sigh; how he wished for a cigarette. Barely able to afford rent, he'd never be able to get his so desperately wanted cigarettes.
Oh damn. Rent, Sherlock thought. He had forgotten to pay it again. No sooner than he thought it, his landlord came charging up his stairs. He could easily knock him out or "convince" him to ignore his rent, but Mycroft would be on his case before the man even left the room. He always seemed to know when Sherlock used his powers and when he didn't. He probably had his blood-slaves (aka the entire British government) install cameras and microphones into his room to keep an eye on him.
"Mr. Holmes, I've been patient with you for long enough. You never pay rent on time, and my other tenants say they constantly smell chemicals coming from your room. I have no choice but to evict you from this flat. I'll give you a day to pack up, and then I want you out," his landlord said. "I also want this month's rent by tomorrow as you leave. If you don't have it, I will call the police. I've been far too patient with you. Good day to you, Mr. Holmes." He walked out.
Right after the landlord left, Sherlock received a text: "Kicked out already, dear brother? Stay with me until you find a new flat. M."
Sherlock let out a sigh; he had no choice but to stay with Mycroft. Wait, he did have a choice. He remembered a little old lady whose husband he helped get executed. She had said that she'd always welcome him to a flat, and even for a lesser price than she'd give most of her tenants.
Sherlock pulled out his mobile phone and dialled Mycroft. "Seems I won't be needing to stay with you after all, Brother. A former client of mine had so graciously said I could have one of her spaces after I helped get her husband executed. Such a terrible loss; I know I'll dreadfully miss staying with you." His sarcasm was plain in those last words; he loathed his brother with a passion. However, he did find it interesting that he himself hated phone calls and preferred to text, whereas Mycroft did the exact opposite. Although Sherlock loathed Mycroft there was still a deep bond between the two, shared because they were blood brothers and they had been changed at the exact same time.
"And may I ask where you'll be staying?" Mycroft said.
"221B Baker Street. Please don't have your blood slaves install cameras into every room, Mycroft, it's extremely unpleasant." Sherlock answered.
"Sherlock, you don't have to make it unpleasant. You know you could just stay with me and it would be so much easier. You could also get a job that pays and get out of Lestrade's hair. I understand he's a vampire as well, but that doesn't mean you have to bother him on every case," Mycroft sighed.
"Bother him? Mycroft, I solve the cases for him. It's only because you're completely infatuated with him (as was the reason you turned him, which, may I add, was a stupid choice. You do understand that most vampires train who they're going to turn and only turn them as a last resort? We can only make one other vampire, Mycroft). He's so dull compared to me and he misses the simplest things. He needs me, Mycroft. Not to mention he seems to like me – an outstanding accomplishment for most people," Sherlock said, growing bored with the conversation.
He hung up the phone and dialled another number. "Mrs. Hudson? Yes, it's me... It's wonderful to hear from you too, I was actually thinking of taking you up on that offer of a flat... It's free? Great, I'll see you tomorrow." There was a person he liked, and she liked him back. The old lady (though still but a blink compared to his age!) always managed to bring a smile to the vampire's face, a genuine smile.
He began to pack his things with inhuman strength and speed. He had no use staying in that flat anymore, not when there was one with a landlady he could actually stand waiting for him just a few blocks away. After sticking a hastily written cheque to his door, he was off. He loaded his boxes into a "borrowed" car from his neighbours. It was borrowing as long as he gave it back, after all.
He arrived at Baker Street in just a few minutes, he probably passed a few speed limits, but for a man who didn't have a license he drove pretty well. He got out of the car and knocked on the door of 221B Baker Street.
"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, wrapping her arms around the skinny vampire. "It's good to see you, you look so thin though. Are you sure you've been eating enough?" She asked him.
"I've been eating plenty, Mrs. Hudson. I just don't gorge myself on food like my fat brother does." He hoped that Mycroft was paying attention to the CCTV cameras that were undoubtedly trained on him.
"Sherlock, don't say that about your brother! After all, family is the most important thing in this world." Mrs. Hudson tutted. "Anyway, where did you get the car, Dearie?"
"I borrowed it," Sherlock said, a boldface lie. However Mrs. Hudson bought it completely.
"From a friend? Well, I'd help you carry your things in, however I have a hip so you'll have to do it yourself. If you need me, just call," the old lady said, walking off but leaving the door open. "You'll find a key to the flat in the kitchen, as well as some biscuits. Don't expect this to often though, Dearie, I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said, giving the old woman a kiss on the cheek (a move he didn't do often; he didn't like people or touching them.) Sherlock didn't plan on eating the biscuits; although he could eat mortal food it gave him no nourishment. On cases he would forgo even blood; On a regular day he tended to have only a small sip of blood. He ignored mortal food completely. He did not feast like his brother did. There was a reason he called him fat; though only slightly overweight by human standards, Mycroft was a terrible glutton compared to Sherlock.
With a small grunt, he lifted the first heavy box from the ground then, balancing it on one hand, he grabbed the second box. It was a balancing act; if he tripped, it was extremely possible for both boxes to tumble, and with their fragile contents that would have been a disaster. He walked up the narrow staircase, using all of his concentration to not tip the boxes. Even though he was a vampire with inhuman strength, it was hard for him not to tip the boxes over. Perhaps it would have been a better idea to have stacked the boxes on top of each other. As brilliant as Sherlock was, he could make the dumbest mistakes from time to time. He had a bad tendency to "delete" things he thought of no importance from his mind. It was just one of his many awful habits. Mycroft loved to make fun of him about it; he'd constantly ask him questions about the solar system he knew he couldn't answer.
Sherlock set the boxes down on the table, next to the plate of biscuits, and without thinking, grabbed a biscuit and ate it. It wasn't for nourishment or anything, more that he just really liked Mrs. Hudson and didn't want her food to go to waste. How he wished for a glass of blood though – he would have killed for it. He chuckled at his own joke that he never voiced. The superstitions people held about vampires were ridiculous; although prolonged exposure to bright and direct sunlight would kill it took quite a while. He didn't need to kill to take blood from people. He could go to church but he didn't believe in anything he couldn't have proof of so he left religion to others. It was not a Holmes family tradition to believe in any god. He could be killed by a stray bullet just as anyone, it was just harder; only a shot to his brain or his heart would kill, so theoretically a staking could be done. It was done in the past as well; in the time of angry religious mobs, anyone could be accused of being a bloodsucker and stabbed through the heart. It was only rarely that they ever got a real vampire, though. His kind was too crafty to get caught by sickly mortals.
By the time Sherlock stopped chuckling, he was back at the car. He knew he needed to hurry up so he could return the car before its owner noticed its absence, but he didn't really care. All it would take was a bit of "convincing" the police it was fine with him then it would be over. Not to mention Mycroft would easily drop any charges against him; he was the British government, after all.
Mycroft would annoy him about it though, and he really didn't want to be bothered by his brother. He seemed to love bothering him. He was almost as bad as Anderson in the sense that his favourite activity in the world was simply bothering Sherlock. He didn't despise them though, he didn't care enough to despise anyone. After over five hundred years on Earth, he didn't have the capacity to care much about little things like that anymore. All he wanted to do was simply solve crimes, and when the time came, create an heir for himself. An heir or a lover, those were the two things he'd create a vampire for. He didn't want a servant or anything like that, he just wanted someone he could connect with. He never would have changed Mrs. Hudson though, she was too old and female. The female roles in his life had led to nothing but distaste for that gender. His mother was controlling and would tend to beat both he and Mycroft before they left for their apprenticeship. He had stayed away from most women after that point.
Mrs. Hudson was the exception to his rule against women. However he wasn't about to change her. The only issue though, was that he didn't want to lose her either. Mrs. Hudson was so sweet (and despite her constant grumblings, she'd pick up after him without him having to "convince" her to do it.) A mother figure he had never had in his human life he found late into his vampiric life with Mrs. Hudson.
Sherlock hoisted the last of the boxes out of the car. He could feel his skin beginning to burn, he'd be red in the morning. All he wanted to do then was lay down and drink blood so his skin would heal faster, but no, he had to finish unpacking so Mycroft didn't get on his case about what he would say was stealing a car. Sherlock sighed and walked up his narrow stairs. He ran an eye about his flat, it was already loaded with boxes. He managed to find a nook to shove the box, and he was off. He sped along the streets to his old apartment. When he arrived there, however, the car's owner was in a rage.
Oh boy, thought Sherlock, time to get in an annoying confrontation.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing with my car?" The portly man screamed, spit flying around the air.
"You lent me the car, don't you remember, George?" Sherlock said, he began to "convince" the man that he lent Sherlock his car.
"Oh, right. Well, return it sooner, would you, Sherly?" Sherlock shuddered at the nickname. "I have to get to a football game with my mates."
"Have a good day, George." Sherlock said, shuddering as he walked off. He had to do something besides go back to the flat and unpack. The morgue! Sherlock thought. He felt around in his coat and felt his riding crop in it. I'll go to St. Bartholomew's and do some tests on the corpses. That always cheers me up! Sherlock got excited at the image of whipping the corpses and seeing the beautiful, beautiful data they'd record on their skin for him to see. He grinned, not too wide so that people could see his fangs, but wider than he usually smiled. Oh it would turn out to be a good day after all!