It had taken Mycroft decades to get Sherlock to drink human blood regularly, as he was supposed to. Well, to be perfectly honest, he was actually quite keen on it on the first days after his transformation, but completely refused to let a drop pass his lips after about a week from the day. It happens like that sometimes; vampires can't fully embrace their nature, and though Sherlock would never admit to having residual feelings for mortals, it was clear to Mycroft that that was the only feasible explanation for his constant refusal to view them as merely food -which they clearly were. Centuries later, however, he had finally come to terms with the fact that he needed it -however ocasionally-, and didn't mind indulging every once in a while. And Mycroft would gladly take care of the bodies, of course.
Still, Sherlock could never fully accept his brother's 'regime', to Mycroft's quiet despair. Mycroft was really quite fond of blood, and he could dry up up to three healthy adults in the course of a night, if he felt like it. Sherlock openly disapproved, and very loudly too. After years of enduring his comments on his 'overfed physique' and 'morbid appetite' -Sherlock's own words- Mycroft decided it was high time to prove his brother wrong. True, he had never gone without for longer than a night, and there was no denying there was a very definite curve on his midle, but he was certain that his brother's remarks were not more than exaggerations; he could very well cut back, and easily as well. He wouldn't Sherlock of his intentions yet, however, not until he had succesfully got over the first week at least.
Waking up to an empty stomach was never a plesant feeling, but the first night of Mycroft's 'diet', he felt particularly miserable about it. He knew he was going to have to spend the night in the office, as usual, and that work would distract him, if only for a bit, but he was certain he wouldn't be able to completely shake off the urge to forget the promises he had made to himself and beg his PA for a human, uncouncious and ready to be bitten.
The first hours of the night weren't too terrible. In fact, he managed to work nonstop for at least three hours, but then, of course, his brother decided to interrupt. Mycroft cursed his luck. Of all nights, Sherlock had decided to drop by the one he needed to be alone the most.
It didn't take more than a look from Sherlock for him to realize that Mycroft had not fed yet for the night. A sly smile appeared on his face as he innocently pointed out that Mycroft was looking a bit paler than usual. Mycroft dismissed the remark and spoke without raising his eyes from the papers on his desk.
-Is there anything I can help you with, brother? I'm busy, as you can see.
Sherlock raised his eyebrows in faked surprise.
-I'm quite offended, Mycroft. I thought you'd be glad to see me; it's been weeks.
Mycroft managed a smile as he looked at Sherlock in the eye.
-Very well, if it's quality time you want. It'd be a first, but...
Sherlock dropped the act immediately after hearing Mycroft's words.
-Don't be riddiculous. I just came here to feed, as usual.
Sherlock's eyes were fixed on his brother's. Mycroft couldn't refrain from frowning.
-I've been sending food to your place for months now.
-I dislike being watched when I feed, you know that. And your boys refuse to leave before I'm done. Seriously, I could get rid of the corpses myself.
Mycroft cocked his head to the side with a tired smile on his face.
-Yet, you don't.
Sherlock huffed.
-Not immediately. What's the rush? They are already dead.
-The neighbours complain about the smell, Sherlock, I've told you.- Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke. -But nevermind.- He sighed and forced another smile.
-You can go to the basement right now, there's plenty for you to chose from.
The smile on Sherlock's face when he stood up to leave was not reasuring at all. Mycroft knew was that he was up to something.
Only minutes later, Sherlock reapeared carrying a gaunt woman in his arms. She was barely concious, and her head swaggered around as he walked. Droplets of blood fell from her recently bitten neck.
-What on earth do you think you are doing!?
Mycroft stood as his brother sat on the couch on the other side of the office, gently cradling the woman in his arms.
-Have you gone completely insane? These are natural hardwood floors, and now they're soaked in blood, for God's sake Sherlock!
Sherlock said nothing, only sat there, with a half smile on his face, slowly licking the remains of blood on his lips. He ran a finger on the woman's cheek and her breathing accelerated slightly.
Mycroft was about to take Sherlock outside his office with his own two hands when the smell hit him. He stood there, frozen in place, as his nostrils filled with the scent of fresh blood for the first time since the night before. He was starving. He barely noticed when he involuntarily licked his lips. By some miracle, though, he broke out of that state of trance and quickly covered his nose and mouth with his hand.
-Get. out.
Sherlock managed to remain calm and collected. His smile widened but a bit.
-I just thought I'd share.