Chapter 1: Aztecs

A/N:

First story I have co-written with Silhouette Jumper And it's his first fanfiction ever so please welcome him. Leave reviews at the bottom please! Loves!

Italics is the telly

Bold is a past conversations between Sherlock and John. These are important. Read them.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Sherlock BBC nor Sir Author Doyle's version. All rights go to the original creators and all affiliated people or groups. No profits were made in the production of this story and all plot ideas and affiliated belong to the authors, thank you.

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"John…stop." "What?" "I-I- haven't." "You mean you're a-" "Virgin. Yes."

Just coming back from an art gallery. John and Sherlock are sitting down to watch some crap telly. Airing on said telly is a history documentary on the Aztecs.

John shouts from where he is seated, "Sherlock! Look it's the Aztecs!"

"Who?" asks Sherlock momentarily looking up from his microscope that he just sat down at.

"The Aztecs. You know, your ancient ancestors."

"Well, clearly they're not related to me, look at how short and stubby they are."

"I didn't say they were…I said they're the Aztecs. Mexicas."

It is believed that the daughter of a chief and the son of -

"Wedding. Dear God, don't tell me you're still on that."

"Well, it's an important step and I believe that-"

They ripped the heart out of -

Sherlock is staring at the telly entranced as he watches the heart being pulled out and offered to the sun god. "Can we just-. Oh, never mind what were you looking at in your microscope?"

"Hmm.." hummed Sherlock turning to look at John. "Oh. Ah…Stuff." He promptly turned back to the telly.

"Oh," said John. The detective leans back and enters his mind palace half listening to the world outside it.

Sun.

"Son? Are we still going on about that subject? There will be no son John. I don't a little squirmy boy running around," said Sherlock hotly.

Startled and not knowing quite what was happening John replied, "How about a daughter then?"

Tenochtitlan was the Aztec's—

"Ten- ten-o-ch-il…What kind of name is that?! And no absolutely not girls are annoying as well," said Sherlock.

"That's an Ancient Aztec name Sherlock. You know what fine. Let's pretend this conversation never happened. I'm going out and when I return I'm going to pretend none of this has ever happened," said John venom pronounced in every word. With a slam to the door he left. Sherlock rose from his laying position on the sofa and sat, puzzled, wondering whatever he had done to make John so mad. He had not realized that John had left.

~3 Hours Later~

"John? How about twins?"

"John?"

~1 Hour Later~

"I'm back what are you watching?" Sherlock was staring blankly at the telly, his hand moving rapidly through his mind palace. With a huff John threw his bomber jacket on his armchair, "You know what. Fine. Ignore me." He marched upstairs and closed the door to his room. Sherlock obliviously still goes through his mind palace mumbles, "Sorry. Whatever I did to offend you. Sorry. Review interactions with John. Search: offensive words?"

Little after John climbed down the stairs and sighed. He peeked into the sitting room and said softly, "Sherlock are you okay?" Frowning he crouched down in front of his love and poked him, "Sherlock. Are you okay?" Sherlock's eyes fluttered open in anger at being interrupted.

"I was in my mind palace John. Go bother Mrs. Hudson." He closed his eyes again and began to concentrate again; his curly dark brunette hair seemed to be thinning. Or maybe it had to do with the fact in the ceiling above Sherlock there was a leak and that leak was falling on his head. John looked up at the leak and then back at the semi-drenched detective, glaring at him with narrowing eyes. "Sherlock…" The water ran down his sharp cheekbones and dripped slowly down his narrow neck. John felt his vampire instincts tingle.

"What. What is it?" snapped Sherlock, "What could be so important that you interrupt me a second time?

John glared at Sherlock baring his fangs, "You are sitting under a leak. And while may be smarter than most humans you aren't exactly immune to getting sick. So if you continue sitting there, you will catch a cold and I will not," he paused, " will not help you get better."

"It just a couple of drops. This isn't going to to hut-" Sherlock sneezes, " hurt me." He shakes his damp hair and sneezes again.

"Bloody hell," muttered John. "You haven't moved since I left since the first time have you?"

Sherlock shook his head and sneezed again. John stared at him and nodded before briskly getting up after Sherlock began shivering uncontrollably. John went into their bedroom and grabbed a new change of clothes. There to which he dragged the annoying detective to the bathroom and turning on the hot water and leaving him. Sherlock got out of the bathroom, grumbling and freshly changed, wrapping his robe tightly around him. He muttered thanks to John heading towards his coach and upon finding it wet he turned and sat in John's armchair. He sneezed as he settled down. To this John said nothing but a half-hearted glare his way from where he was leaning against the desk. He stood there a while biting his lower lips, his fangs dipping into them sharply. Smelling the vitality of Sherlock, normal but with a hint of a possible incoming sickness, the heard his pulsing heart; the rush of his blood cursing through and soon got lost in its rhythmic beat. He unbuttoned his one of his shirt buttons and fanned at his flushed face. "Isn't a bit hot in here," he asked Sherlock smirking.

"Hmmm..?" Sherlock said looking up only to be stopped by the pressure of John's lips against his own. John's fangs bit tenderly against the inside of Sherlock's cheek before hungrily eating up the detective's taste. Sherlock's hand went up the backside of John underneath his shirt as he responded deeply and as greedily. "Sorry…for…earlier…" he whispered between breaths. John gave no verbal response but began untying Sherlock's robe. Sherlock pulled him to closer to him and stumbling they both fell off the armchair as a tangle of detective and vampire. Well, more detective than vampire.

Sherlock looked up, "Sorry..?' he said sheepishly.

"Oh don't be" purred John scooping up the detective as he getting up, removing his shirt in the process.

"Boys," yelled Mrs. Hudson as she came up the stairs and entered the flat. The door had been open. Disturbing the passionate atmosphere, Sherlock recollected himself and stood.

"Ah…Mrs. Hudson," he squeaked and cleared his throat before speaking louder, "Mrs. Hudson. Get the hell out of here."

"S-S-Sherlock," she stuttered.

"Out. Now."

"Oh. Oh. Fine. But, boys, please, keep down, I could hear all the way from my flat. What will the neighbors say?"

"Considering that s80% of the ma re out and the other either doing the same or sleeping. I really don't care. So out now Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh for heaven's sake," said Mrs. Hudson as she stumbled out of the flat.

"Sherlock..." John whispered as he moved towards him. To this he said nothing and began walking towards his microscope. He sat and began examining some blood samples that he had found, somewhere. Frowning John leaned unto the detective's shoulder and whispered into his ear, "Sherlock…"

"Would you please stop John? I'm busy. You lived with me long enough with me to know when I'm busy." Sherlock looked at John furiously, his mouth in a scowl. John looked down sadly and he blinked several times.

His face was flushed pink with embarrassment and with a heart-breaking sigh he said, "I'm sorry Sherlock." He ran up the stairs and briskly entered his old room; nearly tripping in the process.

"John! John!" Sherlock called as he started to follow after him. He was about to head up the stairs when he heard a voice behind him.

"Aw…Did you broke his heart, hurt his feelings?" it said coming from the shadows.

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