Andercest
Everything is Anderson and nothing hurts
Basically Sherlock clones Anderson and the
two Andersons end up together. Yeah.
I wrote this kinda for some friends. Kinda for myself, because I like the pairing Andercest (AndersonxAnderson) S'little strange. But uh yeah. Enjoy. Oh it has some 'AN/'s' or author notes by me so yeah. That and it is NSFW. Good day~
Anderson cursed under his breath. It was cold, drafty air stung his bare skin and slithered around his lightly clothed torso. He was trapped. Squinting in the dim room, strapped tightly to an aging wooden chair. He was all alone. And it was Sherlock's' fault. He had been the one who drugged Anderson the previous night at the bar and ended him up here. None the less it wasn't long until the familiar sounds of quick foot steps grew louder as they approached the door. The handle shook and it gave. The bright light from the hall way sucked out the darkness from the tiny room holding Anderson. Anderson closed his eyes tightly and gradually opened them, unamused to unsurprisingly see Sherlock standing in the door way. With John standing behind him, looking nervous and uneasy.
"Oh great. I never would of guessed." Anderson said blandly, trying to hid all of his fear and confusion.
"Oh Anderson, it will only take a second." Sherlock breathed and seemed to glide up along Anderson's'
left side.
Anderson stared him down with his usual lizard like eyes.
'Sherlock, w-what.. Stop it you sick psychopath." Anderson began.
But it was too late, the needle bit his bare and plunged deep into his flesh. Anderson snapped his head at Sherlock, cursing and glaring. Before Anderson could make any more threats, he felt groggy and dizzy, he swayed his head to the needle and watched in pull out. Sherlock's' slender hands disposed of the first glass needle and removed another one, this time empty and drove it back into the flesh with one swift slide. Anderson's' gaze was foggy but he could watch it fill up with his blood before muttering a few last slurred words. Then it went black.
Anderson woke again, hungry and cold, he was laying on his bed. His head was throbbing and he hadn't eaten or satisfied his thirst in about a day and a half. His left arm was nearly numb, but he was home. He didn't know what happened. All he knew was Sherlock was responsible. He moved his dark, greasy hair out of the way of his eyes and pulled himself to his feet. He stumbled to the other end of his flat and to his coat. Groping the pocket until he retrieved his slick phone. Anderson's' fingers found their way to Sally's' number and called. He sucked down about four water bottles after this. And lay in fetal position until Donovan could help him. Lestrade would be hearing about this, he told him self, that made him feel a little better, before passing out into a deep sleep, this time with put any drugs.
Sherlock smiled to him self, his thin, smug face hidden by a soft scarf and lifted collar. He simply had no reason not to smile, as he mailed the blood away. Just a few weeks, he told himself. Until his life would be complete. The grin was a little to wide across his cheek bones to keep John from pestering Sherlock about what he did to Anderson. John was actually concerned. John wasn't a bad person, and no, neither was Sherlock. However an opportunity to do this do Anderson was just too great to pass up.
A few weeks passed. Anderson had told Lestrade and he frankly could not of cared less. This bothered Anderson more than just about anything. But he knew Greg, and if Anderson continued to pester Lestrade about his greatest detective it would probably end in a lowered salary. None the less Anderson deiced to shake it off (AN/ Anderson you stupid bitch) and go on with his life. What was the worst Sherlock could do with a couple ounces of his blood. Anderson knew Sherlock had enough respect to aviod putting it around a crime scene or anything of that liking. Anyways it had been a pretty good week for them all. There hadn't been many murders (okay Sherlock was a little upset over this) or any at all. Just the occasional theft or what not. Everything was back to normal.
Until there was a box. A large wooden box. About seven feet long and four feet or so high, was dropped off early one cool morning in front of Sherlock and Johns' shared flat on Baker Street. Sherlock rushed down the stairs and to the front door as soon as he heard the truck rumble up the street. His nimble hands signed the papers on the clip board and he heaved the entire box up the stairs. One little tug at a time. Huffing and with splinters and rope burns alike on his hands he made it up. Sherlock wasn't a weak man. He was slender but that didn't mean he was a noodle. John watched from far inside the flat.
'Sherlock. What the hell?' John scolded loud enough to startle Sherlock.
"Oh Watson~! Well, well, wouldn't you like to know?" Sherlock teased, irking John.
"Yes. Yes I would. Sherlock, what is in there? A gorilla?" John snapped.
Sherlock heartily laughed to him self.
"In a way, I suppose.." With that Sherlock grabbed the nearby crowbar. There were many laying around
much to Johns' displeasure. With a heavy jab the crowbar lodged itself under the fresh planks. Sherlock inhaled and pushed down will all his force and a few of the nails pried out from the opposing planks. He did this a few times, John watched in disbelief. Thinking of what in the world Sherlock had bought. He also could of sworn it made a grunt or something. Watson tilted his head and took a step back, nearly leaning against the wall when the top of the box was removed. It rustled. The straw rustled. What ever it was it was alive. And pretty large too. The look on Sherlock's' face was a look of peer joy and excitement. He leaned over the box and ripped away the hay.
"It worked!" He screamed like a child. "It really really worked!" Sherlock exclaimed.
Nervously John step forward, glancing at the hysterical Sherlock who was literally rolling on the floor laughing. John peered into the crate. He choked, no it couldn't be.
It was Anderson.
"I-Is that bloody Anderson?" John was in such shock to see, laying in a few inches of soft yellow hay was Anderson. A living , breathing clone of Anderson. Sherlock coughed out the last of his laughter and brought himself back to his senses.
"Well of course. Who else would it be?" Sherlock said, almost sounding bored about Johns' question.
"W-Why?" John said, unable to focus on anything. For Sherlock had just cloned Anderson after all.
"So we could make fun of him Watson! Think about John, don't be stupid."Sherlock explained.
"You hate Anderson, why...why did you clone him? HOW did you clone him?" Johns' voice was getting louder every time. He looked back from the box to Sherlock and back to the box again. It-no Anderson. Was moving. Sherlock smiled at John before crawling up to this.. Anderson. The Anderson peaked its' head over the side of the crate. Its' replica Lizard eyes darted back and forth. Nervous.
"Sherlock. What the bloody hell?" John now whispered, watching the Anderson sniff Sherlock's hand. Sherlock giggled and ignored Johns question, slowly rasing his hand over the Anderson's head. Very, very lightly he stroked it, like you would when you meet a dog. The Anderson seemed to accept this and nuzzled his hand, closing his eyes and purring. (AN/ Why am I writing this. Omg someone help me) Meanwhile John stood there, somewhere between shock and disgust. With his mouth gaping he slid down to his knees. A few feet behind Sherlock. Sherlock snapped his head around and looked at John, and harshly whispered;
"He's really quite nice John. Come."
The Anderson was happily purring and nuzzling away at Sherlock's warm hand when John scooted up along side Sherlock. He just. Couldn't believe it. How do you clone a human? Where would he get the money? Is this legal? Why Anderson? Thoughts had clouded his mind when Sherlock's slender hand slid down his arm and tightly grasped his wrist. The Anderson opened it's beady eyes and watched; tilting it's head and making little grunts and whistles. Sherlock raised Johns limp arm and held it out to the Anderson with his palm open. The Anderson gingerly sniffled his hand and nibbled on it a little interested in it's new friend. John turned his head to the side but not once taking his eyes off the careful little Anderson. Something clicked in Sherlock's mind and as he gazed down at this Anderson he could not help but feel pity. They were such beautiful creatures. The way its chocolate brown hair was smoothly layered over its flawless pale head. How strong this creature truly was. It need to be respected. A single tear rolled down the side of Sherlock's face but he stayed emotionless. With a jolt Sherlock stood up causing both the Anderson and John and jump back. John could of sworn the Anderson's hair stood up a little at the sudden movement. Sherlock nearly ran to his coat, retrieving his phone and punching in Anderson's number.
"Anderson." He nearly sobbed in to his phone the second Anderson picked up. John could make out angry, static like noises coming from the phone. It was Anderson alright. Watson looked back to the Anderson in the crate. He was slowly crawling out of the box, about half way on to the floor. Oh, John thought to himself. He was naked. John turned his attention back to Sherlock who was apparently sobbing into a disconnected call with Anderson. The unnoticed Anderson was crawling around, much like a komodo dragon would, his body parred with the floor and head looking forward. John was pretty sure he stuck his tounge out a few times. Sherlock was the first to notice the Anderson adventuring into the kitchen. John, noticed too, he was about to stand up and go fetch it but Sherlock pulled him back down.
"Shh. Lets see what happens.." Sherlock spoke softly. The naked Anderson noticed his friends back in the living room. He moved his slender body back in that direction. Grunting in displeasure. The Anderson crawled up to them and then lay down. Grunting. Everything seemed to be fine until there was a knock at the door. Dread filled both of the non-cloned men. It didn't matter who it was. It could not end well. The knocking became more persistent, followed by a few angry yells. Bloody hell. It was Anderson. The real Anderson. John and Sherlock exchanged glanced. They both stood up. Uneasily and carefully John bent over and put his arms under the Andersons and dragged him into the bath room. He sure was heavy. Meanwhile Sherlock slowley got to the door, unsure of what to say or how to act. His face was still swollen and red from the break down. Nervously he opened the door, making sure the Anderson and John were both out of sight.
"Sherlock, tell me now. What the hell is going on." Anderson steadily spoke.
"Why nothing Anderson. What do you want?" Sherlock snapped. Despretly tryingto return to his old self.
"You called me on the phone. Sobbing." He glared back at Sherlock's face. He'd slap him but feared he'd cut his hands on his cheekbones.
"It was a trick. Anderson you failed. Go away." Sherlock said calmy and attempted to close the door. But Anderson was already pushing it open.
"Just tell me now, Sherlock. What did you do with my blood." He said. His head inside the flat along with his fingers.
"I was just testing for.. how can I explain this to an immature child in a mans body.. A sad face that eats away all the little dinosaurs in your body." Sherlock replied smiling. That sure pissed Anderson off right there. With a heavy push he managed to squeeze his way in.
"What is going on Holmes? Wheres John? What's that box?" He spat, jerking his head in the direction of the crate.
"Just research. I think I hear Sally calling you." Sherlock replied not wanting Anderson to come in anymore than he already was. Anderson almost fell for that actually. But now he knew something was really going on.
A loud thud came from the bathroom and they heard John shriek in pain. Sherlock glared at Anderson and walked backwards to the bathroom, not taking his eyes off Anderson's. Quickly as he could he opened the door and slid in as well. The cloned Anderson must have been up to no good. Sherlock locked the door behind he and turned around to see a raging wild Anderson clawing at the glass shower door. John was sitting against the wall opposite the shower clenching his bleeding arm.
"It bloody bit me!" John gasped a little too loudly.
Anderson stood right outside the bathroom door listening to the raucous inside. That was it. He was going in. He reached up and slid his fingers over the doorway until his fingers groped a tiny key. Perfect. He stabbed the key in and twisted, the door swung open. There he saw, a huddling John and Sherlock both sobbing in fear, and locked behind the shower an angry human. John and Sherlock slithered out under Anderson's legs one at a time. Anderson glanced at them in fear as they ran out of the flat. Slamming the door behind them. Now Anderson was scared, he backed up, slipping on one of John's brightly coloured towels. He tried to get up but it was too late. The glass broke and little shards went everywhere. Out of the bath/shower combo. (AN/Fancy right?)Came... Anderson? How? What the hell was going on. Its tiny eyes stared into its originals. It came crawling at him faster. Anderson closed his eyes and turned his head to the side. This was the end. A clone of him was going to kill him. But no. Anderson slowly looked down. The clone had not clawed him or bitten him, but was sniffing his face. It looked kind of repulsed. Maybe it was the smell of mens deodorant, anyways it slowly approached Anderson's body, carefully placing one hand paw thing in front of the other, until it placed its front hands on Anderson's lap. Anderson the original also looked kind of repulsed. Was he really that ugly from close up? None the less it wasn't long until reality hit him. Why did Sherlock have a clone of himself, Anderson? Then it hit him. Awful reasons. Awful, awful reasons. He didn't know how long he had had this poor baby. Anderson exhaled. It was okay now. It would all be okay he whispered to the shaking, naked Anderson. Anderson pull the Anderson in to his lap and cradled it to sleep; singing him songs about the Jurassic Period. He stroked the Andersons hair and pushed it behind his ears. What a perfect baby. His heart hurt for just thinking he had thought it was ugly. With that he leaned in and kissed the Anderson. It was long or deep. Just a simple kiss to say, I'm here for you, to protect you, and love you. The clone Anderson was awoken by this. For he was human too. He had actually been totally normal the whole time. But he knew the fastest way to get to his original was ferocious but a must. He opened his eyes and wrapped his arms around his neck, brining him in for a deeper kiss. The Anderson bit Anderson's lip after about a minute. Anderson let the Anderson slide his tongue into his mouth, it felt so strange for the both of them. The Anderson sat up and placed himself evenly on Anderson's lap, with one leg on each side of his hips. His hands pulled Anderson's shirt collar towards his neck as them embraced each other. It wasn't long before their hands began to wonder delicately over each others bodies, the same human. It was like a MRI scan. Tragically beautiful. Anderson leaned back, letting the Anderson lay on top of him, their mouthes attacking each other. Anderson, began to slide out of his casual work clothes, his hand cupping the Anderson's cheek softly. When he was able too, he pulled his undershirt over his head and while it was still around his wrists slid his hands behind the Anderson and pulled him closer onto him lap. Their mouthes never left as he shimmed his way out of his pants.
Alright guise. Should I finish this?
I will but. Right now. I want to know
if this is even
sociably acceptable.