In the end that was what did it. The sight of Sherlock's blood, the scent of it, as it coated that long column of unmarred white flesh. John was on him in an instant. Sherlock didn't stand a chance.
Oneshot, Vampire!John
A/N - so apparently I have a bit of a thing about turning poor John into various supernatural creatures atm! I make no apologies! Reviews much appreciated.
Enjoy!
It all happened so very quickly.
John was acclimatised to Sherlock. He was familiar with his eccentric ways and he was used to the idiotic genius getting himself in trouble. He was even accustomed to the detective getting hurt.
Normally he managed. Normally, even if he himself was injured and in need, he managed it. He managed the bloodlust, even when Sherlock was actively bleeding. Generally he wasn't caught unaware.
Today was different. Today he had walked in and been surprised. Surprised and hungry.
Sherlock's head wound, a not insignificant gash, was weeping blood. Blood that pooled in the laceration and then spilled over its jagged edge. Blood that was streaming in a delicious bright-red rivulet down his angular face… and on to his long pale neck…
In the end that was what did it. The sight of Sherlock's blood, the scent of it, as it coated that long column of unmarred white flesh. The way the life-giving liquid quivered as it flowed across his pulse point. The way it pooled in the hollow at the base of his throat.
John was on him in an instant. Sherlock didn't stand a chance.
The blonde man trapped him, forcing the detective up against the wall of the flat. His powerful and compact upper body pinning the taller man. Right hand acting on instinct alone as it roughly forced his head to the side, opening up his vulnerable neck.
The excitement of the hunt, the thrill of the kill burned through his veins. Fangs extending; his own sharp, deadly, ivory weapons. He rubbed his cheek roughly against the other man's chin relishing the burst of scent the act released, relishing the feel of warmth and heat and life. He lowered his head slightly to access the blood pooling at the base of his neck, savouring the sharp, tangy flavour of the man's blood. John moaned his appreciation; a low guttural, feral sound. Tongue following the path of the free-flowing blood, he licked a slow broad stripe up the pale sensuous column and came to a pause over the man's wildly racing pulse…
"J-John"
The voice broke through the rush of bloodlust. A quiet trembling voice, desperate and laced with fear, coming from the man currently imprisoned beneath him. John's brain struggled to overcome instinct and catch up with the last couple of minutes –
Sherlock's look of haughty distain as John launched himself towards him "John what are you-"
Sherlock's cry of surprise as he was shoved against the wall in the space of a heartbeat "-John!-"
Sherlock's desperation as he was immobilized, once he had seen the direction this confrontation was heading, once he had seen the fangs "-John… please…-"
Suddenly, the mist of instinct evaporated and everything was painfully, blindingly clear. The press of the body quivering beneath his; unable to escape, overpowered, restrained. Sherlock. The voice; beautiful let choked, desperate and anguished. Sherlock. The tang of blood, hot and wild on his tongue. Sherlock.
In an instant he understood. He shoved off his flatmates body, flinging himself away with a barely restrained force. Sherlock, unsupported on quavering limbs, slid down the wall to the floor.
"Sherlock…" and he's still wrestling with it, the fire coursing through him, the want… the need…
The detective is trying to stand but he seems dizzy and disorientated. John vaguely recalls the sound his skull made as it hit the wall. The vampire feels his stomach twist.
Sherlock slumps back to the floor but he reaches for John – one arm extended towards him.
"John-"
"Oh God… I'm sorry… Sherlock, I'm so sorry" he throws the parting shot towards the quaking mound of limbs and bolts with inhuman speed out of the still open door.
~XOX~
It takes twelve days for Mycroft to locate him. John expected him to come looking. He didn't even try to hide. He deserved whatever Mycroft had planned for him, whatever he could throw at him.
Hell, he deserved a fucking stake.
"Mycroft" he scans the seemingly empty warehouse warily, looking for the back-up, looking for a clue about how this was going to end.
"John" the government official used his first name but there was little familiarity in his voice which remained cool and crisp.
Silence rippled out into the void that surrounded them both. John's eyes swept the room once more and he pushed out with his vampiric senses when his human eyes found nothing.
"We are alone John." That didn't make any sense. John turned his eyes to the suited man once more. Mycroft just smiled -a polite quirk of the lips that was nonetheless extremely telling.
"You know." It was a statement not a question.
"Yes Dr Watson, I know"
"You know what I did? What I'm capable of?" A short nod.
"And yet you meet me alone." A second nod and a pursed-lipped smile. More silence.
Finally John broke it "why am I here Mycroft?"
"You mean if I am not here to take revenge? Or issue punishment?" John said nothing, he merely waited for the government man to answer his question.
"When are you going back John?" The blonde man stared at the spy before him. "How long are you planning to punish him Dr Watson?"
Punish him?! Punish who? Sherlock? The vampire shook his head and set out the truth of it. "I can't go back Mycroft. I can never go back"
"Tsk"
The small sound from the taller man finally caused John to snap. In an instant all trace of the genial doctor vanished. In his place stood a creature with flat, obsidian eyes and wickedly sharp canines long enough to depress his lower lip. A low warning growl slipped out from behind clenched jaws as his stance turned distinctly predatory.
"I nearly fucking killed him Mycroft!" he took a savage breath and stalked forwards invading the suited man's personal space, pressing him backwards "I'm dangerous Mycroft, do you understand?" he hissed.
To his credit, though he took a step back, the man before him only faltered for a moment before he found his resolve. "No John, not to him. Not to Sherlock." He didn't mention whether or not he felt the blonde was a danger to himself.
"Which part did you fail to understand" the vampire spat "what part of me is saying 'not dangerous' to you right now?"
"The part where you didn't kill him. The part where you didn't even break his skin" was the cool, collected response.
John let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "You think that means something? You think I'm what - a tame vampire?! That Sherlock isn't in any danger from me because I care for him? You trust that I'll always be able to stop myself?"
Mycroft remained impassive but he slowly inclined his head "Nothing so insulting as tame John. But yes, I trust you. Sherlock trusts you"
Trust. Even now he knew, now he had been presented with the irrefutable evidence of what John truly was, Mycroft claimed he still trusted in him. The thought of Sherlock trusting him after what he had tried to… what he had almost… "You don't understand. You don't have a clue!" he snarled, lip curling.
"Then why don't you explain it to me?"
"It puts him in more danger, not less" he ground out "caring for him, my familiarity with him – it triggers my instincts, my baser desires" John shut his eyes and breathed deeply "the instinct to take him… to drain him, to make him mine… permanently." He tilted his head to the right and opened his eyes once more, his gaze lingering momentarily on Mycroft's pulse point.
"I see, and yet you have managed admirably for the last 2 years" John said nothing and so the suited man continued "he can't cope without you"
"He's better off without me – he's safer without me" No matter how much John might want to return he knew this much was true.
"Can you honestly be sure of that doctor? You know how Sherlock likes to court danger" It would almost be a taunt, if Mycroft were foolish enough to do such a thing. "Go home to him John, before he does something stupid and reckless"
There was a long, hard silence.
"Better the danger you know?" John asked eventually.
Mycroft smiled at the bastardised saying and twirled his umbrella "something like that" he murmured as he turned and walked away.
~XOX~
John returned to the flat two days later.
He stepped cautiously over the threshold, unsure, despite what Mycroft had implied, of the reception he would receive. He found Sherlock curled onto the sofa wrapped in his dark blue robe.
Sensing his presence the detective turned his head and pinned him with those eerie blue-grey eyes.
And John saw fear lurking in their ever-changing depths. He felt a surge of pain and regret wash through him. This could never work if Sherlock feared him. He had to leave. Again. And this time it would be so much harder to walk away.
"John" Sherlock's voice was a broken whisper "I- I-… I thought you'd left me" His eyes dropped to the worn floorboards at John's feet.
It was then that John noticed the deep purple shadows below the detective's eyes and the red puffy lids. He noticed the pinched features and excessively hollowed cheeks. And when Sherlock flicked his eyes back up to meet the vampires he noticed the pain of loss swirling there alongside the fear.
Sherlock wasn't afraid of him. He was afraid of losing him.
"I could never do that" the blogger replied truthfully.
And he thought all this might just be worth the risk to see that slow smile spreading across Sherlock's tired face.