Cantil: Hello all, it's been a while. Sorry about that, but here is a new story for you all to enjoy. Really wanted to write this pairing, but I'm bad at writing intelligent characters like Sherlock, so I sincerely apologize in advance for my poor attempt. Let me know if I got Sherlock's eye color right.
Summary: Voldemort has always hated muggles and wants to kill them all, but what happens when his followers bring in a man named Sherlock Holmes and Voldemort finds himself falling in love with him?
Warnings: OOCNESS, possible language, grammar/spelling issues, male/male relationships, Voldemort/Sherlock pairing, and just bad writing in general. If you are still here, then congratulations.
Changing The Dark
Chapter 1
Lord Voldemort sat behind a tidy oak desk in his study, the wood shining brightly. Books littered the walls on shelves, his life collection. Normally the immense amount of books and general quietness of the room would calm him, but not today. No. He was very annoyed at his followers for being late on their report.
Voldemort sighed tiredly as he tapped his fingers against the desk, before he remembered that he had a raid to plan for and he pulled out some parchment and quill. He was just finishing it up when there was a knock on his door.
"Enter." He commanded coldly. Finally. He thought.
Two men dressed in all black with white masks on led two, Muggles? Into the room and pushed them roughly to their knees in front of his desk. They were bound heavily in rope and were staring at him in what he guessed was horror, but he ignored them and watched his followers intently.
These two followers were new to join his cause and he couldn't be bothered to remember their names. He aptly named them dumb and dumber in his head.
"My Lord." They bowed low and one motioned towards the men on their knees with a sneer. "These Muggles were wandering about the mansion." He stated, like that explained everything. Voldemort said nothing, enjoying the look of pure terror barely hidden by the masks they wore. "S-so we thought-"
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, you didn't think. This mansion is out in the open, meaning that Muggles are expected to walk by every now and again. Or did you think this place was invisible to them?" Voldemort asked with a sneer, smirking when they flinched away.
"Now we have two problems, my friends. We have two Muggles who now know our location, and we have the two buffoons who led them here. Oh my, whatever shall we do?" The two death eaters fell to their knees, begging to be spared of torture. Voldemort glared at them, about to deliver said torture when one of the bound men spoke.
"Um, excuse me sir?" He asked quietly. Voldemort turned towards the voice and glared for the interruption. The man had blonde hair, what looked like brown eyes, was dressed in brown trousers, a tan vest and had various cuts and bruises, most likely from war.
"What?" Voldemort snapped impatiently.
"If you let us go, we promise we wont tell anyone where you live. We'll leave and never come back." Voldemort turned to his followers.
"Leave us." When neither moved, Voldemort sent a wordless Crucio their way. "Now!" They yelped and quickly left the room, the door banging closed behind them.
Voldemort sent a spell at the two Muggles, cutting them free of their bounds. The two looked at where the rope had been in shock. "Sit." He ordered, pointing to the seats in front of his desk. Once seated Voldemort finally looked towards the other Muggle who had been silent this whole time, only to be blown away.
The man was tall, at least six feet and lean, his eyes a sharp and piercing blue, he looked very intelligent with his blue scarf and billowing coat. Voldemort was entranced the second red eyes met blue in a battle for dominance.
"Your names?" Voldemort asked curiously, breathlessly. He forced his eyes away from this enchanting man.
"I'm John Watson." Voldemort nodded, looking towards John before his eyes were once again drawn back to the other man.
"Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. And the address is 221b Baker Street." Sherlock offered with a wink, making Voldemort have to fight down a blush. This Sherlock character was very odd, Voldemort observed.
Voldemort cleared his throat, unable to identify the tightness in his chest. He felt like he was a bloody teenager again and he didn't like it.
"And what were you doing outside the mansion.?" He questioned.
"Oh, we were looking for a man named George Fed. He went missing a few days ago and witnesses saw him wandering outside your mansion on many occasions." John explained carefully, trying not to look accusing, but the mere sight of whatever this thing was in front of him made John suspicious. He didn't look human at all.
"I can assure you I have not seen nor heard that name in my lifetime, and I don't appreaciate being accused of such. Tell me, John was it? What is to stop me from killing you both where you stand and moving on with my day, hm?" Voldemort stood up and brandished his wand threateningly.
John held up his hands placatingly, looking to Sherlock for answers only to find him staring wonderously at the man who just threatened to murder them. "Nothings stopping you, we have nothing to offer but his mind and my medical abilities."
Voldemort stared at them for what seemed like hours before lowering his wand and offering them a glare. He hated to admit it, but something about Sherlock made Voldemort reluctant to kill him, and his curiousity was getting the better of him. He would let them live, for now anyway.
"Yes well I suppose I shall have to take you home then." This night just kept getting weirder by the minute. Sherlock looked like he was going to say something, but John stopped him by elbowing him in the chest. Voldemort narrowed his eyes slightly at the treatment, but said nothing. "Come."
Voldemort assumed that the address that Sherlock had given him was a real one. He walked over to them, grabbed them both gently by the shoulders and apparated them to what he hoped was their home.
John collapsed to the ground dry heaving, and Sherlock swayed slightly before gaining control of himself. "Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot to mention my methods of traveling beforehand." Voldemort wasn't used to apologizing so he hoped it sounded sincere enough to be believable. To tell the truth, their reactions to the apparation made Voldemort have to hide his amusement.
He looked around them curiously, taking in the crowded flat curiously. It was a mess, he noticed various news articles thrown about, empty tea cups, bullet holes in the walls, various test tubes and lab equipment strown about.
"That was interesting." Muttered Sherlock.
"Interesting? It was bloody mental Sherlock. How did you manage to do that anyway, magic?" John said sarcastically, finally questioning all the strange things that happened that night.
"Of course John, don't be daft. How else would he have gotten us here that fast?"
"Oh, sorry, my bad." John rolled his eyes skyward. "Of course magic exists. How stupid of me to think otherwise for all these years."
"That's the spirit." Sherlock said cheerfully, with a smirk. Sherlock then began to pace, Voldemort watching in amusement. "Of course the concept is very interesting, magic seems illogical, impossible, and yet the proof is right here in front of us. Our flat. Hm...I'll need to examine things further." He turned to Voldemort expectantly.
"Will you come back this week at some point?"
Voldemort couldn't find it in him to refuse so he nodded quickly. Oh, yes. He thought. I'll definitely be wanting to see this man again. Sherlock Holmes.
He soon left the flat with the excuse of dealing with his followers, Sherlock still on his mind the rest of the night. He would later be lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling and contemplating why he had let those Muggles, men he corrected himself, live.
It didn't make sense. He had never felt this protective or curious about Muggles, but something about them, about Sherlock was different, and it made him want to please him and get to know him more. Voldemort sighed tiredly, and finally slipped off to sleep. A confused frown marring his face.
XXX
