AN: Confrontations with a vampire.

I OWN NOTHING. Everything recognizable is owned by the BBC and Mofftiss

Abalam knew that Mycroft Holmes was a vampire, and an old one at that the moment he saw him. It took all his strength not to drop the glamour over his eyes, the last time he had spoken with a vampire it had not ended well. The vampire was dusted and Abalam had need to grow new wings.

"What does the General of one of the Demonic Hordes want with my little brother?" Holmes asked him, giving him a look that meant rather obviously that if Abalam meant ill, there would very literal hell to pay.

"Merely friendship. We both know that there has been a Truce between my Lord and the Name for some centuries now, which has been a bore for those of us made for that battle. I want Shamsiel's friendship, because he is the singularly most interesting nephilim I have ever met" Abalam answered. He had known that 'Sherlock Holmes' was not human the instant he spoke, the faintest traces of Latin in his speech, the Holy magic anyone with eyes could See.

This appeared to interest Holmes. "Does he know what you are?" he asked.

Abalam bared his teeth, dropping the glamour around them for a fraction of a section. "Yes. I am a very old demon, child of the night, and to those who can See, I bleed power. I am old enough that I can walk immune through places of worship, and your brother can tell this, genius that he is. And yet he still wants my friendship"

Holmes responded by baring his fangs at Abalam for an instant. "Your choice of human face is near perfect. Who would suspect utterly normal John Watson of being one of the Fallen?"

"Yes, who? Now if I may return to Baker Street?" Abalam asked.

"Of course. Would you like a car?" Holmes asked, gesturing as if to call Anthea.

"I can transport myself, but thank you for the offer" Abalam answered, closing his eyes, Seeing the lay line right near his feet. Stepping to the right, he converted himself to pure energy, traveling faster than human thought to the lay line connecting this place with what he would soon be calling home.

Opening his eyes in the stairwell, he made his way to the flat. "How was the meeting with my brother John?" Shamsiel asked. He was lying on the couch in his human form, tall enough that his feet were hanging off the end.

"As well as one can suppose, when a demon speaks with a child of the night. Why do you ask?" John answered, sitting down on the chair across from the couch.

Rolling so that he faced Abalam, the nephilim made a face. "Because every time I find someone interesting, Mycroft reveals himself and scares them away. The wanker had himself turned just so he could follow me around, can you believe that?"

Abalam snorted. "Shamsiel, as you very well know, I am much older than you or your brother. And in our world, age is very much power." To make his point, he flared his aura for an instant, smiling toothily when the half-angel flinched. "Your brother, no matter his breed, does not scare me."

"Do not call me Shamsiel. That thing was a slave to God, not someone I ever wish to be again." The violence in the nephilim's tone surprised the demon. Ah, yes. Abalam had forgotten, the changes that had been made within Heaven so subtle that no one noticed until they were irreversible. What little free will the angels had been given in the first place had slowly been taken, until all the will was concentrated within Gabriel and Michael. Though Shamsiel, as a bastard son of Gabriel, should have partaken in that will.

"Would not your relation to one of the new Lords of the Heavens have saved you?" Abalam asked, truly curious. Despite the fact that many of the Host had decamped to Hell after the Ascension, there was still a few, mainly those related to the new Lords, who had been able to remain, content in their lives behind the somehow still pearly gates.

"If my 'father' is anything, he is prejudiced, and power hungry. He knows that I oppose the... changes he has implemented within heaven, and used my blood to cast me out" the bitterness in his voice was tangible, "I guarded the Garden of Eden and led a legion of the hosts for millennia, and this is my thanks. Before you ask, I suppose you can continue calling me Shamsiel. Forgive me for the reaction, despite the centuries that have passed since my Fall it is still a bitter subject for me."

Abalam nodded carefully. "One wonders what anyone would think if they heard this conversation."

Shamsiel laughed. "They would think us mad, or themselves mad if they saw our true forms. For all their professions of faith, humans are very good at ignoring or disbelieving what they see."

"I suppose I shall have to call you Sherlock, in public?"

The half-angel made a face like he had just swallowed something bitter. "Yes. I dislike the name, it means "fair headed", I never did understand why Mycroft chose it for me when he forged our most recent legal papers. But, it is also the name that I have used for some time now, and Lestrade is used to calling me that."

"I will call you Sherlock then, but only in public. Is Shamsiel truly alright?"

Shamsiel nodded. "Yes, it is."

A few minutes later, Shamsiel looked up, waving his phone around. "We've got a text from Lestrade! Want to come along, there's been a fourth serial suicide."

"Sounds interesting. Dangerous?" he asked, already getting up.

"Might be. Willing to be human temporarily?" Shamsiel asked.

"Of course, Sherlock."

Sherlock grinned broadly. "This is going to be fun!" he said, clapping his hands like a child.

John sighed at his new flatmate's antics. "Corpses are fun?"

"Of course they are. Come along then!" he said excitedly, running out the door and down the steps.