THIS IS A NEW UPDATED VERSION OF MY PREVIOUS STORY WITH IMPROVED CHARACTERISATION AND LANGUAGE, BUT THE SAME PLOT. I will be replacing all of the chapters over the next week/couple of weeks to improve this story, as I wrote it a while ago when my writing skills weren't so great. If this is your first time reading, please enjoy and leave me some reviews!
Sherlock and John have been dating for 5 months now. It had been hard on both of them at the start; Sherlock was 'asexual' and John was 'straight', after all, but after a month or so they sorted those issues very effectively. Now their relationship is going stronger than ever, and better than anyone aside from them can imagine. However, there is one massive problem. John has a secret. A big one. A massive one. In his time in Afghanistan, John had often worked the night guard shifts - after all there were injured soldiers at all times of the day and night, and progress often needed close monitoring to ensure an effective recovery. One night, John had just finished his night shift and was on his way back to camp, it was around 2am.
"See ya Jimmy," John smiles and waves a goodbye to his pal, strapping his bag onto his back and making his way out of the medic tent. He gives a placid yawn and starts the short journey back to camp. It has been an alright night. They managed to save 2/3 of the badly injured soldiers. No matter how low the death count, losing men always weighed heavily on Johns mind. There is a certain responsibility on the doctors shoulders, regardless of whether or not he does his best or not. On the way back, John walks through a stretch of woods. They are often used for practicing ambushes. The thick trees give perfect cover. His head is bowed, watching his footsteps as he carries on along the dirt path, lost in the thoughts occupying his mind. A rustling comes from behind one of the trees, causing John to raise his head in the direction of the darkened area, his eyes squinting in an attempt to make out the edges of the trees and the start of the sky. He frowns as he sees nothing and hesitantly carries on walking, putting the noise down to the wind, or some other none existent factor that he can pin the blame too. The rustling comes again but this time it is louder and more obvious. He slows down, huffing out a slightly irritated laugh, which is in good humor none the less.
"Come on guys, I know it's you." He calls in an amused tone. He receives no reply in return and rolls his eyes, adjusting the strap of his backpack before carrying on walking. Idiots. Just as John is about to step out of the short stretch of woods, something…someone grabs his backpack, tugging him back in with tremendous force. John lets out a startled noise and grabs the handgun out of the back of his trousers. He hardly has time to lay a finger on it before the person spins him around and pins him against a tree. The force of the attack knocks the gun out of his hand easily as he chokes a winded noise.
"Oh lookie here, a soldier…Hmm, not only a soldier, but a medic too?" Comes the sadistic voice of Johns attacker. The man keeps his face in the shadows of the night.
"Who the hell are you?" John asks in an affirming tone, even in his current situation he manages to keep a steady voice and a calm composure. The attacker emits a dark chuckle and brings his face into the light for John to see.
"What would you think, doctor?" He replies in a husky tone. John feels his throat tighten as he looks up at the taller man. His eyes are swimming in a deep scarlet colour and his skin is so…So damn pale. John knew when he signed up for the army that there is of course a chance he won't return - quite a large one actually - but he never thought this would be the way, a sole attack on his way back from his shift. No. John struggles, tying to pull his hands back out of the lanky mans grip but he's too strong. This tall, thin, ill-looking man is too strong for John, an army medic with years of training and experience in combat. A wicked smile graces the man's features as he drops his head to Johns neck inhaling against the skin deeply.
"Gosh, you do smell delicious." He purrs. John's struggling picks up again in return for the comment, a cold shiver passing through his body as the man's breath teased against his skin. His attempt to kick his leg out results in the man pinning his knees against John's.
"What the fuck are you doing?" The blonde demands. The man pulls his face away and John notices his red pupils have dilated to consume the majority of his eyes now.
"Let me show you." The man spits out dangerously, flashing a pair of pearly white…Fangs? Fangs.
"I...What-" John stutters, his composure cracks as a flicker of fear passes across his features. John opens his mouth to shout, cry for assistance but just before he does a strong hand is thrust over his mouth and his head is shoved sharply to the side, exposing Johns beautiful, sensitive neck to the vampire. The vampire grins devilishly as Johns pulse hikes, pumping through his own cold, undead body. John tries to break free with every ounce of his strength but the vampire is holding him there, pinning him painfully against the sturdy tree. The vampire plunges his fangs into Johns jugular and he screams as the blinding pain shoots all through him, screwing his eyes shut as his blood flows out into the vampires mouth. The vampire laps up the blood giving a groan of satisfaction at the sweet, coppery taste mixed in with the fear and courage of the army doctor. After a minute or so John feels himself going limp. His struggling stops as he slumps against the tree. Soon, the only thing keeping him standing is the pressure between the tree and the vampires arms. His eyes flutter shut and his mind goes blank. The vampire finishes, gasping in pleasure as his lips leave Johns neck, Johns sweet blood running down his chin he steps away, letting John fall to the ground.
"Now sleep little doctor, when you wake up a whole new life is ready for you." The vampire whispers into his ear seductively as a shout cries from the path, "WATSON!". The vampire smirks and disappears into the night.
"Sherlock?" John calls as he bustles into the flat, three packed bags of shopping with hanging off of his arms. Sherlock doesn't raise his head from the microscope he was leaning over, "'M here" He murmurs in reply, his lips moving as little as physically possible in an attempt not to disturb his microscope as he zooms in on the blood sample.
John trudges his way into the kitchen, dropping the bags on the floor and lifting one up to the counter for unpacking.
"What you doing?" He asks, starting to put the things away. Sherlock raises his head and smiles in reply, going to his partner and placing a kiss on his lips.
"Nothing interesting. I'm examining a blood sample taken from a HIV infected chimpanzee. Good day?" He asks, wrapping his arms around the shorter mans neck, holding them loosely against his shoulders. John huffs a quiet laugh, getting onto the tips of his toes to press a kiss to Sherlock's lips in reply.
"Not to bad" He answers with a smirk. John hasn't fed in almost a week now. It is dangerous, yes. But he refuses to, unless there is a non-human source he can feed from. It usually ends up being cattle or other livestock. It tastes disgusting but it is so much better for John than hurting anyone.
"I'm sure I could make it-" Sherlock walks John back to the counter, pressing their lips together in a more lingering kiss between his words, "-Better" He finishes with a grin after breaking the kiss, his lips ghosting over the blondes as he speaks. John looks away to Sherlock with a somewhat bashful smile.
"I'd like to see you try." He mutters against Sherlock's lips. The pair soon walk themselves into the bedroom, tangled in each other. John pushes Sherlock down onto the bed, never breaking their kiss. Sherlock,in return, makes quick work of Johns buttoned shirt, pulling it off and throwing it away. As the kissing heats up John can feel Sherlock's quickened heartbeat pulsing through him, his scent consuming all of his heightened senses. John breaks the kiss, trailing hot kisses down Sherlock's jaw and over his neck before taking a deep breath of his scent, his nose pressed deeply into the skin.
"God Sherlock you smell so damn good." He breathes out in a husky tone. Sherlock replies with a breathy laugh. John can feel himself changing but he's not stopping it. He can't. His eyes flicker violet as he pulls his tongue across Sherlock's skin. Vampires who are changed and not born have violet eyes, unlike real vamps who have red eyes after vamping out. Sherlock's taste is bursting onto his tongue, salty from the sweat and tangy from lust of the moment. John utters a groan of pleasure as his fangs appear. His conscious mind is screaming at him but christ, it's been so long since he fed and Sherlock just smells so damn good. Sherlock laughs lowly at Johns behavior, oblivious to the danger he is in.
"Mm, you've never been like this before." Sherlock says in a lower voice than normal.
"Shh." John hushes him quickly, in a more demanding voice than he's used before. It seems easily dangerous. Sherlock frowns.
"Jo-" He starts before John's hand pushes his head to the side roughly, giving himself better access to Sherlock's elongated neck. Sherlock's frown deepens and he tries desperately to look up, but John is holding his head down.
"John what are you do-" Sherlock freezes as John flashes a pair of fangs at him. It can't be real. Sherlock shakes himself for a moment, desperately wondering whether he is high of dreaming. He stills for a long moment before going into a frenzy of action and trying to push John off of him.
"John stop." He orders, but there is fear in his voice. John is just about to bite Sherlock, his teeth teasing the detectives skin, when his partners words seem to bring him back to earth. John's eyes widen as he sees what he's doing and he immediately pushes himself off of Sherlock, retreating back from him and falling off the bed in his panic to get off of the frightened man beneath him.
"Christ." he chokes, "Sherlock, I…I didn't mean to- you weren't supposed t-" John stutters out, from his place on the ground, his eyes still an unnerving shade of purple. Sherlock scrambles to sit up as John gets off of him, patting his neck desperately to check for any signs of blood. His expression darkens.
"How dare you" He spits, grabbing his phone from beside him and sending a quick text, the room falling into a tension filled silence. Oh Mycroft will be happy with his find. John watches as Sherlock's fingers tap over his keypad. It doesn't even cross his mind what he is doing.
"Sherlock. I''m sorry. I never would have-" John states steadily, letting out an unsteady breath in an attempt to ground himself. Sherlock snaps his head up.
"You never would have what John? Bit me? Told me? Hurt me? WHAT!" Sherlock shouts suddenly, cutting through the quiet tension in the room harshly. The detective stands and doesn't cast John a glance before stalking out of the room. John flinches as Sherlock shouts and backs away from him, keeping his eyes down as the man walks past him. No one knows Johns a vampire. Only Casper, and he is long gone. He will not burden anyone with the knowledge, nor will he put himself at such a risk. John swallows hard, trying to compose himself as his eyes glisten with tears. He should have known better than too think he could have a relationship with someone now. Sherlock has been hurt, and his future is uncertain.
Time passes but John stays where he is. Sherlock needs time, that much is clear. What will happen after he has come to a decision is still in the dark. John will only have to wait, what else can he do? The door creaks open behind him and John jumps up quickly, putting a hand on the wall behind him and frowning as his eyes meet those of Mycroft, not Sherlock.
"Ah, Doctor Watson, so it is in fact true. I thought for a moment that my brother was back on drugs." Mycrofts speaks softly, with a smile but he is not giving off kind vibes. Rather, there is something very dark in his expression, and a glimmer of evil in his eyes. John is instantly weary. heightened nerves from everything which was happening. No one has ever known about him before, so how could John know what was to come? How was he to know that a man he loved so much could be so cruel, so heartless? Even after knowing the truth.
John looks up to the elder Holmes.
"Mycroft I-" He starts but Mycoft cuts him off. The older man bends down and casts his eyes over the man.
"A real life vampire" He states as a malevolent smile appears on his face. "Oh this will be fun" He chuckles. It sends chills down John's back.
"Mycroft." Johns voice holds more of a warning to it now, more caution. He is aware that the atmosphere in the room is hostile. Two men dressed in black security outfits barge into the room. There is a clear outline of a gun in both of their trousers.
"Take your last look at the world John." Mycroft's voice is cold and sadistic as he speaks now, a cruel smile curling up the edges of his lips. He straightens up and wipes non-existent dust off of his suit, giving a nod to the men and stepping back to watch the scene play out in front of him.
Johns breaks out into a fully defensive state, but he is no match for two men who are armed to the teeth with the things that can take John down in a second. One man grabs Johns hands and twist them into a pair of handcuffs, whilst the other slams a knee into his stomach. John instantly chokes and doubles over, making it easy to get him into a submissive position. He is weak enough, as it is, due to a lack of blood.
As Johns skin comes into contact with the silver, a hissing noise fills the room and John's face screws into pain as he cries out. The cuffs instantly begin to eat into his skin, burning it. Mycroft chuckles darkly.
"I see silver works." He states, scribbling his observations down in a small notepad titled 'subject #12' John steels his jaw in a desperate attempt to keep himself composed. He will not show weakness in front of these people.
"Where are you taking me?" John speaks lowly, his voice hard as he stares at Mycroft with cold eyes. He could kill him. It was obvious in the blonde's eyes that he could easily break Mycroft's neck, with no regret. Sherlock is nowhere to be seen.
"Where I've previously taken your kind." Mycroft replies with a smile, his voice cold and analytical. John stares back at him, but his jaw quivers as his wrists burn.
The two men drag John out of the room and make their way out of 221B.
"Where the fuck is Sherlock?" John demands, his voice rising in a rare show of panic as he is dragged out of the flat. If Sherlock would speak to him, he could try and explain the situation to him. Surely, he will understand?
"Don't worry, John, you'll be seeing him soon enough." Mycroft replies, pulling a small wooden box out of his suit jacket and opening it, extracting a needle from within which seems to have already been filled with whatever chemical Mycroft is planning on administrating.
"When you wake up, John, you'll wish you'd never been born." Mycroft spits, pushing the tip of the needle into John's upper arm and pushing down the plunger. He watches with satisfaction as the liquid empties itself into John's system.
The world is spinning. The last thing John remembers is his head hitting the ground. From there on all is dark. Life as he knows it is over. Hell is just about to begin.
Hours pass before John finally wakes. His head is pounding. Groaning, he turns over onto his back. It becomes apparent quickly that he is not in a good situation. The surface beneath him feels like rock, it turns out to be a hard, cold, concrete floor. His lips smack as he opens them, in the need for some kind of liquid; water, blood, anything.
Sherlock casts his eyes over as John begins to wake, they are cold and unfeeling.
"You took your time, John. As always." He utters sarcastically. John rouses in reply to the familiar voice and for a second, his memory lapses and suggests that he is not in the situation he finds himself in, and in fact that he is at home with Sherlock, waking from a bad dream. Then, as his eyes peel open and his hand raises to his head to massage, and try to soothe his headache, he finds himself in a large, dark room. The room is broken by the silver bars caging him into a small area.
John stands shakily and finds himself stumbling over his own feet, falling down again with a thud and moaning at the blurring his head. Sherlock laughs heartily.
"Christ John, you were never graceful but now you look like a fucking idiot." Sherlock chants cruely.
"S-Sherlock?" John questions, not quite believing his ears. The voice fits, but not the words that it's saying. He shuffles across his cage, getting to the bars and reaching out to grip them, jerking back instantly as it sears his palms, red scold marks across his hands as well as around his wrists. The wounds around his wrists drip steadily with blood from where the cuffs had torn his skin. John swallows hard, gathering himself before speaking so that he does not let out any squeaks of weakness.
"Sherlock where am I?" John asks steadily, raising his eyes and looking up at Sherlock. John is fully aware that his heightened eye vision is the only thing allowing him to see Sherlock in this room. Sherlock is most likely able to see nothing. Sherlock 'tsks' and then sighs.
"Don't ask idiotic questions. You're in captivity, obviously." He answers. John felt like an animal, due to the word choice of 'captivity.' But then again, that is much what he is to Mycroft and Sherlock. There is a clenching of his chest as he listens to the cold tone Sherlock uses.
"Sherlock. You have to let me go. I will not hurt you, nor any one else." He tries to reason. His situation is not a good one. Not at all.
"No. My brother and I have a set of experiments we would like to conduct, so that in the future, we can know how to fight and kill your kind. I am certain the whole process will be very entertaining for us. Perhaps not so much for you." Sherlock replies in an indifferent tone. John chokes and incredulous laugh, which comes out sounding more like a painful sob.
"Entertaining? Sherlock, looks at my wrists, you sadistic bastard!" He shouts in reply, speaking to Sherlock as the friend and partner he has always know. But that man would not be doing this to him, that man would not need convincing not to slice John up for results.
"Shut your mouth." Sherlock snaps, something slipping in his expression, however. A flicker of something more than stoic reality. Pain, perhaps. He seems lost for just a moment, before he finds himself again and clears his throat, as though expelling whatever thoughts may be in his mind.
"For some of the tests you will need to be sedated, others you will be unconscious and others you will be fully awake." Sherlock informs him. John can see the anticipation and interest crossing Sherlock's features and inhales, then exhales, a shaking breath. Tears are brimming in John's eyes, he cannot stop them.
"You told me, that you loved me." He says through gritted teeth.
Sherlock freezes where he is, his back facing John, and for a long moment John expects a scream to follow the silence. Instead, Sherlock kneels down to Johns level, the bars of the cage between them.
"I did John - Before I knew the monster that you are." He exhales slowly, his eyes locked onto John's through the darkness just for a second. Sherlock does not allow it to last long before standing and walking away.
"The tests will begin soon. I suggest that you enjoy your last few hours of painless life." The door slams shut behind Sherlock and a series of clicking suggests that there are plenty of locks in place in case John does get out of the primary cage. There is a loud beep before everything goes quiet.
John stares at the door Sherlock left through for what seems like hours before breaking away his gaze and looking around the cage he's in. There is no blood in here and John knows it wont be long before that fact begins to effect him. Having not fed for a week, he was likely to vamp out fairly soon. But of course, the Holmes boys knew that.
John bows his head as tears start to dampen his lashes, clinging there as though hanging on for their lives. He would not allow them to fall.
John sat shaking in his cot, sweat sticking his shirt to his chest and stomach. There was a gentle, constant thrumming in his head that matched the pulse of his friends. Ever since the attack things have been changing. He has been ill. That's what he is telling himself, at least. But somewhere, in his heart of hearts, he knows that this is no regular illness.
No regular illness has you sitting in bed at night, listening to the heart beats of the people sharing the tent with you.
He was constantly hungry. No matter how much food and water he consumed, there was always a gnawing hunger in his stomach.
His senses have sharpened considerably. He began to smell things that he should not be able to smell. He could smell fear, happiness, anger. He could hear things happening that were nowhere close to him; the soldiers smoking behind the tree across the street, chatting and swearing.
He had pretended to be ill for today, which didn't take much convincing. He was as pale as death and sweating so much that he looked as though he had jumped into a lake. It was all too much. John was an intelligent man and he knew what was happening. As ludicrous as it sounded, he had eliminated all other possibilities. He was changing into a vampire.
John clenched his jaw as he pressed a knife into his wrist, dragging it through his skin and forearm with a concealed gasp. Instantly, there is an eruption of blood, his veins and arteries are cut and shoot blood all over the soldier and his bed. But then, in a matter of second, the blood stops. The wound seals itself shut. John watches in stunned amazement, reaching over for a cloth and wiping away the blood to find only a very faint white line. Fuck.
Johns breathing picks up and he can feel himself changing. Vamping out.
'Control yourself John.'
He groaned and cried out as his fangs pushed their way through his gums, and his eyes – in one blink - turned a clear purple.
Mycroft and Sherlock smirk simultaneously whilst watching the camera, fixed on John.