Basically the fact that Mark Gatiss plays both Mycroft and Mr Snow gave me some peculiar head-canon. It progressed into this. Does stray from canon fairly often, so if you don't like that, just don't read it. I just liked the idea that the Holmes' brothers are vampires, it sort of explains some of their stranger idiosyncrasies...
An old accomplice had once told Sherlock about working in hospitals. If you had enough control, they were the perfect environments. You could walk around for hours without seeing any sunlight. Of course, if a hospital was good, a morgue was better; they were mostly in places with a severe lack of windows. And no-one would notice if a corpse left a few pints of blood short.
Sherlock picked up his riding crop and pulled on his coat, protecting his pale hands and neck from exposure to the violent sun.
He strode out of St Bart's, keeping to the most shaded side of the street, walking to the tiny apartment completely unbecoming of a vampire of his stature. Unfortunately, that's what came of being, and Sherlock hated this word, nice. He didn't particularly care for wealth or material possessions but this place was frankly demeaning.
He could quite easily get much nicer rooms but with the pathetic pay-check from the hospital and most of his cases being done pro bono in an attempt at redemption, Sherlock couldn't afford it without a roommate. And for a several thousand year old vampire, a roommate was much easier said than actually found.
John stared at those same walls and ceiling every day. He hated this place. At least in Afghanistan he'd had something to do. These days he drifted around so aimlessly. That day... It had changed him. More than just his shoulder and leg. That thing had killed so many of his friends. And what it had done to him, so much worse.
The psychiatrists didn't understand. They thought it was just PTSD, his mind substituting one terrible event for another. They hadn't seen the creature tear the throats out of people they knew, good people.
John screwed his eyes shut for a few seconds. He needed to find somewhere better to stay. It would be full moon again soon and he wouldn't let that happen to him again. He couldn't.
Finally, John decided to go out, if only for something to do. He limped out of the tiny room to get some fresh air, into the cold London morning.
Why was he here? Mitchell had thought when George had staked him it would be the end of his tortured existence.
All he remembered was the stake... Then this. Waking up in an unfamiliar room with no memory of how he'd gotten here. It had been years since he'd been to London. Most of it wasn't much better than when he'd lived here with Herrick. Mitchell felt an involuntary snarl forming on his face at the thought of him. Too many memories lingered around the other, thankfully dead, vampire.
It was 2013. Two whole years after that night. Where was George when he was needed? Probably still back in Berry with Nina and Annie... And the baby. Mitchell knew he probably wouldn't be welcome back there with a kid in the house. But... But he needed to talk to his friends, even if it was just for one last time. He could find somewhere if they didn't want him back, he guessed.
Mitchell wandered out of his hotel room to look for a phone box.
Don't give me that look. I liked Mitchell. If Herrick can come back, so can he. Alex, Tom and Hal will be involved in the near future. Also, I will get around to updating my other fics soon, I've just had a lot of college work to do recently.