A/N: Yeah – lots of non-con kissing. Sorry tda!

2. The Floor Looks Good From Here

Slipping back under, to what should have been the blessings of unconsciousness, did not exactly bring any relief to John.

For when he went under he remembered.

Three years ago.

John had returned from his last tour in Afghanistan broken and injured. Shot in the shoulder, no good to the army, no good to the field of surgery.

But he was luckier than most. Running into an old friend one day in the park, a job offer had been given and accepted. For three years John worked A & E at one of the busy London hospitals. It gave him enough of the adrenalin sorely lacking in a normal day-to-day life, missed from the action of a desert war; he stopped limping most of the time and except when overtired the tremor in his dominant hand stilled.

All that changed the night of the Aurora Borealis, The Northern Lights, known in the Southern Hemisphere as Aurora Australis.

Unexpected and terrible in their beauty, most had gone outside to watch. News reports were covering the phenomena. Seen all over the word and at latitudes not ever viewed. Bright and enthralling. Visible during the day or through city lights, almost substantial and seemingly close to the ground. They moved and rippled, a sensual dance across the sky, colours wonderful and rich, a quiver of the unknown trembled up peoples spines whilst watching those lights.

24 hours after the beginning of the rare occurrence the screams started.

Everyone forgot the simple science, the primary school knowledge that light casts shadows and beauty can hide darkness.

John had just finished his shift, and started to get ready to go home. He remembered it had been busy, the kind of work where you get into the business of patching up people, not even thinking but moving automatically on to next person, in a seemingly never ending stream of patients. They had been getting a lot of accidents. People trying to drive and watch the lights at the same time or walking out into the road for a better look and getting hit by distracted drivers, there was a man who fell off his roof as he attempted to get a better look.

They were also getting some of the crazies that came out during times such as these.

As he was heading out, there was a large crash, the rainstorm sound of shattered and falling glass. It came from the front of the hospital and people were yelling and running, panicked reverberations.

John ran toward the screams. He slid to a stop in the front lobby to see dark indistinct shapes, fluid at the edges, entering through the broken front windows. Fast and moving without effort, they began grabbing people standing around in that stunned way that some do when there is a crisis. Although use to reacting under pressure, even John stood speechless for a moment when a woman near him was pulled close to one and vague arm like shapes were wrapped around her head. It was hard to see her face, her body moved and heaved under the attentions of the dark figure and familiar and rather sensual moans came from her. As abruptly as she had been grabbed, she was tossed aside, obviously dead from the unnatural way she landed on the floor.

John stood, confusion and fear tried to beat down the growing anger and reactions from his time in the army, both instincts warring in an attack that swirled through his frame.

He looked around, grabbed a chair and threw it at the shape. It hit the creature with enough force to stagger a human, but the creature shrugged it off and turned to stare at John. It diverted its whole attention to him. He could feel the creature watching him and he swore he could feel it smirk.

Before he could react, he was wrapped up in the shadowy figure, cool fingers gripped his head, intense feelings of pleasure and pain coursed through him, he squeezed his eyes shut and gasped. He was filled with such powerful longing and desire it drove out all thoughts of self-preservation, but shattering pain was also present in equal measure. It was enough of a jolt for him to open his eyes as he felt hard lips bruise his own and a tongue roughly pushed its way into his mouth, no gentle caress, this. He began to feel weak, his energy sapped, as if his life force was draining out of him, but he didn't care in the least. He couldn't make out any features of the creature in front of him, except for incredibly beautiful eyes, a bright silver glow. He was beginning to become weak beyond the point of no return when the shadow was wretched from him and he fell to the ground, hitting his head. Things were hazy and grey after that but it seemed as if two shadows were fighting above him as he lay on the floor. He slipped into unconsciousness.

oOo

Present Day

The second time John regained consciousness after being captured by the Shadows was distinctly different from the first. Instead of a damp, concrete floor, he awoke on a soft and comfortable surface. The sloping back and patterned print at his side told him he was on a couch. He was warm, a throw covering his body. He still hurt, his feet were still bare but instead of fellow prisoners, there was only one other human in the room, sitting in a chair watching him, evaluating him with intelligent, dark, glittering eyes. A Collaborator, but judging by his dress an important one.

So he was still a prisoner, just a slightly more comfortable one.

The man sitting in the chair had one hand raised, finger across his lip not in a gesture of quiet, but study. He was wearing an expensive three-piece bespoke suit. His reddish coloured hair brushed back. There was a cold, calculation in the way John was being evaluated. He had an aristocratic bearing. John had heard that some of the upper crust had gone to the dark side, so to speak.

The man brought his hand down and smiled a thin smile at him.

"Well Dr. Watson. How pleasant of you to join me. I was beginning to wonder if you would ever awaken. But I suppose getting pulsed as many times as you have in so short a period could make it difficult for you to stay with us."

There was something about the way he spoke that twinged an alarm at the back of John's mind. It was as if he had learned English as a second language. It was flawless, but the cadences were just slightly off. John could feel the hairs on the back of his neck twitch as though urging a primal reflex into action.

John rubbed his hand across his eyes and slowly sat up, shaking his aching head carefully to remove the last of the dark dream he had been wrapped in. Of course the dark dream was nothing to the horrific nightmare he awoke to.

He figured he was here to be led into a false sense of comfort before they tortured him for information and ultimately killed him. Well nice try. Been there, done that.

The man stood and walked over to a table, which held crystal carafe of water and matching glasses. He poured some into one and walked over to where John was sitting. He held it out to the doctor. John eyed it for a moment but he was simply too thirsty to care if there was anything else in it. If they wanted something from him, they'd get it. The Shadows had ways of extracting information. John didn't know how. He had only heard stories.

He took the glass and drank down the water. He held out the glass to the man, who quirked an eyebrow at him and took it back. He walked back and filled the glass again and returned it to John. The doctor took his time with the second offering.

The man stood by the table, reached into his jacket and pulled out a brown leather notebook. He cleared his throat, glanced at it and then back to John.

"Dr. John Hamish Watson, formerly a Captain in the army, one of the leaders of the human rebellion in England. You are in a fair bit of trouble. I do believe you would be summarily executed for your various crimes if you weren't so fascinating." He paused as he returned the notebook to his inner pocket and then poured himself a glass and began to take small sips from it. "And I would have you killed you know, if you weren't wanted by so many of my people." He turned to sit down and as he did so it was with an uncommon grace. John was suddenly caught by the way he moved and the phrase he had just uttered and something that had been nagging him fell into place.

"Your people?"

The man in front of him laughed, cold, high and silvery. And John knew, knew from the sound of the laugh.

"Yes my people." He looked at the shocked surprise on John's face. "Oh, did you think I was human? One of you? Hardly." The last was spat as though John had said something disgusting or the man, the creature in front of him had eaten something foul.

"But you look human?"

John was confused and he realized he had only ever seen the Shadows as exactly that, shadows. His thoughts whirled with new information that threatened to override his already tired and taxed brain.

The creature smirked at him. "That is part of our camouflage. We wear it when we hunt you down, but not at other times. It serves its purpose to scare and terrify your stupid little brains."

He steepled his hands together and continued to smirk at John. "You can't see us as we truly are unless we want you to. You must already know, Dr. Watson. We come from a parallel universe, a different dimension. We have developed under similar conditions, with a few minor adaptations." The cold smile twitched at the thin mouth.

John's head, still reeling from all the other events that had happened, was having a hard time processing new information.

"Now, I expect you are curious as to why you are still alive?"

John glanced sharply at the creature sitting there mocking him.

"Not in the slightest."

"No? Intriguing. Well. Perhaps I'll tell you anyway."

But at that moment the door to the room they were in was flung open with a bang and in swept another one. Now that he knew what to look for it was obvious. Tall and thin, an impression of dark hair and pale skin, he too moved with unearthly grace, although different from the creature in the suit. That one's graceful movements were controlled and calm, steady, this one had the elegance of a wild creature, all electric impulses and animalistic inclinations.

He strode up to John and without preamble, lifted him roughly off the couch and onto his feet. The glass he had been holding slipped from his fingers. He felt the remaining water splash his feet.

The other one, the one in the suit called out a warning to the new being, which went unheeded.

"Hey, what the…" John didn't get to finish that thought as he was clasped around the head, fingers splayed across his temples, eyes locked with his, boring into his very soul. John felt a buzzing sensation in his skull as if he'd had too much alcohol, his heart began to race and his breathing became erratic. The creature before him had bright green eyes, eyes that began to glow with an unearthly sliver light until the entire colour of the iris was consumed. He lowered his mouth to John's and placed his lips upon his. His breathing stuttered and he felt powerful, uncontrolled desire sweep through him. He had never, ever in the slightest been interested in men before. That went right out the window with that first kiss, if you could call it a kiss. John's knees started to collapse, but the grip on his head held him in place. Without thought, trying to anchor himself, he wrapped his arms around the figure in front of him and hung on as though he were drowning. For all of the roughness in the way he had been hauled to his feet, the kiss was soft and almost affectionate. A slow, questioning tongue began to lick at his lips. John opened his mouth with a moan and the tongue entered, softly and gently stroking the inside of his mouth. He did not feel anything but desire and a siren call of safety and security. He would be cared for and cherished if he submitted but it was a false song. A voice at the back of his mind was ignored, one which panicked at the forced kiss and his weakening state, the one yelling at him that this was more than unacceptable. He could feel life being drained from him, but he didn't care.

Abruptly he was let go and he dropped to the floor, his head reeling and his senses on overload. He lay at the feet of the other creature, desire leaving him almost as rapidly as it had swept through him. He felt nauseated and completely exhausted.

He was only barely aware there was a power struggle happening in the room. He was wrapped up in alien thoughts and feelings, which were mingled with his own of anger, fear and disgust. Impressions of a distant home, beautiful and stark terribly missed and longed for, an ancient sorrow and underpinnings of fear and loss. Devastation of a natural disaster and horror at what they had become.

A phrase flitted through his thoughts.

Adapt or die.

He came out of the tidal wave of emotions that left him ravaged and hurt, lying on the floor of the stately room. He was getting rather tired at how comfortable and familiar a horizontal position was becoming. He came to in time to see the argument reach it's climax when the first creature, the calm one, backhanded the one who had grabbed him and hissed at the other in their native tongue.

The other wiped a hand across his cut lip, a small amount of blood, a richer, more brilliant red than his own, trickled down the creature's chin and he sneered something at the other.

Surprise flashed across the first face and he switched back to English. "You're sure?"

The other nodded. "Positive. It's him." He didn't even glance down at John, who was now struggling to sit up. He felt incredibly weak.

"There were other ways of finding out." A hint of reproach. John, fatigue and stress catching up with him tried not to giggle. The two creatures sounded oddly like brothers bickering. He must be going into shock.

"Yes. I am sure your ways would have been just as effective. But mine was more entertaining. Besides I haven't had any in ages. He was very appealing."

"Sherlock, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"We've been over this Mycroft. Yes. It's the only way." He nudged John with the toe of his expensive, posh shoe. "Get him cleaned up, dressed properly and send him to my quarters." Another irreverent thought, about the creatures and fashion sense squelched across his tired brain and he snickered. Pain bloomed through his knee and he yelped in surprise as the foot nudging him kicked out. The contact to his knee shocked John into a sober state of mind.

"And if this doesn't work?"

The Sherlock creature shrugged and spoke coolly to the other.

"Well then, we'll all be dead, won't we?"

And having the last word, he turned and swept back out of the room.

The Mycroft creature sighed and then bent down and held his hand out to John. John eyed it warily.

"Oh don't be ridiculous. I am not about to feed on someone my brother has claimed as his own. I am just offering you a hand, Dr. Watson."

John internally shrugged and took the proffered hand. He was feeling much calmer than he felt he had the right to be, although he was very wobbly when set upon his feet. He tried hard not to lean towards Mycroft. "Your brother?" Pain and fatigue were over come by his unrelenting curiosity. He had been right, they way the two had acted together.

"Yes we are from the same family group. It doesn't quite have the same connotations as it does in your world, but still. I do have some feelings of responsibility for him. I was the elder."

John wasn't sure why Mycroft was answering his questions, but he was too tired to give it a whole lot of thought.

The other walked over to the desk John had neglected to notice and pressed a button on it and he began to speak.

"Anthea, my dear, would you be so kind a to come in here." The gentle tone and polite words did nothing to relieve John's growing anxiety. He was tired of feeling weak and stupid, tired of not knowing what was going on. He really didn't care if he was a prisoner or not.

A pretty brunette walked into the room and walked up to Mycroft. He reached over and stroked her cheek. She shuddered delicately.

Human, John thought.

"Anthea, pet, would you see to it that Dr. Watson is tidied up and dressed appropriately. You will then need to escort him to my brother's quarters." John was surprised at the amount of affection that was present in the body language of the creature, as if he genuinely cared for his human 'pet'.

"Of course sir." She turned and left.

Mycroft turned and smirked at John.

"Well Dr. Watson. It's your lucky day. You have been given a temporary reprieve. But don't for one second think that death wouldn't have been preferable. My brother will not be easy to live with. You may have wished I had killed you."

And with that he turned and left John alone in the room with nothing but the growing knot of horror in his stomach at the promise held in that remark.