Unfortunately since John's nightmare, he'd kept himself at a comfortable distance from Sherlock which meant he would try to keep himself at the other side of the room unless necessary. Sherlock would be lying if he said he wasn't offended by the other man's reaction to his nightmare, but he would also be lying if he said he had no idea why he would even consider doing what he was doing to keep himself safe. It was a natural instinct to keep oneself safe from predators, especially after a terrifying ordeal constructed in the sleeping depths of one's mind, but he only wished John would talk to him or look at him like he used to and not be afraid.
As if to answer his silent pleas, one evening John came downstairs after dinner and sat across from Sherlock at the table, his eyes on the vampire's pale hands around his mug of tea. The doctor was silent, but there was clearly something on his mind and that something bothered Sherlock more than a fly buzzing around a fluorescent light or Anderson existing. John's mind was swimming with everything he had thought to say and it was something he was having trouble coming up with and forcing himself to say. He took a deep breath and looked up at Sherlock, but the moment his eyes met the vampire's brilliant blue ones, he had no idea what he was talking about or what he was going to say.
"What's on your mind, John?" Sherlock asked quietly when he realized he wasn't going to utter a word.
John didn't answer immediately, but when he finally mustered up the courage to say it, he hardly voiced his words, "I think I need to move—"
However, he did not get to finish, for John's mouth was covered in a matter of seconds as Sherlock was suddenly behind him and pulling him out of his chair as silent as a mouse. John tried to open his mouth to speak again, but Sherlock silenced him with a firm grip on his jaw. That was when he heard the creaking of the floorboards upstairs and the voices coming from John's bedroom.
"They're here," Sherlock whispered, but his voice was loud enough to stop the footsteps upstairs, and suddenly John was dragged back into Sherlock's bedroom rather forcefully. It would be a miracle if they didn't find him by the thudding of his pounding heart.
The door had hardly been closed before the detective had him hiding in the corner while someone clawed at the door and tried to force the door open. John's heart was roaring in his ears as he watched Sherlock pull his wardrobe in front of the door and went over to him and handed him something wooden and something metal and cold. Oh. Of course.
"Stay here and stay silent," Sherlock warned him, "Don't make a sound and if I tell you to run, you run. Listening to me is key. Understand?"
John nodded, already complying (as if he could do anything else), and held the silver blade and stake close to his chest. All he needed now was an iron cross and holy water. He watched as Sherlock adjusted the gloves he'd put on somewhere between the kitchen and the bedroom and shrank back further into the corner. The wardrobe was beginning to move and Sherlock was trying to keep the door closed by pushing all his weight against it, but the wardrobe was growing weaker and weaker until, finally, it broke nearly into splinters and Sherlock was shoved backwards as four vampires entered the room. John couldn't move and he couldn't breathe.
Two vampires jumped onto Sherlock immediately, the sound of their fists connecting with the detective's granite skin making John's stomach churn. He just wished his heart would stop pounding. John tried to hide himself in his little corner more, but just one wrong move nudged the bedside table. No faster than the leg had scraped on the floor were the vampires over the bed and on top of John, and he was pulled off the ground in a flash, his weapons falling to the floor as they pinned him up against the wall by his neck. He grabbed at their hands but found himself at a disadvantage with their incredible strength and even more at a disadvantage now that he could hardly breathe.
"Sh-Sherlo—," John stammered, but his throat was constricted more by the firm hand of the blond vampire standing before him and his voice was cut off.
"Drop him!"
The two vampires looked at Sherlock and one tried to advance on him, however the detective quickly slid under her and let her throw herself into the wall. New dog; of course, thought Sherlock as he moved closer and stood behind the vampire with his hand tight around John's neck, ready to kill him.
"Let. Him. Go," he commanded as another blade slipped out of his sleeve, but the vampire didn't seem to want to listen, for his eyes were fixed on something on John. As John finally got around to looking at his eyes, he noticed how red his irises were. He recalled something that Stamford told him about how newborn vampires' eyes remained the color of their blood until they were trained and they went back to normal. However these eyes seemed different…they were hungry, and unfortunately began to match the pair behind him. The heavy scent of blood filled John's nostrils and it was then that he felt a burning sensation on his neck and on his arm and leg.
Oh no.
Sherlock's eyes locked onto the doctor's bleeding limbs, the blade dropped, and he began to fight himself to keep control and not kill his best friend. Sherlock's fangs were already protruding from his gums and he could feel the venom washing over his teeth. No, no stop! Sherlock thought to himself and shook his head in desperation. He could not kill him. He would not kill him. He would not kill John Watson.
Now fear was spreading through John's veins and he was losing air and losing it fast. As the blood began to trickle over the vampire's hand and a burning sensation was overcoming every open gash, he let out the loudest scream he could manage. That was enough to snap Sherlock out of his hungry trance.
It happened entirely too fast. He was dropped onto the ground and the two vampires were in a scrap. There were snarls and growls and the sound of ripping cloth…or something, and then nothing but the yelp of an animal and the shuffle of the leaves outside as the other vampire ran. John was trying his hardest to cover his wounds and save himself from the hunger of his best friend. He never wanted to fall victim to him and he never wanted to be the reason Sherlock would fall back into his old habits. Yet here he was bleeding all over his bedroom floor and he was trapped in a corner as Sherlock crawled around the end of the bed to stare directly at him, his vibrant red eyes bearing into his own.
"Sherlock," he said quietly as he tried to force himself back into the corner, "Sherlock listen to me. Please…p-please...please, just let me get to the bathroom—"
"Stop talking," Sherlock commanded, though his voice was a low growl that shook John to the core. He nodded feebly.
"Please don't hurt me…don't hurt me," John begged and closed his eyes, ready for whatever happened. The vampire raised his hand as if he was going to keep moving forward, but the moment John spoke and let out a small whimper of fear, Sherlock was snapped out of his hunt and he scrambled for the door. He couldn't harm John, he promised him he wouldn't. He refused to become the monster in John's nightmare.
Sherlock made it into the kitchen and dug through the fridge to find one of the blood bags he kept stashed for nights that he was…a little more unstable. The moment he got his hands on it he bit into it and drained the bag in a matter of seconds, blood staining his lips and now his hands. It wasn't as warm as he wanted, but it would have to do. It was a small step towards protecting John, and it would have to be enough for now.
"John?" he called, not daring to approach the other man or even go near his bedroom for both their sakes, "John are you alright? Answer me, please."
Sherlock's voice worked through the fog in John's ears and he slowly pulled himself to his feet, moving towards the door still in fear of the vampire that waiting at the end of the hall. He was terrified of the beast that was so close to killing him. He was terrified of everything that had just happened. He was terrified because Sherlock promised he would be safe. He promised.
"St-stay where you are," John commanded as he inched out of the room, his hand desperately groping the wall for a light switch and the handle to the bathroom door.
"John, please listen to me—"
"Why sh-should I?"
"Because I'm your best friend."
"No, you were going to kill me!"
"No, I wasn't, I…John, that wasn't me. I'm sorry."
John stared at the other, his hand on the bathroom door, and he felt the last of his fearful tears slide down his cheeks.
"Don't come near me until I get these fixed," the doctor commanded and disappeared into the bathroom.
The moment the door closed, Sherlock turned and threw his fist into the wall, knocking a decent sized hole into it. It would be added to the rent, but he didn't care; all he cared about was the man he had almost killed who was now cowering in the bathroom, his heart pounding by the smell of it. Sherlock took a deep, calming breath and slowly walked towards his room where the smell of blood was most prominent. He knew he had a few cuts on his cheeks from the rings the vampire wore, but they would heal by morning, and he knew nothing compared to the fear and the hurt that was felt by John Watson at that very moment.
"He promised…he promised," John muttered to himself over and over again as he began to clean up his wounds with his shirt and stitch them closed, his dog tags shimmering in the light from the vanity, "Now that a bunch of bloody vampires show up, he decides to become one of them…an animal…I should've known…I should've known…"
But he knew he was being stupid and he knew he was making things up so he had a reason to be angry, but all he was, was terrified. His best friend nearly lost control of himself and cost John his life, and… John shook his head and squeezed his eyes closed.
"He also saved my life," he muttered and cut the thread with his teeth as he finished bandaging his arm and leg (which wasn't as bad as he thought) and made sure his neck was covered and bandaged before he decided to actually leave the bathroom. His heart was pounding as he left the room, but he stayed at a safe distance from Sherlock, still fearful of him.
"Is…is everything alright?" Sherlock asked and kept his place in the kitchen beside the refrigerator.
"Yes," John answered, his voice sharp, "Are you…are you okay?"
Sherlock looked over himself and quickly folded his hands behind his back, nodding, and said, "Yes, I'm fine. I'm so sorry, John. I didn't know—"
"Stop—"
"Can you just let me explain for once?!"
John stared at Sherlock, but eventually gave him a single nod and waited to hear his explanation.
"I didn't know they would come," he began, "I didn't know they were watching us. Well, those four I didn't know but—let me finish! Only one woman is watching us and she is the woman that I was changed for in order to mate with. I never felt an attraction to her no matter how clever she was…is. She wants me to return to their coven, but I refuse to do so. I can't go back to that lifestyle. Lestrade has been kind enough to keep me safe and in the dark with this condition and keeping me out of trouble. Those four vampires, two were newborns and only a little over a year old. They are very hard to tame, but if you're in the right rank, they take orders as long as they get rewards. I was surprised when they left."
"Was the one who nearly killed me a newborn?"
Sherlock shook his head, "No. He's older than I am. He fought in the Eighty Years' War, if that gives you an idea of his age. He's a vampire who is clever, ruthless, and very much like the man who changed him except he…he cares more than…nevermind. He will be back I'm sure of it, but not for good reason. John, this time we were lucky you got out alive and we are both still here. I don't know what they're planning but I do know it's not good. I need you to trust me and please stay here. Don't move out. If you do, they will kill you and I cannot let that happen. You have to trust me, John."
"And why should I?"
It nearly broke Sherlock to hear John say that, even if they have only been living together for four months; four of the most amazing months of his entire existence.
"Because I need you. If you don't trust me, it could kill us both. Please…please, John."
John looked at him for a moment, his arms crossed, and took a deep breath as he raised his eyes to meet Sherlock's.
"All my life I never believed in supernatural stories," he said softly and started to walk towards Sherlock, "yet here I am living in a flat with a vampire who doesn't know how to clean himself up after a 'meal'. You haven't shown any aggressiveness towards me before tonight, but that was because that vampire made me bleed. I'm sorry for being angry with you, you couldn't control yourself and I understand that. Of course I trust you."
Sherlock smiled and could have almost hugged John, but as he said, he didn't know how to clean up after himself.
"Thank you, John," said Sherlock, and he promptly went to clean himself up and not make another mess.
It was good that John trusted him and it was good that Sherlock hadn't lost it entirely just because of his monstrosity, and now all they had to do was figure out how to protect themselves further from the coven that he once belonged to. Of course, the first thing to do once one has regained another's trust is to lie to them.
