You are going to hate me by the end of this…

They took a cab back to 221B, figuring it would be easier in case Lestrade ended up staying for a while. Lestrade was quiet the whole ride, not looking at either of them as he thought about what Sherlock had said.

As soon as the cab door opened, Sherlock let out a low growl, raising the hairs on the back of Geoff's neck. John looked at the vampire and sighed at his expression.

"Your brother is here I take it?" he asked.

Sherlock nodded tightly, getting out of the cab and unlocking the front door, no pause in his stride at all as he marched upstairs, hands fisted at his sides.

John caught the front door as it started to swing closed, barely avoiding catching his fingers, Lestrade on his heels. "Sherlock, wait up would you?"

John disappeared up the steps faster than Lestrade thought possible. Almost as soon as he went through the door, Geoff heard a loud crash and thump, like someone getting knocked into something. Soon after that he heard an inhuman snarl and he sped up his pace.

Stumbling into the flat, Geoff slid to a stop, not believing the sight in front of him.

John was pinned to the wall just inside the door, the man holding him in place none other than Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft had a pale hand wrapped around John's neck, keeping the other man's feet a good two inches off the floor, but he wasn't fighting. John had his hands wrapped around the elder Holmes' wrist and was glaring at him even as his face started turning red. Sherlock was behind his brother, his expression furious as he hissed something about mates in his ear.

Mycroft ignored him except to say, "Don't lie to me brother, not just to keep your pet human alive."

Sherlock snarled, arm snapping forward, fist landing square on his brother's jaw, the crack of it startling Lestrade it was so loud. A blow like that probably would have killed a normal man, but all it did to Mycroft was snap his head to the side, drawing his attention.

"Release him and I'll prove it," Sherlock said quietly, his voice like ice.

Mycroft looked at him, eyes narrowed. "Fine," he said and dropped John, turning and sitting in one of the armchairs. "Prove it to me brother. Let him drink your blood. Kill him to fool yourself."

The only indication that John gave of having been pinned to the wall was a small cough, even though his throat was already bruising. He stood slowly and walked over to his lover, the dark haired man taking off his jacket and undoing the button on his shirt cuff.

Geoff flinched as Sherlock swiftly used his thumbnail to cut open his wrist, the blood sluggish and dark. John didn't even hesitate, raising the proffered arm to his mouth and sealing his lips around the wound. The doctor's eyes fell shut as his throat worked, a low sound echoing from his mouth.

Mycroft was watching with increasingly narrowed eyes as Sherlock dipped his head, eyes falling closed as John drank. He nuzzled his nose into John's hair, the shorter man pulling back slowly, a flush high in his cheeks. Sherlock immediately pulled him into a deep kiss, the blood on John's mouth smearing on his chin. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock as they kissed, oblivious to the other people in the room.

Sherlock pulled back slowly, eyes sliding to Mycroft, brows raised. "Well?"

Mycroft stood slowly, walking around the table to get a closer look at John where his arms were still wrapped around Sherlock's neck, nose buried in a pale collarbone. Sherlock whispered something to him, running hands up and down his back soothingly. John sighed and turned around, arms falling to his side as he lifted his chin in defiance.

Mycroft circled the pair slowly, eyes raking up and down John every time he passed in front of him. "Hm," he hummed, clearly not impressed. "Fine. He's your mate. Congratulations. Now, what about him?" he asked, pointing to Lestrade.

Sherlock glanced at Geoff, then back at his brother. "I will protect him," he said simply.

Mycroft looked shocked. "Protect him? You?" He barked out a laugh. "You think you can protect him and your mate?"

"I can and I will," Sherlock said, holding out a hand to Geoff. He smirked. "Besides… John doesn't need me to protect him."

Lestrade looked at John, a frown on his face. John nodded at him and he walked forward, taking the offered hand carefully. Sherlock pulled Geoff half way behind him, as if to protect him from his brother.

Mycroft stared at his little brother for a moment, head cocked to the side. When he spoke, his voice was casual, as if talking about the weather. "How long have you been feeding each other, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "This morning we completed our bond."

"And did he taste your blood before, during, or after you had sex?"

John's face went red. "During," Sherlock said slowly.

"Accident?"

"Yes."

"Hm," Mycroft hummed, leaning on his umbrella. "How badly was he really hurt?"

Lestrade gasped, looking over at John who was glaring at the older Holmes brother. "You were hurt? Are you okay?"

John's lips thinned as he stared at Mycroft. "I'm fine, Geoff."

"But you weren't, were you? Cracked ribs, abrasions on your wrists and ankles from being handcuffed to a chair, and several bruises and lacerations from being beaten. Am I correct?"

Geoff almost didn't hear the reply it was so quiet, John's voice sending a shiver down his spine as he saw a soldier for the first time, the blonde falling unconsciously into a parade rest. "Yes."

Mycroft didn't seem to recognize the change in John, though Sherlock did, bringing his hands up to rest on the man's shoulders gently. "John," Sherlock said, the voice sounding almost as if he were afraid. John didn't acknowledge him at all, head tilting to the side as it had the first time he had met Mycroft, calculating, evaluating.

Mycroft's gaze flickered to Sherlock for a moment, noting the new tension in his brother. "Is your little soldier coming out to play, Sherlock? Does he think he can hurt me?" His smile was condescending. "You know the rules Sherlock. If he attacks me I can defend myself."

Sherlock bared his teeth in a silent snarl. "You hurt him irreparably and your life is forfeit."

Mycroft nodded and slipped his jacket off his shoulders, loosening his tie. "I know the law."

Sherlock leaned down to whisper in John's ear. "Hurt him if you can. Don't let him get ahold of you. No killing blows." He kissed a tan neck. "I love you."

John didn't move, didn't even blink as Sherlock guided Geoff back, out of the way.

The instant Geoff was out of the way, Mycroft moved, blurring toward John, who stood there, waiting for him. Sherlock gasped, his hand clenching on Geoff's shoulder almost painfully. "Move," he whispered, eyes locked on John.

Lestrade's expression became dumbfounded as John's eyes narrowed, arm coming up in what seemed like slow- motion. Right as Mycroft reached him, his arm snapped forward. There was a grunt from Mycroft as his nose broke, blood flowing even as he kept moving, hands reaching for John's throat.

John ducked, almost as fast as Sherlock, fist landing in Mycroft's gut this time, followed by a kick to the kneecap. The sickening pop letting him know it had been dislocated at least.

Geoff blinked, watching the two men fight. "How do you know when it's over?" he asked Sherlock, turning his head but not looking away.

Sherlock's voice was soft with wonder when he finally responded. "When one is caught in a position that can kill a human. If done right, a fatal blow to you would be a fatal blow to one of us."

Geoff frowned. "Is it normal for him to be that fast? I mean I figured drinking your blood would make him faster but-"

He cut off at a particularly loud snap, focus shifting back to the fight. Mycroft had managed to get ahold of John's arm, breaking his wrist. John grunted in pain but kept going. It was then that Geoff and Sherlock noticed the knife in his hand, a silver gleam in the dull light as it flashed forward, slicing across Mycroft's chest.

Geoff blinked again. "When did he get that?"

Sherlock's voice was smug this time. "He's been carrying his gun and multiple blades since the pool."

"Then why not just use the gun?"

"Because that would be cheating. I don't know how he knew but only blades are allowed in these fights," he frowned suddenly, a thought occurring to him. "Though if Mycroft gets ahold of it-" He cut off when his brother did just that, grabbing the blade and twisting, jerking it free of John's grip. The vampire bared fangs as he lunged forward, sure of his victory.

"John!" Sherlock made to move forward, knowing he wouldn't be fast enough.

At the last second John fell to his knees, rolling under Mycroft's arms, even as he drew another blade, this one from his back. It was longer than the other, wicked looking as well, meant to kill painfully. A snarl on his own lips, John surged forward, thrusting it up, into Mycroft's chest just as the blade the other man held slid home between his ribs.

There was silence in the room for a moment. The men in the middle not moving, just staring at each other, faces cold still. John was completely steady, even as a trickle of blood ran from the side of his mouth, sliding down his chin.

They jerked the blades out at the same time, Mycroft falling to his knees as he clapped a hand over his chest, waiting for the blood to slow.

Sherlock made a broken sound and moved forward, catching John as he fell to all fours, coughing blood, breathe wheezing in his lungs.

I know….I'm evil….