Disclaimer| I do not own any of the characters, all rights go to BBC and their fabulous writers!
A/N| A Vampire AU. I know it's been done, but I had too.
I can't think. For the first time in my life I am overwrought with unprecedented fear.
Breathing has become tedious.
My legs feel like rubber as I approach my bed. John. With shaking fingers I feel the blood
stained into the satin sheets. It's still warm, warm and fresh and oh so John's. Ms. Hudson is behind me, teetering about and holding back hiccupping sobs. "I'm so sorry Sherlock, I'm so sorry, Sherlock…"
She kept repeating it like it was the only word she knew. I don't move for a while. There isn't much blood, most likely John struggled and the wound on his neck reopened. It is then that a chilling shred of
doubt creeps into me: Did Moriarty bite John? Could he have sucked him dry? Would doing that drive me over the edge? I feel sick. But I turn and swiftly leave the room, head to the door of our flat. Ms.
Hudson grabs my arm, her nails tickling the fabric of my coat. I stop to humor her. I can't loose anymore time than I already have.
"What?" I bark, and she flinches some under my surly tone.
"He-He told me to tell you something." She whispered and I can't help the anger bubbling inside of me. He already left a message, why leave two? Just to rub it in? "One mind can speak for two." I
am racing down the stairs before she can finish. I tear the door open, I am sure I have shattered its hold on its hinges but I don't have the mind to check as I race down the street. There are too many
people; I can hear all their hearts beating in unison. It is an unnerving feeling. I get a cab. The moon is full and piercing, like a glowing glass orb in the sky and I flee from the taxi as soon as I am able. The
graveyard is bigger than I imagined. I have to scale a fifteen-foot iron wrung gate to get inside. Circling the perimeter is a ten-foot stonewall, and the night guard has fallen asleep leisurely at his post. No, not
asleep. I inch closer. Blood. Ah, he's been bit. His breathing is shallow. I ignore him for the moment. He is not important. I walk deeper, the tombstones old and moss worn green. I hate the sight of them.
They make my head give a dulling ache. Memories. I had forgotten about them. I can smell John. No matter how strange it sounds I can smell him, his sweet scent, his metallic washed blood. I am running. I
jump over tombstones, diminutive barriers in my way. He's close I can feel it. I duck under a spruce tree, and stumble to halt. My heart is racing. My eyes are dilated. All the feelings that have been bubbling
inside me seem to disappear completely upon seeing John. I feel nothing but relief. He is laying in an opening in the graves, laid gently on soft grass and gentle mud. I rush to him. His whole body is shaking,
trembling as though he is freezing. I can feel the panic start up again. I swallow the lump in my throat.
"John?" My voice sounds so hollow. I reach up a hand, cupping his cold cheek, trying desperately to warm it with my skin. I study his features. He is breathing at least. His lips are pale, everything
about him is pale, and there is a red stain to the skin of his mouth. I feel my heart freeze, a cold sweat breaking across me. I look closer. The blood on John is not his. It's someone else's. I part his lips. The
red stains his teeth.
"John." He doesn't stir.
"John." But I have to check.
"John!" I have to make sure…
"John!" Moriarty wouldn't go this far would he?
"John!" Because if he did…
"JOHN!" I would definitely be pushed over the edge.
John's eyes flutter. I can barely hold in my sigh of relief. I brush the hair from his eyes as he slowly comes to, his gaze landing on me. And I fall back as though his sight has burned me.
John's eyes are completely black. His beautiful blue is ebony, the whites of his eyes no better. I can't place the emotion I am feeling. John doesn't see me, because Moriarty went that extra length. He
went too far.
"One mind can speak for two."
Moriarty is in control of John.
John does not recognize me. And as he struggles to stand I find myself to frozen with unparalleled shock to move.
"My, my, to think you have gotten so soft, Sherlock." I didn't see him appear. But Jim is standing behind John, his arms slowly wrap themselves around his waist, and I am overwhelmed by my primal rage.
He is touching my John.
With a strangled growl I am on my feet, stalking steadily closer. Moriarty just smiles, his nails scraping up and under John's dirtied shirt. John's black eyes stare blankly ahead.
"Johnny-boy," Moriarty coos, his mouth too close to the shell of John's ear, "Kill him for me will you?" I don't see where Jim pulls the stake from; my vision is too clouded with disgust to see the
miniscule details. But John takes the wooden point from Moriarty's left hand and I still in my walk by the intense pain exploding behind my eyes. I fall to my knees in a blinded fit of pain, just able to make out
John's blurry form walking towards me. And now I remember.
This is how I turned.
This is where I was cursed.
All my memories come flooding back in a violent rush.
I almost don't see John standing before me, stake raised. But he has my full attention once the wooden point cuts across my chest. A thought flitters through my mind: John will kill me.
And I can't hurt him.
The cut of the stake is burning. I am almost certain a splinter has stuck itself into the wound on my shoulder. It itches against the pain.
My head is still throbbing.
I'm dizzy as I jump back, swaying some on my feet. John is like a wind up doll, he goes where Moriarty's eyes follow. I watch his movements. I have to find an opening. If I can land one solid blow I can knock
him out. I don't have to hurt him. I won't play into Jim's game. But it is becoming difficult to keep my composure as John lands another blow, deeper this time, on the side of my face. The weight of it causes
me to twist back, my back cracking against the head of a cold tombstone. I spit the blood from my mouth. This is becoming tedious. And John, what is he feeling now? Can he see what he's doing? It is this
though that causes me to rush toward Moriarty; I don't care if John slices open my back. It's Moriarty I want. It's Moriarty I need to kill. Because in the past I had failed. John's steps falter behind me as I lash
out to Moriarty, who catches my arm with ease. It's almost pathetic how weak I am. He gives a sharp twist and pulls me in closer, the bloody smell of his breath itches across my face. Blood has gotten into
my left eye. I can't see. My hands take Moriarty by the throat and I am yelling something, I know I am but I can't hear myself over the constant ringing in my ears. But I can tell when Moriarty's eyes go out
of focus. And that's when the wooden point jars me back again. I am running on impulse now, the sheer will to kill Moriarty, and I am blinded by this instinct as I lash fruitlessly out behind me.
I catch John in the face with my blow.
He falls back, his head hitting the ground and I hear something crack. My mind clears with that sound. Moriarty breaks my hold on him with a teetering laugh and I am sent flying back, my side connected
with the bark of the spruce tree and shattering some of the trunk on impact. I slide to the ground like a rag doll. I am still disoriented and try to stand with a snarl but something is holding me back, pushing
me into the muddy ground. My eyes focus on John, whose head is bleeding profusely and whose grip on the stake is tight. He is aiming for my heart. I can't seem to process that information. I am only
focused on the gash in this head, and the reality of the situation that I was the one who did that. I broke open John's head.
I am killing John.
"Let's finish this, Johnny-boy, the sun's gonna be up soooon~!" I hear Moriarty call out over the tops of the graves and I feel something wet hit my cheek. At first I think it's blood but as my eyes turn
up to John's face I know it's not. John is crying. The tears slip through his black eyes like a surreal painting and my heart clenches at the sight. John…he has been seeing everything this whole time. Feeling it
too. And in a fit of rage my hand collides with the back of John's neck. He stiffens and as his eyes droop close I see a gleam of the blue I love. The stake falls from John's flaccid grip and I take it up in my
hands. Gingerly I lean him against the shattered spruce tree and turn to Moriarty. He is smiling, hands in his pockets and he is regarding the sight with sad eyes.
"You always manage to ruin the fun, Sherlock dear." His voice takes on an almost motherly tone. I snarl and stalk forward, the anger in me almost unbearable.
"You could've killed him." I hiss, my breath a dark warning in the morning breeze. Jim shifts on his feet, smile growing wider.
"Are you going to kill me? Honestly, you are being so boring today!"
"This isn't a game."
"Isn't it?" I don't respond. It's impossible to reason with a madman. Instead I opt for raising the stake, now standing directly before Moriarty. He just laughs.
"You're a bit too late, darling." And we both still as the sun touches our skin.
Welp sorry for the wait. Art homework and projects and whatnot. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! (: Hope to update soon! I would love to hear your thoughts!
Reviews would make my day. (:
More reviews=me not quitting this story.