Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun.
Warning: Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men. This chapter; John is not happy with Mycroft, Greg on the other hand will be very, very happy with him before long. Some information about Sherlock and Mycroft's childhood and parents.
Love isn't brains children, it's blood.
Part Eleven.
It was several hours later, after John had managed to coax him to move to the bed, that Sherlock found himself in the landscape of an old dream. Not so much a dream as it was a memory. One he'd never managed to delete from his hard drive no matter how much he tried. He was a child once more struggling against one of the enforcers assigned to his mother's protection and watching Mycroft's retreating back as he was held back from following after his brother. "No! No! My! Don't leave me here! Please! Don't leave me alone! I'll be good I promise! Take me with you please! Please I don't want to be alone! My! MY! MYCROFT!"
"Shh, shh love it's dream, just a dream." John had run from the couch at the first sign of distress and now he had wrapped himself around Sherlock. Right now he figured closeness was more important than any pain. "I'm here and I won't leave you alone, I'll never leave you alone." He wondered if Greg would kill him if he crushed Mycroft's bollocks, the git deserved it.
Sherlock struggled both consciously and subconsciously, trying to get out of the dream even while knowing that it was impossible until it reached its conclusion. It always ended the same way; once Mycroft was in his carriage and leaving, the enforcer dragged him back inside to where his pale and perfectly beautiful mother stood sneering down at him in disgust. She drew back her hand and on its connection to his cheek, he woke shivering and curling into himself.
"Oh love, I'm here, I'm here and I'm not leaving." John didn't know what Sherlock was dreaming about but he could see and feel how utterly upset he was. "You're not there anymore, you're here with me and I love you, I love you so much." He pressed several kissed to Sherlock's temple and cheek and continued to hold him.
John's voice soothed him, calmed the shivers and made him relax even though his sensitized nerve endings were screaming. He concentrated on breathing and the almost furnace of heat John felt like against him. It wasn't comfortable but Sherlock had lived through pain plenty of times and he needed the touch and contact right now.
"There you are love." John noticed that Sherlock was aware now. He didn't ask what the vampire had dreamt about, not wanting Sherlock to relive it again. John just wanted to be there for him. He continued to rake his fingers through damp hair and stayed close. "Go to sleep again sweetheart, you need the rest and I am here, I'm not going anywhere."
He wiggled his hands between them and curled his fingers into John's jumper in an almost desperate clench as he buried his face against his hunter doctor's throat and inhaled the scent of baked goods, desert, gun oil, and antiseptic that was John. He didn't speak, his throat still constricted by the memory, and focused on sliding under the discomfort of his venom enhanced sensitivity back into sleep.
John cradled Sherlock close, watching over Sherlock in his sleep, hoping no more bad dreams would touch his love. He hated that Sherlock had lived through so much loneliness and pain but he promised himself that that was over now. From here on out, Sherlock would never be on his own again. John would look out for him, protect him and love him.
~oOo~
When Sherlock woke up again the hyper sensitivity had run its course, he was aware of a toilet flushing, which explained John's absence, and he rolled over, burying his face in the bed, pulling a pillow over his head. He may not sleep often but when he did he stayed in the bloody bed until he was dragged kicking and screaming out of it, or until something more interesting than the bed was comfortable came along.
Washing his hands, John walked back into the bedroom and pulled the covers up over Sherlock. He wanted the other to get as much sleep and rest as he could. He walked into the sitting room and dug out his phone to call Sarah and let her know he wouldn't come to the clinic for his shift. He knew she wouldn't be happy but he couldn't really care. He would take Sherlock's advice and hand in his notice. He wasn't happy at the clinic and Sarah deserved someone who put their all into the work.
Sherlock could hear John talking to his boss and smirked in satisfaction. Good, he was taking his advice. He wiggled just a bit and groaned at the twinge in his side. He'd probably need another blood poultice soon as well as blood bags. He hated being injured, especially when it took so long to heal.
After finishing a not so pleasant phone call with Sarah Sawyer, John looked in on Sherlock again before leaving the suite and making his way to the kitchen to pick up blood and a poultice for Sherlock. He scowled when he saw Greg sitting at the large oak table, still pissed about the abduction.
"Well good morning to you too sunshine." Greg just sipped at his coffee and continued reading the sports section of the newspaper.
"Fuck you." John went to pour himself a cup of tea from the ready kettle, grabbing a blueberry scone as well. "Come back when you got a dart to the neck and got locked in a closet the size of a coffin."
"Blaming me are you?" Greg turned the page, "Cheers then and you know for a man who was in the army you're really bad at paying attention to your surroundings. How's Sherlock?"
"I can still kick your arse if it came down to it." John gave Greg a reluctant smile, finding it hard to be angry at the other man. "Sherlock's resting, I'm going to bring him blood and another poultice...fucking hellhound."
"He'll be alright though, if the both of you can keep from tearing off anywhere for a few days. you managed to make Mycroft curse in three different languages when he found out where you'd gone." He shook his head in amusement.
"Good, the bastard will do more than curse when I am done with him. Your lover or not, he and I are going to have words." John bit into his scone.
"Is this for the tranq and trap or something else?" Greg dunked his doughnut into his coffee and lifted it to his mouth. He knew that the odds of his lover and John ever truly getting along were very low. Mycroft had a talent for pissing John off without really trying.
"I don't think you really want to know." John thought about Sherlock's dream and his anguish at Mycroft leaving him alone.
Hettie came in and pressed a kiss to the top of both their heads. "Good morning boys, can I make you anything special for breakfast?"
Greg shook his head, "I'm sorted with my doughnuts." He met John's eyes, "And want to know, maybe not, but it involves my lover so I think I might just need to know."
"I'm not sure I'm the one the one to tell you. Sherlock is my priority and if he wants you to know then he'll tell you himself." John met Greg's eyes before sliding them to Hettie. "And thank you but I'm good with this delicious scone. I would appreciate it if you could make another poultice for
Sherlock though."
"Of course love, I hope he's feeling better." Hettie hurried to get the poultice done.
"So something from the mess that was their...what childhood? How many years are there between Mycroft and Sherlock anyway?" Greg tilted his head. Mycroft didn't talk about his childhood, well he hardly really talked about his past at all, understandable considering how recently it was that he'd only just found out about the vampire thing. Still he made vague references to the opera and plays and other things even before they'd started shagging but never a peep about his childhood or Sherlock's.
"It's nearly a century between the masters, seventy years to be exact." Hettie came back out, carrying a basket with the poultice and several bloodbags. "The old master and mistress didn't plan on anymore children after master Mycroft...They didn't treat master Sherlock right."
"Seventy? Bloody hell," Greg frowned hearing about Sherlock's parents, reading between lines loud and clear, "So...Mycroft wasn't around when Sherlock was a kid?" He looked at Hettie.
"No he wasn't." Hettie sighed. "Mycroft was busy traveling the world and training to take over as Master of Britain. You must understand that even at seventy, Mycroft was a very young vampire...He didn't understand." Hettie had practically raised Mycroft and she would defend him to her dying breath.
Greg remembered Sherlock mentioning a string of nannies caring for him occasionally at one point but never anything about Hettie, who he very clearly respected and liked, and alarm bells clanged loudly. He sipped at his coffee as John took the basket from Hettie, "Just leave my favorite parts in working order if you please John."
"Well see, I'll get to you after I'm done with Mycroft." John got up and grabbed the basket from Hettie, kissing her on the cheek before walking back toward the suite and Sherlock.
Hettie sighed and wrung her hands, loving both her boys. "More coffee?" She looked at Greg.
He handed her his mug, "Yes please. John won't be getting to Mycroft without me there while he's in this mood, not when he's more focused on taking care of Sherlock. I think I'm going to have to have a talk with Mycroft though so I know how much damage control will be needed."
Hettie put a lock of her hair behind her ear before refilling Greg's mug. "Don't judge him too harshly...please. It was a different time back then and Mycroft didn't know, he didn't know how bad it was, when he found out it was too late."
"I'm not judging him Hettie but I need to know so I can keep John from mutilating him and maybe knock some sense into him about the stupid notion he has about himself not being a good man."
"I could tell you what I know but I think it's better coming from Mycroft himself...If you can get him talking that is." Hettie fretted with the dirty dishes. "You can check the history books though, about the massacre of Sussex...That will give you a little idea about who Mycroft and Sherlock's father was.
"Slaughter stories in the morning," Greg rolled his shoulders, knowing that he was about to wade into a shitstorm. "Just another day in the life." He picked up his coffee and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'd better get the research out of the way before I beard the lion in his den then."
Hettie sighed, remembering the past clear as day. "Be gentle with him please, no matter what you learn...Please just love him."
"Hettie I could no more keep from loving Mycroft than the sun could keep from coming up every day. It's my job to look after him too, since he won't let anyone else do it. I'll see you later." He went to go search the library, and possibly the internet if the massacre of Sussex wasn't in the books in the house.
~oOo~
Greg leaned on the doorjamb and studied Mycroft as he quietly filed the last of the day's paperwork away before dismissing Anthea. Greg nodded at the woman, who narrowed her eyes at him, prompting an innocent blink, before leaving the office.
Mycroft looked up at him, closing down the document on his computer. "Had a busy day?" He had fully expected John to barge in his office, ready to kick his ass and he was honestly a little worried that he hadn't seen a sign of the doctor.
"Depends on your definition of busy. Started off with an interesting morning greeting from John." He stepped in, turning to close the door then locked it.
"Oh." Every shield Mycroft had went up and his face become an unreadable mask. "Learn anything exciting then?"
He moved around to sit on the corner of Mycroft's desk, "He has every intention in the world of ripping you a new one, I'm thinking something happened after they got back. Something to do with Sherlock's childhood," he knew that Mycroft's face would give nothing away but his lover had other tells, little twitches and tilts that Greg could read.
"Sherlock didn't have a childhood." Mycroft's voice was flat, he didn't like this conversation, knowing that Greg would leave him if he ever found out the entire truth. "I can handle John Watson when he comes."
Greg moved from the corner of the desk to hooking his legs on either side of Mycroft and sitting in his lap. "Seventy years between you, Thomas was kind enough to help me equate seventy in born vampires to fifteen in we short lived humans by the way, so basically you were a teenager when Sherlock came along, in a time when teens were already married with kids on the way, apprenticing in places almost ungodly far away from home, and Sherlock was more than a surprise, he wasn't wanted by your parents."
"No he wasn't wanted." Mycroft didn't meet Greg's eyes. "Mother tried to get rid of him every way she should. It nearly killed her...Father didn't care about anything in the world except for Mummy, almost losing her made him hate Sherlock even before he was born. I was not at home but even if I had been...I can't say that I would have cared."
"You were a kid. One who'd been the only child for decades and by the time you weren't you were long out of the house and you almost lost your Mum in the bet. No can't say I'd expect a kid to care," he cupped Mycroft's face, "I read about the massacre, did a little extra digging even, called an old historian friend. It was after that you were made Master of Britain am I right?"
"Yes, it was after that, that I ripped my father's head off." Mycroft still didn't look at Greg, though he leaned into his lover's touch. "I should have paid attention, I should have stopped Father before it went that far and I should have protected Sherlock. I failed and I know I did.
"You were a kid and you were still a kid when you had all those new responsibilities dumped on you while you were hurting and confused and scared and left Sherlock behind," he felt the jump and new tension underneath him and brought his other hand up so Mycroft's face was cradled in his hands, "I figured that out from little bits and pieces dropped by the both of you over the last five years." He pressed a kiss to Mycroft's forehead, feeling immeasurably sad for both his lover and for Sherlock, "You were just a kid baby."
"No I wasn't. I was old enough to take responsibility for an empire. I was more was more than mature enough to take care of and protect my little brother. I chose not to and that's an entirely different matter." Mycroft felt his heart stutter and clench. "I knew what Mummy was like, especially after Father was gone and I still left Sherlock there...caring more about myself than about him."
"You were young, you made a mistake, and I see you paying for it every day baby," he stroke Mycroft's cheek, "I see you hating yourself every time Sherlock has problems, see you blaming yourself for them."
Mycroft's voice went from carefully blank to tortured. "I should hate and blame myself, everyone should. I'm selfish and bad to the core, I know it."
"No you're not Mycroft. Were you selfish? Yeah, I won't lie to you. Leaving Sherlock behind was selfish but you'd just been forced to kill your father and then take on an empire. I'm not going to say being selfish then was right, it'd be the biggest lie I've ever spouted, but it was understandable relative to the person you were then." He continued to touch Mycroft's face gently. "You're not the kid you were then Mycroft and you are far from selfish now. Overbearing, arrogant, a little scornful sometimes, and you don't always watch that sharp tongue, but selfish isn't a word I'd call you now. And you are bloody well not bad, you're a very, very good man and I'll kick the arse of anyone or anything that says otherwise. Even you, difference is I'll be kissing the bruises I leave behind when I'm done for you."
Mycroft knew that Greg was wrong, knew that he wasn't very good inside but as he'd stated he was selfish and he couldn't bare the thought of losing Greg so he stayed quiet. He circled Greg's waist with his arms and held on tight. Sherlock and he would never have a normal brotherly relationship but Mycroft was trying to make Sherlock see that he could trust him now, despite kidnappings and such, that was done in Sherlock's best interest after all.
Greg knew that just saying it wouldn't convince Mycroft but he hoped in time, with being a persistent bugger, he could get his lover to understand that he wasn't a bad man. It would just take time, patience, and consistent loving. In keeping with that last bit, he ran his fingers through Mycroft's hair, pressed soft kisses over his face, and murmured sweet nothings to him in the Welsh his Nan had taught him.
Selfish as he was, Mycroft latched on to Greg and the comfort his mate offered with everything he had. He couldn't change his past but he would do his best to be good to Greg, to be the sort of man he deserved. "I love you."
"I love you too baby," Greg brushed his lips lightly over Mycroft's, arms going around his shoulders just holding him, loving him with everything in his heart. "So very much do I love you."
"I don't care about Moriarty anymore, John has gone and poked the bear anyway...Move in here. I want to share my life with you and I don't want to wait." Mycroft tilted his head slightly so he could listen to the beat of Greg's heart. No one had as beautiful a heart as his Greg.
"I'll pack my things up tomorrow then," one hand shifted through Mycroft's hair again, "So make some more space in that wardrobe."
"What? No, you'll get your own wardrobe of course, if my suits hang too close together they get wrinkles that are just impossible to get out. I can't go around looking unkept, can I?" Mycroft sounded honestly shocked. "But I'm very happy you're moving in." He leaned up and pulled on Greg's tie so he could kiss him.
Greg had to chuckle before he sank into the kiss, sucking and licking on Mycroft's bottom lip. Only his Mycroft, his prissy little vampire. One day he was going to get his lover into denims and a t-shirt and muss him up then take a picture to keep for himself forever.
Mycroft opened up into the kiss, licking his way into Greg's mouth and tightening his grip on Greg's waist.
Greg hummed and welcomed Mycroft's tongue with a flick of his own, cupping the back of his head and making a happy hum in the back of his throat. His other hand slipped between them to pluck at the buttons on Mycroft's waistcoat. He loved seeing Mycroft in the full suits but God he loved peeling each piece off his lover just as much.
Mycroft leaned back in his large, leather office chair to give Greg more access to his clothes even as his own fingers went up to loosen Greg's tie knot and pull it away from his lover's neck. Christ he loved that neck, strong, tanned and corded. It was beautiful, just like all of Greg.
He flicked open the last button on the waistcoat and slipped his hands in under it to run them up the fine linen shirt that fit so wonderfully well to Mycroft's body. He lifted his mouth from Mycroft's, pressing a kiss to his lover's jaw before letting him at his neck. He didn't know if it was the vampire thing or not but he did know that Mycroft had a kink for his neck and, as it was a rather sensitive area, he was happy to oblige that kink.
Hurriedly unbuttoning several buttons on Greg's shirt, folding it away from his neck. First he ran his fingers over Greg's neck, mapping out the hollow of his throat and the elegant line of his collarbone before he let his mouth follow. He ran his lips over the warm skin, letting his tongue flick out and taste and touch.
Greg made an encouraging noise as he unbuttoned Mycroft's shirt and pulled it open so he could run his hand over the warm skin of his chest. He tweaked a nipple with an impish twist to his lips, savoring the sound it got out of Mycroft.
With a soft growl, Mycroft tightened his arms around Greg and stood up, lifting Greg and depositing him in his chair as he sunk to his knees in front of him, not caring at all about the state of the knees of his designer suit. Mycroft nuzzled the v of Greg's crotch, mouthing over the clothed bulge, running his tongue along the zipper as he looked up to meet Greg's eyes.
"God you sexy bastard," he reached down and ran his finger over Mycroft's top lip, making a husky groan when that tongue flicked over it before his lover took the digit into his mouth. "Sexy, wicked, and sinful and all I ever want."
Mycroft sucked at Greg's finger, letting his tongue flick along the soft pad of it as he unbuckled Greg's belt and slowly undid his trousers. He released the finger to run the tip of his pointed nose over tented boxer-briefs, blowing hot air on the erection underneath.
"Tease," it was just a little rough with arousal but affectionate beneath the lust. He shifted just enough to drag one foot along the carpet to pry the shoe off then ran his foot along Mycroft's calf then up the inside of a thigh.
Mycroft's grin broke with a moan at the feeling of Greg's foot along his inner thigh. He hooked his fingers under the elastics of Greg's underwear and pulled it off and away from Greg's cock. "You like it when I tease." It was whispered against the flushed head of the erection in front of him before he swallowed it down.
"Fucking God Mycroft," it came out breathlessly, a benediction; almost a title for the man who's incredibly talented mouth was surrounding his prick. "Never said I didn't like it, course I do, just remember," His foot slipped up further, rubbing against the bulge at the junction of Mycroft's legs, "I like to play back."
He pulled off Greg's prick with a wet pop, licking his lips. "Wouldn't want it any other way." Mycroft shifted his knees a little to find a more comfortable stance and went back to worship Greg's erection, licking it up and down before sucking it deep into his throat and swallowing around it. He loved sucking Greg's cock, loved the taste, the feeling of it sliding against his tongue and filling up his mouth.
"God baby, your lips look good around my cock," he continued to rub his foot against Mycroft in an echo of his lover's mouth on him, "almost as good as they feel. Fuck you like this don't you? Like going down on me in your office, me sitting in your chair, and tomorrow, when you settle down for work, you're going to remember it won't you? Remember sucking me off while I've got my foot rubbing against your prick."
Mycroft whined deep in his throat. Yes he loved it, loved it almost as much as he loved Greg talking like that to him. He brought his hands to cup Greg's balls, massaging them gently as he rubbed himself against Greg's foot, trying his best to get himself off as he sucked his lover off with all his might.
He groaned gripping the arms of the chair to keep from arching up into Mycroft's mouth, not wanting to choke him. He was embarrassingly close to coming but he didn't try to hold himself back from it. "You're never going to forget this, I'm not either, and I think, some day, that I'm going to corner you in here again, strip you naked, and bend you over your desk to fuck you until you come crying my name then I'll hit my knees and suck my come out of you. Would you like that baby?"
"Fuck yes." He pulled off Greg's dick again, blowing cool air onto it and looked up at Greg with eyes blown wide with arousal. "Also, vampire here...can't choke me just go for it love, I want you to." Mycroft licked around the head of Greg's cock, fitting his tongue into the weeping slit before sliding his lips over it once again.
He hissed and took Mycroft at his word, thrusting up into that wicked mouth as he rubbed his foot faster against his lover's erection. He didn't want to be the only one coming here but, if he went off and Mycroft didn't, it would be easy to slide out of the chair, unzip the vampire's trousers, slip his hand in, and stroke Mycroft's cock until he came. He lost himself to sensation, dirty words in three different languages falling from his mouth. He'd never spoken French around Mycroft before but it was slipping out now.
Oh Gods, he would have liked to say it was the rubbing and the sensation of Greg thrusting into his mouth that set him off but if Mycroft was honest with himself it was all about the French. It made him come into his trousers like an untrained teenager as he swallowed desperately around Greg's prick.
Greg's hands tightened on the arms of the chair and he came with a long, low groan, spilling down Mycroft's throat. "Fuck." He slumped bonelessly into the chair, eyes on Mycroft as he swallowed down his come until that absolutely sinful mouth slid off him and he felt a hand pulling his foot away from Mycroft's crotch.
He was oversensitive after having come and sat down on the floor. Mycroft knew he needed to change clothes but right now he didn't have the energy to do anything but bask in the afterglow of a mindblowing orgasm. Thankfully he had a spare suit in the office because he wasn't about to walk through his house with a wet spot on his trousers even if it was his own home. "Gods, where have you hidden away the French?"
"Mm? Oh, well I don't use it much, grew up hearing it from the whole family all the time so it's hard to forget. I keep in practice with the Welsh cause it was only Nan speaking it." Greg smiled at the picture Mycroft made down there.
"Hmm, still sexy, don't use it too often or I won't be responsible for my actions.." Only for Greg would Mycroft let himself be seen sprawled out on the floor, flushed from orgasm with swollen lips and mussed up hair. "Well, we better clean up. I have a meeting with the Chancellor of Exchequer at two...Dreadfully dull chap."
"Well he'd have to be wouldn't he?" Greg tucked his prick back into his pants and did his trousers back up. "Dealing with finances all day, boring things." He stood and held a hand out to Mycroft to help him up.
"Actually it's quite fascinating." Mycroft allowed himself to be pulled up and he pressed a kiss to Greg's lips before looking down at himself with distaste. "Only thing boring about it is him begging for more money as if they don't have enough already." Mycroft spoke as if him holding the purse strings for the entire country was just another thing, nothing major.
Greg laughed, "I'll take your word for it. Want me to go get you a damp cloth?" It was a solicitous question followed by an absent stroke of his hand down Mycroft's arm. He knew his lover and knew he wouldn't leave the office with a damp spot on his trousers if someone had a gun to his head.
"Thank you but I can go into the bathroom and fix myself up." He nodded toward the adjoining door. "You okay?" He looked Greg over with a critical eye but couldn't see anything out of order except for Greg's slightly flushed cheeks. Mycroft reached up and smoothed down Greg's hair before caressing his cheek lovingly.
"I'm brilliant," he turned his head to kiss the inside of Mycroft's wrist. "I love you."
"I love you too, so very much." Mycroft's sluggish pulse jumped beneath Greg's lips.
Greg smiled and was about to say something more when his phone went off, the tone for Dispatch, and he rolled his eyes, pulling it out with a mutter, "I swear if this is another nuisance case I'm making Donovan clean up roadkill. Lestrade," he spoke into the phone, nodding at the dispatcher nattering in his ear, "Right, right. On my way." He snagged his tie from where Mycroft had dropped it to the floor, "Dead body in the East End, unidentified so far. I'll give you a ring later."
"Do that please and try not to kill Donovan and Anderson for stupidity, the paperwork to get you off will be so tiresome." Mycroft didn't like Greg's job but he would never even suggest for him to change careers just because Mycroft worried. Greg the DI was the man he had fallen in love with and he would never want to change or control him.
"If they just had a little less self-preservation they'd have been rolled into the Thames ages ago," and then Greg could have left his division confident that it was in good hands because the next DS in line for a promotion after Donovan was an intelligent, easy going man who'd out and out told Sally she was on something to be so suspicious of Sherlock. He'd once loved his work but it had grown tedious and not nearly enough of a challenge with too many politics muddying the waters these days. "Take care of my vampire Mycroft," he gave him a wink, "and I'll look after your copper."
"You better, I would be extremely upset if something happened to my copper." Mycroft leaned in for another kiss before letting go completely. He was getting uncomfortable walking around with come in his underwear and he really did need to clean up before his meeting with Osborne, no way he would start a meeting giving the other man the upper hand.
"I'll be home soon cariad," Greg pocketed his phone and left the office to get to work.
To be continued…
