hello ladies! just a lovely little chapter note here! glad I've kept you all this long, and there are answers to a few of the comments in the text, which is why I may not have responded to you directly. I knew I was going to spell out a lot in the chapter. smut will ensue next update, and it may be the last chapter, I've yet to decide. maybe a few more... i'll answer any unanswered questions in the ending note. enjoy!
CH12
SHERLOCK'S POV
Sherlock opened his eyes. The light was glaring, shining down on him on the exam table. He hurt, all over. Not a sharp pain, more of a fading throb. Like he'd fallen off a roof. Again. He stretched his limbs minutely, smelling John a few feet away.
Wait…smelling? He turned his head, seeking out the trace of warmth and scent that could only be his partner. John was nodding off on a chair next to the table where he'd been stretched out. A few needles poked in the detective's arms, and his neck felt as if it was on fire; what had happened? Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and thought.
Behind a swirl of new thoughts clouding his Mind Palace, he sensed that John had caught up to him and drank from him at some point last night. Not surprising, really, he was probably starving after Mycroft had kept him and did god knows what to him. Did his brother know now? Where was he? Sherlock sniffed at the air, curious. Where did this weird ability to smell people out come from? No sign of Mycroft, although something faintly familiar did come across in the bleached, sterile air. He had been here a few hours ago.
How on earth could he have known something like that?
Sherlock sighed and kept his eyes shut for now. He needed to think.
"Sherlock?" John jerked himself awake and walked over to the table, laying a hand on his lover's arm lightly. "How do you feel?" he asked, like he expected something weird to come out of the younger man's mouth. Sherlock's brows knitted together and he opened his eyes.
It was like he'd never even seen John before! His wrinkles, old sun-spots from the Arab desert, each color fleck in his dark blue irises, the way the bleaching white light from above highlighted the tips of his blonde eyelashes…Sherlock could see all of it. He sucked a breath in through his mouth and nose, marking the sterile notes in the air and the musk of something familiar (and yet not) on the back of his tongue, and began to sit up.
John jumped back lightly. Sherlock was standing next to him in less than a blink. The curiosity hitched across his young face showed that he still wasn't completely sure of the transformation. He wouldn't, really, until he'd hunted. John was almost sure. Unless he started asking questions. They'd get to that soon enough, the good doctor decided.
"John?" Sherlock asked, peering around the room before letting those unsettling pale eyes focus on the good doctor, standing a few feet away. He stretched out a long pale hand and John stepped forward, taking it in his own. Sherlock felt the differences in their skin temperatures had vanished. They felt the same now. His brow furrowed and he squeezed John's hand. A question quirked one side of his beautiful mouth upwards, but he held his tongue for now. The doctor winced and minutely pulled his hand back; Sherlock caught it out of the top of his eyes as he stared at their conjoined hands. So he was stronger than John? Only one way for that to happen…lucky for John that Sherlock was more morbidly fascinated than disturbed. Call it what you will, but it was a happy gift for them both in that moment. The younger man looked up at John finally, eyes boring into darker blue ones. John still hadn't let out the breath he'd sucked in three minutes ago. He was on-edge, waiting, terrified of Sherlock's reaction to the terribly selfish thing he'd done, despite Mycroft's assurances that there would be no hard feelings coming his way. He winced again as Sherlock began talking, unsure of himself for the first time in a good while.
"You changed me?" Sherlock asked, voice barely audible, even to John's ears in the low hum of the operating room. John tensed visibly, swallowing hard. Sherlock nodded and dropped his hand, taking a step back from his boyfriend and glancing at the length of the room. He flitted across and back, twice, before stopping with a light smile playing on his lips.
"I remember why you did it, John, I remember what happened on the road, as I was passing the village." John's eyes welled a bit with tears. Sherlock came closer, wrapping his long hands around the doctor's jaw, holding his face close to his own and coming in even closer. He scented along John's jaw, and the doctor stilled further. Sherlock was taking to the change remarkably well. He hadn't even complained about—
"When do I deal with the thirst?" the detective breathed across his lover's lips, ghosting his own over them before John could answer. He delved a bit deeper, kissing John sweetly but firmly, holding him close, bowing his small body into his own in the center of the bright room. Sherlock inhaled. The scent of the man in front of him was delicious, but nowhere near as drawing as the human scents swirling in the HVAC vents. John pulled back and waited for Sherlock to release him before answering.
"I killed you, essentially. Mycroft gave you a bit of blood, and I gave you a few transfusions, but it wasn't enough. So I had to change you in order for you to…live," he finished lamely, scuffing his foot at the tile floor as if ashamed. Sherlock merely nodded at him as if to say "carry on" so John took a deep breath and began to explain the changes he'd experience. He thought back many years to his own changing, and recited.
"You'll not be digesting anything as a normal human would anymore. Everything essentially gets burned up, or you have to throw it back up later if it's big enough. Small things, snacks, you can usually do. Biscuits, tea…but heavy drinking, meals… you have to get them back out. To go with that, you'll be eliminating the leftovers of your humanity here soon, probably within the next few minutes. Then that's it, no more time in the loo for you. Except showers, I guess." John paused, and once again was nodded on by Sherlock. "You'll have to hunt, to feed every few days. If you keep a schedule like that, keep it light then you won't have to kill anyone. It makes it a lot easier to live in the city, to keep a permanent address. The longer you wait the more you have to take, and you'll wind up draining someone, like I did with you…" he trailed off, once again bashful. Sherlock strode over to him and pecked a kiss against his mouth once again.
"John, I'm not angry. What on earth did I have to be human for? I love you, and now I get to keep up with you," he murmured, looking down at their clasped hands in a strange moment of gentile sensitivity. John smiled just a bit and went on.
"You'll find that you prefer one blood type over another, and you can bite me if you want to, but you can't drink a lot from me or you'll get sick. Our blood is richer and also a tiny bit poisonous so it will hurt you more than help you. It's just mainly for eroticism that you'd do it, anyway," he laughed at Sherlock's quirked eyebrow. Yeah, I know, John thought. "And lastly, you are immortal in most ways; pretty much only another vamp can kill you, and there aren't many of us left. Only a few thousand worldwide, and most of them are in continental Europe and America. So that's the basics, do you have any questions?" John fiddled with Sherlock's long fingers as he waited, breathing shallow.
"Can I smoke now?" Sherlock asked. If he was immortal, then all of John's arguments about health went out the window. John smiled genuinely for the first time since Sherlock had woken and barked a laugh.
"Yeah, I suppose my arguments are void now, right?" Sherlock nodded and came a bit closer, pressing up against John in the huge space. He wanted to feel skin on his, this new skin with all its firing nerve endings…it would be so different!
"John," Sherlock sighed, a slight growl in the back of his throat bubbling up. John pulled back a bit to see Sherlock's face.
"Hmm?"
"Can we go home now? I'm dying to get my skin against yours."
"You need to feed first, but yes. I think that is a very good idea, love."
They exited the room on Mycroft's mobile screen. He was already home, with Greg on the way over for dinner. Everything was perfectly according to plan. Pity that it took a kidnapping for John to get in gear and give Sherlock what he wanted. Permanence and love, forever, in the eyes of his beloved doctor.
DAMN it got fluffy there at the end, ahahahaha! well, I can't decide what to do with dear old Myc, what do you think? should I have greg kidnapped? is he forgiven of all trespasses? should Sherlock somehow find out that it was all a big plot and go chew on his throat? gimme some ideas! oh, ps, I'm pretty sure I got all the questions taken care of but if I didn't just PM me and we'll chat ^_^ love you guys, I love all my little email alerts that tell me I've got reviews! makes me soooo happay inside!
