Come on people, I'm running out of requests!
Rachel :P
Chapter 12: Vampyre
There were many strange things about one Sherlock Holmes, John had quickly noticed only minutes after moving in.
He played violin at odd hours, went days without talking and then mere seconds rambling fast enough to lose his breath, and kept numerous body parts in the fridge on the shelf above the milk.
When they ended up in the creaking house with the women in the pink coat, nothing changed, and John observed the genius's bickering with Donovan, grudging respect for Lestrade, and angry muttering about the 'incompetent' forensic scientists in silence.
And then there was Anderson.
If John had to name a single person that annoyed him, that disgusted him, that repulsed him the most in this world, it would be Anderson.
It quickly became apparent that Sherlock was of the same mindset as him in that regard, and while the detective threw just as many cruel insults and callous remarks in the older man's direction, he also seemed to act just that little bit... different around him, and only around him too.
John watched from afar at first, as Sherlock did the most peculiar things, such as carefully avoiding sunlight and almost gliding everywhere he walked, while Donavon looked confused and Lestrade bit back grins.
It wasn't until their sixth case together that he finally asked just what the hell was going on.
"Well that's simple" Sherlock had said, flashing him a blinding white grin, "Anderson believes in vampires".
That had only made him even more confused.
"Okay..." He replied slowly, "But what has that got to do with-"
"He believes in vampires, John! And he's terrified of them".
"... And?"
The younger man had huffed and rolled his eyes, "And Lestrade and I have a bet going. I'm pretending to be a vampire. He doesn't think Anderson will crack but I, on the hand..."
"Think he will" John had finished, a smile slowly spreading across his face.
He wasn't a superstitious man, of course, but he could see where Sherlock was coming from.
High intelligence, the little need for sleep, and a fascination with dead bodies...
Yea.
He could see the 'vampire' in the younger Holmes.
"... Alright. I'm in. What's the wager?"
"One pound for every week Anderson remains sane. I can't be too obvious, of course, and I can't say the word 'vampire' or anything similar to it, or I'll automatically lose, but if I get him to crack by more... subtle ways, shall we say, then I win. Currently we're on... oh, I'd say just over £200".
"So whoever loses, will also lose a lot of money" John had replied carefully, "... I'm going to make sure we win this bet, Sherlock. And we're going to win it soon".
They schemed for the rest of the night and set their plan in motion the very next day.
A triple homicide, Sherlock was in heaven.
Sauntering onto the scene, John half-jogged behind him to try and catch up as the detective made his way over the body of a young man, not much older than he was himself.
"Cause of death?"
John crouched down next to the body, ignoring Anderson's annoyed grumbling next to him and instead focusing on the blood clotting the man's hair.
And on the lack of blood surrounding the body.
"Blunt force trauma to the back of the skull" He replied, "But he wasn't killed here".
"I thought as much" Sherlock muttered, eyes flicking over the face-down figure with interest, "Clearly premediated, though a lot messier than the previous two... I need to talk to Lestrade".
Spinning on the spot, coat billowing out behind him, John only just about managed to lunge at the man and grab his arm mere seconds before he marched away.
"Sherlock, be careful!" He hissed, voice carefully measured so only themselves and Anderson could here.
The detective rolled his eyes, "Of what? Clearly the murderer left immediately after killing the man!"
John pursed his lips, half for a show and half to stop himself from laughing as the forensic scientist leant forwards with interest, and pointing at the pale stretch of sunlight that Sherlock had been walking towards.
"The sun".
The man blinked, "Oh... yes... the sun".
"Mind yourself, would you?" John said, letting go of his arm as Anderson seemed to pale from what he could see out of the corner of his eye.
"What would I do without you?"
"Disintegrate, probably" He replied cheerfully, "Now go on, I want to get out of here so speak to Lestrade quickly, would you?"
Sherlock nodded once, before continuing on back towards the entrance of the alley, carefully avoiding any patch of sunlight along the way.
Turning back to the body, the ex-soldier bit back a smile as Anderson stared after the detective with a slightly worried expression on his face.
Another murderer, another body, another ungodly hour.
John was woken by a loud banging on the flat door and groaned, rolling over to check the time.
It was just gone 4am.
Great.
Dragging himself out of bed, he threw on an old jumper and yesterday's jeans before wandering out into the sitting room, just as Sherlock called out "It's open!" and Lestrade, Donavon, and Anderson walked in, all in various stages of exhaustion.
The genius himself, however, was sitting in his armchair, sipping tea while reading yesterday's newspaper, as bright and bushy tailed as ever.
Immediately, he stood up and smirked, "Out of your depth, as usual I presume?"
Anderson's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Why weren't you asleep?"
"I don't sleep, idiot" came the snappish reply, and Lestrade sighed, "Look, guys, I'm too tired to be dealing with your bickering right now. Sherlock, get dressed, we've got a corpse in the river Thames and no idea who put it there".
It took him mere seconds to change, and when he remerged from his room, he immediately walked over to John.
"Do they match?"
If they hadn't practiced this exact moment a hundred times, he would've been completely stumped as to what the man was going on about.
But because they had prepared, John merely blinked and looked him up and down, "Yea. Your clothes are alright".
Sherlock frowned and glanced down at his dark red shirt, "Are you sure?"
Anderson groaned, "Oh my god, just go look in the bloody mirror!"
"I wouldn't see myself, moron".
"Because it's dark? Then turn the damn lights on!"
Sherlock and John both turned to him, the former looked the most insulted they had ever seen him and the later doing his best to pull a 'hey! watch it, mate' look on his face.
Anderson frowned, confused, as Sherlock replied tightly, "That wouldn't make any difference!"
John put a hand on his arm to calm him, "He's not worth it. Now come on, do you want to solve this murder or not?"
And if later on, standing by the river as the bloated body was hauled onto the bank, Sherlock loudly announced he was thirsty and dragged John away from prying eyes?
Maybe John was thirsty too.
And if they returned shortly, with John sporting a dazed smile on his face and Sherlock's scarf covering his neck?
Maybe they'd done more than just get a drink.
And if Anderson caught of glimpse of the ex-soldier's neck in the pale sunlight half an hour later, only to find two strangely-circular marks marring the once unblemished skin?
Well.
He refused to admit that it made his heart beat faster and a cold sweat break out underneath the scene suit.
A second so-called 'drowning' a few days later, had the police bursting back into 221B at a much more reasonable hour as the John just finished his lunch.
Those same officers all came to an abrupt stop when they saw just who, or rather what, was joining the man for lunch.
"Is that... Is that a bat?!"
John glanced up at them, and idly patted the furry creature resting on his shoulder, "Yes. He is. Can I help you?"
Lestrade slowly blinked as Donavon frowned and Anderson glanced around the flat cautiously.
"Another body's been found... Where's Sherlock?"
"Sherlock?" He asked, surprised, "He's right he-"
The bat screeched loudly and John winced, "... I'll just go get him for you".
Standing up, he carried the small creature to Sherlock's room, carefully placing him on the bed inside, winking at the detective that stood by the window, before returning to the sitting room, secretly smirking when he caught Anderson staring at the blood vials on the kitchen worktop in horror.
"He'll be out in a minute" John explained, walking over to the couch and picking up the long cloak that was draped over it, "Sorry for the mess, I'll just put this away".
It took only a few seconds for Anderson to recognise it for what it was.
"Hang on! Is that- is that- is that a cape-"
"Another body found, you said?" Sherlock interrupted smoothly, gliding from his room fully dressed, and the forensic scientist blinked in confused, looking between him and the now-closed bedroom door and then back at John who had placed the cape out of sight in his own room.
Lestrade sighed, fighting back a smile as he realised what they were up to, and nodded, "Yea. Found in the Thames, same place, same murder weapon..."
That particular case took longer than expected, and it was many many hours later as they sat in the police station getting debriefed, that Anderson came in and reluctantly announced that Lestrade sent him to ask what they wanted to eat.
Sherlock and John smirked at each other.
Oh this one was too easy.
"Got anything with meat in it?" the genius asked innocently, and the man slowly nodded, "Yea. I think we've got beef somewhere..."
"I'd like it rare" He replied, "Very rare. In fact, you know what? Don't spend any more than five minutes cooking it. Oh, and make sure there's no garlic".
Anderson stared at him, "... Why no garlic?"
"I'm allergic" Sherlock replied simply, and John quickly coughed to cover up his snort of laughter.
Signing out at the desk a few hours later, John's arm was caught as he turned to leave.
"Can I ask you something?"
Anderson stood next to him, looking decidedly nervous, and he quickly schooled his features into casual friendliness, "Sure. Is it about the case?"
"Ah... no. No, it's... it's actually about Sherlock" came the hesitant reply as the forensic scientist scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, "... How, exactly, did he survive the fall?"
John gave him a surprised look, "The fall? You mean, you don't know?"
"Know what?"
"That he's a-" He purposefully cut himself off, and relished in the way Anderson leant even closer as a result, "He's a...?"
"... It's not my place to say" He finally admitted, "If you really want to know... you'll have to ask Sherlock himself".
The man immediately deflated, and John's grin was genuine as he patted him on the shoulder consolingly, "But hey, look on the bright side! Sherlock's going to be around for a long long time, so you literally have... well... an eternity to ask him!"
It was exactly 7 months 2 weeks and 4 days after John joined the bet, that they finally made Anderson crack.
Sherlock had been getting restless, getting bored with the subtle ways they'd been making the man slowly lose his mind, and had declared they needed to do something drastic.
And what a better time to do it that on Halloween night?
"Ow" Sherlock whined, rubbing his jaw, and John sighed loudly, "I told you to go last week, Sherlock, so you have no one to blame here but yourself!"
"But it hurts!" He pouted, "I forgot how sore they were..."
Lestrade frowned, concerned, "Did you get injured on a case?"
"Not even close" John replied smirking, "The genius over here, has a tooth ache".
"Stop mocking me!" He complained, and from below them, Anderson rolled his eyes, "Then stop talking! You're making it difficult for me to work!"
"Well that shouldn't be too hard, considering you never work anyway!" came the snappish reply, and the older man glared, standing up from his crouch over the body, "Says the man with a made-up job title!"
"Says the idiot that would probably lose his job if it weren't for my help using that title!"
John quickly stepped between them, "Guys, come on, calm down".
"No!" Sherlock snapped, "That moron thinks he can just walk all over me-"
"Oh, I'm sorry, but doesn't everyone?!"
"One more word Anderson and I swear-"
"You swear what? That you'll set your guard dog on me?" He mocked, "Watson is nothing but a side piece! Something for you to flaunt, to show off, to use-"
Then it all happened very quickly.
The genius lurched forwards, flinging himself at the man with a loud snarl just as John managed to grab his arm to pull him back, and Anderson froze, shocked into place as-
Sherlock's open mouth stopped mere inches from his neck, as two pearly-white fangs gleamed under the streetlights.
"That is enough!" John hissed, "Sherlock, put those away, now! We've talked about this!"
The detective gave a feral grin and licked his lips, "Not even just a little taste?"
Anderson squeaked in fear, and Lestrade sighed, already pulling out his wallet.
"No!" John snapped, "Fangs. Gone. Now".
The detective sighed and obeyed, shutting his mouth as he leant back, and stared the forensic scientist in the eye, daring him to move.
And when he did, it was just as dramatically as he hoped.
"You're a- a- a-" Anderson stammered, stumbling backwards as he paled dangerously, "... a vampire".
"About time you caught on, food".
He lasted all of two seconds, before turning on the spot, and running to his car screaming.
Grinning, John turned to face an exasperated Gregory Lestrade, "That'll be £231, when you're ready".
He reluctantly handed it over, "Do me a favour, yea?"
"What is it?"
The inspector scowled at him, "Remind me never to bet against you two again".