Sorry it took so long for me to update, been a bit busy trying to find a job.

Oh! I got a song for you all to listen to! My Chemical Romance- Mama. Cant understand all of it, but watch a vid with the lyrics. I think it and the song War Drums from A Perfect Circle fit this story quite well.

-0-

Geoff blinked, opened his mouth, closed it and blinked again. "Is that…normal…for vampires I mean?"

Mycroft smiled softly and shook his head. "Not as such, no. Only the very powerful, or very old."

"And how old is Sherlock? Roughly…"

Mycroft laughed. "Roughly?"

Geoff crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "Yeah. Roughly. I figure with as old as you two are, your memory is probably failing, so…"

Mycroft pulled him closer and tugged him down, kissing him softly. "Cheeky bastard."

"One of my better qualities," Geoff replied, smiling as he kissed Mycroft again. He settled into the vampire's lap, expression turning serious once again. "So by the evasiveness, I assume he's not quite that old."

Mycroft shook his head. "No, not quite. We still have a hundred years or more before it should even be possible."

"There's a time limit on it?" Geoff asked, eyebrow quirked.

"In a manner of speaking, yes." Mycroft smirked. "When I say about a hundred years, I mean that the only vampires I've heard of with wings have all been over a thousand years old."

Geoff blinked. "You mean you and Sherlock are almost a thousand years old?"

"Closer than we like to admit."

Geoff smiled and kissed him again. "Cradle robber," he said playfully.

Mycroft smiled for a moment, then frowned, eyes distant again. When they refocused, he sighed. "Sherlock is on his way with John." Mycroft paused. "You were right. He almost went too far."

Geoff sighed and got up, moving to his own chair. "Did he at least let John stop and get some food?"

Mycroft nodded. "That was the first place they went."

John frowned as he pulled his clothes back on after a quick shower, not liking the dizziness he was feeling. Lost too much blood this time I guess… He stood and stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the bed. He looked around quickly, making sure Sherlock didn't see him stumble. Thankfully, the vampire had gone into the bathroom for his own shower.

Very carefully, John got up and walked over to the dresser, looking into the mirror that was placed above it. John winced as he examined all the bruises on his body. There were finger shaped bruises on his hips and upper arms, nail marks on his shoulders, and a bad bite on his neck that was still oozing blood. "Might have been a bit too rough this time…"

He heard the shower shut off and finished getting dressed as quickly as he could, pulling his t-shirt over his head and covering the bruises as well as he could. He didn't want Sherlock to see them and start feeling guilty. Though, when the other man emerged from the bathroom without his shirt on, John didn't think he should have worried so much.

Sherlock had a towel draped over his head as he dried his hair, which left John a perfect view of the vampire's torso and neck. There were just as many bruises on Sherlock as there were on John himself, upper arms, hips, even a few on his ribs. His neck was the worst though, looking like some kind of animal had attacked him, this skin torn and bruised, but thankfully not still bleeding. And when Sherlock turned to sit on the bed so he could put his socks and shoes back on, John saw faint red lines running up and down his back, four on each side of his spine, from when John had drug his nails down his back.

John went and sat down next to Sherlock so he could pull his own socks and shoes back on. "Some fight, huh?" he asked with a smile.

Sherlock looked over at him in confusion. "Hm? Oh, yeah. I guess it was."

John frowned. "What's wrong, love? You seem distracted."

"Just listening to Mycroft," Sherlock replied, eyes distant.

John nodded in understanding. "Anything interesting?"

Sherlock smiled humorlessly. "He's just trying to explain how old we are to Lestrade. Our detective friend isn't taking it as well as he seems. Something Mycroft told him has him on edge. Something about me…I just can't seem to find it."

"Something bad?" John asked, standing up and moving in front of his lover.

Sherlock looked up at him and shrugged. "Not sure. They are trying very hard not to think about it." Sherlock sighed and wrapped his arms around John's waist, hugging him close.

John ran the fingers of one hand through Sherlock's curls, easing the tangles out carefully. A wave of dizziness hit him and he swayed, blinking rapidly as he tried to clear the grey from his vision. "I need food. Come with me to the kitchen?"

Sherlock sighed and nodded, releasing John slowly.

After John made himself a quick sandwich, he and Sherlock headed to the library to begin work on everyone's shields. Once they were seated, Sherlock put the link up so John could eat and talk at the same time.

/So. When I say 'shield', what is the first thing that comes to mind? / John asked after he had taken a couple bites.

/Metal. / Sherlock said at once. /Like the shields used in the old wars. /

John nodded and looked to Geoff. /You? /

Geoff frowned in thought. /Well…metal. But more like steel walls. /

John nodded again. /Good. That's closer to what I want you to use. /

Sherlock scowled, but his face cleared when John glanced over to him, giving him a warm smile.

/Mycroft? /

Mycroft was silent for a moment. /I see metal as well. A metal barricade. /

/Alright. Let me show you what my shields look like to a telepath. /

They all saw a solid metal wall, one solid piece, extending as far as they could, to both sides and up into the air. /Now let me show you what's behind that wall. / John's 'voice' whispered. He reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand and suddenly it was like the walls were transparent. Dozens of walls, getting thicker and thicker the further in they were. All but one.

Sherlock brushed mental fingers over the last wall, ever curious, and John flinched. /Not that one. That's the only one I've managed to completely rebuild since yesterday and it's still…tender. Bruised, I guess you could say. /

Sherlock retreated with a small frown. /Why that one first? /

John smiled but there was no humor in it. /That's the one Schuldich can never get through. And he's been trying. /