The two men waited with baited breath as they watched the blood being injected into the still doctor. Sherlock removed the syringe and peered down at John. Nothing was happening.
Oh God! Oh God! What have I done?
Mycroft saw the panic in his brother's eyes and urged him to keep going. They had only added the smallest amount of blood which surely couldn't make a difference. The detective agreed. Logic. I must remember logic.
The genius collected more of the blood into the syringe and once again repeated the action of injecting it into John. He watched again as nothing happened. Maybe I'm doing it wrong.
Despite his doubt the sociopath was determined to save his lover. He carried on injecting the blood into the doctor until almost all of it was gone. Still no movement.
Sherlock sighed, I've failed. I've lost John.
The genius stood next to his brother and studied his lover. His skin held more of a red tinge then before it was less grey and dull. He looked noticeably less vampire like now.
Sherlock's eyes were suddenly drawn to the doctor's hand. The vampire's fingers were moving, twitching. The detective looked at his brother to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Mycroft had a rare smile on his face.
This was it. All of the blood was gone from the bags. It had been transferred into the vampire. Maybe, just maybe, this will work.
Sherlock's mind searched for what will happen next. What happened last time? John woke up and was in a terrible mood.
The detective swiftly turned and ushered his brother out of the room. He rapidly shut the door and lent against it.
"What in blazes name are you doing man?" Mycroft couldn't hold in his curiosity.
Sherlock turned and looked his brother up and down before raising an eyebrow. Mycroft looked down at himself, as a consequence of Sherlock's actions, but he was as neat and proper as always. The politician looked back up at his brother in confusion.
"John might be a little ...," the detective searched for the word "unfriendly when he wakes up. Sleeping isn't natural for vampires so when they are forced to there are often slight reminders that they shouldn't sleep. Normally, from what I've gathered, splitting headaches, dizziness, nausea and often a very bad temper." Sherlock rapidly explained to Mycroft.
Mycroft frowned in bewilderment, "I thought you slept with him."
The politician put emphasis on the word slept which made the detective, for some reason, extremely uncomfortable.
Sherlock turned a deep red colour. Why do I need to have this conversation with you?
"I slept with him. He couldn't sleep but he stayed by me until you came." The detective couldn't get the words out of his mouth fast enough. The sociopath's cheeks turned even redder.
Understanding crossed the politician's features accompanied by embarrassment. Clearly he didn't want this conversation either.
Mycroft coughed awkwardly, "Um, so what do we do now?"
"I was told 10 minutes then he will be better but it wasn't a reliable source."
Mycroft hummed in understanding. He was wondering what would happen to Alexander.
Sherlock led the way through to the living room and collapsed into his armchair. Mycroft always the image of good grace lowered himself gently into the doctor's chair. Mycroft eyed the delicious looking Victoria sponge that still sat untouched on the coffee table. The brothers sat in silence both listening for any sound to radiate from Sherlock's room.
Both men were straining to hear when a loud noise made them jump. A pained moaned echoed around the flat. The brothers turned to stare at the bedroom door. Another groaned emitted from the room. The groan turned frustrated as the groaning itself was obviously not helping the suffering that the vampire was experiencing.
John cracked open his eyes but squeezed them shut again, "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
It felt like the sunlight was burning into his pupils. It felt like his frontal lobe was in the process of being torn to shreds. His whole body felt weak and tingly. He groaned in pain and the sound rattled around his head.
I am going to KILL whoever did this to me... ALEXANDER. You will pay. You BASTARD!
He could feel every cut and laceration the other vampire had inflicted upon his body. Each wound stung and caused him to wince. He pulled his weak arms up to his head and his fingers gripped around his head in a vice-like hold. He felt weak and powerless. This must be what it is like to be a human. So weak and powerless.
He attempted to open his eyes again slightly. The light made his eyes water and sting. The doctor tried to push himself up so he was in a sitting position but a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness made him fall back onto the sheets.
The room was spinning and his stomach was twisting and doing backflips. He heaved.
No! Not here!
He pulled himself up and stumbled as fast as he could to the closest toilet. He heaved into the toilet and unfortunately for whoever had to clean the toilet (it would probably be him anyway) the contents of his stomach made a reappearance.
The contents just happened to be a few litres of blood. As soon as it was injected into his system the blood would head straight for his stomach where he could make energy out of it. The world got a bit fuzzier as the blood splattered into the toilet.
He sat there for a minute before realising if he didn't feed he would collapse onto the bathroom floor. He hauled himself onto his unsteady feet and swayed a bit before attempting to march onwards.
The vampire stumbled back to Sherlock's bed. His head was pounding. His eyes were burning. His stomach was heaving up nothing. His vision was viciously blurry.
Ahh! Why do I have to wake up? Why couldn't I just die? I've lived long enough. John's own thoughts were causing him great pain as they increased the pounding behind his eyes. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! ...Positive. Think positive. At least I don't currently have a temper.
John was trying really hard to see any positive in this experience. Not being in a bad mood is good. John battled to keep his eyelids open but his eyes were stinging so bad. He fought against the pain and the splitting headache it was causing. He was holding his eyes open when his line of sight fell upon the bedside lamp.
That is the ugliest thing I have ever seen. I hate you. Do you realise that? You Mr Lamp with your fancy bulb and shade, John thought sarcastically, I hate you. I ruined my life.
John swung his arm out and hit the 'stupid' lamp across the room so it smashed against the far wall. John narrowed his eyes at the offending lamp before turning and looking at the lamp on the other bedside table.
I bet you're his accomplice. Your next, John's thoughts had turned menacingly nasty, one minute. I'm attempting to have a telepathic conversation with a LAMP. I'm delusional… Oh well, I started so might as well finish.
John lent across the bed and hit the other lamp across the room. Just like the other lamp it smashed as it made forceful contact with the wall.
He felt a little bit better. He needed to release some anger. Great! My temper has arrived!
The vampire tried to stand but he swayed so had to hold on to the headboard.
After more groaning and moaning he eventually got himself to his feet. Where is that flipping detective when he is needed? He stumbled to the door and tried the handle. He couldn't pull it all the way down in his muddled state. He tried again and soon frustration was boiling within him.
He wrapped his hands tightly around the door handle and gave a sharp and precise tug a loud cracking sound echoed throughout the flat. The vampire then simply pulled the whole door out of the frame and gently lent the broken door against the wall.
He stumbled into the living area to see a detective and a politician staring at him in shock. He stumbled across the room to his armchair which was currently being occupied by Mycroft.
John didn't realise how intimidating he looked with his fangs descended and pupils blown wide.
"You are in my chair." The doctor practically hissed at the man. His voice was deep and threatening. Without realising it he was snarling at the politician.
Mycroft scrambled to his feet, trying to get out of the vampire's way as quickly as possible. It was obvious to everyone in the room that a grumpy vampire is a more-likely-to-hurt-you vampire.
Mmmmmhhhhhh. They smell so good. So fresh and warm. I could just have a little. Just to boost my energy. No! They are not providers!
John flopped down into his chair and closed his eyes. The vampire rubbed his temples in an effort to cease the pounding. Sherlock could tell from John's laboured breath that the short walk had taken along of his energy. This isn't what happened last time.
The pounding was still assaulting John's brain. The doctor rolled his neck removing any kinks and knots.
"Ahhh!" The doctor groaned as he opened his eyes and instantly got frustrated as the world around him was fuzzy.
He looked down at an empty mug that sat on the coffee table. This is childish… I don't care how childish this is. I don't like that mug.
John's hand swung out so quickly Sherlock could barely follow the vampire's actions. The vampire caught the mug in his fingers and launched the china cup across the room. It shattered into hundreds of pieces on impact.
Sherlock would have sworn the wall was dented from the supernatural force behind the throw. John looked over at the two Holmes brothers before realising that Mycroft didn't know he was a vampire.
Sherlock noticed his sudden change in body language and deduced the vampire's thoughts, "No need to worry. He knows."
John turned his glare from the politician to the detective. He opened his mouth to speak but instead something else distracted his senses. He straightened up in the chair with his mouth open sniffing the air.
Sherlock saw the all logical thought leave John as the vampire ran his tongue over his fangs. Something smells delicious, John's mind murmured to himself.
He turned his head to follow the sent. His eyes then made contact with a dark bottle which sat next to a cake and card. John recognized the logo on the card immediately and a smile grew across his face.
John got unsteadily to his feet and stumbled over to the bottle. The grin broadened as he read the blurry words written on the bottom and collapsed back into his seat.
The vampire ripped off the lid and raised the dark glass bottle to his lips he froze when it was millimetres away.
"This might not be pleasant for you."
The doctor proceeded to draw the bottle to his lips and gulp down the metallic liquid. The smell of iron filled the room making Mycroft feel sick.
Sherlock raised his eyebrows as the doctor drank the whole bottle without stopping to breathe.
The vampire put the glass bottle gently down on the floor before turning to the detective. Sherlock's eyes widen minutely as a small dribbled of blood trailed down John's chin. The doctor quickly licked it up savouring the taste of blood on his tongue.
The vampire could see Mycroft going pale and he looked slightly faint. John held in the chuckle that threatened to escape his lips.
The doctor could feel the new blood coursing through his system, even though it was only a small amount. It was enough to get him going.
Feed. I need to feed. Time to find a provider before this energy boost goes.
The vampire didn't spare a word to the Holmes brothers as he hurried out of the door. There was no time to waste.
Sherlock and Mycroft were left staring at the space John had previously been. Sherlock's eyes travelled down to the empty bottle before turning to his brother, "Believe me, now?"
The politician looked at his brother with his mouth open wide, "Lestrade has got to see this."