"What the hell was that?" John was looking from one pale face to another as they sat in the back of the car. Mycroft's car. That had suddenly appeared outside the disused warehouse with its underground crypt. It seemed no one was in the mood for talking. Sherlock stared at John, his pupils fixed, unblinking. Mycroft lounged across the back seat, staring at something unseen. And Greg was looking at Mycroft as though he was going to rip his trousers off right there and then.
"Can someone please tell me what is going on?" John tried again. It was almost as though he was the only person left alive... and then he thought of what Sherlock had said. About not being alive. He looked at Sherlock again, still and quiet. And then at Mycroft, who was absently running his fingers through Greg's hair whilst Greg nuzzled against him.
"Apologies Doctor Watson." Mycroft suddenly looked up. His eyes bright. Piercing John so he could feel his heart squeeze in his chest. "I assume you wish to know why Sherlock is no longer dead? And why we have all been lying to you these past months?"
"Well. Yes. That would be a start." John couldn't quite seem to find the rage he had previously been feeling. As though Mycroft was draining him of it all. Draining him.
"The answer is quite simple. Sherlock is now what you would call a vampire. As am I."
"What about him?" John pointed to Greg. Surely Greg wasn't. Surely Greg was normal. Greg was rubbing his hand along Mycroft's thigh.
"Gregory was the start of it all I'm afraid. I know it would be much easier to believe it was me. But he bit me. Not the other way round."
"And then who bit Sherlock?"
"I did."
"Why?"
"Because seeing one's younger brother die is bad enough. Without the knowledge that you will stay alive without him for all eternity. I'm afraid I couldn't bear to see him end. "
"Hang on. This is all some perverted posh boy joke isn't it? I've seen you out in the daylight. And I've seen you eating."
"We've all seen him eating John." Sherlock snapped out of his trance.
"I think it best if you don't say anything for a while Sherlock." Mycroft glared at his younger brother. "There are many things about this...condition... that do not conform to the folklore that surrounds it. I do not pretend to understand it all."
"And who was that guy back there?"
"That was Monsiuer La Neige. He is perhaps the oldest of our kind. Sadly though with age comes not only wisdom, but corruption. I suppose you could say he's the King of the Vampires."
"Everyone knows La Neige." Greg continued. "He shows up in all the history books if you look hard enough. He's seen everything and been everywhere."
"But he'd never seen anything like you?" John was addressing Mycroft. "And that thing you did. You didn't move. You just looked at them and they were dust. What are you? You're not like them."
"No he's not." Greg had slipped his hand into Mycroft's shirt.
"Gregory please."
"You said soon."
"I know, but at least wait until we get home."
"Wait for what?" John was almost afraid to ask.
"LeStrade wants Mycroft's blood. He needs it. Then they will probably have sex. They usually do."
"Oh." There wasn't a great deal John felt he could add to that.
"John?" Sherlock was inches away from his face. John hadn't seen him move. The Silver eyes were filled with remorse. "I'm sorry." John Watson found himself drawing closer to those hypnotic eyes, falling into them. Falling against Sherlock. He felt the teeth scrape on his neck.
"No Sherlock, please."
"I have to John." Sherlock bit down. Hard. And John felt his head swimming and his mind going dark. And all around him he could smell Chocolate.
