It hadn't taken that much time for Sherlock to come to his senses. He'd sat on his knees, stunned for perhaps an hour when a thought hit him: Moriarty…he was talking about Moriarty and then he turned cold…something isn't right here. He swiftly dialed a number he loathed.
"We're doing phone calls now, Sherlock?" muttered an agitated Mycroft.
"I need your help," Sherlock stated as clearly as he could, without losing his cool.
"What did you say?" Mycroft demanded (Sherlock could hear him sitting forward suddenly in his armchair).
"You heard," growled Sherlock, "What do you know about a vampire named James Moriarty?"
"He's dangerous," Mycroft answered, "Why?"
"Where is he?" Sherlock ignored Mycroft's questioning.
"Not for sure at the currently moment," Mycroft said, with a frustrated sigh, "We lost track of him just awhile back. Why do you need to know?"
Sherlock closed the phone without warning and whirled from the room. Trinity, Marco, Michael, Leila, Acacia, Lee, Ari, Baron, Heidi, AIDEN! Of course, Aiden will know. Yes, yes. Fastest route…Sherlock allowed his mind to calculate a route to Aiden that would be unencumbered by any stops. He ran through the streets and alleys, allowing himself to push the vampire speed that he rarely tapped into. John, John, John, John, John, the strange rhythm sounded in his head as his heartbeat sounded in his chest.
When he arrived at Aiden's extravagant home, he pounded on the door until whatever servant opened it.
"Master Aiden is not in," the man said in a low voice.
"Where is he?" Sherlock demanded through clenched teeth.
"Madrid, dealing with a problem," the servant answered, promptly shouting the door in Sherlock's face.
But Sherlock hadn't stuck around long enough to realize this. As soon as Madrid had tumbled from the man's mouth, he'd shot of like a rocket. If he'd been thinking clearly, he may have gone to Mycroft and demanded a plane. However, his mind was fogged by fear for John and determination (it was just as well, Mycroft wouldn't have given him the plane, because he's a heartless prick). Sherlock raced through time and space (yes, in his own mind). Though hours were passing, he heard and saw nothing but the road ahead and his end goal. John, John, John, John, vibrated in his body. All he felt was that tapping in his heart that was John Watson.
"He's not stealing from you," Sherlock murmured in the shorter vampire's ear.
The brunette jumped half out of his dark skin. He whipped around to find the tall boy staring down at him.
"What?" the man snarled at him.
"He isn't stealing from you," Sherlock restated, "Someone else is stealing from him without his knowledge."
"And you know this how?" the man spat, "Oh, wait, I forgot. You're a Holmes you always just know things."
"Aiden, I need to know something," Sherlock said calmly, "Do you know the whereabouts of James Moriarty?"
"No," the man replied, "But he's got contacts in Berlin. One Sal Donovan, I believe."
"Thank you," Sherlock stated before whirling off again.
"Northern part," Aiden called after him.
He allowed himself a pause to eat (and not human eat, mind you) before he really started to Berlin. He ran faster than he ever had before. He knew that John was helpless against Moriarty and probably was hurt and scared now. He felt a fire in his skin lit by anger and purpose.
Hours and hours of thoughtless running later, Berlin was within his grasp. He quickly found Sal Donovan through the homeless there. She lived in a small flat, alone. Apparently, no one had mentioned to her that vampires were supposed to be rich. He pounded on her door. When the door opened he beheld an anger African British woman who was already telling him off, before he'd even said anything.
"Hang on! You're the guy!" she exclaimed at him a finger suddenly pointing at his chest.
"Sorry?" Sherlock questioned.
"You're the one Moriarty is after," she clarified.
"Yes," Sherlock admitted, "Do you know where he is?"
"No, but you better try Anderson in Amsterdam," she replied and slammed the door.
Sherlock turned on his heel and sped off. Once again stopping only to replenish his strength, he ran for Amsterdam. He suppressed all thoughts of what state John may be in and merely forced himself to continue, his drum beat of Johns still egging him on.
It was harder to find this man, as he appeared to keep extremely to himself. Donovan had been easy to find because she often went to the homeless to quench her thirst. This Anderson on the other hand seemed to have some other way of obtaining blood. He eventually found a very clear trail leading to a quaint cottage by water. He'd found it easy enough to find when he realized it was isolated and there were myths about an awful demon living there. He pounded on the door. It opened with a squeak and he found a pale, dark haired man with an atrocious nose staring at him.
"What?" the man said in a flat voice.
"Do you know the location of James Moriarty," Sherlock asked.
"No," the man replied, "Go to Gent in Belgium. He's got some sort of family there or something."
"Thank you," Sherlock replied, as he began to turn on his heel to leave.
"Wait, I may have an address," the man called.
Sherlock stalled for a moment as the man went back inside the house and retrieved something. He returned to Sherlock, flipping through a tiny notebook.
"Here it is," the man said, "Molly Hooper, not really family, actually. She's more someone he uses now and again. I bet she can lead you to Moriarty."
He ripped a page from the notebook and handed it to Sherlock.
"Thank you," Sherlock stated again, turning to leave.
"Not as cold as they said you were," the man stated, before closing the door with a quiet snap.
Sherlock pushed the thought away, as he hurried on to his next appointment. He took up is rhythm as he ran. It allowed it to falter only for a moment as he thought of Anderson's comment. Who is "they"? He pondered it briefly before returning his focus to his running.
He wasn't happy when he found Molly Hopper. He'd gone to the address and was told that Molly Hopper didn't live there any longer. When he asked where she did live he was given an address. It led him to a small, quiet patch of land filled with tiny grey stones. He growled in frustration and anger. He tore the paper out of his pocket to make sure he'd gotten the right name and address, though he knew he did. As he glared at the paper, as though it was all its fault, he noticed a bright red line that connected Molly Hooper's name with another.
"Irene Addler," Sherlock murmured.
He groaned again at the awful address. Paris, Paris, Paris, his mind snarled, why can't I just find John!?
When he finally reached the doorstep of Irene Addler, he was weak and oddly tired. She graciously (HAHA!) allowed Sherlock into her house. He quickly asked her for Moriarty's location. She only smiled at him.
"Last he talked to me," she purred at him, "He was in London. That wasn't too long ago. I assume he's there now. He didn't tell me the exact location. He only said that his friend Aiden had helped him find a place."
Sherlock's eyes blurred with anger. His fists clenched tightly and unclenched as he determined whether to slide a stake through Aiden's heart, before or after he'd found Moriarty and saved John. He wasn't exactly sure how deeply into this thought process he was before he fainted, but when he woke up it was in a panic. He threw the sheets from him and ran to the nearest exit. Irene stepped into his path, stark naked. She put on her seduction face and he roughly pushed to the side. She was too stunned to follow. Sherlock stopped at the front door and turned back slightly.
"I'm sixteen!" he shouted at her in disgust.
Then he fled. He ran and ran until there was no more land and then he swam, too impatient to wait for a boat. Once on dry land, he ran to his town and to the nearest house he knew that Aiden owned. It was empty. He ran to the next, also empty. He ran to another and another, until there was only a few left. He quickly tried to clear his mind and decided which most likely held his beloved. Moriarty is…showy? Extravagant…Ah…The Palace, Sherlock's thoughts had him racing down the street, dodging pedestrians, cars and the occasional stray cat.
When he made it there he busted down the door before he even confirmed that this was indeed where Moriarty stayed. There was a flurry of arms on him that easily cracked under his pressure. There was howling, but Sherlock barely took notice to it, as he swung his hands and legs in a deadly dance. 1..blonde. Weak knee. Tsk. Down. 2. Tall. What an oaf. Artery, throat, pressure. Down. 3. Gun. Gun? Really? How dull. Twist, crack, slide, chop. Down. 4…speed. This one is vampire. The vampire lunged at Sherlock. Sherlock easily batted him away, dodging to the side. He managed to grip a wrist and twirl the vampire, sending him crashing into a chair whose leg fortunately (or unfortunately) impaled his chest. That is incredibly lucky. I think John is a good luck charm, Sherlock mused.
Suddenly, there was slow clapping behind him. Sherlock turned slowly to glare at Moriarty.
"Well done, Sherlock," the vampire smiled that dam Cheshire cat smile that made Sherlock want to hit something, "You've killed my humans and my vampire….and he was my favorite."
"Give me John," Sherlock stated.
"No!" Moriarty screamed at him, "You don't deserve such wonderful blood!"
"Prepare to die," Sherlock declared.
"That's cute," Moriarty growled in his amused-but-not-really voice.
He lunged at Sherlock, only to find a nice wooden stake through his heart. His mouth opened in a horribly wide O. Sherlock pushed him away allowing him to fall to the ground.
"I actually thought you were clever for a minute," Sherlock whispered, "Love will make you strong and strong makes you smart. And sense I'm already a genius, I guess that just means I'm out of this world. Did you think I wouldn't have a stake on me? Pathetic."
James Moriarty's mouth closed into a large, bemused grin. Sherlock left him to die at the bottom of the steps and called out for John.
"He doesn't want you," Moriarty gasped out.
Sherlock picked up the nearest heavy object and slammed it down on Moriarty's face.
"That's where you are wrong, idiot!" Sherlock yelled at him and threw the object down at his feet.
He quickly stomped up the stairs calling for Sherlock. Suddenly, he heard his lover's breath behind a door. Without warning, he kicked it in and swooped in to rescue the love of his life. He ripped the infernal collar from John with his sharp teeth and wrapped John in his own coat. He lifted him and carried him from the dragon's lair, pleased that he had saved the one he loved, one last thought crossing his mind before allowing worry to resettle itself back into his mind: We won…
Little note: Oh my dearies...I am so very, very tired. SO I made the action chapter as per your requests. It's not what you were all expecting, but I feel that it is very much Sherlock. ANYWAY. I think I may add another fluff chapter, but not tonight because I'm bout ready to pass out! SO I hope you like it and don't hate me! Love you all!