Relationship(s): Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson

Tags: Vampire!Sherlock, Human!John, Vampire!Mycroft, Vampires, Gore, Murder, Mention of near non-consensual blood drinking

Rating: Mature

Primeval

The last rays of the sun had just disappeared when Sherlock appeared at the end of the hallway. John greeted him with an awkward smile and the newspaper. "I've already contacted Mycroft. He's expecting us."

Sherlock uttered a quick "thank you" before grabbing the newspaper and heading over to the sofa. John just rolled his eyes and went to put the kettle on.

Moments later John heard Sherlock swearing loudly from the other room. Within seconds he was standing in the kitchen waving the newspaper around furiously. "Have you read this? It's complete tosh, it's like they found some random person on the street and asked them to make up a bedtime story about vampires."

Sherlock began pacing. John tried calling to him once or twice before he simply gave up and took a seat at the table and enjoyed his tea. About twenty minutes later Sherlock finally came back to himself and left the kitchen without another word. John heard the bedroom door shut and assumed that Sherlock had gone to get dressed.

John was actually impressed that he had remembered this time. Last time Sherlock had gotten caught up in a case he had run out of the flat so fast that Lestrade had to bring him back inside and remind him that he could arrest him for indecent exposure if he didn't at least put on some trousers.

John had laughed himself silly for a week straight. Sherlock hadn't found it quite so amusing. Not because he had forgotten his trousers of course (he could care less about that) but because Lestrade had interrupted his train of thought because of something as trivial as his "Victorian notions of decency in the face of murder."

Lestrade had merely shoved him back into the flat and told him he wasn't letting him out until he had some clothes on. John and Lestrade both knew that if Sherlock had really wanted to leave then Lestrade wouldn't have been able to stop him but Sherlock hadn't argued. Instead he had thrown on the first pair of trousers that he had seen and headed out the door. It was a testament to Lestrade's professionalism in the moment that he hadn't commented on the fact that Sherlock had thrown on a pair of John's. He had gotten quite a few looks though when they finally arrived at the crime scene. One inspector even commented that Sherlock looked like a giant who had raided a gnome's closet. John hadn't found that particularly amusing since he was the gnome in that little scenario.

Sherlock hustled out of the bedroom a few moments later and immediately headed towards the door. John put his tea down and hurried to catch up.

"If Mycroft has what I need then it shouldn't take any longer than an hour to find our killer." A cab stopped right away and they both filed in.

"And if he doesn't have what you need?" John eyed Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. His skin was paler than usual which was saying something. "Did you eat tonight?"

Sherlock turned to scowl at him and John raised an eyebrow. "I'm fine. I don't need to eat nearly as much as you humans do to function in top form."

John gaped at him. "Surely you're joking? I know how you get when you get hungry. For Christ's sake Sherlock I couldn't have made it any easier for you! I left the bloody bags right next to your bed." John had to lower his voice by the end of his tirade because the cabbie was giving them an odd look.

"Eating slows me down. We are searching for a deranged vampire John I would think my finding him would be of more importance than eating." John rubbed his hand across his hair in annoyance. John knew what Sherlock thought of the synthetic blood but he also knew that Sherlock had turned Mycroft down several times when Mycroft had offered him a willing donor. Of course Sherlock didn't know that John knew this and John sure as hell wasn't telling Sherlock that he was actually glad that he had turned him down. Even if that meant that Sherlock was slightly more irritable without human blood in his system versus the synthetic. John wanted to be Sherlock's only donor and he would be (as soon as Sherlock pulled his head out of his arse and used that astounding intellect to figure out John's reasons for repeatedly refusing him).

"Fine. There's nothing to be done about it now but you can be sure that we will be stopping later to pick you up a bag or two." The 'bloody git' was added under his breathe but Sherlock still scowled at him for it regardless.

The cabbie pulled up about twenty minutes later and Sherlock was out and gone before John could even ask him if he was paying. John grumbled angrily under his breathe as he emptied out his pockets. By the time he was done he had 5 pound and 2 pence left and John sincerely hoped Sherlock had money on him or they would be accepting that car from Mycroft after all.

When John finally made it inside he was stopped at the security desk. They were insisting that he didn't have clearance so John tried to call Sherlock on his mobile but he wasn't picking up. John sent him a text instead and waited. Nothing. "Listen, I'm sure he just got caught up, can someone just go find him and tell him…" John took a step forward and ended up with an arm across his chest. The guard shook his head and used his hand to push John back a step. John opened his mouth to give the guard a piece of his mind but his diatribe was interrupted by none other than Mycroft Holmes.

"Ah, John, there you are. What are you doing out here?" John pushed the guards arm away and headed down the hallway.

"You're brother appears to have forgotten me again."

"Oh I highly doubt that could ever happen John." Mycroft gave him a sly smile and John blushed a little under his scrutiny.

"I have no idea what you mean."

"No I suppose you don't." John felt a slight pressure against his neck for a moment but when he looked at Mycroft his pace hadn't faltered and his expression hadn't changed. John rubbed at his neck self-consciously before following Mycroft into another hall off to the left of the main hallway. Mycroft gestured to a double door at the far end and John glanced at him suspiciously only once before he made his way to the doors and entered.

Sherlock was huddled over the desk rifling furiously through a large stack of folders. "John, hand me that pen." Sherlock thrust his hand out expectantly. John made his way to the desk and handed him the first pen that he saw. "Thank you. It certainly took you long enough, I asked you for it five minutes ago."

John sighed. "I wasn't here five minutes ago Sherlock. They wouldn't let me in without clearance. Which I would have had if you had simply waited for me."

Sherlock glanced up at him. "Oh. You're forgiven then." With that said Sherlock went back to flipping through the files. John merely clenched his hands into fists and employed his deep breathing exercises.

"Have you found anything yet?" John grabbed a chair and pulled it up to the left side of the desk next to a truly hideous egg-yolk colored lamp.

"No. All of these rogues are well documented and most have already been exterminated."

"Alright, so we can eliminate all of the exterminated ones. How many does that leave us?" John started flipping through files as well, setting aside the rogues that had already been killed by the government or hunters. There wasn't any point in considering those because there wouldn't have been any prints left to use once they were killed. Vampire's skin and muscle had an accelerated rate of decomposition once their aorta had been severed. All that was left once that final cut was made was a pile of bones covered in a kind of soupy (extraordinarily foul-smelling) sludge.

"37 rogues are unaccounted for. Out of those 37, 14 are female. That leaves us with 23 possible candidates. Out of those 23, 19 were last seen outside the country."

"So that leaves us with 4 possible rogue vampires that our murderer could have used for prints." John leaned back and closed his eyes. His neck was killing him from being hunched over for so long. He rubbed roughly at the knot that had formed at the base of his skull and sighed when it finally released. After he opened his eyes he reached for another file.

It took less than a second for him to notice that something was amiss. Firstly, the hairs on the top of his arm were standing on end, and secondly the room had gone almost eerily quiet. Sherlock had stopped shuffling papers. John chanced a glance up and froze like a deer in headlights.

Sherlock was staring at him. More accurately, Sherlock was staring at his neck. More alarmingly, Sherlock's eyes were the color of arterial blood and as sharp as a scalpel. John swallowed reflexively and immediately regretted it. Sherlock's eyes seemed to narrow further to the pulse that felt like it was trying to mount an escape from John's neck.

"Sherlock. I think maybe it's time for you to take a break." John could count on one hand the number of times that Sherlock had truly lost control with him and neither of them had been this dramatic.

John knew that it would be a very bad idea to make any sudden moves but he was also aware that his fight or flight response was rapidly diminishing any form of intelligent response from his body or mind.

He only had one option left. Call for Mycroft. If he did that though Mycroft would know that Sherlock's iron-clad control was slipping and the surveillance on them would be tripled. Not only that but Sherlock would know that he wasn't in control of his urges and John knew that information like that could carry Sherlock down a road he really didn't want him to take.

Luckily (or perhaps unluckily depending on how you look at it) the decision was taken out of John's hands when Sherlock made a lightning fast grab for John's arm. John reacted on instinct and pushed backward from the desk. It wasn't John's reflexes that saved him though. If he had to rely on just those then he would have been in even rougher shape than he was. What stopped Sherlock from getting a decent grasp on John's arms was the placement of Mycroft's hideous yellow lamp. Sherlock had to take that extra second to reach around it and that split second of hesitation allowed John enough time to tip over the chair and make his way to his feet. He had never been more thankful for a repulsive piece of office furniture in his entire life.

"Sherlock, stop!" John grabbed a fire poker from beside him and took a defensive stance. Sherlock tilted his head calculatingly in response. He took a step closer and John backpedaled toward the door. "You're not in your right mind. Think about this. You don't want to hurt me."

Sherlock paused and smiled predatorily. "I can assure you that I have no intention of harming you John. I could make this pleasurable for both of us."

John went hot and cold at the same time. His heart rate ratcheted up another couple of notches and he swallowed past the lump in his throat. John would never admit it but this exact scenario had actually played out in more than a few of his fantasies before. The reality however was slightly more terrifying.

John could see and hear the transformation of consulting detective to predator happening before his eyes. Sherlock's voice practically dripped with seduction and his body looked more fluid than it had only moments ago.

"You don't know what you're saying Sherlock. You're just…" John pulled himself back from using the word hungry because he didn't think it would help the situation any. "You're just frustrated that we haven't found the killer yet." Sherlock's body pulled taut at the mention of the murderer and John knew that he had found something that he could use as a distraction. "Yes, the murderer. You remember him, the vampire that's ripping those virgins apart. You need to stop him Sherlock. Only you can stop him and you can't do that if you're distracted so I'm just going to leave you to go to your mind palace now, alright?"

While he was talking John had managed to back himself up into the door. He could feel the handle digging into his back and he sidestepped to his right to account for it. Sherlock hadn't advanced any closer towards him. He was currently shaking his head as if to clear it and John took this as his opportunity to escape. Just as he opened the door though he heard a quiet, "John" spoken across the room. He knew he couldn't stop though in case it was a trick so he continued to edge out through the door. Before he could close it completely he heard a whispered, "I'm sorry."

The door clicked closed in reply.

John leaned against the outside of the door for a full minute before Mycroft approached him. He supposed he should be grateful for even a small respite from the inquiries.

"You did well John." John straightened in outrage before he sagged back in resignation. Of course Mycroft knew what had happened in there. He probably had every inch of this place wired with cameras and microphones. For a moment he thought about getting angry. He thought about shouting that he could have been killed. He looked sideways at Mycroft for a moment and wondered if Mycroft would have tried to stop Sherlock if he had bitten him. John liked to think that he would have. But with Mycroft there was no way to know. He would hope that he would have at least stopped Sherlock before he killed him. If only to save himself the paperwork.

"He forgot to eat before we left."

"Forgot or couldn't be bothered?" John didn't dignify that with a response. Instead he slid himself off from the door and headed towards the exit. "Should I have a car brought around?"

"No I think I'll walk."

"Are you sure that's wise John. You smell…unusually delicious right now. And with a killer on the loose it doesn't seem like a spectacularly well thought out idea to go off on your own." Mycroft had scrunched up his nose in distaste and John rolled his eyes.

"I can defend myself just fine, ta." With that said John headed out the door and started east.

"You certainly can" Mycroft muttered as he spared a glance at the door that Sherlock was currently hiding behind. He thought about going in for a moment before he recognized how ill received he would be and headed off down the hall. He would be able to monitor him from his office anyways.

Sherlock arrived back at the flat exactly 10 minutes before sunrise. John had been watching the latest match on the telly and he wasn't proud to admit that he startled a little when the door opened. There was a little more color to Sherlock's cheeks from earlier and John surmised that Sherlock must have stopped for some bags before he had come back. John was surprised to find that he was slightly disappointed with this fact. He quickly shrugged that thought off though and buried it deep. He should be focusing on the fact that Sherlock had almost attacked him not the fact that it had been kind of exhilarating.

Sherlock nodded stiffly at him in greeting and John nodded back. After that Sherlock headed off toward his room. When the sun finally rose John let out the breath he didn't realize that he had been holding. This whole week was turning out far more stressful than he could have ever imagined.

A horn sounded outside and surprised John out of his revelry. He turned the telly off and checked on Sherlock before he locked the door and made his way downstairs. Mrs. Hudson must have just woken up because he could hear the kettle. He knocked gently and a few moments later the door opened.

"Oh, John. I wasn't expecting you this morning dear. Did you find the groceries I left?"

"Yes Mrs. Hudson. Ta. I wanted to know if you wouldn't mind some company this morning." She looked surprised for a moment and John felt guilty. He hadn't really taken the time to thank her for everything that she did for them while they were out running around. He resolved then and there to be better about getting down here more often.

"Of course John. Come in, come in. You can help cook the sausages." John smiled and started towards the kitchen.

After several hours spent in Mrs. Hudson's company John was reminded how nice it was to interact with regular humans sometimes. He could just relax and he didn't have to worry about having his throat torn out over breakfast. Mrs. Hudson also provided a different kind of comfort from the kind he found with Sherlock. He felt safe here and he regretted having to leave so soon but he still had to sort through his notes from earlier since Sherlock hadn't shared anything with him when he had gotten home.

As John made his way back up the stairs he suddenly felt on edge. He tried to shake it off but he recognized that his instincts were rarely wrong and he slowed his steps in response.

When he reached the top of the stairs he finally found out what was setting him off. The door to the flat was ajar. John's heart jumped into his throat and he edged his way along the wall. When he reached the door he pushed it open soundlessly and crept inside. Nothing looked amiss. The place hadn't been ransacked and there wasn't a single sound to indicate that anyone was still here. Not that he could really rely on his hearing if a vampire was involved. John headed toward the end table immediately and grabbed his Sig Sauer. He made sure the clip was engaged before he headed toward Sherlock's room. He cleared the bathroom first before he made it to his own room. Empty.

He paused for a minute outside Sherlock's door and steadied himself before he gripped the handle. He took one more deep breath (expecting the worst but hoping for the best) before he flung the door open and cleared the room. It was empty except for Sherlock's still form in the center of his bed. A sigh shuddered out of John before he could stop it and he slouched against the wall. He set the safety on his gun before he slid it across the table on his right. He closed the door with his other hand and simply took Sherlock in for a moment. He looked alright. Whole at least. John tried to think back and remember if maybe he had been so preoccupied that he had forgotten to lock the door (and close it). Then he shook his head because that was ridiculous. He would never forget something like that. Never. So that left only one other option and that was that someone had broken in. But then why hadn't they taken anything? And why would they leave Sherlock here unharmed if their aim was to kill him? None of it made any sense.

In the end John decided that he would leave the mystery for Sherlock to solve when he woke up. In the meantime John would busy himself with double checking the locks and reviewing his notes.

John reached for his gun again and used his free hand to rub at his eyes. Maybe he could get in a few hours of sleep himself after he went over his notes again. He turned to open the door and froze.

On the back of the door was a message clearly made using someone's blood:

YOU ARE IN OVER YOUR HEADS

John took a step back and reached for his mobile. Lestrade was number 4 on his speed dial after Sherlock, Harry and Mrs. Hudson. John's finger hovered over it for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye John could see Sherlock's still form and the sight of him looking so vulnerable made up his mind for him. Lestrade could wait until evening. Sherlock's safety was his first priority.

Besides, the blood would keep until then.