Ten: Surprise! You're Wrong!

Sherlock had gone back through the two years he had abandoned John. He went through every detail, every second. Like a movie that you hit fast-forward to. Except he was catching everything instead of not paying attention at all.

And so he sat, eyes closed, breathing shallow and his heartbeat slowed as he delved deeper into his mind than he ever had to before. But if this is what it takes, then so be it.

John's ankle hadn't healed within the three days it took the bruises to fade as his hand was almost done as well. He still bugged Mycroft for another mission. But he simply said, "Not yet," and John shuffled off like a disappointed child who didn't get the toy he wanted at the mall.

Gregory was there all the while, wondering why John couldn't just have the mission he wanted and Mycroft had told him it was because John needs to heal. Greg thought it was something else, though. But he couldn't quite name it as John sulked and walked off.

No, he wasn't sulking! He was simply… okay, he was sulking. But he couldn't help it. He really wanted to see Sherlock, and Mycroft preventing him from going on a mission only made it worse. He only had three more and he wanted them done and over with.

But, no! Mister Holmes has a different idea. God, why are the people of the Holmes' family so irritating? It confused John, but he dismissed it as he went to the living room where he flipped on the telly.

He figured if anything, he would annoy the elder Holmes into letting him go on another mission. But Mycroft knew what he was trying to do, and he didn't play along. He simply walked past, to his office upstairs, and Gregory was behind him. Wonder what they could be doing…

Actually, it probably was work, John thought. Mycroft has been dragging Gregory down with him lately, and Greg is just soaking up all the attention and not even caring that a relationship with a Holmes, and an MI6 man was a bad idea.

But, yet again, John couldn't really judge. The Holmes boys were a piece of art. A very complex and very confusing piece of art, but they were amazing nonetheless. John sighed as he relaxed into the soft cushions o the couch. He wished Sherlock was here to watch this with him.

He actually missed having that complaining idiot beside him, deducing all the shows' hosts and hostesses in the game shows, and the characters in others. John snorted at that. He was so annoying when he was there, and he was so annoying when he wasn't. John wondered if Sherlock felt the same about him.

He probably did. Everyone has something they think about when they hear their lover's name, right? Although, lately, Sherlock didn't seem the type to be loving. That voice he had heard over the phone was Sherlock's defense mechanism, and John was going to kill the asshole who had activated that, even if it was Mycroft.

He hated hearing his lover's voice being so cold. He liked it better when Sherlock was warm and as kind as one with his intelligence can be. Not completely void of any feeling that John had taught him. He also hated that it reminded him of when they first met, and how blunt and stupid he was to common courtesy.

But then John let out a breathy chuckle, he taught Sherlock how to love. And not love like: I want something so I'll flirt with you. A love like: this is the one who I want to be with, and fuck you if you hate it. That was why John had hated when he was Janine. He hated when Sherlock took advantage of her feelings.

But John had taught him not to be such an ass about his affections. Just because someone has something you want and they were pretty does not mean you date them, and then propose just to get into a heavily guarded facility. Just saying…

That was when John heard a giggly scream coming from upstairs, and his eyes widened. So, he was working, just not on the case. Fucking Mycroft, eh? One minute he has ice cold fingers and the next, Gregory melted them into his skin.

But wasn't that what John had done to Sherlock? He made him realize feelings and how good they can be. Right now, they were more hurtful than fire, but still. Somehow, that was what reminded John of that night Sherlock had turned, and instantly he felt guilty that he wasn't there when Sherlock was bitten.

You know, maybe if he hadn't been bitten, none of this would have had to happen. They could have just kept being oblivious and carry on. But you know, then it would have fallen to Mary and her decision to tell them she's a Vamp. If she hadn't told them, they'd still be stumped and not hurting for each other.

Oh, but these events have happened, and now they have lead to a flustered Sherlock, a captured Aveen, a depressed Mary, and a pissed John. Whoever started this obviously wanted a team that will kill them, no matter what or who they are. They must know that John's a soldier, Mary's a fucking assassin, and Sherlock is just amazing.

Yeah, that's a pretty deadly team you've got there, isn't it? Ah, I see. They aren't all working together, now are they? No, Mary's joined the dark side who has endless cookies and Sherlock and John decided they would stay on the side of the Angels, and watch and drool as she munched in front of them. but the cookies aren't worth the stupidity of some of the things the dark side has planned for those who piss them off.

John wondered why Mary hadn't done something to help him yet. Although, it would be kinda pointless to help him now, he's already advanced too far to go back and he doesn't really need her anymore, does he?

Not really, he has Sherlock and Aveen. And Gregory and possible Mycroft. Nope, he's good. He's got his group of people and Mary can eat it. Oh, but there's the kid. Jesus, John's going to legitimately be a father. Although, will it really be any different than fathering Aveen?

He thought about this randomly, oh yes. This baby will be a Vampire and a human crossed. It'll thirst for blood, and Aveen's just a little advanced. God, why couldn't John Watson's life be normal? Or at least his reality?

He huffed in frustration and flopped down onto the plushy cushions and distracted himself with the television in front of him. He might as well wait, if nothing else…

Sherlock finally knew why John was missing, why Aveen was taken, and why someone wanted revenge…

So, let us go back to Jim Moriarty. Mm, yes, the criminal mastermind behind the bombings. Sherlock kills him and himself. Well, Moriarty kills himself, but it was because of Sherlock, so, it was Sherlock who killed him. Basically, anyway.

He wasn't human, obviously. He outsmarted Sherlock Holmes, nothing human can do that besides his brother, and even then, Sherlock's not sure if his brother is completely human himself. Ugh! Distractions! Stop it!

Back to Jim, he was a Vampire. Sherlock was surprised he hadn't noticed before. It was a little obvious, really. Always licking his lips, cautious of being close at first, and how he always wiped something from his lips. Yup, Vamp. Plus, it'll make better sense when I explain further.

Sherlock flipped through all the men and women of Moriarty's network that he disconnected. All of them, every last one, was a Vampire. He had gone through all of the deductions he had made about them, and analyzed them closer. All of them had signs like Jim. Right there, and it was painfully obvious that they were all Vampires.

Sherlock wasn't sure how they got such large numbers, but they did. By the way there were at least fifteen maybe twenty men in that network. And Sherlock killed all of them. Now, back to the reason them not being human is important.

The Elders hate to have their children slaughtered by anyone who isn't them or other of their children. And they were especially furious when they discovered Sherlock, a human, albeit a very, very intelligent human, but still human, killing them. Well, Sherlock was guessing they were furious. Why else would they do this?

So do you know what they did? They sent Mary, then Jade, and now this new Eve character that Sherlock has yet to meet. John met her, he knows that much. Why else would they want him out of the picture, except that he had seen her? But anyway, all the women Vampires, sent by the Elders to try to stop Sherlock from killing all of them. but honestly, why would he bother?

Sherlock didn't understand quite why they cared so much, I mean, God doesn't give two shits about humans, so why should a total of four demons give a furry rats ass about their offspring? He guessed they were more sentimental about it, and humans, to them, are weak. So when they find one murdering them, no matter what they were doing, the Elders get pissed.

Sherlock smiled, kinda like he does with John. But anyway, back to the plans of the Elders. There was Mary, to disable John, and when that didn't work, they had Jade. She was to hit on Sherlock, either that or just get him alone, and turn him. So that they could punish him.

They can't simply kill a human without suspicious looks, so he had to not be human. And when Mary murdered Jade, there came Eve. Because Mary was 'defective', Eve got to John, poisoned him, and that way John could disappear and they could get to Sherlock.

Oh, but there was Aveen, she got in the way, as they hadn't calculated. She was really a random fact that became part of the timeline of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. And because she was attached, she needed removed.

So she was taken, and now Sherlock was here, sitting in his flat, vulnerable (or so they think) and they're coming for him at some point. How long had he been sitting here? He's all stiff and his throat itches like a mother-

He looked at his mobile, three days. Ho-ly…shit! John! Fuck! Aveen! Dammit! Sherlock scrambled up, pushing his mobile in his pocket and dashing out the door. He had an idea of where to find Aveen. John, he wasn't sure, but Aveen, he knew, and the jingle of the metal on his chest assured him he would find his soldier at some point. If not, John was dead, and Sherlock shivered at that thought.

But anyway, back to Mary. Oh yes, Mary was left unattached, so what do they do? They give her a child to take care of so that she's still in their plans. Try to confuse the detective into thinking she's part of a greater scheme. Sorry Mary, not so much.

He was about to grab a cab, then realized, he didn't know where Mary was now. And he couldn't simply text her, no, he had to do something else. Where would they put Mary with Aveen? Well, how long ago was it when they gave Aveen to Mary? He could figure it out if he had known more. There's always something…

"He's close! Too close! We need to strike now!" he complained and shouted at her. She just glared at him. "He's going to get to Mary and Eve, and with them, Aveen. We want him dead?! We kill him now!" he tried.

"You're obsessed."

"What?"

She shrugged her shoulders gently and crossed her arms over her chest, "You're angry that some of our children died, and now you're taking it on him," she explained. "Just because he killed them. Do you have any idea what Jim and his followers were up to?"' she asked and raised her eyebrows at her… partner.

"I don't care!" he literally spat. "He murdered twenty-two of my children, he's done! I'm sending one of our snipers now. I am growing too impatient for this," he muttered and left with a mobile in his hand, him typing furiously at it.

She sighed. She really didn't want this for Sherlock. But what could she do? She was only attached to the man running the show. Wait…

Mary and Eve sat side by side, on a park bench, while Aveen was trying to run and play, but she couldn't get Sherlock and John out of her head. Eventually, she settled beside Eve and Mary holding hands, and she leaned into Mary.

"It hurts," she said simply. Mary understood instantaneously.

"More for him," Eve chuckled. Aveen didn't much like this Eve character. She didn't care if Mary loved her, it didn't mean she had to. Besides, what did Sherlock do that was so horrible? Ooo, he murdered your boss and brother-like friend. What was there to mourn in Moriarty anyway?

But Aveen didn't realize how many of them he really killed. But she didn't much care that she didn't know. She settled her head in Mary's lap, and it was soft, like John's. She almost cried as she rolled over with her face in Mary's stomach.

Mary stroked her hair with her free hand and Eve tilted her head in confusion. Eve wasn't sure why Mary liked Aveen so much, and vice versa, but she didn't mind. She took Mary's shoulder for her head, and Mary felt so happy she almost cried herself.

There was sadness, depression even, and then there was this. This bliss in knowing that you're needed by someone who isn't yourself. She didn't know why Sherlock didn't enjoy this. Or perhaps he did, and he was just set in his ways. Sentiment was dangerous.

Btu she couldn't understand why Sherlock hated it so much. Just look at Eve, she loves Mary and she's till as smart as ever, maybe even more so. Mary's cheek settled over Eve's hair and she just sat wondering when they'd have to move from this spot.

John sat up with something he felt at his fingertips. It was a very faint tickling, almost as if it was a dog or possibly a cat. But there was nothing when he looked down. He examined his fingertips, and thought he was seeing things.

They were a faint red, almost a pink. He wasn't sure if that was his mind playing tricks or the lighting or what. He stood and walked to the kitchen to assure himself he was seeing red, and surely enough, there it stayed.

But it grew over him as it turned to a crimson. It was still faint and a glow, and now it enveloped his whole hand. But when he looked to the other hand, it was the same way! The hell is going on! He wanted to scream and try to shake off whatever it was on his skin.

But he knew that'd be hopeless as the pink grew over his forearms and was turning red. The pink travelled further, slowly and the red followed, making it darker. John was so glad Mycroft and Gregory weren't here to see this.

They'd think he was some kind of alien. But he knew he wasn't, he was human, wasn't he? Now he wasn't so sure. He also figured since it wasn't hurting him, he'd examine it as he felt it burn his face slightly and his chest was taken over next.

What was this? Why was it doing this? A few more minutes and it was down to his thighs. Almost as if it was spreading from above. John was so confused, and he was a bit scared still. But now the pink was to his calves.

It was strange. Everywhere the pink spread and the red followed, it burned, then felt refreshed. Almost as if he had eaten a mint and it effected all of him and not just his mouth. Well, his mouth was burning the same way, but it was all over.

As it spread to his toes, he felt himself get a little woozy. He took a kitchen chair as he watched the glowing pink fade into a crimson and he giggled, afraid of what was next and the fact that he probably looked like a fucking Martian.

He giggled even more at this thought. He hated these little waves of giggles, but it felt as though his body couldn't give a whole hearted laugh, and so giggles it settled on. He sounded like a friggin' school boy, but luckily no one was awake to…

"John?" Anthea's eyes were boring deep into his now. She then looked over him and she stiffened. What the hell was that? "Wh-what?" she stuttered.

John tried to stand, but he was tingly all over as he explained, "No need to get all worried. I don't know, either, but it feels good," he giggled. How many times in one month was he going to be reduced to a puddle of some kind of emotion.

Lust, anger, depression, and now this bubbly feeling in his stomach. Anthea looked him over, and the only odd things were the red, and his giggly tendencies. Otherwise, he was John. Then what was this? She circled him, trying to figure out what the fuck…

That was when she noticed what he couldn't. his wounds were gone. Fading, and leaving scars, but still leaving his body. Slowly the bruises faded and she looked down, and surely enough, his ankle returned to normal under the bandages. no swelling, and she couldn't see the bruises anymore.

"Anthea? What're you staring at?" he questioned.

She shook her head, "John, look at your ankle, then the rest of yourself," she suggested. He leaned over himself and looked down, and his eyes widened.

"It's gone," he grinned. Whatever this was, he was getting tired now. Anthea gasped silently as the red faded to a pink, and left completely and John slumped over, his head on his chest and he was asleep. And very deeply, so much so that his mouth was open and he was snoring lightly.

Anthea blushed at how cute John was asleep, but she drug him to the couch, her hidden strength blessing her and she laid him down. She might as well remove his bandages, and as she did so, he mumbled something about tickling, and Sherlock.

Anthea's heart sank for this man under her as she held the white in her hands. She ruffled his hair lightly before gliding past him, and storing the bandage for future use. Her bare feet were soundless across the tile of the kitchen as she left up the stairs again.

Short PJ shorts, and a tank top was hardly appropriate dress for an agent.

o0o0o0o

John woke and his head was throbbing as he sat up. But do you know what wasn't hurting? Everything else. Except for the killer head ache, he was fantastic. He stood and it pounded on his temples as he sat again.

Why does it hurt so much? And what the hell happened earlier? Had Anthea put him on the couch, or had he stumbled to it himself? He didn't remember lying on the cushions, so he figured Anthea put him there.

If so, she's got some serious muscle she's hiding. Then again, she does work for Mycroft, and everyone here has secrets behind their eyes. Why did he think Anthea was any different? He shook his head as the ache started to recede.

Good, he couldn't go about another mission with a ringing in his ears and the pounding on the doors of his mind. But just as he thought it had disappeared, it came back, and it was worse than ever. He cried out in anguish as Anthea was suddenly right beside him, "John? John, sweetie, speak to me," she prodded. But all he could get out was a strangled moan of frustration and he collapsed on the couch once more.

He wanted to be asleep again, but he knew that wasn't going to happen as the pain intensified, and again, started to leave. But this time, when he thought his head was clear, he was ready. But nothing happened. It was tucked away, and he felt fine.

"John?" Anthea shook him when he had become completely still. He stared at her, and she jumped. That look said, 'Get the fuck away from me,' and she backed off. Why was John angry? Again with the moods, and the swings they took to his mind.

His fists clenched and he tied to grip himself into control. And he was trying to stop being such an ass. He took steady calm breaths as he looked to Anthea again, and she exhaled in relief.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, bowing his head, placing his face in his hands. She touched his shoulder as she sat by him.

"Don't be. Whatever's going on, you deserve to feel whatever. I know it's been a lot," she explained and he looked at her with a sideways glance of 'How the hell would you know?' she huffed and rolled her eyes. But she was NOT about to reveal her whole life story to John.

He has enough as it is. Besides, it all full of heartbrake and stupidity, he wouldn't be interested. So she stood, and giving him one last glance to assure he was okay now, she walked away, her heels clicking on the floor. He shook his head at her, she didn't understand anything John was going through.

He had a Vampire boyfriend, a Wicken daughter and now he glows red as he heals at an extremely fast pace. Yup, normal is completely off. But who the hell is normal, anyway? He should still ask Mycroft about his injuries, or lack thereof.

He trudged up the stairs, hoping they'd be done with whatever they had been doing before he had had that weird encounter with red glowing shit all over him. Each step felt better, as he didn't have to worry about his injuries anymore.

He knocked softly on Mycroft's door, only to hear a grunt in frustration, Greg, and someone's feet shuffling across the carpet, Mycroft. The MI6 man opened the door in only his pants, and seemed none the wiser that he wasn't fully dressed.

But it was obvious that what had been going on, was done and over with and John could speak with Mycroft. "Um," he started and seemed nervous with Mycroft staring at him like he was studying every move he made. And he was.

"Spit it out, soldier," he demanded in a low, but defined voice. he noticed the missing bruises, and wondered if that was why John was up here, bothering him.

John stiffened at that nickname coming from Mycroft and he belted out his problems as if he was a private obeying his sergeant, "Something weird happened to me, Mycroft, and I would like to speak to you about it. As soon as you put some trousers on," John chuckled and loosened his shoulders.

Mycroft rolled his eyes at getting dressed, but he said, "Fine," and the door was shut in John's face. the wounds got John to thinking, and he looked under his shirt to his shoulder. Nope, that one's still there. So it healed his current wounds, leaving faint marks, but it didn't get rid of the bullet's scar.

Brilliant… and the door opened again to find two men dressed and walking out, leading John to Mycroft's office. John eyed Gregory in a way that told Mycroft he had to speak to him alone, and Gregory understood completely as he stayed outside the door.

John swiftly took a chair and Mycroft instantly knew this had to be something to do with his injuries, seeing as they were gone. Mycroft was truly astounded when he saw that on the short man, but he has seen stranger.

"I know you've noticed the missing wounds," John said quietly and Mycroft nodded, leaning back in his swivel chair. Mycroft listened as John continued, "Well," John didn't know how to put it into words now that he thought about it.

It seemed too strange to put words to. But he managed, "There was this glow of pink slash red and then I felt all jittery and giggly and then I passed out," he summarized and finished with, "woke up with a monster of a head ache, and now my wounds have healed and I have no idea what the hell to think of it," he admitted.

Mycroft hummed, as this was fairly new to him as well. He'd heard of healing spells, but not this. This happened randomly and it was done on a human. Yes, he's still human, that hasn't changed. Although, John began to question his DNA, but Mycroft knew he was still human.

Then John thought back to the mission that had given him the pain, and then Sherlock and Aveen followed and he was reminded that the only to get back to them was through killing the rest of Eve's people. But Mycroft had different plans, "Would you like us to run some tests to see what could have caused this anomaly?" he suggested.

John nodded, "But only if I get a mission directly afterwards," he conditioned. Mycroft nodded and smiled. This should prove to be intriguing.

Sherlock had texted Mary, asking if she could please reveal her address to him, but she replied asking why she should do such a thing? He said so he could get his daughter back and she agreed slightly. She said that if he was skilled enough, he could simply track the number she's using to text him about this, which suggested that she was somewhere in the middle about a side to choose.

Sherlock wondered what was keeping her on the side of the Elders. He then figured it was someone very important, and shrugged it off. And so he then texted Mycroft, asking if he could trace Mary's number, oh and please...

Mycroft replied asking why he hadn't just asked before, but Mycroft knew why Sherlock hadn't asked before now, and for that the elder Holmes was disappointed. But he did, nonetheless, trace the number back to Mary.

When Sherlock got that address, his stomach twisted in knots. He knew which house this was, and he also guessed that whoever is there, chose it for that reason. So Sherlock finally shook himself from, well… himself, and hailed a cab.

He repeated the familiar, and he hated how it was so, address and sat back, watching the streets float by and wishing he had John here to admire it with him. Or to hold his hand, or something! He instantly swallowed his thoughts. He knew that if he couldn't stop thinking about it, he'd just think of nothing.

And so the streets took his attention until the car stopped, a good half hour later and Sherlock paid, regrettably and walked up to this house. At least the color is different. He squared his shoulders and took the deepest of breaths, readying himself for the layout of the inside.

He hadn't been here in a long time, but that was because he hadn't planned on ever coming back. And of course, the problem moved from here and she was elsewhere. And now, he had to press that button and get the person on the inside's attention.

He shoved his feelings down his throat and raised his finger, not wanting to touch this white little button again. But he did, and instead of a voice, someone simply pulled the door open. Hm, interesting. So they either don't care to use it, or something happened to it.

And the woman to open the door was interesting, as Sherlock could tell right away what she was, and he also guessed at possibly who.

Eve was just cuddling with Mary, on the couch, while Aveen was lazily humming in the sitting chair. And then the doorbell that hadn't been used since they 'moved' in here, spoke to them. Eve perked up and Mary looked confused, the Elders knock, and no one else knows who lives here.

Eve cautiously stood and inched over to the door and she opened it as slowly as she could. Then she saw him, and she grabbed him by the throat, almost snapping his neck then and there, "Tell me why I shouldn't," she growled, squeezing.

Sherlock choked out, "Because I don't know your name," he winked. She squeezed one last time, harder than she had been holding him and he dropped to his feet, coughing as air was given back to his lungs, and he almost fell over.

His voice was a little hoarse as he asked, "Where's Aveen?" he cleared his throat. Eve glared at him, but simply stepped aside and he pushed through, the familiarity of this house being very uncomfortable.

So far, this was two enemies he's met here. And twice he's come to retrieve something important. He hated revisiting places. But this one, he had to. Aveen popped up when she saw Sherlock and she ran to him, locking her arms around his hips.

He let the small smile crack, and it slipped away as he simply patted her on the back. She was confused why he wasn't as excited as she was, and then remembered that John wasn't here, too. Instantly she let go, and her spirits were at her toes. Sherlock frowned further when he saw this, but then he saw, "Mary?"

This question wasn't because he was surprised to see her, it was more because she wasn't surprised to see him. Then again, why should she be? She almost was certain he would do this. Mary looked to Eve, and saw her resistance when it came to wanting to hurt Sherlock.

She smiled sadly in recognizing him, and gave Eve a face that said, 'Not yet.' Eve huffed and crossed her arms over her chest like she was ready to throw a tantrum. Mary looked back to Sherlock, and instantly she saw through the mask of pale skin and flesh.

She saw the beginnings of the darkened circles around his eyes and the faint emotion running through the blue and grey probing about the familiar house. She felt bad for Sherlock, despite his actions lately. Eve didn't bother to look past his features and see the worry, the depression, and the love somewhere tangled.

Like I said, they weren't noticeable to anyone, but Mary could see it. Mostly because she spent her time hiding most of her own emotions, and knew how to take apart someone else's mask. Sherlock's was difficult, she admitted, but she did it enough to feel bad for Eve's actions.

Sherlock finally spoke through the evil tension, "So, you must be Eve," he nodded to the green-eyed woman hating him with every look she gave him.

She nodded slightly and never faded in her glare, "Why would you care? You're going to die where you stand anyway," she pointed out.

"Maybe so, but first, I want to know why you took my doctor," he squared his shoulders and purposefully made himself look taller.

She simply broke off into laughter, clutching her stomach and Mary smiled at the fact that someone like Sherlock could be so stupid when it came to this. "That's just it," Eve giggled and gasped for air, "we didn't…"

So yeah, Sherlock found Aveen... And I swear I will reveal what is around Sherlock's neck eventually... but reviews? please?