Sherlock was just lying down to catch a few hours of sleep when a high-pitch shriek issued from the direction of the kitchen. He glanced at the clock and noticed that it was close to 7am and deduced that it was probably Harry finding the severed head. He rolled back over fully intending to ignore the insufferable woman get some sleep when the door to his bedroom was thrown open burying the handle deep into the wall behind it.
"That'll be coming out of your pocket." Sherlock growled still not looking at the fuming woman standing is his doorway.
"Are you some kind of psycho murderer?" She shouted. "Seriously, if you're some kind of complete and total freak, I will call the police."
"Ask for Lestrade and please feel free to fuck the fuck off." He growled into the pillows.
"Harry!" John shouted just behind her. "What are you doing?"
"I should be asking you the same question." She said sharply. "What in the bloody hell have you gotten yourself into? You're living with a total nutjob."
"Stop it." John said firmly. "He's a consulting detective, Harry. He works with the police to solve cases."
"And that's supposed to magically explain the head in the fridge?" She countered angrily.
"He does important experiments to aide in his work." He explained still trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. "The more he knows the quicker he can find the criminals."
"I know you went a bit barmy during the war, John." She said loudly. "But, honestly, this is just too much. You need serious help."
"Harry." John said darkly. "You came to me last night, remember? Not the other way around. You don't get to comment on my life choices and frankly I think that helping Sherlock with cases is a whole lot more well-adjusted than drowning myself in liquor every night!"
Sherlock rolled over after the elongated silence that had descended over the trio. He sighed heavily as tears started trailing down Harry's cheeks and John's cheeks flushed in frustration.
"You're so mean to me." She hiccuped.
"I'm sorry." John said quietly hanging his head and trying to work out the tension in his shoulders. "But you have to stop. This is my life. You can't just judge my life when you know so little about it."
"I'm just trying to look out for you." She sobbed. "And you're just terrible to me in return. Honestly, is it so bad having me look out for you?"
"Oh, please…" Sherlock began angrily.
"Sherlock, don't." John said firmly before turning back to his sister. "Harry, just tell me why you're here. I don't want to fight with you and I certainly don't want to do it in front of my flatmate. So, what is it? Why did you show up out of the blue?"
She looked at him for a few minutes before sighing and leaning against the doorjamb looking down at the floor.
"Can we not do this in front of your flatmate?" She asked.
"Fine, let's go in the kitchen." He answered.
He led her into the kitchen and directed her to a chair while he began making tea. He ignored the sound and smell of the consulting detective crouching in the hallway to eavesdrop on the conversation. Sherlock probably already figured it out already.
"Out with it." He huffed.
"Clara moved out again." She answered.
"I didn't even know that she'd moved back in." John said rubbing his hands through his mussed blond hair.
"That's because you don't even care about me." She said and tears began forming at the corners of her eyes.
"No." John said firmly. "None of that. You want to play the victim, then there are millions of people in this city who would love to pity you, but I'm not playing this game. Especially after you vomited all over my bedspread."
"How did you…" She began.
"It smells awful." He said. "Now, she moved out again. What do you need from me?"
"I want you to go talk to her." She whined. "She likes you."
"Correction." John said. "She liked me when I was the best man at your ceremony. That was years ago, Harry."
"Please." She whined. "Just go talk to her. She'll listen to you."
"Harry…" He sighed.
"Please, John!" She pouted. "Please, please, please. You're my brother, you have to help me."
"Don't push it." He growled.
He stared into his sister's angst-ridden face and felt his resolve to stay completely out of her most likely self-created mess dissolve quickly.
"Fine." He huffed. "But I don't exactly know what you expect me to say. I haven't spoken to Clara in years."
"You'll say just the right thing, John." Harry crowed happily. "Thank you! You're the best. Now, I'm going to get out of this complete and total pigsty. Here's her address. Please call her within the week. Bye John!"
She scuttled out of the apartment quickly after that. John collapsed back into one of the kitchen chairs rubbing his temples viciously.
"You're incredibly easy to manipulate." Sherlock drawled from the doorway.
"Stuff it." John said quietly. "I made you a cuppa."
Sherlock shuffled into the room grabbing his tea and returning to his room calling behind him, "Coming?"
John dragged himself up, grabbed his own tea, and joined the lanky detective in his room. They collapsed onto the bed together with Sherlock clinging to John like a limpet. Within minutes, Sherlock was out not even bothering to finish his tea. John chuckled slightly as he ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair and grabbing his book on the side table. He may not be alright to sleep with Sherlock, but the genius always seemed to sleep deeper and longer if he was wrapped around the doctor. He settled in for a comfortable morning in bed pushing away thoughts of sick-soaked sheets in his room and the inevitable awkward conversation with his ex-sister-in-law.
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Bill Murray stood on the pier looking out at the river feeling unease skitter along his nerves. He'd been a bit frantic since he'd received the message from Margaret about Sawyer disappearance. So far, he'd traced the gritty CCTV footage to this pier. They knew that Sawyer was taken from the airport by someone smart enough to avoid all the cameras getting a good look at his face. His mate had left with the man almost willingly in the back of the cab. They almost missed the slight figure slipping in behind him. But shortly after that, they switched rides to a van where Sawyer was cuffed and thrown in the back. The van was difficult to track through the city streets but they'd eventually found it abandoned in this lot. The forensics team had found next to nothing except a drop of Sawyer's blood and a few scuff marks as a sign of his mate's struggle to get out of the vehicle.
"Anything?" Mycroft asked walking up quickly to the larger man.
"Nothing incredibly helpful." Murray sighed. "The van was reported stolen, prints wiped clean, area not monitored by cameras. We're fucked. This guy knew exactly what he was doing. And he'd have to be incredibly talented to maneuver a pissed-off Sawyer anywhere quickly."
"And the theory is still that he knew his captor, correct?" Mycroft asked.
"He'd have to." Murray said. "There is no way Sawyer would share a cab with someone he didn't know."
"I've started a preliminary search into Sawyer's family and acquaintances." Mycroft answered competently. "If there is anything suspicious, I will be able to identify it."
"I'll look into any of his contacts with the Agency." Murray said. "He has worked some high profile, risky operations over the past year. It could be someone from one of those previous cases."
"The odds aren't good." Mycroft said factually. "It's already been almost twenty hours since his disappearance. Statistically, if he's not found in the first twenty-four…"
"Well, Sawyer sort of exists outside those statistics." Murray said firmly. "He's fine, Mycroft. We'll find him."
"Yes." Mycroft said absently. "I hope so."
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Sawyer jerked awake as someone tossed a bucket full of freezing cold water over him. He tested the strength of his bonds for the fifth time since he'd been tied in the chair.
"Wakey, wakey." The man said wickedly.
"You're one twisted son of a bitch." Sawyer growled.
"Come now, Richard." He giggled. "You don't seem glad to see me."
"Can't say that I am, no." Sawyer huffed. "Would you mind sharing exactly why you've gone all 'stereotypical criminal' on us?"
"Oh, don't get so irritated." He answered happily. "It's not personal or anything. Well, capturing you wasn't. I'm just doing a job and getting paid spectacularly well, actually."
"What do you mean?" Sawyer asked confused. "Doing what job?"
"That's my business." He said. "Need to know and what not."
"So, you've captured me." He drawled. "What now? Torture me to get information? You have to know that Margaret would train me better than that."
"Oh, please." He smirked. "This has nothing to do with your new adorable career path."
"Then I'm at a loss."Sawyer sighed. "Why exactly am I strung up like a Christmas tree?"
"Retribution." He said gleefully.
"I thought you said that this wasn't personal?" Sawyer asked feeling something icy jump up his spine.
"Well, with you it isn't." He answered. "You're just bait. My real quarry is much more interesting."
"Quarry?" Sawyer asked. "Who exactly is this all for?"
"How's that little spawn of the devil doing?" He asked friendly. "John Watson was always the nicest little freak."
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Sawyer growled fighting back the panic that was clawing at his insides.
"Oh, ya know." The man smiled. "Thought I might go visit an old Army buddy. I had to create a bit of a distraction so that the both Mycroft and his mother were preoccupied long enough for me to get close. That's where you come in, Richard. With them focused on finding you, it will give me more than enough time to see John and take care of him according to my employer's specifications."
"And who exactly is your employer?" Sawyer huffed.
"The same people you've been investigating since you captured Henry." He replied. "The people who hired Henry to turn a soldier in the first place."
"You won't get away with this." Sawyer said angrily. "You'll never get close enough to John to hurt him."
"We'll just see about that, won't we?" He answered before turning to head out the door. He tossed another pleased grin at the tied-up man before heading off down the hallway.
"Sebastian!" Sawyer shouted after him. "Sebastian! Damn it, Moran!"
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"You're awake." John chuckled lightly running his free hand through Sherlock's curls.
"Barely." Sherlock grumbled. "I feel like I could sleep for a week."
"Well you did work a case non-stop for close to a week." John answered. "No wonder you're completely knackered."
"I used to be able to go non-stop for a month without this insipid need to sleep overtaking me." Sherlock growled.
"Well, you're not exactly twenty anymore, Sherlock." John teased. "Your body can't run on hormones and willpower forever."
"Like hell it can't." Sherlock huffed.
John giggled and then gasped as Sherlock ran a rough hand over his groin. "Oi, watch it!"
"Make me." Sherlock purred. The taller man crawled over John sliding one thigh between the doctor's legs and kissed him deeply. John quickly tossed the book across the room before grabbing at Sherlock's neck possessively pulling him in closer and moaning as Sherlock began grinding against him. The room suddenly seemed about seventy degrees to warm and they fought to strip each other of the clothes that were separating them. They fell back against the sheets with Sherlock wasting no time in slithering down and taking John's cock in those sweet, heart-shaped lips. John gasped and twisted his hands tightly in the bedding as Sherlock sent him into sensation overload with his tongue: that delightful little muscle that licked and swirled and scraped across his sensitive skin without any hesitation.
"Fuck, Sherlock." John moaned loudly feeling a light sweat breakout over his skin followed quickly by goosebumps.
Sherlock worked passionately for several more minutes before letting go with a slight pop just before sending John over that delicious edge into bliss.
"No, John." He said silkily. "Fuck me."
John exploded into motion pushing Sherlock onto his back and grabbing for the well-stocked supply drawer for lubricant. He pulled the taller man in close for a rough kiss working the detective's legs apart with his knees before leaving a trail of lube liberally over his balls and between those creamy cheeks. He ran a lube-slick finger teasingly over Sherlock's entrance causing the detective to pant in anticipation before pushing in lightly. The taller man thrust down onto the doctor's fingers and the heat almost sent John over the edge again. The blond worked quickly with shaking hands to open up the man beneath him, pleasure-drunk from the intimacy of the action.
"Tell me what you want." John said shakily as he pressed once more on Sherlock's prostate causing the taller man to writhe erotically on the sheets.
"I want to see you." Sherlock breathed heavily. He quickly maneuvered their bodies so that John was sitting with his back against the headboard as the taller man crowded close before shifting over John and lowering himself slowly onto the doctor's cock.
"Shit." John moaned quietly at the heat and pressure on his sensitive skin.
"Kiss me." Sherlock demanded as he started to move slowly up and down John's lube-slicked erection.
They clung to each other, lips pressed close as Sherlock set a grueling and mesmerizing pace thrusting heavily and panting as his prostate was caressed over and over and over again. John took Sherlock in one shaky hand and began pumping quickly paying extra attention to the head and slit relishing the look of complete ecstasy on his partner's pale features. The heat and pressure and pleasure of the moment were quickly winding up the doctor's spine setting up an orgasm of epic proportions. His hips began bucking erratically and his entire body filled with sparking delight as Sherlock began moaning his name as the taller man's own pleasure caused his body to arch into John's and clamp tightly around his dick as the doctor's hand was coated in sticky white fluid. John followed quickly as the hazy warmth settled into his skin like the sun on a bright afternoon. They clung to each other as the aftershocks sent shivers over their skin. They disentangled and John took care of the clean-up with an errant pair of pants before pulling the detective close as they lay together on the sheets. They quietly caressed each other's skin absently relaxing into the moment as simply as breathing air.
"John?" Sherlock asked hesitantly.
"Yes?" John breathed on the brink of a luxurious cat nap.
"Will you stay?" He asked. "Just this once? It's just a nap."
John sighed heavily before leaving a light kiss on the taller man's clavicle. "I'll stay until you fall asleep."
Sherlock was quiet for several seconds but nodded anyway snuggling close to the shorter man letting his eyes drift closed and relaxing as sleep overwhelmed him.
John waited several more minutes before moving slowly out of his partner's embrace feeling the cold inexplicably more than he should as he moved to retrieve his clothes and retreat up to his own bedroom.
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"Yeah, Clara." John said into his mobile. "That sounds great. Just stop by anytime. I'll be here."
John rang off and assessed his completely trashed living room sighing heavily. He glanced at his watch and then began organizing fervently. He liked Clara, he really did, and she was a stickler for everything being orderly and well-kept. He doubted that she would be that impressed with their flat in general but at this point he was just working toward "not so disgusted that she leaves immediately". Sherlock had left to work on some cold cases for Lestrade that shouldn't last more than a few hours and Clara was due to arrive in the next half hour or so. He quickly assessed the horror factor of the kitchen and made some quick adjustments to the layout. He was just putting the biohazard bin far back in one of the less used cupboards when he heard the bell go downstairs. Mrs. Hudson got the door and he heard her direct Clara to the upstairs flat. He was moving the lab equipment to the side of the kitchen table and called out, "Clara, I'm in the kitchen!"
"You better have made tea." She called back.
John turned to grin as the tall willowy brunette turned the corner and promptly ducked as she fired a round into the kitchen.
"Bloody hell, Clara!" He shouted from behind the counter.
"Where the fuck is it, John!" She called darkly. "I know one of them is here! Tell me!"
"One what?" He called out. "Fuck, what's going on?"
"A vampire, John." She cried still waving her gun around like a lunatic. "I can practically feel that bastard's evil invading this flat. Now, tell me where it is."
John felt his entire being flush with a strange ache as he stayed crouched behind the counter.
"I don't understand." He said weakly.
"I know this is probably really scary for you, John." She explained. "But monsters exist and there is one in this flat, I just know it."
"Clara?" He asked sadly. "Do you promise not to shoot me if I get up?"
"Of course I'm not going to shoot you." She scoffed. "I'm going to fill that thing full of silver bullets, not you."
"Well…" He said quietly. "That's the thing…"
"John?" She said sounding uncertain for the first time. "What are you saying?"
"I sort of…well…not by choice…it's kind of a messy situation." He finished flustered.
"Yeah," She said. "I'm going to need something a bit more clear."
"I was changed when I was in the Army." He sighed. "Not by choice, they thought it was a smart, tactical decision."
"They changed you?" She said sounding shocked. "The government turned you into a vampire?"
"Basically." He said. "Are you going to shoot me?"
"Who do you feed from?" She asked suspiciously.
"I don't." he said firmly. "Check the fridge. I get a supply of blood bags from the government each month."
"Never?" She said. "Not once?"
"Once." John said brokenly. "I was sort of tortured and starved. No excuse, I know. But still, not since."
"How long?" She asked next.
"Less than three years." He answered still curled protectively against the wall.
"Who made you?" She asked. "Are they here?"
"He's dead." John said firmly. "Seems the government doesn't take kindly to vampires trying to steal military secrets."
"You can come out." She sighed. "I'm not going to shoot you."
He shifted and glanced quickly around the corner taking in Clara stashing the gun away in her bag again. He stood hesitantly and faced his ex-sister-in-law who'd just tried to kill him, "Bloody hell, Clara. You shot the kettle."
"Sorry," She said wryly. "Old habits die hard."
"Old habits?" He asked as he surveyed the damage and went to fetch a broom to sweep up the broken glass.
"Sort of a family thing." She sighed.
"The family business is vampire hunting?" He asked curiously, binning the glass shards and turning to fetch the replacement kettle. John tended to keep an extra tucked away just in case Sherlock did something unforgivable to the one on the cooktop.
"Not quite a business." She said. "But when you turn sixteen, you spend three months with a relative and are given your first silver-loaded gun. Some take to the life, others don't. But we all can spot a vampire from a mile away."
"Did you tell Harry?" He asked.
"God no." She chuckled. "Could you imagine? She'd be a mess."
"You're right, that would be a terrible idea." He said, filling the kettle and placing it on the cooktop. "Shall we try this again, then? Tea?"
"Yes, please." She smiled.
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