Making out at a crime scene= eternal love….or is that a grave yard!

-‡-Prince of Hell-‡-

Chapter Ten

A twenty minute silent cab ride where Sherlock buzzed with deductions, trying to figure out why John was specially requested for this particular crime scene, was driving John madder then he already was and it took every bit of self-restrain he possessed not to glamor the handsome man and make him forget. John distracted himself by looking out the cab into the dark night flecked with bright neon lights. Sherlock had a few theories but none he thought where accurate, the most solid one, the manic man could deduce where Lestrade and John had met before and Lestrade knew something he didn't which was aggravating. A previous meeting would explain the tension he had detected on their first official meeting in Sherlock's presence, but left him wondering how they were acquainted. He also didn't bother asking John because the ex-army doctor's posture and tight lips told him he wouldn't answer any questions, which was infuriating.

The cab pulled up to a small building at the edge of the river. The moon was peeking over the roof as Sherlock and John entered the taped off abandoned building. Sherlock caught John's snarl as they silent passed by Sally Donovan who looked down and shuffled away not even making a single comment in his direction. Greg met them at the front door and led them down a hallway and down a flight of stairs to a door. Around the old handle a single heart had been drawn around it. John's face paled and Sherlock was partly worried his friend would pass out, he imagined catching the shorter man would be satisfying and was slightly put out John didn't faint into his arms.

"Brace yourselves." Greg warned as he opened a small wooden door into a dark cell.

The first thing John noticed was the odor, the small dark room smelled like rust and mold. The second was that the victim – their gender almost unrecognizable- was hung from the ceiling by their wrists and their feet chained to the floor with rusty chains. It was a form of confinement popular in Hell. The victim was naked but it wasn't noticeable through the bruises, cuts, blood and –John shuttered-tattooed hearts on their skin. They were positioned neatly in the middle of a giant heart with an arrow through it on the middle of the floor. John bet the heart was drawn in the humans own blood. The most terrifying part was what had been written on the wall, on either side of the hanging corpse 'Happy Birthday.'

John thought he'd throw up,while Sherlock looked excited like it was his birthday present.

"Oh good lord," John cursed, having to avert his eyes, barely able to keep his composure.

Sherlock lightly tip-toed around the hanging body, his hawk eyes flickering around the room and picking up every detail, this crime was so well constructed Sherlock knew their wouldn't be a single speck of evidence. The torturer was meticulous. John stood in the doorway gripping the frame with shaky hands, his mouth open in horror. Lestrade was correct it was gruesome and frankly quite barbaric. Sherlock could tell the girl had been beaten to death several times and left naked and alone for weeks. Her torture and personal hell had been ruff and terrible. She had untimely died screaming because her captor wouldn't properly nourish her but there where the signs the predator had fed her, her own blood to keep her nurtured during her suffering. Even Sherlock had to admit it was quite sick and twisted.

The detective looked back at the door where Lestrade hooved around John, both men looked at him hopefully as if they wished him to announce the opposite of what was staring them in their faces. Sherlock paused, he didn't like the pained looks but he wasn't one to lie nor would he start sugar coating anything. His ever helpful brain supplied a picture of John collapsing into his open arms, Sherlock quivered in hope.

"Female age 26 to 30, left handed and needed glasses. She died two days ago. She's been locked in here for about two weeks and was force fed her own blood to stay alive. The lashings and mutilations on her body say she wasn't raped just beaten. The weapon was made of leather and long but not a whip. You know the perpetrator." Sherlock said looking straight at John.

John didn't look away, as Sherlock had thought; the shorter man grimly raised a shaky hand to written greeting. "That obvious?"

"Your breathing became labored the moment you saw the heart on the door handle and only increased as we entered the room. You're showing the signs of shock." Sherlock said as he stalked closer to John and stood inches from his friend, looking down at the shorter man with worry and concern. Fighting the temptation to latch onto John's stubborn lips and never let go.

John looked up into the gray-green eyes staring down into his face as his fingers twitched to lace themselves through Sherlock's curly black hair and bring those lush lips to his. The distance sounds of the police sirens died away and the horrors of the room faded into the black backdrop as his entire world was filled with Sherlock. He wanted to run his fingers against that pale skin and yank off his friend's tight shirt that gave him vivid images that left the Prince only wanting more. John saw himself toppling kingdoms and fighting tooth and nail to just remain in the handsome man's presence. Even the thought of the taller man bedding another brought John's hellish wrath. Sherlock had trapped him and the sad part was the human probably didn't even know. He closed his eyes and looked away.

It wouldn't work anyway and besides he had Mycroft. The thought of his heir remained John of Lestrade.

It wasn't right to have those thoughts at a crime scene but John could have sworn he saw his own lust mirrored in the detective's deep eyes. Lestrade turned his head and coughed, Sherlock glared at the Detective Inspector before whipping out his cell phone and taking numerous pictures. Satisfied at his horrific photos Sherlock brushed past John making sure to stroke his shoulder against the other man's who shuttered at the touch. Sherlock confidently walked out of the house with a slight bounce in his step, so his other theories where spot on; John did have a thing for him. Now he just needed to find out how deep.

John limped out of the house his head bent low as he whispered to Lestrade. Sherlock strained his ears to listen in, while appearing to watch for a taxi. Willing to admit only to himself he was jealous of their closeness and peeved John was keeping secrets from him.

"…..this isn't a game Watson….fragile….." Lestrade hissed.

John looked uncomfortable and glanced at Sherlock. Said detective knew they were talking about him from that action. "I couldn't if I wanted to….special to me….rip through hell…..kill him."

Lestrade sighed and ran a hand through his white hair and shook his head sadly. Unknown to the two men, Sherlock puffed up, he was special to John who claimed he'd 'rip through hell' for him, but who was he going to murder? Obviously, the man who tortured the girl for a birthday present, who displayed narcissistic and delusional tendencies thinking John would like such a thing for his birthday. Sherlock knew he'd like a quiet night out eating dinner and then a quick run through the streets of London chasing a criminal and if Sherlock's timing was right, and it normally was, he'd have John riding on an adrenaline and endorphin high which would insure his success at ensnaring the captain.

As Sherlock contemplated his ensnarement plan he lost focused on the two men. John leaned forward towards Lestrade. "I took him Greg."

St. George ruffled and had his giant wings been present John knew they would have unfurled in fury. The man's face was utterly livid. "I told you-."

"Mycroft was never your goal," John replied smoothly, having century's worth of practice to deal with the wrath of others. "It's almost poetically sad how we lust for the brother that our enemy wishes to take as their heir."

Lestrade ground his teeth and glared at John, but surprisingly didn't move to punch him, or even threaten him. He looked utterly defeated. "Just watch out for him, keep him safe."

"He will not die in my care." John promised, Lestrade reached out and clasped John's uninjured shoulder giving it a tight squeeze before letting go and walking back into the house with heavy shoulders.

John walked away from Lestrade with tight lips, standing next to Sherlock in the dark night as a taxi smoothly pulled up next to the two awaiting men. They climbed in as Sherlock gave the address home.

Sherlock argued with himself for a good ten minutes before his mouth won and he spoke. "Who's the present from?"

John stiffened and sharply turned to look out the window his mood plummeting. He stayed silent not trusting himself not to spill his life story and secrets into Sherlock lap. Still unsure how the younger Holmes would take the discovery of Hellions and his position as the Prince of Hell. The one thing he didn't want was to run off the detective, so he stayed silent although it killed him to do so. Sherlock took the silence as a hint and started deducting what he could hoping that maybe John would slip up and agree with something.

"Your instant reaction shows a close personal relationship that's heavily strained. Not a brother or cousin, no too close. Past lover?"

John winced at the word almost turning around and snapping at the human that James was not his past anything. The thought of the other monarch brought such feeling of rage in him he wanted to pummel someone until they stopped moving. The cab pulled up to Baker Street and for once John was the first to bolt out of the cab, leaving Sherlock in his wake. His limp barely hindered his rush to his room.

Sherlock entered the kitchen as John's door slammed shut. His mouth twitched, shouldn't he be the one throwing a tantrum? He was the one that was livid John had a past lover, had slept with anyone. Logically he also realized that meant John was gay, since the homicidal maniac was male and thus John slept with men. But it didn't explain why he was acting so out of character. John was kind, smart, and patient. Something was amiss and it had everything to do with this lover. Sherlock deposited his coat and scarf over a chair and climbed up the steps to john's room. Normally he would have just walked in, but what little social etiquette he actually kept with him, told him to knock just this once.

"John?"

No answer. Sherlock straightened up. "I understand if you're distressed at the thought of your past lover. From the evidence he's clearly an egotistical, domineering raging psychopath with a fetish for hearts. Staying in a relationship with a man like that would have been unhealthy."

From inside Sherlock could faintly hear John bitterly chuckling as bed springs moved and john softly padded tot eh door but didn't open it. "Someone just left me a dead body as a birthday gift and you're telling me it's ok to be distressed? Shouldn't you'd be squealing that it's Christmas and how happy you are?"

Sherlock blinked, when put that way it did seem unusually out of character for him. Almost comforting. "I do not squeal. That's only reserved for pre-pubescent girls and their idol crushes."

John opened his door with a sad smile, looking up into the concerned eyes of his friend. Sherlock took a step forward and reached out to lean against the door frame, his taller body shadowing John's in the shadowy hallway, in John's neat room a desk lamp softly illuminated his living courters. The good doctor had shed out of his usual jumper and was just wearing a thin under shirt, Sherlock fingers itched to pull it off the stockier man.

"You're a squealer." John said huskily.

Sherlock smirked as his eyes narrowed lazily. "There's only one way to confirm your hypothesis."

John mirrored Sherlock's grin, leaning forward until their noses almost touched. His warm breath tickling Sherlock's lips and sending warmth to his lower regions. "I think an experiment in is order."

Sherlock eyes flitted past Johns shoulder and into the ex-army doctors neat bedroom scares of any personal artifacts. "Which calls for imminent action before the data becomes tainted." Sherlock said rolling his tongue seductively at the word tainted.

John shivered as his hand reached out to cup Sherlock's cheek, angling them and slowly pulling the detective closer. Their lips a breath a part. Sherlock's eyes fluttered, his long lashes tickling John's cheeks and making him groan with need.

"John." Sherlock whispered against his lips and the word spoke everything the taller man couldn't. His need. His desire. His love. His devotion. His awe.

John almost threw him against the wall and took him right there. His other hand fisted in the detectives tight shirt, revealing two perk nipples. Sherlock threaded his free had not leaning against the door way into John's hair, rubbing the back of the smaller man's neck.

They were leaning in about to seal the deal when John's phone blared from his pocket. Sherlock ignored the device, like he normally did and continued to move forward to capture those sinful lips which were rightfully now his. John moved away and reached into his pocket answering the phone, much to Sherlock's irritation. The conversation was quick and whispered. John quickly ended it and Sherlock was expecting to pick off where they had been rudely interrupted. Instead John bit his lip and rushed past Sherlock without a word, his fingertips lightly tracing along the detectives tone chest silently promising more later before rushing down the stairs and out into the night. For once leaving Sherlock baffled and in the dark.

-/-/-/-/-/

John arrived at Mycroft's house after he jogged the entire way, not sure of his self-control to be alone with a human in a small cab. He threw open the door and walked into the front room. May's frantic call had his nerves on the fritz and it was worse than minutes ago when she had called. Apparently the three had been in Mycroft's front room enjoying each other's company and talking when the man had started stuttering before he began clutching at his chest and gasping for air. Now he was in a full blown attack. John was afraid the darkness would be rejected from the human's body.

"John you have to purge him," Mary cried as she wrung the end of her dress in her hands as she watched Mycroft writhing on the couch.

John bit his lip and swore loudly; backing up until his back hit the wall. He didn't want to kill his heir, he wanted him to live. A beating heart would benefit Hell and the kingdom of Wrath. A dead heir was no good to him and the thought of taking the man's life sent chills down his spine, Mycroft shared the same blood as Sherlock and he wouldn't dream of murdering a Holmes.

"I-I can't."

"The hell you can't, you coward," Athena screamed as she held down the man's shoulders as his body started to convulse.

His blood bonds looked at him like he was a monster for not killing Mycroft but John was more afraid that killing the human would turn him into a beast. He knew of his own bloodlust. How it felt to hold another heart as the organ slowly stopped pumping the red life source and grew cold in his hands. He knew the look of death as the light died in an enemy's eyes. John swallowed hard as he gazed upon his chosen, the man convulsed uncontrollable and reached for nothing while choking on his own saliva and screaming silently. Greg would be devastated after only promising to keep the human alive a hours ago.

"He'll never be the same." John said quietly.

"There no time for your philosophical bullshit." Athena snarled angrily but her dark eyes never leaving the humans pained face.

"I made a promise I wouldn't let him die." John continued, looking to Mary praying she would sympathize with his plight.

Her eyes were hard and cold. "He's dead regardless, but you can keep him. Purge him, John don't let him slip away from us."

John's face hardened as his body stiffened and the air became stale and still. Mary relaxed slightly as Athena reluctantly removed herself from her former boss and stepped away from the couch. John's blue eyes darkened until his eyes were black. The darkness consumed him as thin tendrils of the blackness snaked out from his eyes, across his face and down his neck to disappear under his clothes. The black veins on his skin pulsed with the rhythm of his heart gathering energy from the surrounding area and draining his blood bonds. Slowly John reached out with his left hand, hovering above Mycroft's body. The man stilled and stopped moving, falling back on the couch like a limp doll.

John let his dark essence slither out of his soul and entangle around the human's limp frame. The tendrils pulling the politician to the floor and holding him up in a kneeling position with his head tilted upwards. John's eye twitched for just a millisecond, the only indicator he hated his actions before his face smoothed over into indifference. With black tendrils holding down Mycroft John stepped forward and reached his hand towards the human's mouth. His hands absolutely steady John pried open Mycroft's mouth with his fingers and proceeded to push his hand into the man's throat. Had the politician been conscious or even remotely aware he would have started gagging and suffocating. The body involuntarily reacted but the man remained unconscious. John forced his hands to move down the small esophagus down towards the heart. With most of his arm now in Mycroft's throat John let the limbo world fall upon them like a dark cloak of darkness. Unlike all the other times the human didn't freeze with the still realm but instead continued squirming on the floor bound by John's dark tendrils. Mycroft shone with the light of a small sun but cracks of darkness had started to appear around him, from where John had poisoned him with his own evilness. The center of Mycroft's light and the only part untouched with darkness was the small white orb where his heart was located.

With practiced precision John forced his entire arm into Mycroft's body and clenched his fingers around the orb. The object was warm ad fluttery like a heart. John hissed as the light burnt his skin. He put his other hand on the humans shoulder to steady him as he yanked the orb from inside Mycroft's chest as he shoved the man to the ground, his arm pulling out of the human with a soft wet pop. The limbo dissolved as Mary and Athena rushed to Mycroft's limp body, a single trail of blood leaking from his lips. John looked at the orb fluttering dimly in his hands, he didn't have to look to know when Mycroft died, he felt the orb grow cold and still. The only light John could manage to salvage from his current situation of murder was that he left the human his heart, although it'd never beat again, the organ still firmly rested in his chest.

"I have taken you from your caged resting place and invite you to be fully devoured by the darkness you agreed to be a part of." John stated the mandatory words.

The blonde prince brought the orb to his lips, seductively licking the dull ball in his hands before pushing it into his mouth. He hummed in content and happiness as his body absorbed the soul, consuming the white being into his blacked void. His skin purred contently and he felt his power increase. There was truth that daemons grew stronger when they devoured human souls. From his crumbled position on the floor Mycroft groaned loudly. John quickly dropped to one knee, joining his bond mates on the floor to hover over the no-longer-human-newly-made-hellion. Mycroft sat up slowly rubbing his chest and looking thoroughly rumpled, as if she'd just had a good shag instead of his soul being eaten.

"I assume I'm no longer human, since I cannot feel the temperature and my heart's no longer pumping blood."

John chuckled and circled his arm around the thin man's shoulder, suddenly feeling like the parent caring for his young son. "You're now a new daemon of Hell, my heir."

Athena beamed at Mycroft reaching out a hand which Mary look with an equally happy grin. "Prince Mycroft we are humbly in your service." They chorused.

A shadow from outside swiftly moved away, reflected in the streetlamp outside the thinly veiled windows of the front room. John didn't have to stand up, he knew that shadow it was engrained in his conscious memories. He had been so absorbed with Mycroft he hadn't checked for watcher and Sherlock had been peeping outside. John could only silently prayed the detective thought he was tripping or hallucinating. Because explaining to your friend who you constantly lusted over that you just ate his brother's soul and are in fate a centuries old Prince of Hell was not a conversation John was ready to have yet.

OH NO WHAT WILL LESTRADE THINK! AND SHERLOCK!...I'm a bit uncertain about this chapter and SORRY this took so long My twin sister came back from the army!

Thanks for reading!

Faith Robin- you addicted to one of my stories! YEAH my life is now complete

Yuki- AWWW thanks for reviewing…..James did bad bad things XD

Icy Sapphire15- OF course money always equals love and the more you buy the stronger your love is LOL! Moriarty is everyone's dirty little secret!

Alexandra198- Thanks for reviewing and I'm glad you like a BAMF John Me Too!

Aku11- Sherlock as Death? Humm well the thought hadn't occurred to me but I like where that could go...I'm going to contemplate this! I'm uber glad you LOVE this I do to, just a bit unsure how I really want it to end because sadly it will have to.

LittleMissDreamer7- Holy flying monkeys! I adore that and I'm still glad you're faithfully reading my stories! NOOOoooooo don't die here's ch10 and I made it especially long for you!