I feel like I have to say this before we get any further into the story-just so you all have some idea at what goes on in my head sometimes because there seems to be A LOT of gayness in my stories, there is a reason behind it. I have a seriously warped sense of reality: I assume everyone is gay until they're proven straight-which is by no means a bad thing, obviously. This happens in real life and in the fictional world as well. SO that said-all of you are gay because I have no proof otherwise. Except for Captain Evil-she's undecided. :P And I have no problem telling you all that I identify...so there you have it.
It was early afternoon by the time they made it back to the Yard. Sherlock had even solved Dimmock's case for him. The genius was in rather high spirits when he strode up to Lestrade's office with John at his side.
He knocked twice before flinging the door open and found Greg seated behind his desk with the chair directly in front of him occupied.
"Ah! Sherlock!" Lestrade grinned and motioned for them to come in. "I'd like you to meet a personal friend of mine."
The man in question stood and turned to face them. John found himself swallowing back a wave so sudden lust. The stranger was a couple of inches taller than himself, but had raven dark fringe that was swept off to the side and stunning ice blue eyes that glittered wickedly when paired with a devil-may-care crooked smile. And that coupled with a tight pair of black jeans and well-fitted tee-shirt topped with a leather motorcycle jacket, he looked positively sinful.
"Sherlock Holmes, John Watson—this is Damon Salvatore," Greg introduced everyone.
The man called Damon extended his hand and shook both the detective's as well as the doctor's. "Nice to meet you."
"Oh—you're American," John declared, startled.
"Yeah. Try not to hold that against me-it's not a problem, is it?" Damon asked with a raised eyebrow and a cheeky grin.
"No—not at all," the doctor reassured him. "I was just surprised is all."
The cheekiness dissolved into a charming lopsided smile as the stranger gazed back at John. Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he examined the other man, not trusting him for a second. That only increased as the American's scrutiny of his partner intensified.
Damon crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side as he continued to regard John. "I'm sorry—but I feel like I've met you somewhere before…"
"I haven't been to American in about a decade so I'm not sure—"
"No, not Stateside…somewhere else…" The young man thought furiously. A dawning light shone in his disturbingly ice blue eyes. "Oh my God! You're the Captain! Captain Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers! That's where I know you from—I thought you looked familiar!"
John just stared back at the young man, still not being able to place him despite the additional knowledge.
"You worked a joint mission with the American Army—the Forty-fourth Virginian Infantry in the southern province of Kandahhar in Afghanistan," Damon declared.
Blinking in disbelief, John exclaimed, "Yes, yes we did! Was some nasty business, that."
"It totally was," agreed Salvatore. The genius barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.
"I don't imagine you'd remember since there were a significant amount of injuries over the time our units worked together, but after the worst of the enemy fire on the tenth day you patched me up. I had some shrapnel lodged in my shoulder from a bomb blast," Damon explained.
"Yes!" John exclaimed, remembering. He had no idea how he could ever have forgotten eyes like the American's. "We had run out of anesthesia expect for the most critical surgeries. You didn't flinch when I removed the shrapnel."
"Only because you have such soft hands," was the response, which accompanied by a flirtatious air and grin. The good doctor gave a self-depreciating shrug and blushed lightly at the comment.
That was it. Sherlock ground his teeth together in anger. Weeks of trying to get John to fess up to his attraction and some other bloke thinks he's just going to waltz in and try to flirt his way into his blogger's pants?! Oh no…
"So what precisely is an American soldier doing in London, then?" the consulting detective wondered with just a hint of malice in his voice. Lestrade hid his face behind his coffee mug so that the genius wouldn't see his smirk. He wasn't above applying a few dirty tricks to kick the dynamic duo into admitting their mutual attraction to one another…
Damon shrugged and answered, "Family business. I drew the short stick, my brother got to stay in our headquarters in Mystic Falls, Virginia and because I was the naughty son my dad sent me here. I think it was payback for me being rebellious and joining the army."
"What a shame," John said sympathetically with a frown.
"Eh. Whatever. I think I made out better in the end than Stephen anyway," Damon told them. "My father thinks this is a punishment—little does he know!"
With a grin, the doctor asked, "Oh-so I take it that you're enjoying our great city?"
What was John doing?! Sherlock silently fumed. He isn't supposed to be flirting back!
"More than you know…" Damon responded with a wink.
"We are in the middle of a murder investigation!" Sherlock barked in agitation as he slammed his hands down on the desk in front of Greg. "Now does any of this have any relevance to our case?! If not, I suggest you get to the point, Lestrade, because you're wasting my time here!"
The DI chuckled at his friend's obvious discomfort before he explained the real reason he had called them all here. "Relax, Sherlock! There is a purpose to this little meeting. Damon actually is a well-known member of the city's underground vampire society. If you want in, he's your ticket into the cult."
A look of dawning horror flitted across the genius' face before he schooled his expression into a mask of indifference. "You can't be serious!"
"As the plague," Damon replied, smirking. "I can get you in, but first we need to do something about your overly-posh get-up there, my friend."
His blue-green eyes flashed dangerously, Sherlock whirled around and stalked up to the American. "First of all, I am not your friend. Secondly, I am only agreeing to this because it appears to be absolutely necessary to further my investigation. Thirdly—if you get in my way, I promise that I will make your life a living hell. You are only as useful as the information you can potential supply. And fourthly: I assure you that I know how to dress in order to blend in—I don't need your help."
John glared at his partner. What was with all this alpha male posturing lately? He held his tongue though, knowing that if he dared admonition Sherlock now that his life would become rather miserable.
Damon just shrugged as if it didn't matter any to him. It probably didn't. "Whatever. As long as you're appropriately dressed, I can get you in."
"So where is this club? Not sure it's the same one I've been to before," John asked before Sherlock could exacerbate the situation further.
The American dropped back down into the chair he had previously been occupying. "It's in Hackney, on the Murder Mile."
"Great!" John declared and threw up his arms. "Why can't we ever go to the nicer places of town? Why does our research always take us to the dodgy parts? Can I just say how ironically fitting that we're going to go investigate a murder on Murder Mile?!"
Lestrade smirked, finding the humor in the situation where the doctor didn't. He was used to being dragged into London's dark underbelly because of his job as a policeman.
Sherlock sighed dramatically and ignored his blogger's outburst. "Alright—the name?"
"Place called The Admiral's Arms. I'll have to meet up with you beforehand because you'll never find it unless you know where it is," the American said.
"Yes, yes! Fine! When and where?" the genius demanded with a flip of his hand, wanting to get this little meeting over as quickly as possible.
"Nine o'clock. Greg—are you going to come with?" Damon asked, turning his attention to the DI.
With a nod, Lestrade answered, "I'm going to go with you on this one. How about we all meet here at half eight?"
"Fine," Sherlock declared before turning heel and with a great flare of his coat, stalked out of the DI's office.
"Umm—okay, see you later!" John said before he ran out after his flat mate. He caught up to the genius just before he made it to the bank of lifts on the far side of the floor.
"What was that about back there?!" the doctor hissed. "There was absolutely no need to be so incredibly rude to that man."
"Oh please, John!" Sherlock retorted, punching the button to the lift with a little more force than was strictly necessary. "That man is nothing more than an egotistical, self-indulgent pillock who wants nothing more than to get into your knickers!"
John gaped openly at his partner. "Are you listening to yourself right now?"
As the lift doors squeaked open, they stepped inside. Sherlock frowned and waited for the doors to close before questioning, "And what is that supposed to mean?"
That earned him a disbelieving look and a shake of the head. The doctor didn't even bother to reply. It was very clear that the genius saw nothing wrong with his statement on the other man—and he failed to realize that it was also an accurate self-assessment. Well, almost. All except the last bit about getting into his knickers. God how he wished that were true!
"You're angry with me," the detective stated once they were released from the lift carriage.
"No," John denied as he strode purposefully towards the exit. He was at the curb before his partner and tried desperately to flag down at cab before the other caught up to him. He snarled when his attempts failed. His anger spiked once again when Sherlock stepped up beside him and was able to summon a car with his first effort.
The doctor pointedly stared out the window and ignored his companion once he was seated on the far side of the cab. He didn't pay attention as Sherlock gave some random address to cabbie. It was several long minutes before the consulting detective spoke up.
"Tell me what it was that I said which has offended you," he beseeched.
John clenched his jaw tight and glanced up to see Sherlock's reflection looking back at him. They locked eyes in the window glass. The younger man had such an open, confused expression on his face that John felt most of the fight drain out of him.
After sighing heavily the doctor just shook his head and asked, "You really don't have any idea what you did wrong, do you?" John shifted in his seat to face his partner at last. "Sometimes you just…You can't alienate people like you do. Damon gave you no cause to treat him as terribly as you did back there. Whether you like it or not, we need his help and he's less likely to give it if you go burning bridges at every chance you get!"
His mercurial eyes stared back into John's indigo ones for what seemed like an endless amount of time. Sherlock's mind raced to explain what it was exactly that had caused his behavior back in Lestrade's office. He knew precisely why he behaved the way he did. Jealously, his inner voice whispered. There was no way he could articulate that to John.
Instead he replied, "You know that I'm not good in social situations—"
"Don't—just, don't go there," John cut him off. "That may be but when it counts, you are Mr. Socialite. What you did back there was something else entirely. And you have no idea how bloody embarrassing it is for me to constantly keep apologizing for you."
Sherlock silently pleaded with John to just drop it. But of course, he didn't because if one thing was for certain John was nothing if not tenacious. In that regard, he was not un-similar to the disposition of a bulldog.
"There was just something about him I didn't like," the genius said instead, hoping that his blogger would accept the weak excuse without pressing the matter further.
John gave him a deep, searching look and opened his mouth to respond when the cab rolled to a stop and their driver announced they had arrived at the destination Sherlock had provided. Knowing he was already on thin ice with the doctor, the detective reached into his wallet and took out enough money to cover their fare.
As they stepped out onto the pavement, the older man gave him another look that very clearly said the conversation was not over. But at least he was spared from having to continue the discussion as they entered the shop. John was so caught up in being angry with Sherlock that he failed to register the store they headed into until the unique scent of its merchandise hit him.
He dutifully trailed behind the genius as he went straight to one particular rack to pick something up from it. When Sherlock handed it to him, John took it with an incredulous expression. "What's this?" he asked.
"Well, hopefully your size," the detective stated as if it should have been obvious.
John looked down at the thing in his hand then back at his partner. "I'm not wearing these," he declared emphatically.
Wait-Damon Salvatore?! Where did he come from?! Haha-sorry, I had to. He's just so adorable that I just had to do it. He's such a badass and I could see him give Sherlock some major attitude if needed since he gives as good as he gets. ;D That and he's a sexy mo-fo. And a note on Damon's company-according to the Vampire Diaries canon, the Forty-fourth Virginian Infantry was his unit during the Civil War, if any of you were wondering. I felt no need to change that :P
I do love a jealous Sherlock! And those "this isn't over" conversations just seem to be piling up for our boys...I'm starting to feel uncomfortable with all this tension! And you know what the best cure for that is? Hot, angry sex. Try it some time. Wow-I'm in a mood! I'm done now, I promise...