I am so incredibly sorry for the delay! Suffice it to say that right now, my job sucks and has effected my ability to write :/ BUT-I hope that this chapter will make up for my absence...so this is my peace offering to you, my darlings. And the next chapter is almost done-I swear.
John came down the following morning to Sherlock in the same exact position as when had had left. He briefly wondered if his flat mate had moved at all. After deciding that he really didn't care, he made his way gingerly into the kitchen to start the kettle for his morning cuppa.
Sherlock smirked to himself as he watched his blogger's careful steps. Perhaps he should have warned John about the side effects of leather trousers, but this was just too amusing. Though he hoped that his good little doctor would have realized how utterly gorgeous his derriere looked in those trousers… Mmm…
As soon as that image crossed his mind, the genius grimaced and had to shift slightly in order to head off a problem that would have otherwise arisen from that track of thought. So instead, he immediately changed tracks and with a flurry of movement, was off the couch.
Hearing motion, the doctor turned to watch his partner stalk off down the hall. He just shook his head and went about his preparations as usual. Without a second thought, John began making Sherlock's tea as well. When he was adding the final touches with sugar, the genius appeared at his elbow.
"Here," Sherlock offered, handing him a little glass jar filled with a spicy-scented ointment. "This will help with the chafing."
John accepted the container and eyed it curiously. "Thanks. What is it?"
"Something of my own design," the detective remarked. "Works better than any of the creams out on the market." At his blogger's hesitation, Sherlock sighed in indignation and made a shooing motion with his hand. "Just put it on—you'll feel better."
"Umm, alright…" John finally agreed and headed into the loo with the jar clutched tightly in his hand.
Sherlock was taking the first sip of his tea when it occurred to him that he had forgotten to tell John some very crucial information about the ointment. In only a few strides of his long legs, the detective was standing outside the closed bathroom door. After hearing the hushed sound of a zip being pulled down, he called through the portal, "John?"
On the other side, there was a startled shriek and the smack of a hand being braced against the tiled wall. "What?!"
"I just thought I should tell you that it needs to be applied generously to the affected area," Sherlock explained.
"Okay—ta!"
"Oh! And John?"
"Yes?"
"You may want to take precaution to avoid contact with your genitals," the genius warned. "It also has the unfortunate side effect of working as a topical aphrodisiac when applied to sex organs."
That statement was met with the sound of several of the items on the sink being knocked to the floor. Sherlock smirked again and made his way back into the kitchen.
Several hours later, they were seated in the back of taxi headed on their way to the Admiral's Arms to question the recently returned Constantine. Lestrade had managed to convince one of the doormen to contact him when the vampire arrived back at the club. The DI had just texted Sherlock twenty minutes ago to inform them that they could go question the man.
Sherlock smirked to himself as he stared out the window and watched is beloved city fly by.
John indulged himself in a sideways glance at his partner and caught the smug expression on the younger man's face. "Well?" he asked finally.
"Go on and say it."
The doctor sighed and responded, "You were right."
"Of course I am. Are you feeling better then?"
"Yes—your ointment worked far better than anything I could have bought on the market," John praised. "Just one more thing in a long list that makes you remarkable."
The smirk morphed into a genuine smile at the compliment. "Well, I couldn't let you suffer, now could I? Technically I could have, but I need you at your best and if you're hobbling about due to a rash, it will slow down our progress."
Shaking his head, John laughed and turned to gaze out his window. "Of course it would," he muttered. Sherlock could never just do something nice without somehow having an ulterior motive behind it. Or, more to the point, the genius always needed to have others believe he did things for selfish reasons. But others weren't John—he knew better. Despite all his nattering on the matter, Sherlock was not a sociopath. But God forbid anyone ever think Sherlock was a decent, considerate person…
Luckily, the doctor was spared further contemplation on the matter when the cab finally pulled up in front of the nondescript entrance to the club. He turned and gave his partner a pointed look. With a heavy sigh indicating that he was highly inconvenienced, Sherlock dug out his wallet and paid their fare. Tab settled, they both slid out of the car. John grinned to himself as they stepped out onto the pavement.
"Oh—don't look so pleased with yourself," the consulting detective huffed as he jammed his hands into his coat pockets and strode towards the door. "Don't think you have me trained in any way."
Instinctually he reached for the door handle and pulled it open and stepped aside to let John enter first. The doctor couldn't help it, he burst out laughing as he stepped around Sherlock into the darkened foyer.
"Damnit!" the younger man exclaimed when he realized what he had done.
John's laughter trailed off into a giggles as he declared, "And they say that chivalry is dead!"
"Not a word to anyone," Sherlock hissed as they waited at the second inside entrance for someone to come let them in.
"Yes," John agreed, grinning ear to ear. "God forbid we ruin your reputation and let people think you're actually a decent bloke."
"That would be a travesty," the genius echoed as a skinny wisp of what John could only describe as a boy unlocked the door and held it open to let them in.
"Mr. Holmes?" the boy greeted as he leaned back to be able to look at Sherlock's face. Upon affirmation, the child waved them forward to indicate they should follow him. "Midnight said that he had spoken to DI Lestrade at Scotland Yard and that we should expect you. Said you were looking to speak with Master Constantine?"
"Um, yes—we are," the doctor replied before his partner could answer.
The boy nodded and led them through the main floor of the club to a dark hallway that was roped off to the right of the bar. "The Master has his own private quarters here."
John glanced around curiously, interested in the surroundings. The club looked significantly different with the lights on and without the massive crush of people. After having given a cursory glance at everything, the doctor returned his attention to their guide.
"No offense, but, um…are you old enough to actually be at this club?" he asked.
The boy laughed and stopped in front of a closed, padded leather door. "Yeah, I get that a lot. I'm nineteen, so don't worry—I'm here legally. And this is the Master's lair." He knocked on the door frame and waited for an answer within. When it was given, their guide swung the portal open and allowed them to step past him.
This room, like the rest of the club, was interesting. It was what John would consider a typical "vampire's lair". The walls were wallpapered with a black moiré satin and the seating was all antique settees and chairs with brass framework and deep red velvet cushions. The lighting was entirely comprised of candles, either set in wall sconces or in giant candelabras set around the room. On the floor, there was an expensive Persian rug in deep jewel tones that somehow managed to pull the whole look together. There was also a private entrance in the far right corner where the owner of these accommodations could come and go without his vast array of minions being aware.
And speaking of the master and his minions, the person whom John could only assume was Constantine was lounging on an oversized chair in the middle of the room surrounded by people fawning all over him. When Sherlock and the doctor stepped fully into the chamber, the man in question looked up at them with unveiled curiosity.
John's breath caught in his throat as he locked gazes with the stranger. His eyes were a stunning light green—an odd shade that the doctor had only seen once in his lifetime, a beautiful peridot. The man also had high distinctive cheekbones, though they weren't as prominent as his flat mate's since the vampire's face was fuller. If that wasn't enough, the man also had the same shade of curly hair as Sherlock's, only his was shoulder length. Based on the proportions of his limbs, John guessed that Constantine was even around the same height as his best friend. God, if Sherlock gained a few pounds, this man could be him…
"I'm sorry my darlings, can you please excuse us? Daddy has some business to attend to," the vampire said to his entourage without breaking eye contact with John.
Five of the six minions all slithered out of the room without another word. The last was a willowy platinum blond who was sitting on Constantine's lap with his arms around the other's shoulders. The doctor recognized him as one of the bartenders from the previous night.
"Dante, my love, could you go ensure that we are fully stocked for tonight? We mustn't upset the coven with a lack of alcohol," Constantine directed in a pleasingly smooth tenor.
Dante sighed as he slid off his lover's lap and sauntered past the detectives. He winked up at Sherlock and ran his hand down the genius' arm before purposely squeezing between the flat mates, brushing up against them both in turn. Sherlock clenched his jaw in aggravation at the unwanted touch while John merely smirked at his partner's discomfort.
"Please excuse him—Dante is rather young still and has not figured out that not everyone enjoys being manhandled," Constantine told them after observing the consulting detective's annoyance. "Terrible manners, that one despite all my teachings to the contrary."
"A full-time occupation I'm sure," John responded with a sympathetic smile for their host.
"Indeed it is," the vampire agreed with a laugh as he got to his feet. He crossed the distance between them and offered his hand first to the younger man. "You must be the great Sherlock Holmes. An honor to meet you." The genius shook the proffered hand with a slight upward curl of his lips that indicated that he was merely being polite for his blogger's sake.
Then the man turned to his blogger. "And you must be Doctor John Watson. It's truly a pleasure to finally meet you." His fingers gripped John's and lingered a little longer than was strictly necessary, as did his eye contact. "I read your blog and I must say—I find what you do…fascinating…"
The doctor blushed a little under the extra attention and prayed that his partner wouldn't notice. He did not want another tirade like yesterday's simply because the man had paid him a compliment. So he was relieved when the vampire master returned to his seat and indicated that they should sit with him.
"Now, tell me what I can do for you," Constantine stated. "One of my enforcers, Midnight, informed me that one of the fold was staked just yesterday morning and that a certain Detective Inspector Lestrade was here with you last evening asking questions."
"Yes, Mr…Constantine," Sherlock confirmed as he took a seat across from the vampire. "We were here last night to try and gain some insight into why someone might want to have harmed Mr. Chuck Werthnor, or Dimitri, as he was most likely known to you and your friends."
The vampire master leaned back in his chair and casually crossed his legs before replying, "He was a sweet young man. New to our coven. I do try to make every member feel comfortable. He seemed like he was making friends though. Dimitri was an easygoing bloke. Didn't have problems with anyone that I saw."
John frowned and asked, "So you're absolutely positive that there was no one baring a grudge against him that you can think of?"
Constantine shook his head. "No, can't say that I did. Though as much as I try to keep tabs on everyone in my coven, I simply can't be everywhere at once."
Sherlock sighed in frustration, feeling that this was turning out to be a waste of time after all. The master vampire noticed the detective's disappointment and added, "Though, what I don't pick up via observations, Dante is an invaluable in terms of gossip. Working at the bar, the patrons speak freely to him, seeing him as a harmless they tend to be loose-lipped. If you want gossip, he's the person you'll want to talk to. But there's been nothing out of the ordinary that I can recall—nothing that would raise a red flag, so to speak. Disputes between coven members are always brought immediately to my attention by my staff. I strive to make this a place of acceptance and harmony where my people can be who they are without judgment from the outside world. So I assure you, any grievances are dealt with immediately before they get out of hand."
Sherlock nodded, a thoughtful look on his face as he took in the vampire's words. "I would like to speak with Dante. He was rather busy last night tending the bar."
Constantine smiled, revealing long pointed fangs. "I had suspected you might. He's just out on the main floor stocking the bar. Dante will be happy to answer any questions you might have—I have already spoken with him on the matter and have informed him that he is to offer any assistance he can."
With that, the genius stood and regarded John a questioning expression. The doctor looked up and gave a slight nod that only his partner saw. Sherlock turned back to the vampire and replied, "While I do that, it would be helpful if you could tell John anything that comes to mind about your coven members—the tiniest detail might be a clue, even if it doesn't pertain to Dimitri. Perhaps there was a recent disagreement that he wasn't necessarily a main participant in but perhaps was a secondary party?"
"Yes, of course," Constantine placated. "Go do what you do best, Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson and I can entertain ourselves here, I promise you."
The tightening around the corners of his partner's eyes was the only indication that he was not pleased with the turn of events. He no doubt did not want to leave his blogger with this man, but he trusted John and this would go much more quickly if they split up the interviewing process.
The doctor turned and watched as his flat mate waltzed out of the room. He didn't bring his attention back to their host until the heavy door had shut with a definitive thud. Those odd green eyes regarded him with such an intense interest that it caused him to swallow hard.
"Tell me, Doctor," Constantine began with a predatory smile curling his full, sensual lips, "Fancy a night out with a vampire? Ever consider a little blood play?"
John gave a laugh at the blatant flirting. At least this bloke cut right to the chase. "You assume that this is my first time in the presence of sanguinarians."
Constantine's eyebrows shot up at the comment. "Oh? Do you enjoy it?"
"Depends on the other participant," John replied coyly. He had no idea what was possessing him to flirt with this man, but he couldn't help himself. Okay—if he was being honest with himself, John knew exactly why—Constantine looked so strikingly similar to his best friend that it would take very little to image that they were in fact the same person.
"What if I were to ask? Would you award me that honor?"
"Perhaps…"
"Blood is our life force, my dear doctor—though I know I needn't tell you. It's sacred, as is the bond between the giver and receiver of such a gift. I would never take unless it was freely offered," the vampire murmured, his stare burrowing into the older man's. The doctor had an odd feeling that they weren't just taking about blood anymore.
"Very poetic, romantic even," John answered. "And believe me—that is something you couldn't take unless I chose to give it."
Silence stretched between them as both men contemplated each other for several long moments. The vampire was the first to break it.
"But are you free to give?" wondered Constantine with a tilt to his head.
John blinked in surprise at the question and responded honestly, "I'm sorry? You mean am I involved with Sherlock? No—we're not—um, yeah, no."
"Forgive me, then. I assumed you and Mr. Holmes had a more intimate relationship," Constantine informed him.
That caused the doctor to laugh. "Yeah, people normally assume that. Not sure what that really says about us, but we're most definitely not together in that sense. And if you thought that, you were flirting quite heavily with an attached man then…"
The vampire merely shrugged and replied, "That's what I do. Bad habit. Caused many a jealous lover to become angry with me in my day."
He considered that momentarily before he stood up. "Well, I should just go check on him," John stated and rubbed the back of his neck as he gazed down at that expensive Persian rug.
"I've made you uncomfortable," Constantine declared softly as he also got to his feet and took a few steps to bring him closer to the doctor.
"What?" John asked in disbelief. "No—no, not at all. I should just go make sure he hasn't reduced your staff to tears. He tends to be a little forceful at times during his investigations if not held in check." With that, he turned his back on the other and headed towards the leather door leading to the club.
Suddenly there were strong arms embracing him from behind and a warmth that made him relax instantly into the hold. Yes—this is what he had been wanting for so long.
"You might not be involved with Mr. Holmes, but you would like to be," Constantine observed quietly, his hot breath ghosting over the delicate skin of John's ear. "I saw the way you looked at him. You want him. We bare a striking resemblance to one another—why not allow me to fulfil your fantasy. Pretend that I am him, if just for the night…"
~0_o~
Sherlock strode back into the private lounge with confidence, knowing he had finally acquired a bit of useful information from the "vampire's" boy toy. The grin on his face quickly dissolved into a ferocious snarl when he entered the room to find Constantine's arms wrapped around John's waist from behind. His blogger had his eyes closed and his head tilted to the side to allow the master better access to his neck.
The vampire murmured something too low for the genius to hear, but whatever was said caused his doctor to shiver. He watched, horrified, as John sighed and slid a hand up through Constantine's long, silky hair. Without realizing he had done so, a savage growl escaped Sherlock's throat.
In that instant, John's indigo orbs snapped open and locked onto his. "We're leaving, John. We have what we need," he ground out in irritation and then leveled vampire with a pointed stare, as if daring him to challenge him.
The doctor gave a nod and stepped out of the other man's embrace, intent on following his partner out the side door that led into an alley. There had been a strange fire in Sherlock's eyes—he wasn't sure if he should be thrilled or terrified by that look…
Just as he made it to the doorway, Constantine called out to him and he paused on the threshold to turn back to regard the vampire. "Oh, John?"
"Er, yes?"
"If you ever find yourself free from your tall, dark, and mysterious 'flat mate', let me know…I would love to…taste…you."
John just managed to stifle the whine threatening to spill from him by biting his bottom lip. He gave a nod before slipping out the door. It slammed shut behind him with a deafening bang that caused his anxiety level to ratchet up another notch. Sherlock was already several meters ahead of him so he had to jog to catch up.
"Sherlock! Would you just wa—"
Without warning the consulting detective spun around and slammed John against the brick wall. "What in God's name was that back there?!" Sherlock demanded as he effectively pinned his blogger using his additional height and long arms to cage the older man.
"With Constantine? What are you talking about?"
"You bloody well know what I'm talking about!" the genius hissed. "Why is it you only have the nerve to voice your attraction to me when you're drunk? Never have you once come to me sober asking for this kind of attention—but then these other men suddenly show up! And coincidentally, they happen to be just around my height, they have similar light eyes like mine, they have the same dark hair—save for the style. Are you noticing a pattern here yet, John? If you wanted me, all you had to do was say so…"
The doctor licked his lips nervously and was about to respond when Sherlock's mouth claimed his without further warning. That clever tongue thrust against his, staking ownership as a boney knee—attached to a surprisingly muscular thigh—forcefully parted his own. John reached up and grabbed onto his best friend's arms for support as all the blood in his body seemed to be automatically diverted straight to his cock, leaving him dizzy and lightheaded.
He let out a frustrated groan when that thigh between his rocked into his groin.
"Finally willing to admit it?" Sherlock questioned, that strange fire was back in his blue-green eyes again. It caused butterflies to flutter in the older man's stomach.
John weakly replied, "But you're married to your work."
"Yes—and you're not gay, but as you said the other night, 'I'll make an exception for you'."
He was helpless as he stared back into that all-knowing gaze, mesmerized by the intensity of those eyes now so close to his own. John swallowed several times in attempt to say something—anything—but nothing came out. Sherlock solved that quite easily by taking speech off the table when his lips one again descended on his blogger's.
This time, John was better prepared for the onslaught and fought for dominance of the kiss. He nipped at Sherlock's lower lip and as soon as that cupid's bow parted at the sensation, the doctor swept in and demanded surrender. The genius, however was not willing to relinquish control and it resulted in the harsh clashing of teeth and split lips.
Never one to fight fair when he could so do underhandedly, Sherlock reached his right hand down and palmed John's erection through his trousers. The resulting gasp awarded him dominance over the kiss and the younger man wasted no time in thoroughly plundering his blogger's mouth.
Then like a blitz attack, Sherlock's calloused musician's hand swiftly unbuttoned his jeans and pulled down the zip before it plunged into the front of his trousers and down into his pants to stroke him root to tip.
John tore his mouth away from his partner's and wheezed at the unexpected contact. He threw his head back against the wall and tried to catch his breath.
"Oh, look how hard you are for me," the detective stated right before he latched onto the exposed skin of his blogger's neck. He licked and sucked at his pulse point, knowing that it would turn the doctor on even more. He twisted his wrist and pumped his hand up and down in the manner that he himself preferred—and the way that his companion responded said that the older man also liked it very much.
"Tell me, John," Sherlock's low voice rumbled in his ear, causing a very curious spine-tingling reaction, "do you think about me when you pleasure yourself?"
All the doctor could do in response was moan at the glorious pressure those long, violinist fingers were awarding him. God! Having someone else's hand wrapped around his cock had never felt this good before! Of course, none of those other hands were ever Sherlock's, his brain supplied unhelpfully.
"Well? Answer me!" the detective barked as his fingers squeezed unmercifully tighter, bringing a sharp edge of pain along with the pleasure. Heaven help him, but John absolutely loved it.
When he opened his mouth to respond, his first inclination was to tell Sherlock to fuck off, or to lie…but that's not what he did. The filter between his thoughts and his mouth had completed disengaged somewhere in the process, so John told his mad flat mate the truth. No doubt the genius would have known he was lying if he had anyway. "Yes! Alright?! Yes! Think 'bout your lips wrapped 'round me—" John choked out, gripping his best friend's biceps through that bloody coat.
"Mmm, of course you do," Sherlock purred against his throat. His silver-edged tongue laved at the sensitive skin just below John's ear, causing the doctor's knees to go weak. "I'm so very proud of you—finally being able to admit your attraction to me. I catch you doing it, you know? I see it when you stare at me when you think I'm not paying attention, or the way you watch my mouth when I speak…how listening to my deductions turns you on—don't think I don't notice you trying to subtly shift around trying to alleviate the pressure of your hard on at a crime scene—you're good, John, but not that good. I see everything."
"Sherlock!"
"Yes—don't you ever forget that it's me you lust after! It's me you fantasize about in bed—because trust me, John—no other man can compare to me," the genius continued as he quickened the motion of his hand, setting a brutal rhythm that he knew would bring his partner to a razor's edge within seconds.
"Please, Sh'lock!" the older man begged. "Gonna—" Before he could finish the statement, Sherlock materialized a silk handkerchief from somewhere and the brush of its softness against the overly sensitized tip of his shaft caused John to go over.
He parted his lips to scream but found Sherlock's tongue forcing its way into his mouth instead, swallowing his cries with a fierce possessive kiss as the doctor's orgasm ripped through him with blinding intensity.
They were both silent for several long moments afterwards, raggedly breathing in the same air. And then just like that, Sherlock seemed to come to his senses and took a step back. John forced his eyes opened at the sudden lack of warmth and regarded his best friend with no small amount of trepidation. The silk handkerchief disappeared in the same manner that it had appeared, and that stoic mask he hated so much had descended back over the younger man's features.
Sherlock blinked once before turning on his heels and stalking down the narrow passageway without saying a word, leaving a very confused John sagging against the rough brick wall wondering what in the hell had just happened.