Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Steven Moffat et Al and the BBC. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: explicit sex, strong language
Summary: When Sherlock is shot and lies dying, John confesses what he has come to realise; that he is in love with his friend and cannot go on without him. This confession leads to revelations about Sherlock and vampires, of all things, and sets their relationship onto a whole new path.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Soph for the beta. Come on, everyone on my flist had to be expecting this: new fandom = new vamp fic :).
Word Count: 5,129
Prequel to: The Needy, More Mundane Needs
My Fanfic Listings (LJ) | My Fanfic Listings (DreamW)
It was all too impossible; the killer was dead, taken down by a shot from John's gun, but Sherlock was also lying on the pavement. There was a large red hole in Sherlock's abdomen and he was bleeding out onto the ground and there was nothing John could do about it. The wound was too large, the bleeding too profuse, he could barely even slow it down.
"Sherlock," he said urgently, "Sherlock look at me, concentrate; you are not going to die, you hear me."
He was emphatic, it could not end like this, Sherlock Holmes was not allowed to die.
"I fear that may be inevitable," was what Sherlock replied in a very tight but strangely calm voice.
"No," was his instant response; "I don't care what logic says or what reason is telling you, you are not going to die. Lestrade will be here any minute with the cavalry and we'll get you to hospital and you'll be fine."
He could see how much blood there was on the ground, he had seen men die of wounds like this before, but he refused to admit it was happening. It had taken him months of self reflection and endless dates with women he never saw again after the first time to finally admit to himself that he was more than a little in love with his flatmate and he wasn't about to lose him. He'd been trying to figure out how to bring it up or decide if he even should and there was no way Sherlock was dying now.
"You have to live," he told Sherlock resolutely, "I can't go back to how it was before. Without you I'll go mad, I'll end up shooting myself or someone else just to break the boredom."
"Take up skydiving," was the unhelpful response and it was weaker than the first.
Sherlock was dying and he couldn't stop it.
"I told you not to die," he said pointedly, feeling completely useless, "now that's an order."
"I'm not a soldier," was the whispered reply.
Those beautiful pale eyes slipped shut and John couldn't take it anymore.
"Don't you dare," he said desperately, "not when I finally realised I love you."
He did not really expect Sherlock's eyes to snap back open, but the relief at seeing even a little life still in his friend was palpable.
"Love?" Sherlock more mouthed than said, since there was no sound John could discern.
"Yes," he replied, not caring about anything but the man lying there bleeding, "and yes, I know that makes me a fool, but I can't help it. Now you are not going to die, because you can't leave me alone to deal with the knowledge I have lost the first man I have ever been gay for."
It was a ridiculous speech, but it was all he had. The only thing between Sherlock and death was Sherlock's will, he was sure of it, because modern medicine was taking a hell of a long time to get there.
They were in a dimly lit warehouse on the ground floor and John could hear the sirens, but they sounded too distant. He saw red reflect off Sherlock's eyes and he looked up, hoping his ears were playing tricks on him and someone would be coming, but there was nothing. Then he was grabbed by arms that felt as if they could be made out of steel and he almost cried out until he saw Sherlock's face. Sherlock's skin had never been so pale and the red glow was not coming from an outside source; it was Sherlock's eyes. As John saw fangs coming towards him he felt his mind disconnect and his last thought was of teeth slicing into his skin.
John woke up lying on their sofa and he sat up rapidly wondering if he'd been having another nightmare. It wouldn't have been the first time he had dreamed of losing Sherlock; that had been one of the things that had clued him in to what was going on inside his head. His head was aching slightly and his neck twinged, but that wasn't unusual either and he was beginning to believe the nightmare hypothesis when he looked round and saw Sherlock just standing there.
The most significant thing about the whole event was the fact that Sherlock's shirt was completely covered in red that was rapidly turning dark brown. Everything that had happened hit John full force and his mind flailed a little bit trying to cope.
"You bit me," John said in his best incredulous tone as his brain tried to process everything, "you actually bit me."
His hand went to his neck and he discovered a very tender spot, but there was no wound; which just sent him mind into another spiral of disbelief.
"Well you were insistent I not die," Sherlock replied in a good impression of his usual detached tone, but John could tell there was strain there; "it was the only way to avoid the inevitable."
It was all utterly insane and yet fitted so perfectly that John was having trouble freaking out entirely.
"You're a vampire," he said, since he had definitely seen the fangs.
Being a soldier had meant taking in the facts, accepting them and dealing with them, which put him in very good stead, because the little civilian part of his brain was having a panic attack.
"Yes," Sherlock replied, but did not explain.
So many things kind of made sense now, but other just simply didn't.
"Have you been a vampire since I met you?" he had to ask, because facts just didn't quite add up.
"I was born a vampire," was the surprising response.
That just didn't seem right; he'd seen Sherlock nearly killed on several occasions and he couldn't believe a vampire would let that happen to them. The speed with which Sherlock had pounced on him, the strength that had held him, had not been that of a normal person.
"But," he said, trying to form his thoughts into something sensible, "why ... when ... I've never seen you anything but human."
Sherlock appeared a little off balance at that.
"I have never before allowed my vampire nature to the surface," was the startling admission.
"What?" he couldn't help the rather confused tone; this was making less sense by the second. "Why?"
There was a very uncomfortable expression on Sherlock's face, very unusual for the self confessed sociopath and Sherlock finally sat down.
"My father is human, my mother is a vampire," Sherlock said after a few moments, "and before you ask, yes, Mycroft is the same. Vampires are, in evolutionary terms, predators; it is why my mind works so much faster than a normal human's, it is also why I do not understand human interaction as you do. I feel disconnected from the human race because I am."
John could see how that could be true, but he waited for the rest of the information he knew was coming.
"However, I chose not to become a full vampire, which I could have done at any time until puberty was complete," Sherlock continued, seemingly needing to make all the facts known now that he had started. "I allowed my vampire nature to remain as dormant as it ever can be and I did not believe the circumstances would ever exist that would change that decision."
Why Sherlock had not wanted to use his vampire side was probably long and complicated, so John decided to leave that for later and went on to the more pressing details.
"So dying changed that?" he asked, since it was the only logical conclusion he could find in what appeared to be the mess reality had become at that moment.
"No," was the firm and instant response.
Sometimes having conversations with Sherlock was like doing a crossword puzzle without the clues.
"You're going to have to explain that if you want me to understand," he said without bothering to pretend he knew what was coming next.
The expression on Sherlock's face really was worried, not something he saw very often. It stayed that way for several seconds, which in Sherlock terms was an eternity.
"You are the circumstances," Sherlock said eventually in an exasperated tone as if this was all his fault and John really couldn't work out how that could possibly be true.
"How on earth could I have anything to do with vampires?" he asked, honestly confused.
Sherlock's expression became pained.
"You have a," Sherlock paused for a moment, clearly thinking through his options, "certain effect on me."
That was news.
"I have been disregarding it since I first met you," Sherlock told him, "but when you made such outrageous claims while I lay dying I was not strong enough to resist my urges."
John sat there with his mouth open for a while.
"Are you saying you've wanted to bite me since the moment we met?" he asked, totally caught off guard by the idea.
He really didn't expect the very intense stare that came back at him.
"Oh, yes," was the resolute response.
Sherlock's eyes were even paler than usual and John was almost sure they kind of glittered with little red specks. His breathing sped up and he felt his heart beating faster, all without his consent, as was the stirring of his cock. He felt a little like he was falling as the sound of blood rushed through his ears and it was almost as if Sherlock's eyes were swallowing him.
Then Sherlock blinked and was on his feet and moving into the kitchen, all agitated angles.
"I'm sorry," he heard as he dragged his wits back under his own control, "I am unused to such strong urges."
John wasn't used to such strong urges either, but that didn't stop him standing up and following Sherlock into the next room.
"What does this mean, Sherlock?" he asked, fully aware that things were happening he did not understand. "I need more information, because, I don't get it."
Sherlock looked at him again then, that pained expression on his face once more.
"I've tasted you," Sherlock said and it sounded like a confession, "and now I want more."
"Like a drug?" he asked and his friend half nodded, half shrugged. "So you want to eat me?"
"In a manner of speaking," was the cryptic reply.
John put his hands on his hips.
"I think the time for avoidance is over," he said pointedly, "what aren't you telling me?"
Sherlock's face finally took on a familiar expression and John decided he was being analysed. There was no point in arguing with Sherlock when he was in that mode, so John stared back and waited. There was no rushing a genius at work.
"While you walked in here I calculated the fastest of twenty two methods for removing all of your clothes," Sherlock said eventually.
That was not what John had expected and he gaped for a moment or two. His cock twitched again, which was more than a little distracting, however he also had a very well developed survival instinct.
"Does sex end up with me bloodless and dead?" he asked just to make sure and he felt his body react even more before his mind got there.
"A few centilitres light maybe," Sherlock replied and there was an almost manic gleam in those pale eyes, "but nothing worse."
They were poised on the edge of a cliff, John could feel it and for a moment he wondered if perhaps he had lost his mind, but then decided he didn't care.
"Don't you believe in empirically proving all of your theories?" he asked and stood straight, looking his flatmate, a vampire, directly in the eyes.
There was a second when Sherlock hesitated, so he widened his eyes just a little, knowing it was the only instruction Sherlock would need. After that, he discovered just how strong and fast Sherlock really was now and just how quickly it was possible for a determined vampire to remove clothes. He ended up on his back on their new rug with Sherlock on top of him half clothed. He couldn't help staring at Sherlock's chest where there should have been a bullet wound, or at least a scar and there was nothing and it made his blood pump all the more quickly. His cock was harder than it had been in longer than he cared to admit and he didn't really care what Sherlock had in mind as long as he got on with it right then.
What caught him entirely by surprise was Sherlock's eyes going a deep shade of red and then Sherlock pushing off of him, turning towards the door and literally snarling. There was a phutt sound and Sherlock tensed and then John found himself with armfuls of unconscious vampire. He looked towards the door to see Mycroft and not!Anthea standing in the doorway, the second of whom was holding a hand gun and there was a dart sticking out of Sherlock's back.
"What the hell did you do that for?" he demanded and wondered if it sounded as desperate out loud as it did in his head.
"Sherlock is very dangerous in his current state," Mycroft said as if it was obvious, "when he attacked you I thought it best to intervene."
"He didn't attack me," John replied in a pointed tone, not that he didn't realise how ridiculous his current predicament was, "at least not until I invited him to."
One of Mycroft's eyebrows rose.
"Oh," was the short response.
He reached round and pulled the dart out of Sherlock's back.
"Well this is awkward," Mycroft said, but without the least sense of apology in the words.
"Exactly," John replied and threw the dart onto the floor, "now how long is he going to be out."
"About fifteen minutes," was the immediate response.
The possibility of being embarrassed did cross John's mind, but clearly he had been chasing around after Sherlock too long because all he felt was annoyance. He didn't even care if not!Anthea got an eyeful, but was saved the awkwardness of such a proposition by the woman turning and leaving.
"Right," he said deciding on action rather than recriminations, "we should have just about enough time to get Sherlock into bed and you out the door before he wakes up ready to kill you."
"He really is very dangerous," Mycroft said with a small frown.
"Yes, well he's always been very dangerous, it's just a little more immediate now, and he happens to be very dangerous and mine," he replied, very firm about that last part, "now if you wouldn't mind, he's heavier than he looks."
Mycroft actually appeared somewhat shocked by his declaration and it seemed to urge the man into helping. John chose to ignore the fact he was completely naked and went with necessity rather than modesty as they half walked, half carried Sherlock to his room.
"Nothing to worry about Mrs Hudson," he said as they passed the startled woman in the hall from where she had clearly rushed up to find out what all the fuss was about, "you can go back to bed."
"Right you are, John," was the surprisingly calm reply and then she was heading back to her own rooms.
Clearly being associated with Sherlock had a similar affect on all people in that they became impervious to strange things.
The bed in Sherlock's room was unmade, but surprisingly free of clutter, so John wasted no time in making sure Sherlock was comfortable.
"Right, well, goodbye," he said pointedly to Mycroft as soon as they had Sherlock safely on the bed.
The bed would probably be easier than the floor on his back anyway, which was the one plus point he could find about the situation.
"Good luck, Dr Watson," was what Mycroft replied, "I think you may need it."
He did not glorify that with a response and just shut the bedroom door behind Sherlock's brother in the knowledge that the man knew the way out. Then he considered the problem of Sherlock, because if there was one thing he was sure of it was that Sherlock was going to be very, very annoyed when he woke up. Sherlock was normally a whirlwind when he was annoyed, so John had no illusions that dealing with him as an annoyed vampire would not be more of a challenge. He was definitely going to need a battle plan and he let his eyes run over the pale figure of the man he had every intention of making his lover.
The first thing he decided was that Sherlock was less likely to go charging after his brother if he was completely naked, so he set about pulling off Sherlock's remaining clothes. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't as if it was the first time he had removed clothes from an unconscious person. Once that was done, his next problem was how to keep Sherlock's attention firmly on him and not allowing it to wander to anything else. He knew that once he had Sherlock's focus he could keep it, but he had to get it first and with that thought in mind he climbed onto the bed and straddled the recumbent figure. Then he leant forward, planted his hands either side of Sherlock's head and waited. It was not the most comfortable of positions for his shoulder, but he was well aware that when it came to Sherlock Holmes, maximum impact was required.
When Sherlock's eyes flicked open and went instantly red in the fraction of a second before Sherlock focused on him, he knew he had made the right decision. He felt Sherlock's muscles flex and then freeze.
"A misunderstanding," he said from only inches above Sherlock, "he's gone and I think we were busy."
There was indignation on Sherlock's features, but also lust and John was pretty sure he knew which would win.
"I believe you have a point; I will deal with my brother later," Sherlock eventually said and then John found himself losing control of the situation again as he was efficiently flipped onto the bed with Sherlock on top of him. "We would not want to put too much strain on your shoulder, John," Sherlock told him, eyes still red, but hungry in an entirely different way, "at least not until you've had some practice."
Sherlock's tone held so much promise that John felt most of his blood rushing to his cock.
"Since I have already penetrated you this evening," Sherlock said, smiling and flashing a fang at him, "I believe it would only be fair to pay you the same courtesy."
"Oh god," was what John said as his body just about screamed yes to that idea.
He hadn't been this turned on, well possibly ever.
Leaning over, Sherlock plucked a tube of KY from somewhere and John decided not to ask about it. He was pretty sure he would either get a description of something that would blow his mind or the short answer of 'an experiment', either way he was more interested in what was currently going on.
"Since we are both more than adequately aroused," Sherlock said, sitting back and resting above him, "I believe long and drawn out foreplay to be unnecessary, but it you wish to engage in further titillation I am willing to oblige."
It may have sounded cold to some people, but John knew that for Sherlock that was incredibly thoughtful, however, he was very much with his soon-to-be-lover on the lack of need for playing around.
"No," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "you're right, we can save that for another day."
The wicked smile Sherlock gave him made him think Sherlock had already begun to plan. Then with a practicality that some might have found off putting, Sherlock popped the top on the lube, spread a large dollop on his fingers and reached behind himself. John couldn't help the little moan as he watched Sherlock calmly and efficiently begin to prepare himself. Sherlock's cock was proud and hard, bobbing just occasionally as Sherlock moved and John couldn't see what Sherlock was doing with his fingers, but he could imagine. The idea of anyone doing that had never really appealed to him before, but, right about then, if he wasn't careful, he was going to come just from watching.
Sherlock's face was the picture of concentration and that expression did funny things to John and he couldn't just lie there anymore waiting. He reached out, brushing his fingers over Sherlock's cock and watching carefully for the response to see if his touch was welcome or not. This time he was the one who managed to illicit a moan out of Sherlock rather than the other way around.
"Tell me if it's too much," he said as he followed up on the touch with another, less tentative one and Sherlock just breathed out heavily in reply.
Not once did Sherlock stop what he was doing, or even pause, but John could see the reactions nonetheless as he continued to play. He had had another man's cock in his hands before, but he didn't think medicals and stitching up what would have been a missing bollock had the wound been an inch to the left counted, so he set about enjoying the experience. Sherlock's cock was longer than his, but not as thick he didn't think and it felt a lot different touching someone else's. He liked it, especially when he could make Sherlock's face twist with pleasure and Sherlock's breath to come in little gasps.
"Enough," Sherlock finally said and John wasn't sure if his lover was talking to him or himself, but they both stopped what they were doing.
The way Sherlock looked at him, eyes heavy lidded, expression just on the right side of controlled, had him trembling inside. This was the closest he had ever seen Sherlock to letting go and it excited him more than he could have imagined. He realised, of course, that he was putting his trust in Sherlock, but that Sherlock was equally as trusting of him to drop his guards simply blew his mind.
When Sherlock lifted himself up, positioning his body over John's with careful precision, the slick, warm heat and pressure that began to engulf him, took his breath away, but that was only half of it. That part had his nerves singing and his blood pumping. That part caused his muscles to shake with need and him to moan quietly, but the intimacy, the coming together, that was what made his insides tremble.
His body sang with desire and pleasure as Sherlock sank onto him; it felt incredible and he placed his hands on Sherlock's waist to help brace his lover. As Sherlock slowly began to move and John's cock slid in and out of that slick hole, it was more intense than he had dared dream it would be. He'd never been overly adventurous when it came to sex, not pushing the boundaries like he had seen some of his comrades do to get the next high, and he had only recently begun to wonder what sex with a man could be like. So far it out stripped everything he had imagined.
He wanted to reach out and touch, to do all sorts of things, but he kept his hands firm in their hold, acting at Sherlock's brace. His hold was strong and true and the metaphor for their lives did not escape him, even in the heat of passion. He was in love with this ethereal, maddening, sometimes torturous, but magnificent being and it was the most wonderful thing in the world. Sherlock rode him slowly and boldly and he left himself relish every second.
"Good," Sherlock said, eventually slowly coming to a halt looking down at him, eyes bright, "better than I expected."
There was a wild look about Sherlock, an intensity in his gaze that told John he had all of Sherlock's attention. For most people that was a scary thing, but not for John, he basked in it.
"Better than other times?" he asked and smiled, unable to help himself.
He did have an ego after all, he was just good at letting it sit in the background.
"Never tried this before," was the surprising confession, "I have never felt it worth the effort. It seems I was wrong."
John felt his insides twist in a completely delicious way.
"Oh god," he said, since it was the only thing that came to mind.
"Not quite," was the mischievous response and then Sherlock was leaning down over him and he lifted up to meet the kiss.
He had always found that kissing during sex was problematic, interrupting the rhythm and distracting him, but when he kissed Sherlock he didn't care about anything else. The rhythm could be dammed for all he cared as they remained joined, bodies pushed close together and the kissing was anything but distracting. He let his hands roam over Sherlock's back, running his fingers over the soft skin and he relished every touch. With the way Sherlock plundered his mouth, kissing definitely had its up points.
When Sherlock pulled back there was a flush on that pale skin and Sherlock was breathing hard.
"My control is slipping," Sherlock said in a breathless tone.
John had no idea what is must be like to be at the mercy of a vampire's needs, but he could see the strain in his lover's body. This was not supposed to be about control anyway.
"Then let it slip," he said, thinking he was ready for what was to come.
However, Sherlock must have been more desperate than he seemed, because his human guise fell away instantly and John found himself looking up at a creature out of legend. Sherlock's hair was like midnight against skin that was alabaster pale and long, white fangs were easily visible in Sherlock's half open mouth, but it was the eyes that grabbed most of his attention. Not red this time, not completely, but glowing silver with an equally vivid red ring; like nothing John had ever seen, not even on Sherlock.
"I need you, John," Sherlock said, leaning close to him so their faces were only centimetres apart, "like nothing I have ever needed before."
For a moment John looked into those beautiful, intoxicating eyes and then he gave up any resistance he had left.
"I'm all yours," he said in little more than a whisper.
When Sherlock's fangs slid into his throat it hurt, so much in fact that it made his eyes water, but somehow that just made everything better. 'Just about fucking perfect' was the phrase that ran through his head and he had just about enough time to realise quite how kinky that was before his orgasm hit like a steam train and he got to enjoy the high before he promptly passed out.
The first thing he realised when he woke up was that he was alone on the bed, but he had not been covered up. It was a little chilly, but he did not immediately move to pull the blanket over from where it had ended up to the side. Sherlock was not in the bed, but without even looking, John could tell that his lover was still in the room. His eyes flicked over to the corner and the tall figure standing there. It was never really dark in London and the light coming in through the curtains was enough so he could see the outline of Sherlock's lithe body, but what caught his attention were his lover's eyes.
Sherlock's eyes were always pale, but it was as if they were illuminated from within, and not red this time, just an intensifying of their normal hue. The most significant thing, however, was that John knew they were on him, that Sherlock had been watching him and still was; that intense gaze was only for him.
"Come to bed," he said, moving over and making room beside him; "we're going to have to deal with Lestrade in the morning."
It had to be going on for two in the morning anyway, but a little sleep was better than no sleep and Sherlock required it just like mere mortals even if he pretended he didn't. John was working on the hypothesis that Sherlock's vampire nature might no longer be dormant, but that his metabolism couldn't have changed that much. Besides which, he wanted Sherlock in bed with him.
"I could deal with Lestrade in my sleep," Sherlock told him, but more significantly, pushed away from the wall and walked towards him.
"Yes, well I can't," John replied and smiled as his lover climbed back onto the bed.
"This bed is not designed for two," Sherlock pointed out even as John reached over and pulled the blanket over both of them.
"It's fine," he replied and made himself comfortable by partially draping himself over Sherlock's long frame.
"You are simply ridiculously sentimental," was the comeback for that.
John didn't care, smiling cheerfully to himself. His whole body was relaxed in a way that was only possible after a mind blowing orgasm, but he wasn't quite sleepy enough to drop off, so he let himself enjoy the closeness for a while. It had been a long time since he had wanted to be this close to someone.
"So," he said, waiting for his brain to start shutting down, "how are vampires and sunlight."
"Ridiculous myth," was the succinct response, "can you honestly imagine evolution allowing a predator to be allergic to sunlight?"
It was something that had made John always look on vampire legends as totally implausible.
"How about blood," he asked his next question, "how often will you need it?"
Sherlock did not reply to that one immediately.
"I do not need it," Sherlock eventually told him, "I am still technically only half vampire and hence normal food can supply all my nutritional needs."
That wasn't the whole answer.
"But," John prompted, since he knew there was more.
"I fear that during sex I may not be able to help myself," was the short confession, "although, having experienced it, I believe I will be able to train myself to take no more than a mouthful."
John couldn't help himself, he shuddered at that revelation and felt his cock twitch where it was currently pressed up against Sherlock's thigh.
"Ah," was Sherlock's instant reaction, "I see that will not be a problem."
With a groan John buried his face in Sherlock's shoulder; he was too old for this.