Chapter Text
John stood on the roof of Saint Bart's, the hospital he'd founded, the place he'd met his best friend, the place he'd fallen in love. Guilt ate at his soul, defiling every piece of him. He felt dirty, disgusting. The blood that flowed through his veins, that kept him alive, was that of his best friend, the man he had come to love as he did no other. But it hadn't been given willingly, it had been taken, and Sherlock had paid for it with his life.
He hadn't been the only casualty that day either. The doctor's second victim had been the French vampire who had been foolish enough to hold him captive and starve him, though many of John's own allies had died as well. It pained John to think that he had killed those who were trying to help him, though it did not measure up to the pain of what he'd done to Sherlock. His thoughts turned, as they always seemed to now, on the events of three days prior.
Bill and Benedicta had returned from their battle in the dungeons, where the killer had set a trap for them, to find John in a full-blown Blood Rage. Working together, they'd managed to keep him distracted long enough for Shmuel to teleport him into Hell, where the Devil was better equipped to deal with him. The remaining forces had then been free to wipe out the last of the Frenchman's defenses and found Mordecai in one of the bedrooms, under the influence of the Eternal Sleep.
Instead of becoming weak, vampires deprived of blood grew terribly powerful. As the magic running through their bodies became less and less diluted, they would become more impossible to control. Some vampires would do this to themselves on purpose before entering a battle, but the costs were great. There were recorded cases of vampires deprived for such extended times that they were driven permanently insane. Shame colored John's shattered heart at the knowledge that he had not even recognized Sherlock as he tore into the other's neck, not that recognition would have been likely to stop him.
His mind flickered back to the night when their rag tag group had first confronted the Frenchman in the warehouse trap, what felt like an eternity ago. The villain had told John he was a monster…and it was true. The blonde raised his hands to stare at them, stained with blood he had long-since scrubbed away. Three days after the fact and he could still feel the thick, tangy blood of the man who had been his world coating his mouth.
The door to the roof creaked open and John didn't have to turn to know who it was. He could feel their presence beating within his very soul. Spawn were like that.
"Kristen."
"I felt it through the bond and came as quick as I could. Benedicta told me what happened…are you alright?"
"No…I cannot undo what has already been done." Kristen was one of the most level-headed of his spawn, though she was not the oldest. She knew better than to continue on with the topic as hand, choosing instead to remain silent until John spoke again. "Several of your brothers have already arrived. Magdalen arrived yesterday, but had to carry on."
"Another issue with the demon of hers?"
"It would appear."
John could tell Kristen was nodding, even though he couldn't see her.
"I will leave you alone then, Sire. If my bond is correct, I have a brother waiting to speak with you. I will go check on the others."
John nodded, staying silent as his spawn left the rooftop. She exchanged quiet words with her brother waiting inside the door before moving on and allowing his access to their Sire. His near-silent footsteps approached until the two were both standing just behind him.
"This is where you died the first time…where you jumped…I had never felt so useless as when you were standing on that ledge and, for all my power, I knew I could not get to you. I lost you that day, when Moriarty took you from me, and I lost you again in France. Only this time, I was the reason you were gone."
Sherlock scoffed as he stepped up beside the man, a faint current of magic running beneath his skin.
"Benedicta told me what happened, seems she's doing a lot of that lately. Really, though, you'd been held captive and tortured by a delusional French vampire, I think you could get a pass on acting a bit out of character."
John felt anger bubbling up with in. He didn't understand it. How could Sherlock just stand there like nothing was wrong? How could he just go around like John hadn't tried to kill him?
"You were dead, Sherlock! I ripped your throat out and went on to slaughter others without a single thought! I never should have taken you to that club…I should have kept you out of this world…"
"Don't be an idiot, John. I got myself into this world. If you hadn't gotten me into it then someone else would have and then I would likely still be dead. At least this way it was a little less permanent."
"Permanent? Permanent?! You're a vampire now, Sherlock! It doesn't get much more permanent that that!"
John threw his hands up in the air with frustration and turned away, back towards London's skyline.
"Good thing you decided to make that Anti-Glamour potion using your own blood, then, wasn't it? Besides, it's not all bad. My new abilities and access will do great things for my Work. Really, I should be thanking you."
John dragged a hand over his face, unable to handle the situation presented to him. He'd always viewed his vampiric nature as a curse despite the ability it gave him to help others. These days made it easier, but John would never be able to forget the centuries where surviving meant killing humans for food. Now, to have inflicted that curse upon the man he cared about more than any other…
"I was supposed to protect you…"
It seemed that Sherlock had no answer for that and the silence stretched between them for several minutes. John eventually turned back to stand beside his best friend, the two overlooking the city they loved. They stood there for some time longer before Sherlock finally found his voice.
"The second night you knew me, you raced across London and shot a man to save my life. Since then, you have jumped into countless dangerous situations," Sherlock actually could and had counted them, but that was hardly the point, "with hardly a thought to your own safety. You have always had my back, from the moment we met."
John opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock shushed him. He wasn't done yet.
"You are unlike any person I have ever met. You waited three years for me to return when you couldn't even be sure I was alive. You are my best friend, John Watson, and more precious to me than anyone I have ever known." John watched as Sherlock took a deep breath and appeared to steady himself. "When we were in Hell, I had to swear an oath to Udi in order to secure his help. I swore to him that I would tell you how I felt, once we got you back. I see now, though, that I would have done it anyway."
The two turned to face each other and John's heart pounded like a drum within his chest, feeling as though it could burst at any second. Sherlock's face bore nothing but seriousness.
"Lord Doctor John von Hamish, Duke-grandee of Alba of Spain, Marquis of Aguilar de Campoo, Count of Lemos, Infante de Espana, Knight of the Round Table, Freiherrlich Uradel, Alter Adel, The Forgotten's Champion, Knight of the Cross, Founder of the Crusified, The Blood Healer, Boyar, The Much Honored Champion of the Court of Lord Lyon King of Arms, Legion's Heir, Blogger of Sherlock Holmes, Sysselmann to the High King of Norway, Huskarl of the Royal Guard, Wrangler of New Scotland Yard, Earl of Undershaw, First Hertug to King Hakon Magnusson, Founder of Saint Bart's Medical Hospital, Courtship of Brahesminde, Conjurer of Milk, Captain of Belmonte duPrie, Greatest Tea-Maker in all of the United Kingdom, Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, Grandmaster of Haidong Kumdo and Bartistu, Uniter of Packs, Keeper of the Cardinal Sins, Head Councilman of The Order of The Ud de I, Co-Author of the Tome of Laws, First Enforcer, Teacher of Kells, Sire of The Holy Blood, once-Gatekeeper to the Hells, and Champion of All…I love you and I will never for a moment regret that I now may do so for all eternity."
John gaped as him, struggling to find his voice.
"You…remembered all of that? Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, this is you we're talking about."
Sherlock's face morphed into the emotionless mask he so often wore when encountering feelings that he didn't wish for others to see. John almost kicked himself when his mind caught up with his mouth.
"No. I'm sorry. I am such an idiot. I didn't mean that." He smiled apologetically before turning serious once more. "What I meant to say was…I love you, too."
He reached out with one hand to brush the tips of his fingers lightly over the detective's high cheekbones, savoring the shocked look on the other's face. Sliding his fingers into curly, dark hair, John pulled the other down until their faces were so close that their breath mingled. The blonde's eyes flickered from Sherlock's own, down to his lips, and back.
Their first kiss was tentative, neither quiet believing that what they were doing was real. It wasn't long before Sherlock had his long, elegant fingers clutching the front of John's sweater and there was hardly a breath of air between them. Lips moved against one another in a dance of passion and life, forming a release for the pent up sexual tension of an entire relationship.
Finally breaking apart, the two rested their foreheads together, both smiling like idiots. John stroked a thumb over Sherlock's cheek and the other leaned into the pleasant touch.
"Come on, let's go home."
It was surprisingly easy for them to settle back into life at 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson had been worried sick about them, seeing as how they'd disappeared for a week with no warning, but she was glad to have them back. Sherlock practiced his new vampiric abilities and was soon using them in ways far more advanced than he should have been able to.
But, John supposed, that was always the case with Sherlock.
Flamel had shown up the day after they had returned home, bringing with him the paperwork for John to sign in order to make their divorce final. He'd been very firm about not giving the ring back, though. Even as he had congratulated them, and meant it, the pain had been clear in his eyes. Still, he'd eagerly agreed to spend time with Sherlock to talk about Alchemy and it's variety of applications.
Sherlock had cajoled Mycroft into providing a legitimate excuse to the Yard as to Lestrade's absence. It worked out well because, just the day previously, the elder Holmes had been informed of his clearance to learn about the supernatural world. The younger had great fun in lording over him that fact that Sherlock had not only known first but was now also a part of it. Apparently, the young detective had no problems with his brother playing in his sandbox as long as his curly, black mop was still on top. The teasing had been cut short however, by a call to Mycroft's phone from a blocked number. Sherlock had grinned wolfishly at the blush that dusted his brother's cheeks.
Two weeks after the whole thing was over found the boys sitting in their flat, drinking tea and enjoying each other's company. Their bond of Sire and Spawn allowed each of them to feel the other's emotions and John savored the ability to bask in the glow of his flat mate's affection. Sherlock had spent the morning practicing his new-found abilities and had decided the afternoon should be spent with their lips pressed together…among other things. Their relaxing day, however, was cut short by the sound of a motorcycle outside.
Sherlock instantly sat up straight and John chuckled to himself as he watched the other listen as Mrs. Hudson greeted their visitor. The sound of heels on the steps indicated a woman and soon Benedicta was stepping through the doorway of their flat, clad in what appeared to be a black, leather skirt-suit. She greeted them warmly.
"John, Sherlock, you both look well."
The blonde raised a mug to her in agreement, finding himself very content in his days. She sat in a proffered seat, smoothing down an imaginary crease in her skirt. Sherlock smirked in her direction.
"I see you and Bill are getting on, then, judging by the fact that you're riding his bike. Otherwise occupied, is he?"
"Fulfilling his end of his trade with Charon. Apparently your brother is very interesting indeed…I am here on business, however."
John instantly sat up straight. For Benedicta, business rarely mixed with pleasure.
"What happened?"
"There's been a problem at the club. I'd appreciate a second pair of eyes to take a look."
John nodded readily and set his mug of tea to the side.
"Of course. What can I do for you?"
"Actually…I meant more along the lines of him." She inclined her head towards Sherlock. "It looks like immortality has opened quite a few doors for you, Mr. Holmes, or should I say the World's Only Consulting Vampire? If this goes well, I have a couple of clients I'd like to send your way."