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Two days after turning twenty two William Scott died. Ten days later he returned adopting a new name, Sherlock, and the surname of his sire, Holmes. Before his untimely demise he had worked for the police on a freelance basis, solving what he had named cases when they took his fancy. He had been a genius and incredibly ahead of his age when it came to solving crimes. Indeed, he still was a genius. But he was no longer the top of his game. No, now he was viewed as young, immature and rather stupid. By vampire standards.
It was safe to say Sherlock's years of training did not go as smoothly as they could have. Mycroft Holmes was a brilliant teacher, which was to be expected having turned three people before Sherlock and lived for thousands of years. Not to mention being the head of the vampire council. Sherlock was just... rebellious. He disliked authority, being told what to do. He regretted asking to be turned upon his death. He did not get on with his sire. He did not get on with anyone, really. He was peculiar even by vampire standards.
Sherlock was delighted when he got his freedom, no longer in training under Mycroft but seen as a fully mature vampire. It had only taken one hundred years. Sherlock resettled in London, finding a flat where he would not be bothered during the day (for he would be asleep) and once again returning to help the police. It was then that he came up with the term 'consulting detective.' The world may have changed in one hundred years but Sherlock kept up. And he was still a genius.
It was in the summer of 2010 that Sherlock's new life, his life as a vampire, took a turn. Exactly one hundred and three years after being turned Sherlock met John. He noticed the man the instant he entered the room. His smell; he smelt like sun, sand, war and tea. It was a wonderful smell. Sherlock felt some kind of connection. So of course he took the man as his roommate. He was the most tolerable human he had found on the planet.
John himself seemed to accept Sherlock's ways easily. He did not question how he slept at day and was awake at night; it was one among a myriad of peculiarities. He did not question the bags of blood kept in the fridge; they were nothing compared to the body parts Sherlock also kept. No, John did not question anything. That was what Sherlock liked about him. Loved about him.
It was a year after their meeting, the anniversary in fact, when this love came to light. They had been on a case, a particular hard one. All had not ended well and Sherlock had been shot. Of course, it was a minor wound. Nothing that could harm him. He would heal. However, John did not know this. It had been there in a dark street John had kissed Sherlock for the first time, holding him and thinking he was going to die. Of course, Sherlock did not. That was the first time he had to place compulsion on John. To make him forget certain events. This kiss, however, stayed.
From there their relationship blossomed. Sherlock knew he should resist it. John was a human, with a finite lifespan. Sherlock was a vampire destined to live forever. Something he could not bring himself to tell his beloved. His sire had warned him many times over the course of Sherlock's relationship that it could only end badly. Sherlock had not listened. He had a M'Fiyah with John and he wasn't going ignore it.
Only now did he realise that his sire had been right. Caring was not an advantage. Falling in love was never a good idea.
"It's okay, Sher, it's okay," John croaked out, beautiful blue eyes half shut and face pale. "I'm going to be okay."
No, no. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. Sherlock held John close as the blood flowed out of his body from where the bullet had embedded itself in his body. Why? Why had John jumped in front of Sherlock, taking a bullet that would not have killed the vampire. Sherlock was only just realising now how terrible a mistake he had made. He was going to lose John. His John would die from a bullet wound, in a damp London street. This was not how it was supposed to go.
It wasn't how it was supposed to go. "No, John. John! Don't leave me!" John was beginning to lose consciousness, eyes sliding shut. He was losing too much blood. Sherlock had to do something. But there was only one thing he could do. And he didn't know how.
Sherlock gently lowered John to the ground, hoping that the bindings he had put around the wound would hold out for just a little longer. Then he phoned the only person he could.
"Mycroft," he breathed, panic rising through his voice.
"What is it, Sherlock?"
"John..."
"I did warn you, Sherlock," the lazy drawl infuriated Sherlock. But he had to stay calm. This was his only hope.
"He's not dead yet." Sherlock felt tears slide from his eyes, which John had often said contained all the colours in the rainbow. He did not need a mirror to know that his tears were a clear amber, staining his pale cheeks as they made their journey to the bottom of the chin. "He's not going to die."
"Everyone dies, Sherlock."
"Not vampires! It's not old age, Mycroft! He has been shot. I can turn him... I can turn him!" Sherlock knew that getting angry, showing emotions, was never the way to go. But he couldn't cope. He couldn't deal with being emotionless, a good vampire, right now.
"You do not know how."
"Then tell me!" Sherlock knelt down beside John, checking his pulse. He was still alive. Just.
"First you need to drink from him. Do not take too much. This is important. And give me your location, I will come right away. We will need to move him to a safe place to allow the transformation to begin."
Sherlock blinked away his tears. They were useless. He bent down, gently smoothing back John's hair. "It's going to be okay, my love. This will hurt, but it will make things better." He moved down, gently licking John's neck. He knew how to bite people. That was easy enough, it was not the biting that turned someone into a vampire. In fact the biting had a nice effect. Something like an orgasm. After numbing the area by licking he slid out his fangs, gently inserting them and sucking. He took only what was necessary.
"What now?"
"Now you must replenish what you took from him. Slit your wrists and feed him your blood."
Sherlock was determined now, overriding his grief. John's breathing was shallow, reducing by the minute. He had to work fast. Sherlock quickly slit his own wrists, not even trying to be neat. He forced John to drink, trying not to be too rough. But John needed to get this blood into his system. "And then?"
"We wait. I will be over right away."
Sherlock looked down at the pale body beneath him, barely breathing with blood around his lips. Sherlock knew that soon the heartbeat would stop altogether. Then they could only hope. He gently kissed John on the lips, pain in his eyes. "I've done everything I can, John. Please, you have to fight. You have to make it through. If you don't..." He trailed off, not finishing his words. He couldn't not with the sounds of approaching footsteps. Mycroft's vampire lackeys, probably. He wouldn't want to come down himself.
But Sherlock didn't want them hearing. They would report back to Mycroft who would do everything in his power (and he had a lot of it) to stop Sherlock. And Sherlock didn't want anyone to stop him. If John didn't make it, if John died, Sherlock would walk into the sun. He didn't believe in heaven, he didn't believe that they would meet again but at least that way he would not have to live for all eternity without his beloved John.
Mycroft's lackeys arrived, two gently lifting John while another took Sherlock by the arm. He struggled, no longer seeing straight. They had no right to touch his John! They were taking him away! They weren't allowed to take him away.
Then there was a sharp blow to his head and everything went dark.
When Sherlock woke he was in a familiar place. The room he had slept in for the hundred years he had had to spend with his sire training to be a vampire. That had only ended five years ago. It was night, that Sherlock could quite clearly tell. So it had been almost a day since... John. Sherlock was up in a moment, tearing right into Mycroft's office.
"Where is he?"
"Do not worry, Sherlock," Mycroft fixed him with a scrutinising stare. "He is fine."
"Where?"
"The guestroom next to yours. Which you would have known if you had bothered checking."
Sherlock shot a glare at his sire, how much he cared about vampire protocol at an all time low of zero. He retraced his steps, quietly entering the room. John looked terrible. Then again, he would what with turning into a vampire. Sherlock sat down in the chair beside the bed, taking one of John's cold hands in his own. "I know it hurts. I've been through it too. But afterwards, after this... We'll be able to be together forever. I promise." He was reassuring himself as much as he was the unconscious John.
Sherlock stayed at the chair beside John's bed for the next two weeks, only leaving to drink some bagged blood. Every morning sleep would take him and he would slump in the chair only to wake in the evening to check for any signs of change. It was a painful fortnight for him, though he tried not to show it in the presence of others. He was a vampire. He should not show emotions.
It was on the fifteenth night that John woke.
"Sherlock?" The light groan emerged from his lips. Sherlock was standing instantly, staring down at John.
"John," Sherlock breathed, moving into kiss John. It was short, but the love was evident in it. A small, weak smile curved John's lips.
"What happened. I remember getting shot, and I was dying... Then I had the weirdest dream that you had fangs and you bit me. Then I tasted blood and all I remember after that is pain."
Sherlock winced, looking sorry. "All will be explained, my love. All that matters is that we are together."
Yes, together for all of eternity.