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Unearthly emerald orbs glowed brightly in the moonlight.
"Put the gun away, Mister Holmes, I have done nothing against you."
Mycroft raised a brow at the creature before him. In his arms hung a limp body whom he would've thought dead if not for his chest moving in a steady rise and fall.
The brunet continued, "Don't you know it's quite bad manners to interrupt a meal?" He gestured to the body in his arms. "I was just about to have a snack, you see. The law does allow us to eat."
Mycroft refused to lower his gun. The tension in the air was palpable. That provision of the law only applied with the caveat that-
"Before you say anything more, he was quite willing, I assure you," Albert sighed. "Although…" The vampire gave Mycroft a slow once-over before capturing his gaze once again.
"If you don't believe me, you could always be my snack for the night…" he purred.
Recognising the telltale tugging of a vampire's mesmerism, Mycroft quickly jerked himself away from the other and levelled a glare at the vampire.
Albert chuckled. "Well, it was worth trying." Nodding cheekily at Mycroft, Albert hefted the body a little higher in his arms and bid the hunter a cheerful farewell. Then, in nary a blink, he vanished into the night, leaving Mycroft pointing his gun at thin air.
---
"May I buy you a drink, Mister Holmes?" came Albert’s lilting voice from the seat next to his.
Mycroft muttered a silent prayer to providence for patience as he slid a sealed envelope across the table. He loathed that it had even come to this, that he had even considered stooping to such a low level of asking for Moriarty's help.
Unfortunately, the young lord's name and reputation was far more likely to see success in luring the target out of hiding.
Irene Adler . A shapeshifter. Often non-malicious, the council typically ignored her acts of mischief as and when complaints arose.
This time, however, the documents that Adler had taken were of utter importance to the stability of supernatural relations throughout all of England. It detailed the catastrophic failure of the council to prevent the genocide of supernatural beings centuries ago. It had been blamed on the war in a neighbouring country and buried under layers of secrecy shortly after. All who knew were sworn to silence, and the culprits were quietly executed.
Because of that, an agreement was rapidly sought between the survivors and the council to enshrine the rights of supernatural beings in the law.
All modern relations between hunters and supernatural creatures had been built upon that agreement. Any leak of the events preceding it could shake the very foundations of England's supernatural communities and spark a devastating retaliation.
No, Mycroft could not allow such a thing to happen.
He cared little for whatever happened to Irene Adler herself after this, so long as the documents were retrieved safely.
And if Mycroft had to swallow his pride and beg Moriarty for help, for the sake of this nation and its stained past, then so be it.
---
That cunning, twice damned vampire .
Oh, the documents had been retrieved safely. There was no question about that. His request had been met impeccably.
Intact they may be, but the outer envelope showed obvious signs of tampering. By not bothering to hide the fact that he had opened it, it was exceedingly clear to Mycroft that the other was sending him a message.
Albert too, now possessed knowledge of the council's most guarded secret.
And knowing the man, he was simply biding his time until the opportune moment came for him to use it.
---
Someday .
Someday, Mycroft would surely catch that wily little vampire in the act.
The hunters had been on the tail of a cult who had been kidnapping young banshees for use in a blood ritual. Their last operation had ended in freeing most of the surviving victims and the capture of half of the cult members who were mid-ritual.
The council had been having quite dismal luck at locating the ringleader, however.
That was, until today, when a bound, gagged and clearly unconscious man had turned up on Mycroft's doorstep with a neatly penned note atop his person.
'Of banshee blood this man reeks
The ringleader of the men you seek.'
Judging by the pallor of his skin and the wound along the side of his neck, it was safe to say that he had been subdued by someone and had enough of his blood drained to render him unconscious.
Surely such an audacious act could only have one bloodsucking malefactor.
But with no concrete proof, it would simply be his word against the other's. And Mycroft had no doubts that that cunning little creature would be able to talk himself out of it.
---
It took all of Mycroft's self-control to refrain from heaving out an exasperated sigh at the body floating down the Thames.
A brief scan of the corpse told him all he needed to know. It was all the usual signs of a vampiric attack - ashen complexion, skin sagging and deflated from a large volume of blood loss. Exsanguination. He didn't need to inspect the body to know there would be two neat puncture holes somewhere on his person.
The recent spate of vampire attacks in the area had thrown the townsfolk into yet another bout of hysteria. Unfortunately, due to the high profiles of the victims, or the brazen placement of bodies in public areas, neither the Yard nor the Council had been able to suppress the news.
A string of murders in the middle of London - except, the newspapers were calling them something else completely.
Justice killings, the people heralded them.
After all, the most nefarious truth that had come to light, was that these victims all had ties to the fledgling massacre from half a decade ago.
Under the ill-advised instruction of some rogue hunters, some noblemen had gathered and declared the need to purge the earth of villainous bloodsuckers and all who associated with them. They believed that by wiping the streets clean of young vampire fledglings, they could see a pure and sterile future free from these evil creatures of the night.
Of course, the little boys and girls who had befriended these fledglings had too fallen victim to the too-wide net cast upon London all those years ago.
The blood of innocent children was spilled, so much of it that Mycroft thought the streets of London would be eternally dyed red. For months, London was a city of sleepless nights as the heart-rending sobs of grieving parents filled the air.
Naturally, the council had stepped in to intervene and attempted to apprehend all who were undeniably accountable for the atrocities.
Rats, however, always had a means of scurrying away. Without concrete proof, those vermin had slipped through the fingers of the Council and the law.
Until now.
Mycroft's brows narrowed in thought even as he gestured for some men to retrieve the body from the Thames.
Really now, considering the resources needed to pull off such a stunt, as well as the motive, there was only one person who could plausibly have done it.
It was only because Mycroft had access to all those redacted documents, that he knew of the horrors faced by the younger two Moriarty brothers. Brothers in all but blood, really, considering how attached Albert was to the two blonds.
And now Albert was out for blood, forcing the hidden perpetrators to atone for their sins.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
A pound of flesh for every hurt inflicted upon his precious brothers.
Not that anyone could prove that it was Albert behind this string of murders.
It was rather astounding how the vampire could murder these noblemen in the middle of the city, leave the body in a conspicuous place as a message and yet escape detection completely.
It probably didn't hurt that he had managed to turn public sentiment in his favour. In their eyes, he was a hero exacting justice on the wicked. He was sent to avenge the grieving souls and London's children.
He was brilliant. He was a madman.
He left Mycroft grudgingly impressed.
Of course, the Council's inability to pin down the murderer had nothing to do with Mycroft's personal vendetta against those slippery vermin who had made a fool out of the Council all those years ago. Not at all.
---
The sheer audacity of this man to walk into the council meeting and offer a proposal .
The brunet dipped into a textbook bow, demonstrating all the courtesy, but belying no sincerity. "Greetings, fair gentlemen of the council. I am Albert James Moriarty, the current head of the Moriarty family. I humbly approach you today with an offering of help."
Startled murmurs began to break out amongst the members at the recognition of his family name. Having fallen to rogue hunters setting fire to their mansion, the old vampire family had but three young fledglings who survived the blaze.
"I commend the council for their wisdom in resolving the recent series of suspected vampiric murders," Albert began.
And oh, how it grated on Mycroft that a convenient scapegoat had been produced at the eleventh hour - a turncoat noble who had fallen in love with a vampire himself and had been convinced to join the cause (both of them having suspiciously buried criminal histories) - and had been held accountable for all the murders without further fanfare.
The true mastermind stood before them all, and yet Mycroft could do nothing but hold his tongue. Albert’s eyes shone with unholy glee and the hunter just knew that something preposterous would soon leave his lips.
“In order to prevent such unsightly affairs from repeating themselves again, may I propose that we could offer a supernatural perspective and expertise on such events?” Albert began lightly. “You see, apart from my brothers and myself, many a being are housed under my roof, each with their own experiences and abilities.” Skin-walkers, vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, Mycroft’s mental list went on. And perhaps even more who had remained hidden within their little menagerie of strays.
According to Albert, they had gathered with a single vision in mind - the continued welfare of supernatural beings and maintaining cordial relations between them and the hunters. Peace, to put it simply.
Mycroft stared at the vampire long and hard. “I presume you have an asking price in mind for offering this expertise?”
His answering grin had been full of too many teeth, “Nothing unreasonable, my lord. I simply request that this be officially ratified by making me an official ambassador to the council.”
Ah. So that was his game, then. Becoming an ambassador to the council would put Moriarty in a publicly untouchable position, offering him some sort of diplomatic opportunity. Their advisors and ambassadors were often offered a level of freedom in their movement, so long as their methods could be justified with results.
His little Sherly was one of them, after all. Some had cried nepotism when Sherlock had first been named a consultant to the council, but none could argue with the results. Despite his unorthodox methods and begrudging attitude, Sherlock had solved every single cold case the council had thrown at him, ridiculous parameters and all.
Ordinarily, he’d refuse such an audacious request. However, before he could even gesture to dismiss the notion, Albert caught his gaze with an all too knowing smile. Silently, his lips moved in a message that sent a trickle of dread through him.
I-r-e-n-e A-d-l-e-r
Shite.
Of all times for Albert to pull his trump card- No. Perhaps this had been the plan all along. He wouldn’t put it past this infuriatingly wily man.
His hands were tied. Swallowing the urge to curse the vampire to hell and back, Mycroft gritted his teeth as he briskly nodded once in assent to his request.
“On one condition, Moriarty: You forfeit all rights and protections should you ever spill the blood of an innocent.”
Extracting such an oath felt like a pyrrhic victory. The council hadn’t put to a stop to the serial murders. They had stopped of their own accord and a scapegoat had then appeared at just the right time. They hadn’t been stopped; their goal had simply already been achieved.
It was unlikely that Albert would be implicated in another murder from now on. There was likely no one guilty left alive. Besides, the council could hardly backpedal on their judgement after announcing they had caught the criminal behind the murders.
“Understood, my lord. I hereby take this oath before the council: I swear upon my brothers and my name, Moriarty, that I will never spill the blood of an innocent.”
Hidden beneath that solemn demeanour were emerald eyes that shone with victory.
Mycroft hated that he found them more beautiful than infuriating.
---
"I wonder if there's something on a genetic level that makes a Holmes so irresistible to a Moriarty," mused Albert from his perch on the sofa, as he thought of Will's newfound partnership with the younger Holmes brother.
Mycroft refused to look up from his work, continuing to scrutinise the recent treatise between two werewolf packs sharing the same plot of land. He could not, however, hide the fact that his ears had pricked up in interest at the topic.
Albert smirked. "Is it the dashing good looks and untameable curls?"
He ambled over to where Mycroft was seated. “Could it be that deep, husky voice? Those lovely piercing eyes?”
"Is it the sharp wit and brilliant minds? Or their respectable dedication to duty?" Albert singsonged.
"Or perhaps," and at this his tone gentled and eyes softened, "it's their unshakeable character and strong heart behind it all."
In private, his brother had confided in him at length about his wonderful romance with Sherlock, regaling him with stories of Sherlock's kindness towards the ordinary folk despite his gruff demeanour, and his mesmerizingly quick mind. His brother was utterly besotted with the young hunter and Albert was, quite frankly, deeply moved to see his oft-reserved younger brother find his happiness.
William had approached him tentatively, expecting judgement for falling into bed and tumbling headfirst into love with a hunter. However, Albert could hardly fault his little brother for that, being in a glass house of his own.
What started out a simple curiosity had grown into an unrecognisable tangle of fondness and admiration. He had only wanted to give the council a little runaround at first, a petty revenge for their ineptitude all those years ago.
However, popping in unannounced and watching Mycroft at work had shifted his view of the other man, bit by bit.
He began noticing the little things, like the furrow of his brow that indicated his deep concentration on requests sent in to the council and the care that he put in when responding to sensitive disputes. And contrary to appearances, the absence of a haughty self-righteousness and his willingness to negotiate and understand the greyer areas of morality despite being heading a council of supernatural hunters.
Mycroft Holmes was a respectable man. He understood and carried out his duty well. But underneath that cold exterior, buried deep under layers of measured responses and unbreakable composure, it seemed that he was just as kind as his younger brother was.
Albert’s fascination with the man had only continued to grow. And once he had latched on to something interesting, he wasn't quite the type to let it go.
"If you have nothing better to do than to gossip about our brothers, you may show yourself out of my office, Moriarty."
Well, there would be plenty of time for that. He imagined they would be running into each other a lot more, now that their brothers were entangled with each other.
"As you command."
---
Mycroft stared at the calling card in his hands. How unusual, to receive a personal request for his presence from the one and only Albert James Moriarty. In the form of a formal invitation, no less. The young lord was much more inclined to traipsing into Mycroft's office whenever it suited him.
Ever since the eldest Moriarty had been named an ambassador to the council, he had been taking the liberty to enter and leave as he pleased, leaving many of the councilmen flummoxed by his impertinent behaviour. Unfortunately for them, Albert dropped off crucial information more often than not during his unscheduled visits, quelling most of the complaints.
The other times, however, seemed to be purely social visits. Albert would usually attempt to make some small talk with Mycroft as he worked, or asked inane questions that he expected no reply to.
Very unfortunately for the hunter, he had soon grown accustomed to the vampire’s presence and hearing Albert’s voice at random times of day. Perhaps it was a sort of insanity setting in, but Mycroft sometimes found himself missing the other in the too-quiet office.
Beneath his inconsequential chatter, Albert possessed quite a philosophical mind that made him an interesting enough conversation partner. He had strong views on privilege and poverty, on education and reform.
He wondered how much of Albert's cluelessness was a carefully crafted façade to make him appear less threatening than he was.
Not many others could match up to verbal spars with Mycroft anymore, outside of his little Sherly. While not exactly a genius of the same calibre as himself or even his adopted younger brother, William, Albert presented a challenge in a different way. Whatever he lacked in genius intellect, he made up for in creativity and sheer brazenness, suggesting things so far outside the realm of logical action that toed the line between madness and potential.
Albert lost in defending his ideas and beliefs was a breathtaking sight. He stood tall and regal, his pale cheeks flushed with excitement as his eyes lit up like the lights that brightened the streets. His edges of his lips would threaten to curl when his passion overtook him.
He was surprisingly animated when it came to his personal beliefs and matters that he took to heart. Mycroft had always known the other to be a man of conviction, but it was rather refreshing to see it play out across his features and the flurry of gestures.
Mycroft caught himself wondering if there was anything else that could make the vampire shed his composure to reveal the impassioned man underneath.
Turning the invitation over in his hands a final time, he thought that he'd quite like to find out.
---
Mycroft had Albert pinned under him as they exchanged harsh kisses on the chaise lounge. Their lips met with a fervent enthusiasm, neither of them willing to give in to the other.
Mycroft had no idea how things had come to this.
Upon the hunter’s arrival at the Moriarty manor, he was led into the sitting room where he found Albert waiting for him, sipping a glass of something that was just a few shades too bright to be wine.
“Would you care to join me for a drink, Holmes? I’ve had coffee prepared, though there’s also some wine, if you prefer.” Albert gestured for the hunter to take a seat beside him.
Mycroft sat down, accepting the cup of coffee, and Albert scooted closer, their legs nearly pressing up against each other. Used to his antics by now, Mycroft chose not to comment on their closeness, merely sipping his drink and waiting for Albert to speak. Savouring the fragrant bitterness of his coffee, Mycroft idly mused that it was rather kind of Albert to remember his preferences of taking it black.
Instead of speaking, Albert simply trailed a teasing hand along Mycroft’s thigh and looked to him for a response.
Mycroft had leaned in to scrutinise that playful grin for a motive, Albert had mirrored him, and the rest was lost to a flurry of messy kisses. It hardly mattered who had kissed who first, not when the two of them were clearly reciprocating.
The hunter was the first to pull back for breath and was slightly irked by Albert’s smug grin of satisfaction. Though, a little voice at the back of his head purred as he took in the vampire’s dishevelled appearance - eyes half lidded in pleasure, face flushed and lips slightly swollen from their exchange. He’d been the one to break Albert’s composure.
“Not as oblivious as you appear, then?” came a teasing comment from the green-eyed vampire. “I’ve been wondering if you’d ever pick up on my flirting, considering your genius and all.” He’d said it in a joking manner, but Mycroft could pick up an underlying tone of insecurity beneath that.
He had recognised Albert’s flirting for what it was, contrary to what the other man thought. He simply hadn’t thought any of it was genuine. The vampire had been doing that since the day they first met under that moonlit sky. Sometimes it was to distract him, other times a preamble before asking a favour. Sometimes, he did it for no other reason than to get a rise out of Mycroft, though the hunter had rarely given him the satisfaction of success.
Despite his growing fondness for the other, Mycroft had never let himself entertain the idea that this banter between them might ever lead anywhere. Noticing Albert shrinking back on himself the longer Mycroft took to reply, he decided a little honesty was in order.
“I simply hadn’t believed you could be genuinely interested in me.” Mycroft smiled wryly. “You’ve told me on no few occasions that I’m rather boring to be around.” Albert blinked back at him in surprise.
“If anything, this is your own fault, Moriarty,” Mycroft continued dryly. Though, his words held no bite as he gently tugged Albert back down to rest in his arms.
Allowing himself to be pulled into the security of Mycroft’s embrace, a giggle burst forth from Albert at the incredulousness of it all.
“Albert,” said man protested. “You should at least call me Albert if we’re doing this.”
And acquiescing to his request, his name was teasingly whispered against his lips as Mycroft leaned in for yet another kiss.
---
Albert sat with his legs openly splayed across Mycroft's lap, face buried in the taller man's chest, slowly nosing his way up to his neck. Mycroft smelt divine , and Albert felt a prickle in his gums as his fangs threatened to fall.
However, he soon found his advances halted by a large hand firmly grasping his hair. "Save it for later, Moriarty. We both have a meeting with the council after this."
Even without the heady rush of the bite, Mycroft could hardly conceal the evidence of his arousal at Albert pliantly resting in his lap across his growing hardness. It would be quite mortifying for them both to enter the meeting in such a state of impropriety, which was the only thought that Mycroft's self-control was clinging to.
Making the mistake of looking into Albert’s eyes, he faltered at the pitiful, pleading look the vampire was giving him. Logically, he knew it was nothing less than a childish manipulation tactic, but his heart still clenched at the sight of the vampire looking upset.
Mycroft heaved a deep sigh. "Later, Albert." Honestly, this man. "We hardly need to draw the council's attention to our friendly relations, lest they accost us with accusations of manipulation and being compromised."
---
The young vampire lord found himself in a rather sentimental mood as he curled up with his lover in bed, thinking back upon their first meeting when Mycroft had chanced upon him feeding from an unconscious man. Those cold eyes of suspicion and the unfaltering way his gun had never left its aim on Albert felt like a far cry from the warmth of the man next to him.
“Do you trust me, Mycroft?” Albert murmured into the comfortable silence of the night.
Mycroft simply blinked at the question and nodded with no hesitation. A tension he didn’t know he had slowly uncoiled itself at that.
Though, he had to wonder… “Would you let me mesmerise you?”
The arms wrapped around his body tightened almost imperceptibly as Mycroft pondered the question.
As the silence stretched on, however, Albert grew increasingly unnerved. Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked the question at all. Regardless of how much he trusted Albert, what sort of hunter would open himself up to such a vulnerability? Of course Mycroft would never allow someone to exert that kind of power over him.
Just as he was about to tell the other to disregard his words, he heard a “Yes” whispered quietly behind his ears.
Startled, Albert flipped himself around to properly face the other, scanning for any signs of a lie. All he found, however, was plain honesty written across the other’s features, eyes filled with trust and fond adoration.
How fortunate could a man be? To receive such unfettered trust from someone who by all standards should have been his sworn enemy?
Allowing his eyes to glow an unnatural green, he murmured softly, “Kiss me, Mycroft.”
There was no resistance at all as Mycroft completely gave himself over to Albert’s control. He allowed himself to be pulled in and met Albert in a press of lips. His blue eyes were devoid of any awareness, mindlessly obeying the lull of Albert’s power.
And yet, his caress of Albert’s face was nothing but gentle.
A hot trickle of tears poured forth from Albert’s eyes. It wasn’t the kiss itself. The vampire felt something within him overflow, his heart being rent apart at the sheer display of unconditional faith that Mycroft was showing him.
Never , Albert swore as he released Mycroft from his thrall to pepper his face with doting kisses, he would never let go of this precious gift the other had given him.