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It was the perfect night for something supernatural to happen, by all accounts. The moon could hardly be seen for the dark clouds smothering the sky, and the rain fell in sheets, obscuring the view of anyone trying to look more than a meter in front of them. The wind howled as it whipped through the trees, displeased about some state of affairs that humans had no business in knowing.
For a writer, it was the ideal scene to start a book with.
For Sherlock however, it was a recipe for him falling sick with a cold.
Somewhat foolishly perhaps (though he'd never admit it to anyone but himself), he'd ventured out into the forest alone late at night in search of a bag containing valuables that belonged to a noble.
Normally, Sherlock wouldn't be caught dead doing such a thing. Him? The great detective Sherlock Holmes, the man who had caught the attempted murderer of the local constable being reduced to searching for bags? Ridiculous!
In this case though, it hadn't seemed so ridiculous when he'd first accepted the job The family - who were all nobility - who the bag belonged to had offered him a large financial payout if he was able to get it, not look inside it, and deliver it within twenty four hours.
There had been a second reason why Sherlock had wanted to come out into the forest, though.
He wanted to investigate.
Wealthy land owners and the few nobles that his town had had been going missing for the past month and a half. They would enter the woods on a hunting trip or journey to one of the neighbouring towns or cities, and never be seen again. There was a reward for that, but Sherlock wouldn't say he was especially interested.
Sherlock knew that the woods were full of creatures, both ordinary and much less so. Some thought that the missing people had been eaten by a bear - but Sherlock disagreed. He knew for a fact that lots of people in the village who worked for the land owners as fruit pickers tended to scavenge deep in the woods when the harvest wasn't enough, and they had to meet a quota.
Whatever it was that was targeting the land owners was cognizant enough to understand class, and he didn't think that bears could do that.
At the end of the day, Sherlock just wanted to know the ins and outs of it all, or at least that was what he told himself when he set off.
Sherlock swore under his breath as he fought his way through the thick forest. John had been right when he told him that this was a suicide mission. Sherlock should have listened.
To be fair, he should have done a lot of things. This was simply the most recent in a long line of screw ups.
To add a cherry on top, as Sherlock contemplated everything that he'd done wrong in his life, his foot caught on a tree root, sending him flying.
His hands shot out in an attempt to stop himself from getting up close and personal with the direct, but it was a case of doing too little too late.
Sherlock's head slammed into the ground hard, forehead thankfully avoiding any roots and instead making contact with the dirt. His ears rang as he lay there for a long moment, winded. ears ringing. His head spun, the world around him tilting back and forth as he gasped for air, winded from the fall.
After a while, he managed to push himself to his knees, crawling over the forest floor, grass poking into his hands as he managed to drag himself over to rest against a tree.
He panted as he sat, shutting his eyes to block out the little lingering light that was able to stream through the trees. He really shouldn't have come out here as it was starting to get dark, but it was a case of realising that much too late.
Sherlock didn't know how long he sat there for, waiting for the bubbling nausea in his stomach to subside, but when he was able to open his eyes again without feeling like he was going to be sick the sun was low in the sky, casting the last few beams of light out over the now dark sky.
"Great," Sherlock muttered. "I'm lost and it's dark. I'm going to be eaten by wolves, and no one will ever find my body. Wonderful."
He reached into his pocket, searching around for his compass (one of the few things he'd had the common sense about him to bring) and opening it, watching the needle spin as it found true north - conveniently enough, where the village Sherlock lived was located.
At least that would make it a tad simpler getting home as opposed to having to traverse east-south-east, or north-west-north.
As he slowly made his way back up onto his feet, Sherlock winced as he felt a sharp tinge of pain at his temple, reaching up to see what it was. With the little light that was left in the sky, Sherlock could see how his fingers were tinged red with blood. He huffed as he flicked his hand, getting the blood away from him.
Just what he needed, on top of everything else. A wound that needed to be sanitised.
As the night crept up with a vengeance, Sherlock made his way back home, to his village, watching the compass as he went in an attempt to not get lost like he had been before, while keeping his eyes peeled for any trace of the treasure that he'd been sent out to find in the first place.
Confusion started to seep into the corners of Sherlock's mind as the scenery around him shifted to that of which he had never seen before. He put it down to simply returning on a slightly different path than the one he came on - as long as he was still headed in the right direction, he was on a good road.
Sure, his clients would be infuriated that he hadn't returned with what he'd been sent out to find. But Sherlock would take a slight hit to his reputation then being, well, dead.
As he traipsed through the forest, Sherlock started to notice something strange. Despite the fact that he was in the heart of the woods, there was nary a predator in sight.
Sherlock had expected to see at least a wolf, or a bear, or at the very least a fox.
If he was being honest, he felt a little short changed.
The lack of life was also starting to get to his head a little, paranoia creeping in at the edges like a spider beginning to formulate its web.
With nothing but the sound of his feet against the fallen leaves, accompanied by his light breathing and wind whistling through the trees, shivers started to trace their way up and down Sherlock's spine. He shook his head, trying to get rid of those thoughts. It would do him no good to trip again and be properly concussed this time - or rather, more concussed than he already was.
Sherlock continued to stumble his way through the forest as night properly took hold of the sky, even the moon dimmed with the clouds. He clutched onto his compass, his beacon of hope, as he continued to make his way back home.
The fall he'd taken earlier was starting to have an impact on him, despite the fact that he'd tried to rest up as much as possible. He'd find himself staggering off to the side, balance skewed from the fall, or swaying back and forth as he consulted the compass.
He needed assistance. And fast.
Lady Luck seemed to be on his side though. A large stone structure came into view as Sherlock made his way along the path. He stared up at it for a long moment, confusion swirling in his mind. "Definitely didn't see this on the way out of town," he murmured.
He continued walking, the structure coming into view as he approached. It was a large, ornate castle, with elaborate stone carvings on the outside - gargoyles, his mind supplied - and turrets at the edges.
The pathway that Sherlock was on split off into two - by his guess, one side led to this mysterious castle, which was convenient and close by, and the other would take him back to the village, which was an unknown distance away.
It was quite clear which option Sherlock was choosing.
— — —
The pathway leading up to the castle was crunchy rough gravel, something that caught the dark haired man by surprise as he made his way up the drive. Most nobility in his town tended to prefer cut quartz, or some other stone that they could gloat about.
Maybe, just maybe, these people would be reasonable.
The grounds were quiet as Sherlock walked up the stairs to the entrance, strangely so. Even though it was late, normally a gardener, or some sort of groundskeeper would have been seen working on the area around the castle.
Taking a deep breath, Sherlock reached up to the ornate doorknocker - gold, he noted in the back of his mind - and gave the door three firm raps.
Silence was the only thing that welcomed Sherlock as he stood there awkwardly for a moment, before trying again..
This time, he heard shuffling behind the door, perking up and quickly adjusting his clothes. "Really, Liam," a man's voice chided as the door opened. "I tell you to at least use the back door when you come back from the hunt, but here you are, back so early and without a-oh."
Sherlock stared at the man. He was blond, with slightly tousled hair (understandable, for this time of night) and a fair complexion accompanied by a pair of glasses with rounded frames.
What Sherlock could not understand however, was the fact that the man's eyes were red, and from his mouth protruded the longest pair of canines Sherlock had ever seen - more so than any beast he'd read about, even those from myth.
The blond stared right back at him, mouth closing as his grip on the door tightened. "You're not supposed to be here," he said, voice rising in anger. "How the hell did you get onto the grounds? You-I have the grounds especially arranged to not allow-"
Sherlock wordlessly gestured to the cut on his temple, vision starting to become double. "Hrnngh," he said intelligently, waving at the blond and the castle around them. With that, he took one step, then two steps backward down the stairs, before his legs gave out and he collapsed.
As he faded out of consciousness, Sherlock thought how strange it was that someone would go to all the effort of altering their appearance that much, especially when most people would see them and assume that they were some sort of monster.
Members of the nobility were strange though. That's probably all it was.
— — —
When William returned home, the castle was pandemonium. He slipped through the back door, confused as to what was going on as he made his way to the sitting room.
Louis and Albert were in the midst of an argument, both waving their hands around and sighing. William spotted Moran in the corner, and sidled over to him.
"What happened while I was out feeding?" he murmured. "Human came to the door," Moran whispered back. "Louis had his fangs out. Guy passed out on the front steps. Now no one's sure what to do with him."
William hummed. "Why did Louis have his fangs out if he was answering the door? We all know to put them away." Moran simply shrugged. "He thought it was you coming back early and that you'd forgotten your key."
The blond nodded, exhaling slowly as he evaluated the situation. "Alright. And I'm assuming that no one has drank from him even a little bit, yes?" "No, no one at all, boss."
William smiled. "Well, that's one good thing at least. Where is he?" Moran pointed up the stairs. "Blue guest bedroom, the one on the right."
William made his way up the stairs, leaving the sounds of the argument behind. He opened the door quietly, slipping into the guest room. There on the bed lay a dark haired man - definitely human, William could smell the blood pumping through his veins.
He sat down on the side of the bed, taking the man's arm as he felt his pulse. Weak, but steady. He noticed a small cut on the man's temple, reaching a hand up to brush away some dried blood.
The man shifted below him, letting out a weak groan. William withdrew slightly, allowing him space to breathe. The smell of his blood became even stronger as he started to wake up, making William have to bite back a moan.
It's been so long since he'd tasted human blood.
He extended a hand towards the man's hair, sweeping it to the side, allowing himself a look at his neck. William felt his fangs start to extend as he saw the man's pulse beat under his skin.
"What…" the man mumbled, reaching up to rub at his eyes. William continued to stare at his neck hungrily, fangs tingling with the desire to bite. As the man blearily opened his eyes, William reluctantly forced himself to withdraw, leaning back to give him some space, retracting his fangs enough to simply appear as longer canines.
The human sat up in the bed, yawning as he stared at William for a second before jolting back, mind having finally caught up with the situation.
"Shit-what the-who the hell are you?" he sputtered, crawling back on the bed away from William. The blond raised his hands placatingly, doing his best to temper the bloodlust rising in his stomach.
"Don't worry, you're safe. You passed out on the steps of my castle, my brothers brought you inside." William smiled, folding his hands in his lap. "My name is William. And yours is…"
"Sherlock," the man managed after a moment. "Sherlock Holmes." William nodded. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr Holmes. Might I ask what you were doing in the forest so late at night? Surely any foraging ought to be done during the day, no?"
Sherlock coughed, looking a little embarrassed. "I got turned around," he said. "I had been charged with finding a bag that one of the nobles from my village had lost, but it was getting late and so I decided to come back home. But…I must have deviated from the path I came on, as I came across your castle rather than my home."
Sherlock's brow furrowed. "And then…your brother, I'm assuming, the blond one with glasses, he had red eyes like yours and…fangs…"
His eyes widened as he recalled what he'd seen before he'd passed out. He scrambled up from the bed, making a break for the door, but William simply stepped in front of him, tutting lightly.
"Now now, there's no need for hysterics. You're quite safe here, you know. Probably the most safe you could be in all of these woods."
Sherlock scoffed. "How the hell could I be safe when I'm surrounded by-by-whatever you people are!"
William sighed, taking the man by the shoulders and settling him back down on the bed. "Calm yourself. We have no desire to hurt you - and even if we did, well, we most likely wouldn't," he said with a smile.
This clearly didn't do anything for Sherlock's nerves however, as the man twitched, eyes darting back and forth from William to the door and back again.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," William warned. "You're still weak, and trying to run is pointless. I'd catch you before you even left the room." Sherlock scowled, crossing his arms. "Bastard," he muttered, too quietly for a human's ears to pick it up, but William heard him just fine.
Sherlock was quiet for a long moment. William could tell that he was evaluating the situation, trying to figure out a way to slip past the blond and out of the room.
They both knew that that wasn't a possibility.
"What even are you?" Sherlock asked. "You're clearly not human. My first instinct is to say that you're a vampire - but they were meant to have been driven out by hunters years and years ago. But your brother had fangs, and you both have red eyes."
William just sat there silently as Sherlock tried to puzzle out the situation. "You're correct in saying that we're vampires," he said to the dark haired man, making Sherlock's eyes widen. William preened a little at how he'd managed to catch him off guard. Despite only knowing him for such a short amount of time, he felt a surge of pleasure at seeing the man on the back foot.
"Yes, my brother has fangs. I do too, but for convenience sake I like to keep them tucked away. It makes conversing rather difficult," he said with a laugh. "And yes, my eyes are red, but that is simply a strange genetic trait. Not a symptom of being a vampire."
Sherlock stared at him, processing everything that William was telling him. "That's…strange," he said slowly. William nodded. "It is rather. It was all quite a shock to me when I first turned." "How long ago was that?" Sherlock asked.
William tilted his head to the side, humming as he tried to remember. "I think it must have been…a hundred or so years ago? We've been living in this castle for the last twenty though. We celebrated the anniversary of it last week."
Sherlock nodded, swallowing. William's eyes zeroed in on his throat, bloodlust starting to rise again.
"Look, I really do appreciate this - hell, this bed is comfier than any one I've laid on before. But look, I can see by the sky that the sun is starting to rise, and I have to be getting back home."
William looked at him sympathetically. "I'm sure you do, Mr Holmes. But that's not possible right now. You see, you know where we live now. There's nothing stopping you from going back to your village and telling everyone where we are."
Sherlock's eyes widened. "I wouldn't, I swear. Look, I only came into the woods, yes, to find the bag that was left behind, but also to find all the nobles that went missing. I need to go back and tell people that there was no sign of them so that the search pattern can be adjusted."
William nodded. "A noble goal. Tell you what, let's make an offer. I'll allow you to go home if you do one tiny little favour for me." Sherlock perked up, nodding eagerly. "Of course! Anything, anything at all!"
William smiled. "Anything at all?" he asked, brushing Sherlock's hair to the side. The dark haired man nodded. William patted him lightly on the shoulder. "I'm very glad to hear that," he said sweetly before he lunged, sinking his fangs into Sherlock's neck.
The man gasped, back arching as the pain hit him hard, before his body relaxed, seemingly of its own accord. William started to drink in long, gulping mouthfuls, taking as much down as he could with each swallow.
Sherlock felt a strange rush of endorphins hit him with a punch, back now arching not in pain but in pleasure. "Fuck-" he choked out, making William pull back from his neck with a bloody smile. "Good, isn't it?" he purred. "Don't worry, there's more where that came from."
As he leaned down again to drink, even with the endorphins burning, Sherlock found the dark cloud of slumber creeping over his mind, clutching at him tighter and tighter until he succumbed to it, pliant in William's hold.
— — —
The birds were chirping as the light hit Sherlock's eyes as he slowly opened them with a wince.
Weakness gripped his bones, rendering him confused and disoriented about his whereabouts. It was only as Sherlock heard footsteps bounding towards him that he managed to lift his head from where he was laying on the ground.
A figure blotted out the sun as they leant over him. "-lock? Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?"
The dark haired man simply groaned, nodding slightly, head spinning as he did so. As his eyes adjusted, he found himself looking up at John.
Wait. Sherlock shot straight up, fighting down the wave of nausea that surged as he did so. "John?" he asked, voice croaky. The doctor nodded, kneeling down next to him, placing the back of his hand on Sherlock's forehead.
"Yes, yes. It's me. Thank god you're alive, when you didn't return at sundown I thought - we thought - that something dreadful had happened to you."
Sherlock managed a weak smile, brushing him off with a wave of his hand. "Are you crazy? The worst thing that happened to me was that I got turned around."
John looked him up and down, reviewing him for injuries as he helped Sherlock to his feet. "Not quite, I'm afraid. You've got two puncture marks on the side of your neck - we'll have to give you a shot to make sure that whatever animal bit you doesn't give you rabies."
At the mention of the marks, Sherlock's hand flew to his neck, before John slapped it away. "Don't touch it!" he exclaimed. "That's how disease spreads! You don't where your hands have been, and then you go and touch an open wound or an orifice, and then-"
Sherlock let the doctor ramble on as they walked further into the village, mind spinning as he recounted everything that happened.
He couldn't just let what had happened be the end of his encounter with the vampire. He would have to go back.
There was something that intrigued him about the blond - William - as well, that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
He sighed to himself as John led him inside his office, starting to begin the process of checking Sherlock over for injuries.
Yes, there was something definitely interesting about that vampire.
— — —
William watched as the blond led Sherlock down the hill, away from the edge of the forest. The height of the trees provided adequate shade for him to hide away in, and besides, he would only get sunburned if he stepped out into the sun's rays.
Humans did tend to overexaggerate these things, he'd noticed.
His body recognised Albert's presence before his mind did as he tensed slightly.
"All home safe then?" the brunet asked dryly. William didn't give him the benefit of an emotional response, opting to simply nod, turning to look at his older brother. At William's lack of words, Albert sighed.
"That was risky, dropping the shield," he said. William simply shrugged. "You said yourself that you wanted to learn more about humans. What better way to do so than one to come organically? The conditions were practically perfect for it."
Albert rolled his eyes. "Yes, William. I know that. But a little heads up might have been nice before he knocked on the door. Scared Louis half to death, you know. He thought your dear little…what was his name again? Sherlock, was it? Yes, Louis thought that he was a hunter, come to kill us all."
William exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry for scaring him," he said quietly. "I'll be sure to apologise to Louis when we return home."
Albert nodded, seemingly content with his brother's response. "Good." The two stood there in silence for a moment longer, watching the two figures become pinpricks in the distance.
"He's appropriate for the plan then?", the older man asked. William nodded, a smile stretching across his face. "Ideal," he responded. "He meets all the conditions that we discussed."
As Sherlock and his little friend faded into the distance entirely, William turned to Albert, satisfied with what he'd observed. "Shall we get to work?" he asked the brunet.
Albert smiled. "Yes," he responded. "I think we should."