Work Text:
Although any true enmity is largely a matter of exaggeration by those who love dramatics and romanticism as much as my biographer does, it is uncommon for werewolves and vampires to be particularly close friends. Pacts for mutual defense are a little more frequent, but most creatures of the night prefer the company of their own kind.
Before I met Watson, I had never sought company at all. My brother Mycroft—also a vampire—and I got along perfectly well. But although Mycroft is an excellent man, one might appropriate the phrase “as solitary as an oyster” from Dickens and apply it to my brother.
To my surprise, after befriending John Watson, I swiftly realized that my own nature was not as solitary as I had presumed. Watson, a werewolf without a pack, naturally attached himself most strongly to me. And as we roamed the night together, snacking upon the murderers we encountered, I found that I, too, had grown attached.
For a vampire, whose movements during the day are restricted by the most offensive glare of the sun, it is indeed useful to have a guardian who may roam at all hours. And for a werewolf, who monthly loses use of both hands, it is helpful to have a companion who is capable of things such as opening doors.
However, our bond runs deeper than that. When we have been apart, we mourn the absence of one another. When we are together, we rejoice in the pleasure of easy conversation and hunting side by side. We have become friends, and shall always remain thus.
We do not always roam the night, either. It is a great pleasure to curl up beside the fire in Baker Street with Watson as a wolf, and to pass the evening with my friend.