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The Needy

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category: slash, fandom: sherlock, fictype: series, fictype: short fic, genre: creature fic, genre: vampires, pairing: sh - sherlock/john, rating: r to nc17, series: needs, type: fiction


Sherlock had only slept for a couple of hours, but he had not crawled out of bed as soon as he had woken. His fascination with John had caused him some considerable consternation over the months they had been flatmates; he really didn't totally understand it, but, although it disturbed him, he could not say he did not like it. He had noticed changes in John's behaviour of course, he had just not calculated what was really going on in John's head. That had taken a desperate confession while he lay dying.

He had known from the outset that his attraction to John was biological, but if that had been all it was he also knew he would not have reacted as he did. His mother had once tried to explain to him what it felt like to find the one human that matched them. The one whose blood sang sweetly and who could be exasperating, but somehow right at the same time; the one that made them want to hold on and never let go. He had felt the stirrings of those things, but he had pushed them aside, all until John had confessed his love. That was all it had taken, just a few words and his months of control had slipped.

With a hole in his abdomen and blood everywhere but where it was supposed to be, he had been weak and in pain, but that first taste of John had been amazing. Everything he had repressed his whole life had just switched on like a light and he had sunk his fangs into John's neck and taken his first mouthful of blood. The healing of the gunshot wound had hurt, but, frankly, he'd been so giddy on John's blood that he'd barely noticed and then he'd brought John home before Lestrade could arrive and start asking questions.

He had not been sure what to expect of John once his friend knew the truth and, if he was honest with himself, which he usually was, he really had not expected to end up in bed. There was a great deal of difference between a crime scene and the quiet of their flat and he had not expected John to react so well. The sex was something else he had underestimated; he had not expected it to be quite so engaging and satisfying. He had gone through the requirements as a mental exercise several times and had decided it was a great deal of output for very little return. He did not mind admitting he had been wrong.

Not that he had been averse to a sexual high every now and then, but that could be easily achieved with manual stimulation and a collection of sex toys that he was now rather looking forward to introducing John to. People caused complications and his two attempts at sexual partners, one female and then one male had ended with less than success. His choice of male partner had ended after only what, from his angle, were mutually uninteresting handjobs. Sex with John was an entirely different matter all together. Simply being with John was entirely different to being with any other human being on the planet, which was why he had been lying in bed with John for over three hours just watching his lover sleep when usually he would have been desperately seeking something to while away the boredom.

While they had been sleeping they had moved from Sherlock on his back with John curled around him to virtually the opposite and it gave him the perfect view of John. He was cataloguing every breath, every shift of muscle, learning what was his, but it was coming on for time to get up anyway and he wanted to see John a little more animated. That was why he very carefully moved himself down the bed, taking the duvet with him and revealing John's naked body.

John was no greek god, but he had a soldier's body, muscled and firm, compact and strong and Sherlock admired what he saw. John's shoulder had its very clear scar, but it wasn't the only one on John's body and Sherlock took a moment to look and catalogue what he could see. Definitely a knife wound on the left side over the ribs, not deep, just a glancing cut, but it had a stitch in it. Not something John had ever mentioned. Then there was a small faded appendix scar, clearly something which had occurred when John was a child. Might have been what pushed him into a medical career in Sherlock's opinion.

John's body was fascinating to him, but what he was really after was further down and he finally lifted himself up, crouching down at the end of the bed, leaning over John's legs. He pushed the duvet out of the way completely and smiled at the sight of John's hard cock. Sherlock slept so randomly that he was unused to the problem of what he believed was called 'morning wood', but he found it very pleasing in his lover. He wanted John to wake up remembering who he belonged to, he also wanted John to feel pleasure, but the first reason was far easier to rationalise in his ever analytical brain.

Keeping his eyes firmly on John's face, he quickly flicked his tongue out to just brush the head of John's cock. He tasted several left over things from the previous night, but mostly he tasted pure John Watson in its most condensed form and he loved it. The way John twitched just a little was more than enough encouragement as well and he did it again. Of course it was not enough once he had had a little taste and, since he seemed to find everything about John addictive now, he let himself indulge. Very gently he took the head of John's cock in his mouth and slowly sucked before running his tongue along the sensitive slit.

Now John moaned, shifting against the bed and beginning to wake up. With his eyes always on his lover, Sherlock continued to play until sleepy blue eyes finally opened and looked down at him, at which point he sucked a little harder.

"Oh god," John said in more of a gasp than real words and made Sherlock smile around his prize.

With his attention so firmly on his lover he could read every reaction almost before it happened and he had every intention of exploiting that fully. Holding John's hips firmly in place, he bobbed his head for a while and the moan from John was obscene as John tried to buck into his mouth with no success. Sherlock was in control and he was going to stay that way, but he found John's struggles rather invigorating. He had no intention of making this quick and he was pretty sure he could make John beg at some point.

In short order he had worked out that using his tongue on the underside with just the lightest hint of teeth on the top of the head drove John just about insane, so he interspersed it with everything else he was doing at regular intervals. He had just made John swear loudly for the first time when he heard someone knocking on the door downstairs. It was a familiar knock belonging to Lestrade and the knock spoke of impatience and quite possibly worry.

He instantly changed his plan as he heard Mrs Hudson open the door and drove John on rather than bringing him back from the edge. Undoubtedly Lestrade would expect to find them in their usual positions and Sherlock had had the man burst into his room before, when he was really irritated. Given the sound of feet on the stairs that aptly described the inspector right at that moment and he knew John was far too close to orgasm to notice anything from the rest of the house. It was time to make a point.

He knew exactly what was going on outside the door and the moment he heard Lestrade's hand on the door handle he swallowed as much of John's cock as he could and sucked. As the door opened, John's eyes went straight to it and a startled look followed the move, but Sherlock saw John's eyes dilate even more and then John was shooting his load down his throat. He swallowed everything and recorded John's very interesting reaction for later study; it looked as if the seemingly vanilla Dr John Watson got off on being watched. He had suspected as much, but empirical evidence was always better than a theory.

"Oh shit," was Lestrade's loud exclamation and then the door was being slammed and Sherlock just grinned.

That would teach Lestrade to burst into his room without knocking and it also made it very clear who John belonged to. It was just about perfect, especially given that John was still lying there breathing hard and looking positively debauched.

"You did that deliberately," John finally said, lifting his head and looking at him.

"Well done, John," he replied, still smiling, "of course I did. Not that you seemed to object."

That did cause the blush of arousal to deepen a little with embarrassment, which Sherlock counted as a victory.

"Bastard," John said, but he didn't really sound annoyed as his head flopped back onto the pillow, "but if you try and tattoo your name on any part of my body I will kill you in your sleep."

John was improving and Sherlock was impressed with how well the other man had read the situation; it would make some of the behaviour he was sure would come about now, much easier to deal with.

"You don't know how," he pointed out, not that he thought his lover was serious.

"Doctor, remember," John replied and actually smiled at him, "I'll figure it out."

He slowly crawled back up the bed until he was leaning directly over John's body and then he lent down and placed a gentle kiss on what had turned out to be very kissable lips. John accepted the kiss and smiled again.

"I think we better see what Lestrade wants before he pulls the flat apart," John said in a regretful tone and Sherlock had to admit his lover was right.

The point was made, but Lestrade was unlikely to just go away.

"You can borrow some of my things," he said and climbed off the bed and then went rummaging in his chest of draws.

John was much shorter than he was, but he had some jogging bottoms in the middle drawer from when he had been investigating a case to do with fitness freaks. He pulled them out and passed them to John with a t-shirt.

"No underwear?" was the almost rhetorical question and he gave John a sexy grin in response. "Thought so," John said and rolled his eyes.

There were some battles he was willing to fight, like not biting John at every opportunity, but indulging in a little kinky play by making his lover go commando was not worth the effort. The new side of him that was beginning to emerge was incredibly interesting; he'd never felt most of these urges before and his mind was sorting and rating and cataloguing everything like a child in a toy shop for the first time.

The t-shirt was of course too snug, but Sherlock had chosen it very deliberately and he liked the way it pulled tight over John's body, and the sweats were too long, but were kind of endearing the way they bunched at John's ankles. Sherlock just about remembered to pull on some pyjamas himself before walking out the door to find out what Lestrade was doing to their flat.

"We found blood," Lestrade said, clearly using anger to overcome embarrassment and what Sherlock thought was left over anxiety, "lots of it and it matches your blood type and the partial DNA profile we have so far is identical to yours."

Sherlock was impressed as a finger was waved in his general direction; it must have taken a lot of clout to get a sample through the lab that fast. He made a mental note not to underestimate Lestrade's ability to get things done when he was really worried.

"Sorry," John said, sounding as pleasant as ever as he picked up random items of clothing and headed into the kitchen, "it was an accident. Tea?"

Lestrade looked dumbfounded for a moment and Sherlock mentally awarded John some points; usually only he managed to get Lestrade to look like that.

"Why the hell did you leave?" was the rather loud question.

A single glance from John told him that the ball was in his court this time.

"Pursuing the shooter of course," he said with his usual superior tone, "what else?"

"Then where is he?" Lestrade asked, but not quite so loud.

"Lost him," John said from the kitchen; "he jumped on the tube."

Clearly Lestrade did not know whether to believe that, so Sherlock decided to step in.

"You will find when you check ballistics that the bullet matches the shooting in the Cabbie case," he said smoothly. "It seems I have a guardian angel."

He saw John smile at that where he was making the tea. It was always useful when the facts fitted the cover up. It would do Lestrade good trying to find the shooter in completely the wrong place, make him feel useful.

"Let me get this straight," Lestrade said with a sigh, "you have a deranged fan running around London shooting people for you now?"

"Only when they're trying to kill me," he replied and smiled.

Lestrade frowned again.

"That still doesn't explain the blood," came back with renewed fire.

The man really did seem to have been very worried given the anger that was coming off him now, it would have been touching if Sherlock had cared about such things.

"An experiment," he said and waved his hand dismissively, "ruined now of course; very annoying."

Usually that was enough to put off most people except John, but Lestrade was clearly not in the mood to be fobbed off. While pretending not to be interested, Sherlock watched the inspector turn to John, who placed the tea down on the table. What he was not expecting was for Lestrade to reach out and grab John's wrist.

"Maybe I should test you for GSR," Lestrade said and although Sherlock was pretty sure it was Lestrade grasping at straws he didn't like it, not one bit.

Heat ran through him and the growl was out of his mouth before he knew what he was doing. It rather shocked him into just standing there as a whole host of new sensations ran through him. Definitely something he was going to have to analyse and learn to control; not an impulse that was conducive to company, possibly useful if John really was in danger though.

"What the hell?" he heard Lestrade say and he looked back at the man.

The inspector was staring at him as if he'd grown another head and he didn't really understand.

"Ah, Sherlock," John said and made a motion towards his face, "eyes."

It was then he realised that in his excitement at new things he had not noticed how the room had changed in his perception.

"Oh," he said, wondering what he looked like.

He had seen both his mother and Mycroft when their vampire natures had been revealed and it was not something that was easy to forget. With a thought he pushed the newly emerged part of himself back where it belonged and tried to work out how to proceed. Usually it was obvious, but usually it did not involve himself.

"Sherlock's a vampire," John took the decision out of his hands by stating the facts calmly; "dormant until last night when he took a bullet right in the chest. Nearly died until I made the genius, who is occasionally a right idiot, bite me. If he looks distracted it's because it's all new to him and you know what he's like with new things."

A very succinct summation of the situation, Sherlock was yet again impressed; John was on a roll. Lestrade, however, appeared completely lost.

"Vampire?" was what the inspector finally said and it sounded as if he was doubting his own sanity.

John picked up a mug of tea and handed it to Lestrade before walking over to Sherlock, who accepted his mug with a smile. Nothing had been this engaging ever.

"Vampire," he said and let the heat from the mug seep into his hands; "a different evolutionary branch of the human species that divided right at the beginning, or at least that's what Mycroft has convinced himself of. I'm not so sure, but we could be demons for all I care. Were you afraid when I growled; you looked like you were?"

The signs had been there, but it could just have been shock and he wanted to know. Some animals put out chemical signals to cause reactions in other species and it was quite possible he had done the same at a completely instinctive level.

"Sherlock," John said, giving him a small smile and a pat on the arm, "not now."

Clearly he was stepping on the human niceties again and he really didn't care except that is appeared John did and part of him really wanted to keep John happy. He wondered how long that would last, if it was euphoria or permanent. If it was permanent it seemed John had a considerable hold over him, which was interesting and needed investigating.

"I need to sit down," Lestrade said and just about managed to make it to John's chair before his legs gave out on him.

Sherlock had never seen Lestrade react quite so strongly to anything and he began pondering the possibility of chemical interaction again. He was undoubtedly going to end up invited to dinner with Mummy and Mycroft now, so he added it to the list of things he wanted to know. His mother had been very upset when he had rejected his vampire genes in favour of his human ones, so she would be positively delighted by the latest developments. He was still unsure if he wanted to thank Mycroft for attempting to protect John, even if it was from him, or rip his head off for trying to get between him and the man he wanted. It was all rather confusing and very exciting.

"This doesn't change anything," he announced, deciding to deal with the issue at hand first; "well apart from when it comes to John, this does not affect my detecting abilities."

"You're a vampire," Lestrade pointed out as if that meant something.

"So?" he replied, sitting down when John urged him towards the sofa. "In fact I should be even better at it now; my senses are significantly enhanced."

Lestrade just looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

"I think the inspector might be worried about bloodless virgins turning up all over his patch," John said and sounded a little bit amused. "Don't worry, Lestrade, the only person Sherlock will be biting is me unless he wants a very jealous lover on his hands and I know many, many ways to kill people."

"I already pointed out you don't know how I can die," he responded, rather enjoying this new side of John.

"And I already told you I'm a doctor and can soon find out," was the dry response.

Now Lestrade was looking at both of them as if they had gone mad.

"Drink your tea, Lestrade," he said with a smile, "it's good for shock, well except there is no scientific evidence to back that up, although what is in the mind is often as important as actual physical effects. What do you think about the placebo effect, John?"

"Never underestimate the human brain," is what John replied with a smile and sat down beside him.

Lestrade rather helplessly sipped his tea.

The End