New work = More smut!
I'm still thinking of the storyline, but you can expect more than 3 chapters.
Not sure how long this will be, anyway, just keep in mind that:
The Sherlock I depict in this story is alike the one in the pilot episode, much more open, and in some ways, expressive. While John would be from the aired episodes, a scarred yet strong figure.
Keep that image in mind, Pilot Sherlock, PILOT SHERLOCK, AIRED JOHN , got it? okay.
A playlist to go with it: http://bit.ly/1xNM7a1
7/3/15: Slight edit.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
“John, please, I want some more.” Sherlock burrowed his head into the crook of his blogger’s neck, yet the persistent pressure of the doctor’s fingers pressing against his pulse point stopped his fangs from descending.
Yes, he is a vampire. And John is a vampire handler extraordinaire, who is also an ex-army doctor, who became his flat mate, blogger, live-in doctor, and currently his snack who refused to let him eat.
“No, you need to learn control.” John said and leaned away, his fingers still pressed against the detective’s pulse point, yet Sherlock leaned in, nuzzling his neck, whining softly, attempting to soften his heart, but he didn’t go to war with a soft heart, he exerted a little more pressure with his fingers and the vampire in his lap shrieked, pulling back instantly, eyes wide and mouth agape, “I said no.”
Sherlock bit his lip, and stared at the blond man with teary eyes, “But I’m hungry.”
John ignored the basic manipulative technique and released the hold on Sherlock’s pulse point and swept the detective off his lap, stalking towards the kitchen for tea, “Drink from one of the blood bags in the fridge.”
Sherlock tilted his head left and right to get rid of the crick, and then huffed, “I don’t like them, they’re cold, and not as palatable as you.”
“Good to know I taste nice, but you’re going to kill me at this rate.” John took a sip of tea before popping 2 iron supplement pills into his mouth, chasing it down with another gulp of tea, “You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
Sherlock looked genuinely appalled at that statement, “Of course not!”
John smiled and took another sip of tea, “I’ll warm a bag for you.”
Sherlock frowned but nodded his head, “Fine,” then he smiled deviously, “Then-”
“No.” John refuted, emptying a bag of blood into a mug and set the timer on the microwave, “You always take more than you said you would.”
Sherlock huffed and plopped into his chair, “I’m hungry, and bored. This is a worse possible combination I can ever experience.”
“Nothing on the website?” John asked from the kitchen, the microwave gave a beep and he carried the warm mug to the sitting area, pressing the mug into the detective’s hands, “Drink while it’s still warm.”
Sherlock made a nasty expression, then closed his eyes and emptied the whole mug of its contents with a few gulps. When he lowered the mug and opened his eyes, his fangs ran out and he shuddered, eyes glowing silver for a moment then faded back to its usual celadon colour, “The aftertaste, ugh. Tea, John, tea.”
John sighed, passing his mug of tea to the detective and then picked up a fruit knife from the table, “You look like you’re dying.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Sherlock grabbed John’s cup of tea and took a few deep gulps, smacking his lips a few times, “I’ll be dying if I’m not already technically dead.”
“Can’t be any deader than dead?” John laughed, and twirled the knife between his fingers.
“I’m living proof.” Sherlock smirked, balancing John’s mug on a side table and leaned over the side of his chair to lift his laptop off the ground. Placing it in his lap, he opened the lid and the screen lit up, he rapidly tapped the keys on his laptop when he perked at the scent of blood, “What are you doing, John?”
“Here.” John extended a bleeding finger to the piqued detective.
Sherlock furrowed his brows, “You clearly said I take too much, now you’re offering me? Is this another test of yours?”
John laughed, pulling his hand back, “Come on, I tested you once and now you doubt my actions at every given moment? If you don’t want it, I can put a band aid over and you can sulk at the missed opportunity.”
He popped his bleeding finger in his mouth and licked the blood off, then moved to get a band aid when the detective seated opposite him swept forward and onto the floor, pulling his hand from his lap to his lips. He flinched slightly when sharp fangs grazed his bleeding finger, “Careful, Sherlock.”
“Apologies,” Sherlock hummed and sucked, groaning at the freshness of the essence that blossomed across his palate, it was only a drop of blood, a brief taste, and John is already pulling his hand away, he swallowed and licked his lips, “John.”
John looked at the vampire kneeling before him, eyes glowing silver, pupils dilated, with fangs descended fully; he looked like one of the vampires in those romantic love novels, attractive, dark, so alluring and so dangerous. He knew Sherlock could have easily overpower him and got what he wanted, but he didn’t, and that’s what’s so different about the detective. The detective is a turned vampire, how he didn’t dare ask, but Sherlock is still a child in vampire years, yet he had on more than one occasion, shown the restrain of a thousand years blood dependent being and the fluid grace of a pureblood.
And most importantly, Sherlock has a mind so profound, so brilliant he couldn’t even begin to describe.
Sherlock is extraordinary, the epitome of intelligence, he didn't conform to the stereotypical actions of vampires, so unique that the moment he met the man he was perfectly agreeable with sharing a flat with a being that could have killed him easily.
“Your eyes are glowing.” John said, swiping a thumb over Sherlock’s parted lips, he met the vampire’s eyes and Sherlock licked his thumb, closing his eyes as he did so, “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Sherlock blinked his eyes open, staring up at John, “Blood does that to me, yes.”
“Don’t turn away from me.” John murmured when Sherlock lowered his head slightly, “They’re mesmerizing.”
Sherlock lifted his chin and met John’s gaze, “John…we haven’t got to talk about the thing we’ve been avoiding for awhile.”
The detective instantly saw John’s emotional shutters go up, and the pleasant expression adorning the doctor’s face disappeared, “We’re not going to go there.”
Sherlock pursed his lips, and his fangs slid back up, “Why not?”
“You’re asking me to give up my life, Sherlock.” John retorted, and then softened his tone, “And you know what happens to human blood after they change.”
Sherlock knew the hidden meaning in John’s words. When a human turns into a vampire, their blood would taste sour to another vampire, which meant he would have to feed from another human, or sustain from blood bags. They couldn’t do what they have been doing if John were to change, but John would die from sickness, from injury, from age, but he will still live on, having the same physical appearance, never to be plagued with something as ordinary as the common cold. He will live, and John will die.
That is something he cannot adhere by.
“We can work something out, but if you were to- You’re fully aware I’ll not adhere to that.” Sherlock stated plainly, his sight flashed red for a moment before returning to normal, “I will turn you against your will if I have to.”
John ignored the verbal threat, and stared at the glowing silvery eyes of the vampire before him, he didn’t expect Sherlock to react so strongly about the topic, for a moment, those silvery eyes flared red, a sign that he was deeply bothered, and the sight of that assuages him. At least he knew he wasn’t the only one deeply invested in this relationship, and the knowledge of it was enough for now.
“Sherlock…” John started, and the detective was about to begin a series of persuasive facts when he interrupted him with a wet sounding smack on the lips, “We’ll worry about that at a later date, will that be okay?”
Sherlock blinked, his anger forgotten, and he nodded, John smiled, and everything was absolutely fine, “Do that again.”
John leaned down and did it again, then licked his tongue pass the seam of Sherlock’s lips, but he didn’t pull away, instead he pulled the detective up and into his lap. Sherlock agilely climbed and straddled the blond, not once breaking the kiss, sagging against the warm firm chest of his blogger.
Yet the scent of blood distracted him.
“You’re bleeding again.” Sherlock pulled back and lifted John’s bleeding finger, then lapped at the blood beading at the surface, letting his fangs elongate, he pricked his tongue on his left fang and licked John’s finger, smearing his blood over the tiny wound, healing it instantly, “Better?”
“Much.” John chuckled, then looked at his healed finger, “There’s no need for band aids in 221B after all.”
Sherlock laughed, placing his hands on John’s shoulders, “You idiot.”
“tut tut, I’ll get you for that.” John teased and Sherlock’s eyes glowed, a coy smile curling at his lips, “Stop getting all excited, you perverted vampire.”
Sherlock giggled; a light soft sound, “Have you ever known a vampire to be chaste, and yet willingly chose to abstain from sex?”
John quirked a brow, and nodded, “Well, yes.”
Sherlock looked surprised at the revelation.
John laughed, and then lowered his voice, “You can’t tell anyone I told you this…she’ll kill me.”
Sherlock nodded and leaned in, John whispered in his ear and Sherlock exclaimed, “Irene Adler?! Really, John...”
John tutted, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “Even for a genius, you can be uncomprehending of a woman’s true heart. Just because her profession is to be a dominatrix, doesn’t mean she isn’t waiting for the right person.”
Sherlock pursed his lips, and he looked slightly guilty, “Well…”
“I know.” John stated, and Sherlock blinked, “That person is you, isn’t it? She was hoping the person to be you, but then…” He gestured to their current position, “What can I say, I’m too mesmerizing for you to pass up.”
Sherlock laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners from laughter, it was times like this that John chose to just look, and contemplate how spectacularly handsome Sherlock is, and how undeniably blessed he is to meet a person he enjoyed being with as much as the person enjoyed his.
“Aren’t you embarrassed saying things like that?” Sherlock chuckled, leaning down to place a chaste peck on John’s lips.
John grinned, “Nope, I say them to make you laugh.”
Sherlock flushed red, and he lowered his gaze, smiling bashfully, “You really are an idiot.”
“I’m really going to get you for that.” John scolded lightly, and Sherlock basked in the attention he was giving, tilting his chin up being utterly pleased with himself.
“How’re you going to do that?” Sherlock asked, flexing his hips forward, rubbing his clothed member against the doctor’s own; a hot hard tent in jeans, “How?”
John didn’t say a word and bit his bottom lip hard enough to spill blood, and he watch Sherlock’s eyes glow silver at the scent, “Kiss me.”
That was all Sherlock needed.
The vampire surged forward and claimed John’s lips in a rough, messy kiss, fangs running out at the taste of blood, he growled and pressed the blond against the chair, rising up on his knees as he deepened the lip lock. Tongue sweeping against the seam of John’s lips, hands running through short hair, he tilted John’s head back and he plundered the warm mouth with his tongue, running his tongue across rows of teeth, and sucking at the agile muscle slipping pass his lips.
He pulled back and panted, his lips wet with saliva, and his hunger piqued at the bloody mess of John’s lips. Sherlock leaned forward, rocking his hips and eyed John’s carotid artery, “I need more.”
John knew that look. That pulsating heat in those silvery eyes, the light brush of red in pale cheeks and the evident arousal in the vampire’s pants, Sherlock is lusting after that craze and is hoping he would be willing to engage him.
That one bad, painfully indecent habit Sherlock has, is that he likes to eat while having sex. If he were to do both of them at the same time, as Sherlock described he would feel a surge of chemical high equivalent to a 7 percent illicit drug shot, he would reach a height of euphoria that would leave him breathless and highly aroused. Pliant and docile, he would paw at the doctor till John fucked him senseless into the mattress, his extra sensitivity making him irresistible to the doctor.
It was a win-win situation; hence they both continued doing that, though John would feel a little light headed after that.
“Touch me.” Sherlock nuzzled John’s neck as he straddled the doctor’s lap, feeling the hot thick line pressing against his own arousal, “John.”
“Where? You have to be more specific.” John whispered into Sherlock’s ear, relishing the full body shudder of the vampire in his lap, his hand was guided down to palm the detective’s own arousal, and he teased the hardness with firm rubs, “Here? Like this?”
Sherlock sighed breathily, rubbing his nose against the warm nape of his blogger, hands wrapping around John’s back, fisting the soft cottony jumper John is wearing, pulling it to bare the place he would sink his fangs into, “Yes, yes, like that. Oh, that’s good.”
John smiled at the soft moans and hitched whimpers as he continued his firm caresses, and readied himself for the bite to come. He felt a smooth tongue lick a wet stripe up his neck, the only indication before a piercing pain burned at the crook of his shoulder, he jerked slightly, and Sherlock soothed the wound with licks of his tongue, and then attached his lips to the bleeding points, sucking slowly as he rocked his arousal into his hand, moaning with obscene satisfaction.
He rubbed the aroused hardness through finely tailored pants, combing a hand through unruly thick curls, he melted into the chair as Sherlock fed from him, taking soft gentle pulls, hands grabbing his shoulders in effort to keep him still. He quickened his massage and the vampire keened a muffled cry, hips rocking forward, the gentle pulls faltering, and the soft moans intensifying into loud wet mewls.
Sherlock tensed in his lap, thighs bracketing his hips squeezed and John increased the pressure of his rubs, paying attention to the blunt head, rubbing it, pulling, and pinching, he heard Sherlock make a hitched muffled cry and then tremble, he jerked again when fangs pierced his neck, and the vampire groaned, thrusting his hips forward.
“I think that’s enough.” John said after the vampire in his lap stopped shaking, he felt Sherlock lick the wounds clean, and healing the points with a smear of vampiric blood, when Sherlock pulled back, the pinprick wound on his tongue healed before his eyes, “If you continue I’d faint.”
Sherlock licked his lips and ran his tongue over his elongated fangs, and then grinned a devilish smile, a smile John loved so much he surged up and captured the vampire's lips, uncaring of the taste of metallic in their shared kiss. He muffled the hitched moans with his lips and dived his hands into the unruly soft curls, pulling Sherlock’s head back as he surged up to deepen the kiss, he felt the vampire groan in arousal, and melt against him in submission.
“John…” Sherlock panted, lips bruised from the passionate kiss John bestowed upon his person, his eager cock throbbed in its confines and he whined, rubbing himself against the thickness of John’s arousal, “Bedroom?”
Look at how flirty they are. UGH. SO CUTE.
Trigger warning: Depression.
Smut and feels.
Sometimes hits me too strongly.
Kinda feel empty after writing.
Short chapter, under 3K of words.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The humid heat surrounding them was prickling, perspiration beading on skin, their breaths mingled in hot fast gasps as a small rivulet of blood made its way down to stain the white sheets.
The vampire keened and tossed his head back as he sobbed a broken cry, elongated fangs showing through reddened lips gleamed in the dull light, silvery eyes glazed over with tears blinked close at the tingling sensation coursing through his veins, accumulating, building to a tipping point.
So close, so close, almost.
The vampire wailed, hands scrambling to grab the white sheets under him as the body above him rocked into him, filling him, spreading him open, and grazing that swollen surface inside him with each rough thrust. The place they were joined burned, pulsating with heat, and at every given moment the discomfort healed, but not long enough to give him relief from the soreness that throbbed at each relentless thrust of the thick cock rocking into him.
He sobbed, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes as he keened brokenly, his breaths hitching as he was folded over, legs pushed open to their widest, his body rocking up the bed as he was fucked relentlessly into the mattress, the roughness of their intercourse electrifying. For once, he felt weak and helpless to the man above him, comforted by the fact he knew that man wouldn’t hurt him, like how he reduced himself into this pliant, vulnerable state, where each touch and caress was enough to drive him mad for the need of release.
The vampire cried trembling, his head thrown back against the pillows, dark curls sticking to his forehead in a sweaty matted mess, his fangs pierced his bottom lip, spilling twin trails of crimson blood as he tried to stifle the noises from rumbling up his throat.
“Don’t bite yourself.” John chided, faltering in his thrusts to lick a wet stripe up Sherlock’s chin, “You’re bleeding.”
“No! Don’t stop! John! Please!” Sherlock wailed, hands fisting the sheets as he peered up through blurred sight at the blond staring down at him, observing his expressions while he was thoroughly debauched, the heated gaze making him flush in embarrassment and desire, he mewled and John lavish affection on him. He must have said something, because John swooped down to kiss him, his thrusts faltering for a moment before picking up speed, calloused hands caressing his chest, pinching his peaked nipples.
He sobbed and writhed under the blond, the dull pressure in his abdomen drew tighter, his eyes swarm and he was briefly aware John is speaking to him.
“Can I cum inside?” John whispered against Sherlock’s lips, croaking out a groan when Sherlock caught his gaze and nodded in a shaky affirmation, his breath catching and hitching in sharp exhalations.
“Y-yes-P-please!” The end of his sentence was bitten off when John piston his hips forward, the blunt thick member inside him grazing that swollen surface protruding against his anal wall, and he is quaking, spilling his release between their abdomens in sporadic spurts, the words in his throat coming out in a strangled whine.
He was tipped over the edge again when he felt a surge of warmth painting his insides, Sherlock groaned, eyes fluttering shut as John leaned down and pressed his forehead against his, their warm breaths misting over their faces in light wafts, the intimacy of the act wrapping him in a hazy cocoon of satisfaction.
Sherlock hummed lazily, leaning upwards to capture John’s lips in a slow kiss, purring when John returned his affections, peppering his face with kisses and low sighs of endearment.
“John…” Sherlock exhaled, loosening his hold on the crumpled sheets to spread a palm across John’s abdomen, slipping down to the place where they were still joined, he moaned softly when John pressed slightly forward, the sound of wet squelching loud with his acute hearing, he clenched around the thick cock in him and he quivered, “Oh god.”
John rocked slowly into the warm heat, grunting as Sherlock tightened intermittently around him, he huffed for breath as arousal inched back into him at the sight of the debauched vampire under him. Lying plaint and docile under him, all the while peering up at him through lidded eyes, a high flush on pale cheeks, Sherlock is the most precious person he has ever felt strongly for, and the lethal pair of fangs glistening through reddened parted lips added an extra feel of danger.
Building their arousal with slow thrusts, John relished in the intimacy of the moment, hands placed on the bed for balance, he smiled when Sherlock wrap a hand around his wrist, rubbing a thumb across the skin of his pulse, staring at him with his lips parted in a soft sigh, eyes glimmering with a thin sheen of moisture, his lashes matted in a long line of dark contrast.
“J-john…faster,” Sherlock hurried, reaching down to finger the place where they were joined, rubbing the length of John’s cock that isn’t buried inside him with his fingers, teasing, guiding the pulsating cock inside him, his fingers coming away slippery and wet, gazing up at John he mewled, “J-john…inside…”
John grunted, shivers tingling up his spine at the rousing words and the yearning look reflected in silvery eyes, entwining his fingers with Sherlock, he pressed all the way in and the vampire gave a low keen, long pale fingers tightening around his, mouth falling open. Rolling his hips, John found a rhythm and stuck with it, thrusting fast and shallowly, his breaths coming out labored, the vampire under him moved to his thrusts, pushing back against him when he thrust forward, the intimate place they were joined stretched around him like a fitted glove, tightening, relaxing; a tight wet heat.
With his free hand, Sherlock grasped his cock and pulled to John’s thrusts, his skin tingled and he muffled another cry when John continuously rubbed his pleasure spot with each piston of his hips, his climax build and his eyes automatically searched for John’s. Staring into dark blue depths, he cried a strangled sound when John snapped his hips forward, thrusting his erect member deep inside him, “G-good…Like this, John. Ah!”
Pulling out with a wet squelch, he flipped Sherlock over and pushed those long legs under, manhandling him into a kneeling position, the vampire caught on what was happening and eagerly got into position, even reaching back to spread his firm globes; presenting. The redden rosebud glistened with lube and cum, twitching under his scrutiny, he ran a thumb over the slippery entrance, rubbing, caressing, and the vampire shuddered, pressing back against his digit, breathing shakily.
“John, please!” Sherlock cried, his fangs piercing his lips as he bit down in reflex at the torturous pleasure John is inflicting by fingering him, and now, rimming him. The firm licks to his most intimate area were glorious, and utterly filthy, he sobbed a cry of John’s name when the tongue probed him, licking him open, and fucking him with prods of his tongue, his climax build teetering, and with firm lick up his perineum he is coming, shaking and crying, hands trembling.
John pulled back and wiped a hand over his lips, and ran a palm down the Sherlock’s spine, rousing the still vampire, “Okay?”
Sherlock groaned, shuddering and then nodded, turning himself over, hands flopping back down to the sheets. He stared up at John, and noted with prurient interest, that the thick cock hanging heavy between the blonds’ toned thighs is engorged, shiny with lube and beading with pre-cum at the head, he remembered how relentless John was, and how he cried breathlessly, pinned down while being ruthlessly fucked, unable to get away. He gave in to a full body shiver and then stuffed a pillow under his hips, and heaved his legs up to his chest, presenting his twitching hole, purring, “Fuck me again.”
John growled gutturally, and relished the lust in the vampire’s eyes at the sound of it, kneeling at the Sherlock’s feet, he positioned his cock over the twitching entrance and slid the thick head over the slippery orifice, stroking the ring of muscle, rubbing, probing, he did it again and again, till the vampire pawed at him, face flushed with a whine in his cracking voice, silvery eyes tearing up.
“J-John…Nooo…” Sherlock whimpered, still quivering from his recent orgasm, sensitive and high, he almost cried at the ardent desire raging inside him as John teased him mercilessly, his cock lay on his stomach, leaving streaks of pre-cum, throbbing painfully. Fingers gripping John’s hands, he cracked in desperation, “Don’t tease…pwease don’t…”
John reacted to that whine and lisp in Sherlock’s voice, and he hushed soothingly, leaning down to lay a kiss on the vampire’s leg.
“John…” Sherlock reached out with his arms open and John shifted his weight, leaning down to place a chaste kiss on his lips, and thumbed at his peaked nipples, rubbing them between his fingers, and he keened, mouth falling open, his breathing laboured, “I need-Oh!”
Thrusting in smoothly and deeply, John memorized the provocative way Sherlock tossed his head back, the shuddery choked moan that he elicited from the vampire can only be described as cock twitching.
“Oh god, Sherlock,” John groaned loudly, head bowing down, the tight warm heat sheathing him clenched intermittently around him as the vampire’s breathing hastened, getting laboured, he instinctively knew Sherlock is getting close to his high, and he snapped his hips forward in rapid succession, his pelvis hitting Sherlock’s plush bottom with loud fleshy slaps, coupled with the wet sounds that squelched with each rough thrust, the sounds of their fucking spurring him on faster.
Sherlock cried a series of choked sobs, noises ripped from his throat as John pounded into him, thrusting in and out, going in deep and rough, feeling his sphincter clenching round the thick girth of John’s cock, his breaths quicken to a staccato beat, and Sherlock felt himself spiralling down the path of pleasure with control ripped away from him, fingernails digging into the flesh of John’s forearm, he felt his climax build steadily, inching him higher and higher.
John panted and hid his face into the crook of Sherlock’s shoulder, his thighs screaming in protest at his continuous exertions, the broken off whines and moans in his ear pitching off into a urgent crescendo of ‘please’, ‘don’t stop’ and the sound of his name recited with a lisp that was without doubt the sexiest thing he has ever heard in his entire life. He jerked when a piercing pain stung at the junction of his neck, and the vampire under him stilled, and then convulsed. The pain at his neck eased, and the clenching around his cock tightened as the vampire tossed his head back with a cry, mouth and fangs stained crimson with blood.
Sherlock heard John called out his name in his haze, and then felt warmth filling his insides as John shuddered above him, eyes closed with his mouth open.
Harsh sounds of breathing and the loud thumping of his heart echoed within the caverns of his ears. His arms felt heavy, he didn’t feel like moving at all. He moaned softly when he felt John slip out of him, the pressure he felt inside of him eased, and felt a dribble of semen exiting him.
“Shouldn’t have let you feed so much from me.” John huffed, lowering the vampire’s legs down onto the bed and retreated out of the warm heat.
Sherlock purred, running his tongue over his teeth and arched his back, groaning as the bones cricked back into position, his fangs slid back up and he sat up from the bed, getting on fours, crawling towards the retreating back of John, “Where’re you going?”
“Replenish fluids, and get a wet towel.” John said, wrapping a dressing gown around himself and Sherlock pouted, “Don’t do that.”
“Hmph.” Sherlock huffed, throwing himself back down on the bed, “Fine.”
When John returned back to the bedroom, Sherlock is seated wrapped in the sheet, leaning against the headboard staring off into the air, it happens when he doesn’t have anything particular to do, he sort of go blank, retreat inside himself, sitting, or standing utterly immobile, eyes open but vacant, it seems to refresh him.
Moments like these, John would just observe the vampire, relish the silence and the tranquil calm, before he engages the vampire again, “Sherlock…”
At the utterance of his name, the vampire gave a jolt, and he blinked, turning to John with a questioning expression.
“Water,” John threw a bottle of mineral water towards the vampire who readily caught it.
The vampire looked at the bottle in his hand, and then said softly, “You know I don’t really require sustenance other than blood.”
“I know,” John retorted, climbing back to bed, sitting plastered right by the vampire’s side, “But you’ll need it if you want to appear human.”
Sherlock played with the bottle in his hands, murmuring, “If I acted like a human being, can I become human?”
“Sherlock…” John started, and placed a hand over Sherlock’s, “What’re you thinking about?”
The detective remained silent, and then shook his head, “Nothing. My mind is blank.”
That seemed to make John worried, he grabbed Sherlock’s hand tightly while he used another to test the vampire’s temperature, “What’s going on?”
Sherlock laughed breathily, but it sounded forlorn, “I can’t get sick, John. I won’t have a temperature.”
“What’s going on, Sherlock? What’s all this all of the sudden?” John asked, he looked at their hands; one tanned by the sun, another white as snow, beautiful yet tinged with the cold paleness of death.
Sherlock exhaled a shuddery breath, entwining his fingers with John’s short strong ones, “I’m tired, John.”
John innately knew Sherlock wasn’t talking about being physically tired, but mentally.
And the thought of Sherlock doing something stupid scares him.
“You have me.” John said, wrapping an arm around the lean form and pulling the detective towards him, “You have me.”
Sherlock leaned against John’s shoulders, pulling the sheet tighter around himself, “How long will I still have you? 20 years? 25?”
“Is this all because of that? Me being human?” John exclaimed, pulling away, “Me not wanting to turn?”
Sherlock reacted slowly, turning to face the blond, he didn’t speak for awhile, he just looked at John, eyes roaming slowly over John’s features. When he spoke, his voice was soft, “I won’t force you if you really don’t want to.” He paused, then continued, “But you can be assured I won’t be around after you’re gone.”
“Are you trying to force my hand?” John enunciated without a hint of anger in his voice.
Sherlock shook his head, “You have to understand that my life before you was constant, and repetitive, it was suffocating. I had no lingering connections to the humans around me, till you came on by. For once, I enjoyed myself, indulged myself in who I am. So why is it so hard for you to accept the fact that if there’s no you, I would want to continue this cursed existence?”
John pursed his lips, and tried to keep his emotions from his voice, “If I were to turn, you’ll completely stop that line of thought?”
Sherlock smiled, “An eternity with you, I would probably be too preoccupied. Plus, you’ll be nagging at me, I won’t have the mind.”
John snorted, “I don’t do that.”
“Yes, you do.” Sherlock refuted, and then sagged against the doctor, “I can only hope.”
Due to several constraints, I've decided to shorten the plot, so this is ending soon.
If you spot mistakes, do tell me. Cause' most of the time while proofreading I'm hiding behind my pillow since I was so embarrassed while reading the final product of smut I've typed.
The next morning after a long night of solemn promises, Sherlock was out of bed at dawn, to be exact, he was awake the whole night watching John sleep, but the doctor didn’t need to know that.
Breakfast was a short mindless affair, a bag of cold blood bag from the fridge and he was done. He left the dining table entirely to John after the man awoke, and had his phone for company for the rest of the morning.
As John digested his breakfast at a leisurely pace, he observed the detective stalk the length of their living room, speaking tersely into the phone, and with the tone of voice Sherlock’s using, it was Mycroft he’s speaking to. By the way the conversation was going it was for the arrangement of necessities ranging from blood bags to food.
It was rather strange to see the man staying on the phone for so long, speaking a mile a minute, making calls after calls while he pinned messily written notes on the wall with the phone pressed to his ear.
John let the detective go free on his own, and with the man occupied, he did their laundry and cleaned the flat the best he could. It was around 9 that Mycroft dropped on by in his usual unexpectedly regal way, yet the government official said nothing and left. It was another one of those silent exchanges the Holmes brothers did that confuses all the people around them, yet they themselves know the meaning behind it.
John was flummoxed about the unusual change but Sherlock was mildly pleased.
In the late morning, approaching the hour of lunch, an unexpectedly large delivery arrived. Sherlock had it moved into his bedroom, and after the deliverymen have left, John sneaked to the door and watch the detective tear the protective layers and unveil the bulky object.
For whom, there wasn’t exactly a need to ask. John was slightly unsettled by the sight of it, yet the beginnings of agitation he was working himself into was forgotten the moment he saw the detective kneeling beside the casket with a soft smile on his face, stroking the smooth black lid. It was such a gender touch, and it washed the scene clean of the typical suggestion of death that usually comes associated with coffins.
Instead, this spelled a symbolization of rebirth to him.
That utterly open expression, whatever the vampire was thinking about, John could clearly see it. It made him feel as though he had intruded upon a very private moment for the vampire, and with conflicting emotions he couldn’t express, John silently retreated back into the sitting room.
However the time needed for John to relax wasn’t as much as he’d liked to, the number of times the doorbell rang during the day was the most he has ever experienced after moving into 221B. He’d lost count the number of times he’d gone downstairs to answer the door and receive their packages, only to go down again when he has come up arms full.
Delivery upon delivery, parcels and packaged boxes were slowly taking up space in their living room. Majority of them were bottles of fine wine cased in wooden boxes, or stocks of refrigerated blood bags packed in cooler boxes, a couple smaller parcels were perishable foods; slabs of premium meat wrapped in quality controlled packaging.
Knowing Sherlock doesn’t eat human food, unless he really has to, John knew those were ordered specifically for him. He wasn’t complaining though, for the wide variety of food being made available for him, he had the most scrumptious lunch ever since the last time he went to a pricey buffet.
After lunch, while he was having tea in the sitting room, unravelling another one of their many deliveries in his lap, John had noticed the vampire opposite him hasn’t requested to feed from him at all. To be exact, the detective hasn’t invaded his personal space since morning, and he’s talking about the man who likes to meddle with his business whether he likes it or not, which is to say this behaviour is far from normal.
When he inquired, the detective just smiled, and said he wasn’t hungry, a lie considering the vampire’s eyes glowed silver before regaining their normal celadon hue. That was when John understood why Sherlock was keeping his distance.
The vampire was holding himself firmly in check, and avoiding him made restraining himself easier.
Sherlock was waiting for the sun to set, and it is then he’d feed.
Looking out the plane windows at the street below them, John came to grasp that this is the last sunset he’d experience as a human being, it was as though time is running out for him, slipping from his fingers, and each second inched him closer to being in that black casket in Sherlock’s room. Most of all, thinking he’d lose all his friends to age and death made him hesitate, but not for long as the vampire slid down from his own chair and took his hand in a tentative grasp.
He looked up and into those bright eyes, full of insecurity and he sighed, whispering a confirmation that he wouldn’t back out on his promise; in return he received a small smile and tender words said in a soft voice.
Night fell rapidly, a blanket of black over the city. It was a cloudless night, and the streets lit with streetlamps were strangely empty for a weekday.
John was ushered into the detective’s bedroom after his dinner and quick shower. Currently they are sitting on the bed with an opened coffin at the end of the bed, its heavy lid propped up on its side.
“What now?” John said, looking at the smooth sheen and the red padded interior, then shifted his gaze back at the vampire beside him.
“No rush,” Sherlock said, and then laughed softly, “You’re nervous, I can hear your quickening heartbeat. Here lie down.”
He was eased down onto the mattress, lying on the sheets that smelled like the sun and detergent. John looked up at the being that hovered over him, dark curls falling over celadon eyes, those twin orbs remaining unusually bright in the soft light of the table lamp on the bedside table.
“What do I need do?” John asked, feeling out of place. Sherlock’s lips quirked at the corners and the barest of fangs peeked through redden lips, he looked away and felt the vampire lean down, curls tickled his cheek, and the ghost of a kiss brushed against his pulse point. He shivered and bunched the sheets in his fists.
Sherlock paused at the rapidness of John’s pulse. “Would you feel much more comfortable sitting up?” He asked at the crook of John’s shoulder, he felt the man beneath him jolt and he smiled. Pushing himself up and onto his knees, he pulled John up into a sitting position, “Sit against the headboard.”
John shifted backwards and leaned back against the propped up pillows, legs stretched out before him. Very naturally, the vampire straddled him, knees bracketing his hips with hands placed on his shoulders. It was similar to one of Sherlock’s feeding sessions, and this upright position calmed him more than it should. Until now, he didn’t realize how nervous he’d been till he sagged against the pillows, arms wrapping loosely around the small of the detective’s back, pulling Sherlock slightly closer to him. The vampire straddling him is quiet, but John could tell his mind is firing off thought processes faster than he could ever comprehend. The mere idea of the vampire trying to accommodate him to make the process comfortable for him soothed his unsettled heart.
The vampire in his lap hummed softly in acknowledgement, eyes fluttering as he breathed, leaning against him.
For awhile, nothing happened, Sherlock didn’t move, he just observed John looking up at him with quiet anticipation, dark blue eyes bright with confidence and resolution.
The silence was full of things they didn’t say, but there were things that didn’t need to be spoken to bring the thought across. They knew each other too well at this point.
John reached up and grabbed his hand to reassure him. Sherlock squeezed his hand back, a tiny smile forming at his lips. He leaned down, placing a close mouthed kiss on his blogger’s lips, and then he did it again, this time he licked a wet swipe against the seam of John’s lips, and slotted their lips together.
Breathing in through his nose, he moaned appreciatively at the soft tingles of pleasure travelling up his spine, bunching the cottony shirt John wore, he leaned up on his knees, deepening the kiss, shuddering as John nipped at his tongue lightly and soothed it with firm licks.
They parted, breathless, wanting more, but the night is precious at a time like this. Vampire fledglings have to enter the coffin before early dawn, and now they don’t have the time to lose.
Placing light kisses over thin lips, he gently trailed his hands up and down muscled arms as he peppered kisses down John’s neck and collarbone, he hummed in his throat when John turned his head slightly to the side, exposing a long smooth plane of skin. His hunger piqued, and Sherlock growled softly, his hands latching onto John’s shoulders as he leaned down to nuzzle the exposed skin.
John grasped at Sherlock’s thighs when the vampire started to lick a wet stripe up his neck, and he held his breath for the bite to come. Sherlock hushed softly when John jolted, and then bit, piercing the taut skin harshly, he sank his fangs fully into the flesh, before injecting his venom that would initiate the change into John’s bloodstream, he lingered for awhile and then retracted his fangs. Claret flowed from the deep twin wounds; it trailed down in quick rivulets to stain the cotton shirt John is wearing, blooming across the fabric in vermilion.
The pain of the bite was unlike the ones from Sherlock’s feeding session where the vampire would try not to make it hurt as much. This is entirely different, at the vampire’s bite, a hot lance of pain scorched at his neck and he jerked, pulling away, but Sherlock grabbed his arms tighter, holding him in place. He felt the vampire latch his mouth to the bleeding points, taking in strong deep pulls, sucking harder when the blood flow started to ease; the sounds of slurping and gulping unnaturally loud in his ears.
Sherlock made a sound of obscene pleasure at the rich velvet that filled his mouth, each gulp slipping smoothly down his throat, putting out the hunger he endured for the whole day, settling down heavily in his stomach. Trailing his hand up to grab the doctor’s nape, he took deeper pulls into his mouth, his other hand making soothing rubs up and down John’s arm, encouraging the man to tilt his head back, and give himself completely to him. At his silent prompt, his blogger did, and at that submissive gesture of completely baring his neck to him, an animalistic hunger sparked inside him, and he fed stronger, deeper, harder, piercing the soft flesh with his fangs again, he sucked at the bleeding points, pulling gulps upon gulps of warmth into his mouth.
In his caged arms, Sherlock felt the doctor weaken, becoming pliant when he continued to feed, the hands that were grasping his thighs dropping to the sides, fingers curling weakly at nothing. John is becoming listless, he is fading.
It’s a haze of numbness John felt himself enter when his life force is gradually drawn away in gulps, his body only remaining upright with the vampire caging him in his arms; he has long sagged against the headboard. Eyes peering blearily at the coffin that lay at the end of the bed, he made a barely audible sound of unease but with his acute hearing, the feeding vampire soothed him by holding him closer, relaxing and tightening the grip on his nape. John could somewhat feel the heat of Sherlock’s body pressing against him, his fingers twitched and he sighed tiredly, arms heavy.
John would’ve slipped away if not for the firm weight of the vampire in his lap, and the strong grasp Sherlock had on his nape grounding him to reality. The lips on his neck were warm, and the initial deep strong pulls were slowly becoming gentler. He was mildly aware that Sherlock had removed his lips from his bleeding neck, lowering him gently onto the bed.
When he peered up and found the vampire looking down at him with his chin and lips smudged, dripping wine red, the sharp gleam of fangs obvious through his parted lips. The vampire looked so much different than usual with his eyes shifting between hues of mercury and an electric shade of carmine.
Tugging at his shirt sleeve, Sherlock brought his wrist to his mouth and bit harshly into the flesh, blood filled his mouth and he pressed his open wrist to John’s slightly parted lips.
“Drink,” Sherlock coaxed, “You need to.”
Sherlock licked his lips, baring his fangs in a soft growl when he felt a hesitant tongue run over the bleeding points, lapping meekly at the flowing blood. He crooned encouragingly, a reverberating sound deep in his throat, a guttural purr, and John drank feverishly, taking in stronger pulls from his wrist till he deemed it enough.
Licking the bleeding points close with his tongue, Sherlock slipped out of bed and pulled the pliant doctor into his arms, and very carefully carried the man over to the opened padded coffin and lowered him inside. By then, John’s eyes were already glazed over, a glassy sheen over dark blue; his eyes were just a barest gleam beneath long light lashes. Gently he arranged John’s hands to fold over his abdomen, and he elegantly wiped away the bloodstains on John’s chin with his sleeve.
For a fleeting moment, a tender expression flickered in John’s heavily lidded eyes, and Sherlock felt a huge wave of passionate affection for the man, the man who shares his blood, he is his now, and Sherlock couldn’t resist the urge of leaning over the edge of the casket to place a soft kiss on those moist blood streaked lips. Licking the thin streak of blood clean with a wet swipe of his tongue, he hummed and nosed John’s cheek, taking a soft inhale of breath.
“Sleep now.” He whispered softly as he brushed a hand over John’s lidded eyes. At his command, John’s eyes slipped closed, and his breathing slowed, till it promptly stopped. Taking one last look at John, Sherlock pulled the heavy lid over the coffin and promptly sealed it; a smudge of blood across the lid, a whispered string of incantation that belongs only to him, an ancient maker spell.
The casket clicked as if latches were flipped down, and his smudge of blood formed a pentacle of his family crest, proudly gleaming in a brilliant shade of claret. A dull hum resonated around the coffin like the purr of a well maintained engine; Sherlock sat back, knowing the transformation is in progress.
Now all he could do is wait.
For days, Sherlock drank from blood bags while he stayed beside the coffin. He rarely ventured far from the casket, he only made one brief trip away, and that was to chase Mycroft out of the flat, his need to protect and guard his still vulnerable fledgling from another vampire raging on strong inside him.
And worst of all, that’s a vampire who made him the vampire he is today. He is the outcome of an unfortunate accident which consists of a mortally wounded vampire and an untimely meeting. His life ended when it just began, and to repay the crime he did, the vampire gave him new life but damned him with consequences. It was a dark, bleak past they both wanted to bury in the deepest recesses of their mind, but what’s done was done. With centuries of working around the situation, they have learned to tolerate each other to a certain extend. They weren’t biologically brothers, they were only tied together by the blood they shared during the exchange, but for the sake of making things easier, in the face of the law they were registered as brothers.
As his vampire maker, the government official could’ve ordered him to do anything, and he’d to obey, or resist and suffer severe internal injuries, even so Mycroft never really abused that privilege or held that power against him, instead he let him go free. In exchange, the official would check up on him on a regular basis with the excuse of brotherly concern, meddling in his affairs where it doesn’t concern him.
However, now that he’s finally a maker himself, Sherlock understood and felt that intense profound sensation, that compelling, almost impulsive feeling to be near their child. The urge to protect, the urge to give John everything he needs, that warm, tugging feeling in his heart that came deep in his core, making him lightheaded, yet so on edge. It was alike a chemical high craving he’d long since forgotten, that overwhelming feeling of possession bordering on obsession.
It was then, he fathomed the sudden arrival of the official, seemingly Mycroft came to let him be aware that feeling, exactly how he felt all these time, how much he cared how much control he exerted from interfering with his life despite feeling physically obliged to. The older vampire said all of those things without saying a word, and for centuries he hated the man, in that fleeting moment Sherlock felt almost ashamed.
Despite so, the government official was calm and composed, settling a cooler box on the ground and then, to Sherlock’s utter surprise and mild shock ruffled his hair with a genuine smile at his lips, not that dead smile of a ghost, but a smile one makes when they are proud and happy for another. He stood stock-still unknowing how to react since they haven’t had skin on skin contact for as long as he could remember. Even so, it wasn’t awkward and Sherlock allowed the gesture, observing the older vampire standing before him, yet as quick as that expression crossed his face, it was gone, and the façade of the British Government is back on.
After Mycroft left, he stored the blood bags in the fridge and returned to the bedroom. Upon seeing the sealed casket, an unnamed feeling welled up inside him, and for some reason, he draped himself over the black coffin, the beginning of tears forming at the corner of his eyes.
He stayed in that position till the next morning.
Days passed; a slow trickle of time. Occasionally, he’d talk to the coffin, but most times he slept. When he ate, he’d consumed more blood bags than he’d need in consideration for the fledgling who would feed from him for the first and last time after awakening.
On the sixth day as the skies darkened outside, Sherlock curled up on a pillow beside the sealed coffin in his curtain drawn bedroom, fiddling with his phone when he heard the beginnings of movements inside. He perked and set his phone aside. For a long time, nothing happened, and Sherlock was about to brush it off as another one of his products of boredom when it happened again.
Sitting up, he waited as the shuffling movements inside the casket became stronger, and fists started to pound against the sealed lid, struggling to push it off. The pounding became louder, frantic in rhythm, but as much as Sherlock wanted to help, he’s forbidden to do so.
The very first step the fledgling has to do is to break free from the sealed coffin with their own strength, if they couldn’t, that could only mean the transformation was a failure, and the fledgling would eventually die before they rise. Sherlock didn’t doubt the potency of his venom at all since he did come from a long ancient lineage or underestimate John’s strength; he knew his blogger could do it. And John did.
With a bright flare of the blood seal, and a loud bang, the coffin lid came off, slamming onto the floor, hands grabbed the sides and the figure inside slowly sat up. After 6 and half days, Sherlock finally laid eyes on John once again, the new fledgling was disorientated at first, eyes blinking blearily at the surroundings. Sherlock stayed where he was, waiting for John to process his own condition.
When John finally did turn towards him, his eyes were slightly lidded, the look of a vampire lurking in his eyes was a shimmer to that deceiving form. Tanned skin and calloused hands, who’d have thought the man before him is a just risen vampire, a being with extraordinary strength and speed, equipped with intelligence and memory of their human lives; and there is nothing scarier than that.
For John, he’d be a vampire with a past as an army doctor, a former soldier with indomitable force of will, plus his natural, almost innate dispensation to handling vampires, he’d be a remarkable opponent.
Of all the crimes he’d solved, doctors were the best and worst kind of criminals, they have the guts, and they have the knowledge, the crimes executed were done in a calm, quiet way; clinical and efficient. Which is to say, if John were to be a criminal, he’d have an extremely hard time chasing after the man.
Sherlock smiled at the thought of returning back to crime scenes with John. “Do you remember me?”
John’s voice was soft, raspy, disused, but it was confident when he answered, “Yes, I do.”
Stretching his legs before him, Sherlock opened his arms, “Come.”
John agilely slipped out of the coffin and into his awaiting arms, he inhaled deeply through his nose, and crooned appreciatively at the heavy scent of his blood emitting off the fledgling’s skin. The man in his arms was listless, fidgeting, and it didn’t take long for Sherlock to notice John parting his dress shirt open to bare the area he’d bite, he let him, rumbling soothingly, encouraging the fledgling on.
It must be basic instinct, because the vampire in his arms first soothed the area with licks of the tongue, then he felt the prick of fledgling fangs, and the soft gentle pulls from warm quivering lips. Sherlock sighed lolling his head backwards, eyes falling shut at the pleasant sensation, a gush of pride welled up in him as he heard John made a muffled sound of content as he fed.
It was not for long till the meek, quivering way John started with has started to become wild, and Sherlock grimaced when the fledgling sank his fangs roughly into his flesh, yet to learn control.
After satiating his initial hunger, John began to taste, rolling the blood in his mouth, tasting it on his palate. He didn’t know blood could taste like this, it was addictive like rich decadent chocolate, and he greedily lapped at the bleeding points, dissatisfied when the wounds closed. Baring his fangs, he found another spot and bit into the crook of Sherlock’s shoulder, pleased when the surge of warmth filled his mouth once again, pulling his fangs out, he latch his mouth to the bleeding points, slurping and lapping at the bloody trails.
He drank till the detective tugged at his hair, and he leaned back, licking his lips. Unknown to him, his eyes glowed, pupils undilating as he focused his sight on Sherlock before him, taking in minute details from the older vampire he never could before when he was human. For instance, the frayed thread on Sherlock’s right sleeve, the folds of fabric, the way it creased when he’d bunched it in his fingers earlier.
He could already detect the differences of his new physical state; he could feel raw power lurking under his skin, in his muscles, the way his blood flowed through his veins with the vigour and strength of someone his age shouldn’t have. He felt revived, in every sense of the word.
Sherlock felt utterly drained, but it was entirely expected. As he observed John cleaning blood off his fingers and chin with that beautiful silvery glow in those eyes, Sherlock felt this was all worthwhile. There’s so much John has to learn, but there’s no rush for they have all the time they need ahead of them.
“That hurt, you know.” Sherlock complained as he wiped a palm across his healed shoulder, “Was I ever this rough to you?”
“Sorry,” John smacked his lips, his fangs showing in a grin, “You taste awfully nice.”
“That goes without saying,” Sherlock huffed, and sniffed the air, a subtle change has started to permeate the air, the whiff of sourness that he was looking out for, “However that’s the last time you’d feed from me. My blood will taste putrid to you now.”
“Really now?” John leaned forward and pressed their lips together, licking the blood off red lips, his silvery gaze meeting Sherlock’s. Then he did it again, slipping his tongue pass the seam of Sherlock’s lips, and licked the roof of the older vampire mouth, a bland clinical taste lingered at the tip of his tongue and he pulled away, “What was that?”
“Aftertaste of blood bags. Dreadful, aren’t they?” Sherlock chuckled at the look on John’s face. “Don’t lick your lips.”
John did it anyway, and he scrunched his nose, “God. What the-”
“My blood, sour, isn’t it?”
John looked disappointed as he cleaned the blood off his chin with his shirt, “Is there no way I can ever savour you again?”
Sherlock flushed slightly, “We’ll find a way.”
John took note of Sherlock’s embarrassment and he chuckled, “I’ve a theory I’d like to test.”
“What is it?”
John grinned, “If I can make you completely melt in bed now, not that I can’t in the first place.”
Sherlock advert his eyes away, hiding a bashful smile, “Idiot.”
John laughed. Even in the dimness of the room with his enhanced sight, he could see the flush on Sherlock’s cheeks, and that shy smile, he leaned forward and said teasingly, “I’ll get you for that.”
Sherlock’s eyes glowed, a coy smile curling at his lips. “Try me.”
John pounced and Sherlock made a faux shriek of surprise as they tumbled onto the floor. “How many days was I asleep? I feel a little stiff.”
“6 and a half.” Sherlock answered, lying under John, shivering when John ran a possessive hand across his chest, thumbing peaked nubs.
“Mn.” John hummed, leaning down to place a chaste kiss on the vampire’s lips, “I’ve to make up to you for leaving you alone for 6 days. Were you lonely?”
“Very.” Sherlock answered, “You’re not to do that again.”
As Sherlock continued to complain, going on and on about how dreadfully boring it is these days, John smiled dryly, the love he had for Sherlock grew inside him as he listened to Sherlock’s childish demands.
“I hardly had a choice, did I?” John said, and Sherlock sulked, falling silent. “As you recently brought up, now it’s my turn to nag at you.”
Sherlock groaned, and John peppered kisses on his face.
“Did Mycroft by any chance come by?”
“He did. Days ago,” Sherlock answered, shifting uncomfortably to rid the cold rigidity of the floorboards under him, “Why?”
“I’ve got a bad intuition that the living room is in a mess right now.” John grabbed the pillow lying nearby and cradled Sherlock’s head with it.
Sherlock smiled. That was one of the reasons why Sherlock loved him. He’s so attentive, so sweet. John noticed the small things.
“I’m not cleaning it up you know.” John casually said.
Sherlock groaned again, “I spent most times in the bedroom. The sitting room is hardly any different 6 days ago.”
“Hm. But, am I right? The living room is in a mess.”
“Not words I’d use, or agree with.” Sherlock shifted under John, and he glanced up at the man, “Are we going to continue talking?”
“I’m merely granting you your wish that I’ll remain the same as before,” John teased a soft earlobe with his teeth, “Now that is out of the way, will you give yourself to me?”
“Yes.” Sherlock shuddered, pressing his flushed cheek into the soft pillow as hands trailed light fluttering touches along the outlines of his body, “Anything, John.”
The vampire above him rumbled pleasingly, eyes glowing mercury silver, the sharpness of fangs gleaming through parted lips. “Anything?”
Sherlock gave in to a full body shudder at the promiscuous undertone, a small moan escaping his lips as he peered up at the vampire doctor. “Please.”
John made a snuffing sound as he exhaled and kissed Sherlock on his forehead, “As you wish.”
I'm going to disappear again.
My problems are far from done. When will they get the hint and leave me the hell alone?
Anyway, thanks for sticking around!