::Sheepishly waves:: Hello my lovelies! I am so, so sorry for the exceedingly long delay! I am now finished with school, have resolved (or am in the process of resolving) my health issues, and potentially looking at a new job (with a much more normal schedule)! This means I should be able to update a bit more regularly. My hope is to get the next chapter up by June 18th!

This portion of the story contains a lot of sucker punches too the feels, please forgive me!

The ship lilted and bucked as the ocean seemed intent on keeping the Holmes clan from reaching the shores of their homeland without the lovers united. For days on end George, Anthea, and Mycroft had kept a constant vigil at the weakened mender's side. John had scarcely been awake for longer than a moment since they'd left port, lost in some internal darkness and pain. Mycroft had done his best to nurse John to some semblance of health over the course of their journey, however without the mender awake it was difficult to ensure he was progressing positively. John had been plagued by nightmares and terrors in the darkness of his mind and broken heart, the sound of Sherlock shouting in pain ringing constantly in his ears. He gasped and came awake violently as the nightmare again tore at him, his head swimming and his gaze unfocused as he tried to push himself up. His entire body felt heavy and weak, utterly debilitated by what had happened. His mind slowly came back into the world only to find his Sire leaning over him with a pained expression. John tried to speak, his mouth dry and thick with emotion, however Mycroft hushed him.

"Go easy my mender." Mycroft urged, bracing him as he helped John sit up. Anthea looked up from her seat by the door.

"Where are we?" John croaked out, taking the blood wine Mycroft offered with a shaking hand.

"On our way home, back to England. We shall try to find Moriarty when we arrive." He sighed; looking down as he gently ran his fingers through John's hair. "My mender, I am terribly sorry this has happened. I should not have allowed you two to travel alone. I knew something would happen and I could have protected you." He dropped his head to John's shoulder in exhausted relief. "I am pleased you have awoken. We almost lost you both in one day."

"Sherlock is..." John shuddered and Mycroft instantly realized the carelessness of his words.

"Oh... How careless of me. No my love, my apologies. He is poisoned and still very much in the possession of James Moriarty, however he was still of moderate strength when he spoke with me through our mental connection before his boat departed." He sighed softly as John turned to him with an even more pained expression. All he had, had was silence; deep, unyielding silence - while he was tormented by memories and pain. "I had intended to board their vessel and return Sherlock to us; however Sherlock insisted I wait until we returned home. He seemed concerned more for your safety than his own. Though I did not know the reasons why at that time."

"How I failed him..." John whispered looking down as tears came. Mycroft bit his lip nervously. He did not know how to properly console John in this moment. Least of all when it was quite possible that Moran had been involved in the plan.

"You have failed no one John. You did the best you could. I have seen your memory of what happened and you fought more bravely than most." Mycroft promised. "You fought more than I could have had I been there myself. Please my mender, take rest. We will bring him back to our side." His voice shook with concern as John's strength ebbed. He caught the blood wine in time to stop it from spilling and helped John back against the pillows. "I will not leave your side." He promised in a whisper.

Darkness came and John let it wash over him. Meanwhile on another ship the darkness slowly broke as Sherlock opened his eyes. He was groggy, his side ached, and his mind was lost in a confused fog. The stab wound in his side was healing terribly slowly, as if something was keeping it from healing properly. As he sat up he heard a flurry of movement, his eyes opening to find the concerned face of James Moriarty looming over him. He tried to pull away only to find he could not make his body respond.

"Easy my love, easy," James whispered, cupping Sherlock's cheek. His eyes soft with false emotion and his touch gentle, as if luring Sherlock into safety. "That evil man is far away now. He can hurt you no longer. I have brought you home my love." He whispered, trying to kiss Sherlock who pulled away violently.

"He did not hurt me!" Sherlock shouted, groaning as pain tore through him.

"How is it that your brother allowed him to poison your mind so? How can you not remember that you are my mate?" James looked pained and he looked down. Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion. Memories swam in his mind, some that he was certain were real and others that seemed real though his heart ached at them.

"John is my mate. He is my match." His voice shook. He forced himself away from James, trying to stand - only to crash back down.

"Easy my love, you are very weak. The poisons are strong and sapping you of whatever tender strength I can return to you." James sighed and motioned for a bottle of blood wine.

"Then why am I in a prison cell?! Your lies will not take hold in my mind. John is my husband!" James sighed. He softened his face and held Sherlock against himself, offering a cup of blood wine.

"Here, drink some." He encouraged, holding the cup to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock growled when he tasted herbs.

"They will help you heal love, please." James begged, again tipping the cup to his lips. Sherlock fought as long as he could but the darkness that came when he lost control returned and he knew nothing of the world for a long time.

Six dark months passed and each night brought nothing but more disappointment and heart ache. John stood still as stone in the silence that settled around him, as it did many nights when he retreated to the solace of the library. He could not stand to stay in his and his husband's chambers, far too pained by the memories that he knew Moriarty was stripping away from his loves mind. He sank down on the sofa far in the back of the library, out of sight of the door and closed his eyes - hoping that this time his dreams would be empty. As he slept however his mind brought him to his favorite place as a child - to the forest near his adopted parents' home. The one where he'd spent so many hours writing things he'd learned about herbs, vampires, and his heritage.

He sighed as he sank down on the limb of the tree he'd grown so familiar with and he looked up at the blue sky through the leaves.

"John?" A voice whispered and John's eyes snapped back down to earth. He stood, freezing as he did. The sound of rustling leaves, parting a path for another man as he approached were the only noise in the space.

"How?" John demanded coolly, stepping tentatively forward.

"This is your mind... I have... I have been trying..."

"Sherlock..." John whispered, turning away. "This is just my mind playing tricks on me." He muttered darkly, clinging to the branch.

"No my love..." Sherlock stepped forward, reaching out to touch John's shoulder. "I have been trying to reach your mind like this for what feels like an age. Moriarty has not been giving me the herb as much these last few days. I felt my mind regain itself only a few hours ago and I knew the first thing I must do was try to reach you again. God that you live..." He whispered in a shaking voice. Tears came and fell down both their faces as Sherlock was swept into John's arms.

"I wish I could find you. I have tried, night after night..." John whispered, clutching Sherlock tightly to him.

"I know... I have felt you close... However he keeps moving. He knows you will not rest... John... I..." Sherlock pulled away, as if he intended to leave.

"What has happened, anything you have done is the fault of the herb and not yours. There is rumor he is going to have our marriage annulled." John whispered as he stepped back towards his love.

"He is and he intends to have a wedding for us soon. He will invite my brother."

"I cannot..."

"I would not expect you to." They stood still in the wavering dreamscape, staring at each other and both desperately wishing they could touch the physical form of their lover. "If you wish to... Find another..." Sherlock began; John however quickly cut him off.

"I shall never give up on our bond." He swore, stepping so close their bodies were barely a breath apart. "You are my match."

"As you are mine," Sherlock's voice was a shaking whisper as he looked down at his love, guilt in his eyes.

"Sherlock please do not feel guilty, this was nothing you could do." John whispered, his hands slowly moving up to touch his love. Sherlock gently cupped John's cheek, his eyes swiftly observing every detail of the man before him.

"My love, you look starved for affection... Have you not taken comfort from my brother?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"I..." John looked ashamed. "No. I had conceded to take no lover until I found you."

"John, my beloved, it is my one solace to know that you are well cared for by my brother, by our lover. You must know what..." Sherlock's voice was pained and he looked away. John turned his face back.

"I shall try, however I almost wished I had died than suffered like this without you." He forced out, his voice shaking.

"God I was terrified I would never see you again, even like this." Sherlock confessed softly. "You live. God you live." He repeated over and over, before their mouths came together. The kiss lasted for what felt like ages before they broke apart.

"This feels so real..." John whispered against Sherlock's lips.

"Our minds make it real. I wish I was at your side." He pressed their foreheads together and his arms tightened around John.

"As do I, however I would take this every day for eternity over the silence I have endured."

"I wish that it could be so, however..." Disappointment tinged his voice and John kissed him to take it away.

"Knowing you still love me somewhere inside your heart is all I need. It shall sustain me." He promised.

They sank down onto the grass, their mouths hardly parting as they tried to show each other just how much they had feared the death of their lover; just how much they desperately missed each other; and yet they fought to hide the deep pain and guilt they both felt. Sherlock easily took control, the helplessness he felt when awake making him desperate for some sort of control, as he undid John's shirt. He touched every part of him he could reach, moaning into his mouth as their lips continued to move together. Taking his time, Sherlock caressed every inch of John's body until he was unclothed and warm against him. John helped Sherlock free of his own clothing before crushing their mouths back together.

"Oh my love... I miss you." Sherlock whispered, reaching down and pushing two fingers into John. John shouted and arched, clawing into the ground.

"Sherlock! I need you. I have to find you." He chanted, gasping even as he pushed down on Sherlock's fingers.

"You will. Our hearts will lead us back to each other." He promised before pushing himself into his love.

Their bodies united once more, even if only in their dreams, the two of them did not last long. The heat coiled between them until they both cried out and tears began to fall. They clutched at each other, kissing each other as much as possible as they continued whispering soft words of comfort. Time however would not wait and soon enough Sherlock began to fade.

"Until we meet again... I love you." He whispered.

John gasped and sat straight up. Dawn was creeping into the world and he felt he had not slept at all. His heart pounding in his chest and his body aching for the release his mind had given him. He tried to ignore the desire of his body but was unable to, the feel of Sherlock against him coming to his mind. He stroked himself quickly, gasping as he did and then shouting as he released. His entire body shivering as he sobbed into his pillows. He continued sobbing until he collapsed into a terribly exhausted sleep. His rest was plagued by nightmares and after a particularly detailed one in which he again lost Sherlock he woke with a shout so loud it echoed throughout the house. The tears again streamed down his cheeks, his entire body shaking. He sobbed and clawed at himself until he felt the hands of his Sire pulling him into a tight embrace. He struggled and fought anew, trying to make his body feel the pain his heart could no longer bear - however Mycroft held him firmly in his arms. He knew this pain was destroying his fledgling, not that John had sought any relief from him; however he promised both Sherlock and himself that he would endure this torment and protect his mender. The sobs continued for awhile before diminishing and leaving a shivering, weakened mender clinging to his chest. Mycroft sighed softly, able to tell what had happened just from John's reactions.

"John, please dry these tears they will do naught but harm you further." Mycroft whispered as he felt the mender finally relax. "He connected with you, did he not?" He ran his fingers through John's hair, sighing softly.

"Y-yes." John forced out, burying his face against Mycroft's chest. "It is like losing him all over again." He whispered.

"Hush, I know my love. I know." Mycroft fought his own pain. John looked up at him and cupped his cheek, deep guilt in his eyes.

"You have hidden your heart for sake of mine." He whispered weakly. "Do not. Let me know you grieve with me. I shall take solace in knowing that you are still beside me even in this darkness." He barely breathed the words as their mouths met in a kiss that was full of sorrow. Tears fell down both their cheeks as their mouths continued to move together for some time. When Mycroft pulled away he was trembling for breath.

"John… I am so sorry… I should have forced you two to come with me. I could have protected you." Mycroft whispered as the silence fell around them.

"I should have listened. You have never steered us wrong, Sherlock simply wanted to enjoy what was the anniversary of my coming into this life. He will take our life from him. His memories, his heart, all of it shall disappear under the weight of the herbs. It was intentional wasn't it? What did you see in my memories? What happened when I was rescued?" The mender demanded of his Sire, clutching him and staring in his eyes.

"Do not ask me that, my mender. I cannot be the one to injure your heart so." Mycroft whispered in reply, trying to look away.

"Do not hide it, for there is nothing that can destroy me more than losing our beloved already has. Tell me Mycroft. Tell me at once." John held himself firm as Mycroft recounted what he had seen from John's memories, what he had observed from John's body when he was given over from Sebastian, and what he feared had happened. John let out a soft sob, his body shuddering but he did not pull away. "So it is true. Sebastian's determination to learn about the herbs was simply to gain power over us. I handed Sherlock over to them on a platter." John's voice was wretched and it made Mycroft ache.

"No my mender, you did no such thing." The reply was so soft that John almost missed it. "You were swayed as Sebastian predicted. His family was kind to you even though you were told they were evil. It is no fault of yours that your knowledge was used against you. We will be able to create a remedy because of this. Once we find Sherlock we will be able to restore him."

Time began to move quickly for John, the days and nights blurring as he and Mycroft sought information on their lost lover. They grasped at every lead, no matter how improbable, until they were both exhausted and disheartened. The first decade passed quickly and brought with it a terrible blow to John's heart – James had succeeded in convincing a vampire tribunal to annul Sherlock and John's wedding and to allow James to marry Sherlock. The tribunal did not go as far as to blame John however, as no one truly believed James' falsehoods that John had harmed Sherlock in any way, however they were unable to bring light to John's version of events with Sherlock adamantly defending James. The wedding was drawing closer and closer and in the months before the wedding many events were thrown to celebrate. Mycroft, in effort to spare John's heart as much as possible, turned down a myriad of invitations – however when the local Duchess issues an invitation to a masquerade ball she was throwing in honor of the couple the Holmes clan was unable to refuse. Mycroft pleaded with John to attend, nearly begging because he did not want to face the couple alone. John finally relented, though he was not pleased in doing so.

When they arrived to the overly large affair, John stayed close to Mycroft, the two of them looking down from the balcony at the happy pair celebrating their impending nuptials. John's body vibrated with his emotion as he tried not to think about how happy Sherlock had been when they were preparing their own wedding and instead focused on surveying the room. His attention was drawn back to Sherlock however when he paused and looked straight up at John without so much as an ounce of hesitation. The feel of Sherlock's eyes on him nearly shattered the mender completely and it was only his dedication to his Sire that kept him rooted in place. Sherlock's attention was returned to James for a moment, when the shorter man returned to his intended's side and spoke softly to him. Sherlock however turned his attention back to the mender and began making his way towards the pair on the balcony. As John realized Sherlock's intended path he hesitated before stealing away down the hall and to the outside. Sherlock arrived on the spot just a moment after John disappeared around the corner and frowned as his brother turned to address him.

"Hello brother mine." Mycroft said with as much forced sentiment as he could afford.

"Brother! You came!" Sherlock exclaimed happily, moving a bit closer to his brother, though his eyes were on the exit.

"Of course I did. It's a celebration for you." Mycroft said gently, his intention not masked.

"Who was that man who was with you?"

"No one of import to you, brother mine – where is your intended?" He forced a smile as James came to rest beside Sherlock.

"There you are love; I wondered where you had wandered to. I see now it was with good reason. Lord Holmes, it is as always a pleasure. You have refused so many of my invitations lately, I was beginning to think I had wronged you somehow. I am pleased to see you accepted this one."

"My apologies Lord Moriarty, I have had much business to attend to and a gravely sorrowed coven to care for." Mycroft's tone was curt Sherlock looked at him with a furrowed brow, pulling his mask up to see his brother better. Mycroft looked away and when he looked back it was to find that James had already escorted Sherlock away.

Mycroft retreated more deeply onto the balcony, sighing softly as the shadow enveloped him and allowed his heart to slow. He understood now why John had vanished and though he wished to immediately console his mender he resolved to remain awhile longer and see if he could convince his brother to visit their manor sometime soon. All other attempts to free Sherlock from James' side for even a moment had failed and he hoped that the impending wedding would provide an excuse. Mycroft sighed as the night wore on and it became clear that James would not let Sherlock out of his sight, keeping the man within arm's reach at every turn. Shaking his head in defeat Mycroft turned to leave only to find himself freezing in place as a shiver of excitement crept up his spine and he began to feel a strange, tingling sensation in his chest. The sound of soft footsteps approaching him caused him to turn and looked over the man who stepped from the shadows.

"It will not do for someone with as much power and authority as you, Lord Holmes, to remain hidden in the shadows." His voice drifted softly over Mycroft, causing the shiver to deepen. He regarded the newcomer with a look of interest; surely he had not met the man previously. He would have remembered someone so striking. The man wore an elegant dark suit from another age, his silver hair flashing in the low light of the room even as his eyes glowed vibrantly with pleasure, "It is an honor." He bowed. Mycroft stood stock still for a long moment, trying to will the heat and eagerness in his body to a more tepid temperature as the man's gaze met his own. He could feel a pulsing sensation in his chest, as if a string was being wound so tightly between himself and the other man. He finally forced himself to steady and held himself up as firmly as he could.

"I apologize, however I am afraid I do not recall making your acquaintance." Mycroft muttered softly, glad his mask was covering his face. The man smirked, stepping a bit closer as he did. Mycroft could not keep his breath even as the sensations pulsed harder in his chest.

"I have not, as of yet, had the pleasure of actually making your acquaintance, Lord Holmes." The man said in a voice that was rich and comforting to Mycroft's injured heart and nerves. "I do however know of you and your clan. I am Vice Captain Gregory Lestrade, I am a member of Their Royal Highnesses' Elite Military. I am specifically Vice Captain of the third unit of Lady Kyara's forces." He said with a small incline of his head by way of greeting. Mycroft's mind finally woke from its stalled state and he nodded.

"Ah a Hinadri," Mycroft smiled softly, though his breath hesitated in his chest. "I have only met Her Highness Lady Fate previously. I am afraid I have never had the good fortune of meeting Lady Kyara. May I ask as to why you are here?" He kept his voice even, moving to lean on the railing and look out at the party continuing below. He tried to act casually though his mind was racing with the possibilities this man presented him.

"There are many reasons why I have been sent here. Though why I am here tonight is my own doing." Gregory said softly as he walked over to lean on the railing beside Mycroft, his full attention focused on the man before him. "I have come to England on behalf of Their Royal Highnesses to inform you that we received your letters as well as letters from some of our affiliate covens here, explaining the situation that is before us. While the Tribunal's ruling has silenced any action we might take in Sherlock's stead, I can assist you and your coven through this difficult time. My Ladies also offer my services as a token of our faith that you will align with our clan and our missions." Greg smiled as he looked at Mycroft, their eyes locking for a moment. "I am here tonight as I wished to meet you." He smiled even more broadly and Mycroft's eyes locked with the other man's gaze.

"That is kind of them and you to offer, however I do not know how you will provide any additional assistance." Mycroft said tearing his eyes away. "I have little luck in consoling my fledgling and there is little else to do." He looked down.

"And who consoles you?" Gregory asked curtly, though without malice. Mycroft's eyes flickered back up towards him and he was glad again for the mask as his cheeks reddened.

"I am fine." He replied automatically.

"You are not." Gregory said softly, stepping even closer so their bodies were barely a breath apart. "You are a strong vampire, Mycroft Holmes, however you are a poor liar. Twice now you have run from me… From the pulsing you feel…" He whispered as he leaned forward. "I believe now is our time… Let me heal your heart." He demanded. Mycroft's eyes went wide.

The pulsing in his chest grew stronger as time seemed to freeze around the two men. He remembered feeling this same sensation before, at a dinner gathering for a larger clan shortly after he was turned. He had fled, terrified of what it meant, only to find that almost a hundred years later he'd found that same sensation. The same pulsing that was pulling him closer to the other man instead of pushing him away. Just before their mouths would have met Mycroft regained some of his control and pulled back.

"Do you have a place to reside for the duration of your visit?" Mycroft asked before he could stop himself.

"I believe that shall be entirely up to you." Greg whispered as he stepped closer to Mycroft.

Just as Mycroft had time to wonder if Gregory did actually intend to kiss him, a sharp twinge of pain echoed through his chest. He tore off his mask, confusion lining his face as he glanced down at his chest. He pulled his shirt to the side, immediately believing he must have been attacked by Gregory, only to find no injury. Gregory moved to speak but knowing slowly coalesced on Mycroft's face. A dark look flitted past his eyes before he turned on his heel. Gregory had just enough time to hear Mycroft whisper the word Mender before the man took off. Gregory followed, right on his heels as he did – not stopping until he almost collided with Mycroft just outside the gate to the Holmes' clan manor. There caked with dirt and blood lay a man on the side of the road. He had what looked like several knife wounds in his sides, slowly healing. His arm was also broken, hanging off his body at a very odd angle.

"John!" Mycroft gasped, dashing over and slowly surveying the mender. "What happened?" He demanded as he tried to lift John.

"N-nothing." John lied, looking away from Mycroft. He didn't look at the other man either, he'd felt the emotion his Sire had been feeling before John's pain had interrupted.

"It must have been some of Moriarty's men," Greg answered curtly, looking towards the shadows. "I saw him talking to them just before Sherlock came up to speak with you, Mycroft. It is no longer safe for us out here tonight; let us return to your manor."

"W-who?" John asked weakly.

"He is a friend…" Mycroft provided as his only answer, though he blushed. John however saw what was happening in Mycroft's eyes.

It was a knife that dug deeply at John – though Mycroft did try to be gentle with the budding romance so as to ease the Mender's heart. John was in a way, quite happy for his Sire, though it felt like a knife twisting into his soul at every pass. As Gregory and Mycroft grew closer, John grew more distant; behaviors which were not comforted by the quickly approaching wedding of Sherlock and James. As the date of the wedding drew closer John became more isolated and easily agitated. He refused to speak even with Mycroft, preferring instead to remain in the confines of the library. Gregory and Mycroft had formulated a plan in the hopes of convincing Sherlock not to go through with the wedding, however to perfectly succeed with the plan they needed John's help. Something he had so far been quite reluctant to provide. The day before the wedding Mycroft stormed off towards the library, in the hopes of finding it occupied, and hoping his one last attempt to convince John would work.

"You are here." Mycroft said in relief as he entered.

"Oh… Hello Mycroft." John said hollowly. He nodded slightly to Gregory but did not verbally acknowledge his presence. Gregory frowned but understood Mycroft had not left his side for any length of time lately – which meant he had spared no time for John. John continued what he was doing, barely looking up at the men as they stepped further into the room.

"John, I implore you, please come with us tomorrow. We may be able to stop this wedding." Mycroft's voice was soft, pleading. "I know you do not feel there is much hope however Gregory's plan…" He flinched when John sharply cut him off.

"I will not. There is nothing we can do and I will not force myself to suffer more than I already have." He shouted, spinning to face the two men. He paled some when he saw that Gregory had his hand protectively on Mycroft's back and turned back to his experiment, his body shivering slightly.

"John, you must come. You are our best…" Gregory spoke up, trying to see if the mender would accept anything from him. They had been close at first, however the closer Gregory and Mycroft became the more John turned away from them.

"I said no." John growled angrily, his back going rigid. "I am not going and that is my final decision." He growled softly.

Mycroft looked down as guilt flooded him. He knew John was angry and hurt however he did not know how to comfort the mender. Every time he tried John simply spurned his advances or pushed him away. Gregory had been warm and accepting of John, trying to get him to become friendly with him as he grew closer to Mycroft; however John could not stomach it. His own childish jealousy devouring him from the inside as he fought to find some sort of peace as his world began to fall apart in even more terrible ways. When Gregory and Mycroft finally retreated from the room, leaving John to his solace - he could not stop the angry tears that came. He gripped the table and shook with silent sobs as he tried to contain the emotion that threatened to drown him. For two months now he'd began a spiral into darkness, becoming distant and quiet from the entire coven and as the wedding drew closer his mood turned faster. He waited until he heard Mycroft's door close in the distance before throwing himself back on one of the couches in the room and forcing his eyes to fix on the ceiling as he sobbed until he passed to sleep.

The dream began much as it always did the same clearing and the same emptiness that threatened to swallow him whole. He wandered unstably through the clearing, towards some trees in the hopes of disappearing into the forest beyond, but paused when he heard someone speaking.

"This place again. I swear it is familiar yet strange." Sherlock's voice whispered softly. John stood there, fighting the tears he knew were on his cheeks. He could not understand why his mind and body were tormenting him so. First he'd suffered Mycroft's distance, then his continued insistence that John attend Sherlock and James' wedding, and now this? Another tormenting dream where Sherlock no longer remembered John or anything about their lives together, another aching moment of seeing Sherlock look at him with an entirely too blank stare and the memory of how his heart had been ripped from his chest? It was as if the world was against him and out to punish him for some transgression he could not remember having made. He shook violently as he tried to convince himself to wake but the exhaustion of his body and his desperation to see Sherlock even if he didn't remember him were too much. Sherlock fell silent as he continued to observe the surrounding, trying to place the location in his mind. He knew he never forgot anything, so if it was familiar it must be in his mind somewhere. He was however concerned that a place that felt as important as this one could come into his mind and yet seemingly have no home. It was only then that he realized there was someone with him and he turned at the sound of gentle footsteps approaching him.

"I mean you no harm." John whispered, his voice shaking. His eyes not masking his pain as he tried, vainly, to keep his voice even.

"Do I know you?" Sherlock's soft reply echoed gently as he stepped forward hesitantly. "I feel I do. It is almost as if I have seen you in a dream." He continued closer, noting how John tensed and shivered with each step, his fingers frozen as he reached out two to touch John and see if he was real.

"I am no dream." John replied quietly, the sorrow in his heart refusing to remain restrained and seemed to swirl around them like a tormented breeze. He looked away, his entire being trembling with the emotion he was unable to restrain. Sherlock simply narrowed his eyes and stepped even closer as he observed every detail about the man before him, trying vainly to place him in his mind.

"Then who are you? Why can I not find you in my memory?" He asked in a soft voice.

"I am… I was one of your greatest friends. The memory of which was stripped from you and no longer matters." John whispered dismissively.

"This hurts you so." He muttered as he continued his approach, almost as if John was a timid creature that would dash away at any moment. "And yet you look at me with such love... Please, who are you?" Sherlock reached out and touched John's cheek, sighing softly as he did. He looked confused as he felt John's body respond to the touch. "This feels right... Touching you like this… Yet it feels so different than when my James touches me." He mused softly his confusion deepening as John flinched, his body shuddering as a sob fought to break free. John recoiled and Sherlock pressed forward, putting his hand back on John's cheek. Almost as if to keep John rooted in place until he got his answers.

"He has lied to you." Was all the mender could force out before it became too much. He sank to his knees as his body began to collapse under the weight of his grief. Watching Sherlock's knowledge of him disappear from his eyes over the years had broken something deep inside of the mender, leaving him hollow and aching. Sherlock felt guilt and pain well up in his heart and he sank down beside the sobbing man as if he would perish if he did not. His hand slowly slid up to the man's shoulder as he tried to whisper words of comfort, as he struggled to find something he could say that would make those horrible heart-wrenching tears stop. Something in his heart shivered and trembled when John looked up at him, his eyes so full of pain, love, and adoration. He felt himself shiver as John's gaze locked with his, their mouths only a breath apart. They were searching each other for secrets that lay deep beneath the surface of the masks they currently wore and slowly they began to fade.

Sherlock felt the powerful draw to kiss the man before him though he knew that he was, at least according to his intended, the property of someone else. The drive to unite his lips with the man's before him was overwhelming, so much so that though he was to be wed the following night, he gave in and pressed their mouths together as if he'd never done so before. He gave himself over to the moment, allowing the dream to guide him as his and the others' mouths met in a soft, tremulous kiss. John could not stop the soft groan that escaped him before his hands and his lips took over and he pulled Sherlock closer in a frenzy of passion. Suddenly realizing what he was doing he pulled away, both of them panting for breath as their eyes locked and they sat in a heavy silence. John watched as the kiss began to ignite trails inside Sherlock's mind and he felt the rush of wind around them that signaled the return of Sherlock's memories. He watched, horror struck, as Sherlock's face transformed and the pain and guilt he felt doubled. Sherlock began to pant heavily, the grief of what was transpiring threatening to swallow him as his memories continued to sort themselves. He clutched John desperately as tears began to fall, silently pleading for forgiveness.

"Oh John," He gasped, clawing his love. "How? How has he done this? How has he tormented you so? How can I live knowing I have hurt you this much?" He pleaded, his fingers going white as he clung to John's shirt. John shuddered in fear and sorrow.

"No! Do not dare say something such as that to me in this moment," John ordered. "I shall know if you harm yourself and I shall be the first to leave this world behind you." He promised, both of them trembling as they clung desperately to each other, John's hands finding purchase in Sherlock's shirt. His grip was strong and firm, desperate – as if trying to pull Sherlock from the dream and into the world.

"How can I not say something such as that? How can I stay happy when I can see how this has destroyed you? You are broken, a shell of who you were, all because of me. The pain I have caused you..." Sherlock's voice cracked and John forced their mouths together again.

"I will not give up Sherlock. I cannot! You are everything to me. I will find you!" He swore, wrapping his arms almost painfully around Sherlock's back. Sherlock leaned his head on John's shoulder, shaking as he did his breath warm and heavy with tears.

"I shall never truly lose faith in that, my love, however... If love finds you before you find me, do not deny it. Please John. I want you safe and happy."

"I shall be when you are returned to where you belong." Sherlock leaned down and claimed John's mouth in a fiery kiss, pressing him back against the ground. "God this feels as if it were real." He muttered before claiming John's mouth again. "I had forgotten how powerful our bond was. Forgotten what it was like to be bonded with someone so closely…" He whispered against John's lips.

"Sh... Sherlock." John forced out, trying to grab a hold of his love in a way that would never allow them to separate.

"No. No more words." Sherlock ordered as he continued to push John down. "We have precious little time left and even if it is only in our minds I must feel you. I want to feel you before he strikes the blow to my heart that I am sure will break it. My memory may not be my own again, even here… In our dreams..." Sherlock's reply was faint as he pressed their mouths back together.

The scene shifted as Sherlock's mind carefully altered their shared reality in tune with the desires of the dreamers. Suddenly they were in their room, the one that John did not dare to enter for fear of the sorrow he would find. Sherlock pushed John back against the pillows, clawing the clothing off his lover like their presence was offending him. Their mouths and bodies slamming together in hurried, frenzied passion. Sherlock was determined to make this something that would bolster his love, something that would stop John from ever looking so broken again.

"Burn this into your mind." He ordered darkly. "Carry it so it can never be lost. For when this moment is over I am going to lock away my memories in such a way he cannot strip them from me ever again. Promise me John, that you shall never ever forget I love you." He begged, tears falling as they continued to kiss.

"Please Sherlock... Don't let this be the end… I have to find you. I am dead inside." John whispered, clinging to his love.

"As am I," John cried out as Sherlock pushed himself inside his love, claiming him just as he had so many of the nights they had shared in the waking realm. It felt so real to John, he felt as if this moment were truth and not just a figment of their minds. He tried to fight the sensations, not willing to give into so much pleasure and passion only to face so much pain – Sherlock however refused to relent. So finally he gave into the sensations, allowing himself to float carelessly into the feelings rolling through him as his lover claimed him with such desperate intensity. Their mouths hardly breaking apart save for breath and their bodies moving in perfect sync with each other. The passion that burned between them was white hot and the frenzy of their emotion meant the moment was over far too soon. Sherlock thrust hard into his love, claiming his mouth as John shouted and tumbled over the edge. Sherlock desperate to claim the sound of his name on his lovers lips, as if that would give him what he needed to survive – even as he felt something calling his mind back to the realm of the waking. John realized what was happening and was too broken to stop his emotion, clinging to Sherlock as a fresh wave of tears broke free.

"Please Sherlock… Please do not go..." He begged and Sherlock felt his heart crack wider. Such a strong man pleading so brokenly for what he knew could not be meant that Sherlock felt the guilt in his own heart grow deeper.

"My love, we both know I cannot stay. No matter how hard I try my mind will go back to the control..." He whispered brokenly, trying to keep kissing John.

"Please," John's voice was barely audible over his tears. His hand slipping up into those raven locks - even as the images began to blur.

"I love you John. Never forget..." Sherlock's voice echoed softly as his image faded, leaving John alone in the dream.

"I love you..." John whispered.

When John woke it was with a wail of grief that made the blood of every member of the coven run cold, a wail so full of pain that Gregory did not even try to accompany Mycroft when he tore himself from bed and dashed across the house. Mycroft grabbed John's hands just as he began to tear at himself and his clothing, stopping him from harming himself and holding him as he fought, as he had done so many nights since Sherlock's capture. John collapsed back on the bed, tears still falling even as his exhaustion began to settle in – his expression broken open as he looked pitifully up at his Sire and pleaded silently for the pain to be over. Mycroft knew what had happened, he could feel the lingering energy of the connection and he knew the pain that John must be feeling. He knew how little Sherlock remembered of their life together for, after promising James that he would not mention John in the slightest, he'd been granted permission to see his brother. There he learned that Sherlock's memories were no longer his own and instead were the lies that Moriarty had planted in his mind. His own guilt blossomed as he watched John slowly crumble into an exhausted sleep. He did not know how to free either of his lovers from this pain, how to end the separation that was slowly causing the mender to harden and forcing the ties that once were so strong, to wither away to dust.

The morning of the wedding came and with John still refusing to attend, Mycroft was forced to leave his grief stricken mender at home and attend the ceremony with a pretend sentiment in his heart. While Mycroft and Gregory were pretending to be happy for Sherlock and attempting to find an opening to get him away from James, John quietly packed a bag and left the coven house leaving behind only a simple note.

Sherlock sighed softly was he pushed open the doors to the shaded balcony. The sea was just beyond and he enjoyed the view immensely. He smiled when James entered the room, but frowned when James gave him a strange look. It had been ten years since their wedding and they'd already moved twice. Sherlock walked closer to James, reaching for his hand and flinching when James hissed at him. James for his part was enraged. The herb had taken away Sherlock's spark. It rendered the man's mind slow and made him miss details. James no longer cherished his possession and instead kept it only to continue to see John suffer. He grew tired of trying to keep Sherlock under his power and had resolved to take himself away from Sherlock as often as possible.

"Why do you shy away from me?" Sherlock demanded angrily as he came closer to James. "I am your husband."

"I know you are my love," James chided gently, taking Sherlock's hand and walking him over to a sofa by the door. He pulled Sherlock down, kissing him gently. "However my love, I am afraid I must leave for business – thus I do not feel I deserve your touch."

"Away again? Why must you always leave?" He demanded petulantly.

"I must keep making money so you may continue to practice your ridiculous experiments." He chided again.

"James?" A man's voice called. James couldn't stop his predatory grin as the younger Sebastian stepped into the room.

"Coming Sebby." He lilted. He got up and kissing Sherlock's head like a child, he stroll from the room.

John tried in vain to seek solace in his search, staying close to Sherlock and Moriarty for a few years as he tried to find his beloved. Eventually however he gave up and turned to other locales to try to push his sentiment aside. He traveled to Summer, the city of the Solvanaar and tried to distract himself. He setup a small shop where he sold potions and herbs to the travelers who came and went, making only enough money to buy his products and rent a room in the inn. A few years went by with a few short letters finding their way to his Sire but no real contact had between the wounded mender and his coven. One morning as John was closing down his shop he looked up at the sound of his name, smiling as a woman with brown hair came to a stop just outside the door.

"Anna, it is good to see you are well." He said as firmly as he could. She could see the shadow in his eyes.

"I am deeply grieved to know that you are not." She replied gently, stepping inside. "I come alone if that is your concern. My father is away and I had heard of an apocathary of incredible skill, which I knew could only be you."

"I am happy for your visit." He motioned for her to join him and they passed several hours simply chatting.

"I must return to the Coven house. Be safe." She whispered, hugging him before she left.

John smiled, though it did not reach his eyes, and continued about his daily routine. Another six months passed seemingly in the blink of an eye and John felt weary from it all. He was sitting in the bar below the inn, drinking some bloodwine when one of the scouts from Sebastian's clan came through the door like a storm. He rushed over to John, grabbing him by the arm and dropping to his knees in supplication.

"Please Mender, please! Our Anna has become ill; will you please come to her?" The man pleaded his voice cracking. "Our Master is away, please she needs you!" John stood, hesitating for a moment before his own empathy got the better of him.

"Fine, go outside." He mumbled, not wanting the man there while he took care of his things. He spoke with the bartender and made sure all of his items would be securely stored. The man was a Solvanaar vampire, and a trustworthy one at that. John then penned a short letter to his Sire explaining his situation before retrieving his items and joining the man outside. "Take me to her." He ordered darkly, his face set in grim determination.

The man led John to the coven house, taking him in a back door and up a hidden staircase. When they entered the room John saw Anna writhing in pain on her bed. He dashed over to her, taking her hand and beginning to search his kit for something to help her. He worked quickly and within a few moments she began to calm, her breathing slowing. However as soon as he eyes beheld him she paled with fear.

"No!" She shouted loudly. "It's a trap! Flee John!" She ordered, but it was too late.

Sebastian laughed as he appeared behind the mender. John too distracted to stop him. He sank his teeth deep into John's neck, holding him tightly as he struggled. He drank eagerly and before long John went limp in his arms. He growled at Anna, motioning to the man that had brought John to them.

"As promised, take your reward from her." He ordered darkly, stepping from the room with the pliant mender in his arms. "You're mine now, mender." He purred darkly. He took the mender to a room deep under the house, hidden from all but the eldest members of the coven. There a small room with a bed was setup. He lay John on the bed and wrapped his wrists in several layers of thin material before donning gloves. He then fastened heavy silver cuffs over the cloth, watching as John instantly grew limper. "I shall never let you flee me again. You're mine, John… Like you should have been so long ago," He whispered, kissing John roughly and laughing at the tormented moan that he got in return.