Chapter Six

Alucard returned to the manor only moments after departing Molly Hooper's helicopter in quite a state. Thankfully, no one of importance noticed his disheveled appearance; this meant he had time to think, and think carefully.

The first thing on his mind was that he needed blood. Lots of it, and fast.

It was only halfway through his seventh bag (apparently he had raided the refrigerator in his brief period of mental absence) that he began to regain some sense of clarity.

God. God.

That girl… he shut his eyes and finished off the bag in one gulp, wishing desperately that alcohol would have any effect on him if he drank that instead. Wasn't this just beautiful? Wasn't this just familiar? A vampire murderer, a team of vampire slayers, a human girl whose heart was already occupied with someone else.

This was not good.

Oh, the two detectives had been just delicious. This was going to be a great deal of fun, he could already tell. He could toy with them, pick their brains, enjoy the thrill of a good hunt once more. And this case was a good hunt. Alucard had been alive for a long, long time. He knew when true, honest-to-God excitement was just on the horizon.

But that damned girl.

Alucard ripped violently into his ninth bag, sharp teeth tearing the plastic tube to shreds. Blood dribbled down his chin and onto the floor.

This was just grand. Apparently, he had not learned his lesson with Mina. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he convinced himself that he was just fine, he didn't want anything to do with human women any longer, there'd be that one that came around and looked at him with those big, doe eyes and he'd get distracted and lose everything.

He had gotten into that helicopter with every intention of screwing with her head. What he had intended to be nothing more than a couple of hours of entertainment had turned drastically upside-down, and now it sort of felt like he had been the one made to dance like some pathetic marionette. Once it had become quite apparent that he could not goad her as he did the two detectives, once it had become quite apparent that he in fact liked her, there was no way he was going to stick around.

He would have been so smart about it. If he had just left like he had intended, everything would have been fine. But then she had to take his hand and look at him so earnestly and ask him so sweetly if oh, if he just wouldn't mind showing her around a bit-

Even as he clenched the empty bag in a tight fist, his palm tingling a little where she had touched him. "Fuck," Alucard cursed softly. As much as he loved women (and he did love women), they could be such pains in the ass.

It was as he was in this state that Seras happened upon him in the kitchen. "Whoa," she exclaimed, crimson eyes going wide with surprise and worry. "Master, you look awful!"

As annoying as that statement was, a small part of Alucard couldn't help but find it just a little hilarious that she would be so frank with him. She certainly had grown much more comfortable around him since her time as the timid fledgling almost twenty years ago. "Thank you, Seras," he responded dryly.

At any other time, Seras probably would have rolled her eyes, but Alucard really did look out of sorts, and she really was worried about him. She stepped further into the kitchen, carefully closing the door behind her to keep listening ears away. "What did I miss after taking off? Did something happen?"

Define 'happen'. "I'm simply readying myself for this case." And the shitstorm that will definitely accompany it.

Seras arched a golden eyebrow. "You're making a right proper mess of the kitchen is what you're doing. You only get this way whenever you think something big is about to happen. So… what's really going on, Master? Think something interesting is underway now that we've hired a few new people?"

Alucard breathed a small chuckle and shook his head. Seras always did read between the lines, didn't she? "It's simply an inkling. But yes… I've caught the whiff of something much more dangerous lurking beneath the surface of this case. I don't think this is the work of any ordinary vampire group; nor do I think there are so few culprits involved as evidence suggests."

The former policewoman hopped up on top of the counter and began to swing her legs. "So… you're stress-eating."

"I do not "stress-eat"," Alucard scoffed defensively, taking the plastic tube out of his mouth to scowl at her.

Seras smiled fondly. "So, what do you think of them? I'm pretty sure that John fellow's pretty nice, and I got along well with Molly, but I'm not quite sure how I feel about Sherlock. He seems like he knows what he's doing, but he's a little rude. At least he hasn't tried to deduce me yet."

"Out loud," Alucard corrected. "There's still time. Sherlock strikes me as the type of man who has someone to impress. It makes no difference to me one way or another, though. I'll give you a more complete answer to that question when I've actually seen him do more than make skilled observations. And I expect you to be wary around his little sidekick. If he proves himself useless without someone holding his hand, Integra needs to know so that he may be booted off the case. Being a 'nice fellow' does not earn him any brownie points, as far as I'm concerned."

Seras had known her master for many, many years. And because of this, she knew she could detect just the subtlest hint of something not-quite-so objective in his voice. "You worried about me?" she asked, cocking her head and giving him the slyest of grins. Though she knew his feelings were not quite so extreme, she did know there was something past his stony façade.

He scowled again, this time baring his teeth. "Bah. Away with you, vixen. I am in no mood." And to punctuate his order, he made a shooing gesture with his free hand.

Seras giggled and hopped off the countertop. "That wasn't exactly a deniiiiaaaal," she sang, tugging on his sleeve as she passed him. When Alucard made to swat at her hand, he found that she had vanished from the room.

"Imp," he growled under his breath, turning back to his blood.

Women.

*.*.*

All of this was beginning to grow just a little too weird for Doctor John Watson.

He had thought he had accepted weird. Embraced it. Danced with it in the pale moonlight.

Now the fucking walls were talking to him.

It was after he had been shown to the kitchen and then his own private chambers, after he had doused his face in icy water, after he had changed into his nightwear- which was a tank top and boxers. After he sat on the edge of his new bed, in a room as unfeeling as any hotel, staring at absolutely nothing as he let the day play over in his head.

Wake up. Enjoy some tea and scones Mrs. Hudson brought over. Leave after Sherlock drags me out of the apartment after exclaiming that there was, "A murder! Finally, a murder!" Examine a body. Come home. Meet Dracula. Fly in a helicopter with Dracula. Meet another vampire. Examine another body. Get taken against my will to live with Dracula.

It was when he got up to his feet (after deciding that sleep was going to be next to impossible and tugging on some sweatpants) to go and get some water. Apparently, the servants in this household did not exactly know sleep either, so the hallways leading into the kitchen were lit. The kitchen itself, however, was dark, and after the door closed behind him, he could barely see the hand in front of his face.

Stumbling through the darkness like a drunken zombie (and probably looking the part, too), he managed to fumble his way through pouring himself a glass, though a little bit had spilled on the floor somewhere in the process.

On his way out, however, he slipped on a patch of the wet floor and had to use the wall as support, which meant he banged his hand rather violently against it.

The second thing that nearly scared him to death within the three seconds of this occurrence was the fact that the wall shouted, "Aie!" as he did.

As John looked frantically around him in the darkness to locate the source of the voice, it came again from all directions at the same time the kitchen flooded with light. "Merde, man, turn the lights on next time!"

The light switch, by the way, had not been flipped by any visible hand.

John's eyes were comically wide. "Who just said that?" he demanded, peering over the countertop and finding no prankster ducking beneath.

"Pip Bernadotte, monsieur. Did they not brief you before you came here?"

"Brief me?" John said, twisting around again. Really, the voice seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. "Brief me on what? Are you another vampire?"

There was a hearty chuckle. "Oh, now that's too funny! Though I don't envy you one bit, it's funny to be on the other side of these things."

Before John could ask just what the hell that meant, the wall across from him suddenly expelled some dark miasma, and out of it formed what he could only guess was Pip Bernadotte. As John staggered backwards, the strange man raised both his hands in surrender. "Whoa, whoa! Easy! I'm not a vampire!"

John let out an exasperated sigh and crossed his arms. "Well, what are you then? A werewolf? A fairy? A leprechaun?"

Pip smirked. "Well, first of all, I'm French, so I can't be a leprechaun. I'm a ghost. Seras's ghost, to be exact." The man- ghost- scratched awkwardly at the side of his face. "It's actually a funny story…"

"I'm sure it is," John said quickly, grabbing his cup of water off the counter and making towards the exit. "And I'd love to hear it. Later. When I'm sufficiently drunk."

"What, you believe Dracula and vampires exist but not ghosts? Your logic doesn't exactly make sense, monsieur."

"I don't care, monsieur."

And with that, John walked right out the door.

And into Sherlock Holmes.

"Gah! Bloody hell!"

His friend's dark brows shot up his forehead. "Good evening to you too, John."

John glared up at him. "What are you doing, skulking around at this late hour? Doesn't anyone or anything around here sleep?"

"Anything…?"

It was at this time that John deemed it needless to tell his friends that he was just having a conversation with a wall with a French accent, like something out of that one Disney movie with the talking teacup. "Forget it. Sherlock, I don't like this. I don't like this one bit. This place gives me the creeps, the people here give me the creeps, this case gives me the creeps! There are two, two monsters up and probably prowling about right beneath our sleeping quarters."

"No there aren't, there's one hiding right over there."

As his friend pointed towards a particularly dark corner of the hallway, John's face deadened. As the two watched, a large part of the shadow slithered away from its hiding place and took human form in front of them- though thankfully, it wasn't the tall, lanky form that John had been expecting. Rather, it was the short, buxom figure of Seras Victoria standing in their path, with a rather sheepish look on her face.

"Sorry, I… I didn't want to frighten you, but I wanted to investigate the noise. You gents are awfully loud, and that's sort of unusual for this time of night."

Sherlock sniffed. "Mm, no, you wanted to spy. I know my friend is a bit of an idiot, but you can at least spare me the theatrics."

Before John had the chance to rebuke him (or smack him), Seras vigorously waved her hands. "Oh, no, no! No, really, I'm telling the truth. I just… I know neither of you like vampires (and considering my master, I can imagine why), so I, uh…" Under their scrutiny, she looked ashamedly off to the side, rubbing at her left arm. "Okay, yeah, I did. But there is still a little truth in what I was just saying! I checked out John's blog and your cases are just so neat, especially The Empty Hearse! And the way you go about deducing everything about people-!"

"Yes, yes, thank you, vampire," Sherlock said, waving her off. "Would you mind directing me to the basement? The other one's hiding down there, is he not?"

Seras's smile instantly evaporated, though to her credit she only looked a little peeved. "You know, for someone who spends so much time deducing people you'd think you would have figured out how to be nice."

"Tedious. Where is he?"

"Down the hall, make a left, and there's a mirror on the right side of the hallway. Push it aside and go down. But I can't suggest strongly enough that you not do that."

But Sherlock was already halfway down the hall. John made to move after him, but a strong grip held him in place. "Sherlock!"

"He'll be alright," Seras assured him. "He won't be harmed."

John glared at her. "But you just said he shouldn't go."

"And he shouldn't! My master loves scaring the wits out of anyone stupid enough to go into his chambers unannounced. But really, he's harmless."

"He eats people."

Seras winced. "Ah… does it help if I say, "only bad people"?" When John looked down at the bicep she was currently constricting like a viper, she let him go and held her hands up in defeat. "Look, John… You can trust me, okay? I know I'm not human, but I'm on your side, and probably the most normal person in this whole bloody place, aside from you. I've been in your shoes."

John cast a glance back to the hall, only to find it had been swiftly vacated. After considering going after his friend, and deciding that he would rather not face the monster in the basement, he let out a heavy sigh. "I just wanted some water, and the walls started talking to me. I wouldn't exactly call myself normal."

Seras offered him a sympathetic smile. "If it makes you feel any better, I accidentally flashed my master within the first few seconds of being here. So, you're having a better first experience here than I did."

She definitely has me beat, that's for certain. Poor girl. "I'm sorry my friend was so rude to you."

"I'm sorry my master scared you." Seras gestured to the cup of water in his hand. "Would you like anything stronger to drink?"

I've made up my mind. I definitely like her. "Would you be able to drink anything other than blood?"

Seras gave him a toothy grin. Somehow, John actually thought the fangs made her look sort of cute.

Maybe Sherlock was right. Maybe he did have a thing for the dangerous ones.

*.*.*

For a vampire, Alucard definitely seemed quite… well, dead.

Sleep was a sort of temporary death, Sherlock supposed. Vampires had no need to breathe, nor shift at all, as they were not technically "alive"; really, one could argue that the vampire sitting in the throne with his cheek in his palm and eyes shut was dead. But regardless of whether one could define a vampire's slumber as death or not, it was startling to see the pale man so at peace. It almost felt like a crime to snoop about his quarters, but then Sherlock never did care about such trivialities as "respect". He had answers he needed to acquire.

Sherlock had never paid rapt attention during many of his classes during his formative years. He could not understand why people became so immersed in the mundane; the human brain automatically encoded information without deliberate effort, so why waste space on remembering the structure of the solar system if you spent your life solving murder cases?

If he had known that vampires, sentient creatures that were effectively immortal or as close to immortality as possible existed, he might have paid more attention in history class. Especially now that he began to look a little more closely at the throne upon which Alucard reposed. Hadn't he seen it somewhere? An old painting, perhaps?

And then he spotted it: a long, sleek obsidian box set in the corner of the room with the lid half-cracked. Sherlock's eyebrow arched. So some of the legends about vampires are true, after all.

Somehow, the coffin was in mint condition. There were no visible scratches or scrapes to be seen, not even near the base of it, where it might have slid around on the floor or been tossed.

Engraved upon the lid, in elegant, slanted writing, were the words:

The Bird of Hermes is my name,

Eating my wings to make me tame.

Perhaps, thought Sherlock, I should have paid more attention in Literature as well.

Overall, the coffin was remarkable, and it was the only other thing (aside from the throne, but he was not that suicidal) of interest in the room, as far as he could tell. And he had been searching, quite thoroughly. As someone who had some experience hiding things in his living quarters he would rather others would not find, he knew to look for an out-of-place stone or curious brick that might be concealing something interesting. The coffin, he assumed, would be his best bet.

Slowly, tentatively, he extended a hand to brush along the edge of the lid.

"Back away from the coffin," a low voice commanded from behind him.

Like any person possessing a modicum of reason, Sherlock obeyed, quickly withdrawing his hand and spinning around to face the vampire he had just pissed off. "Touchy about your property?"

Alucard gave the detective a deep scowl and stepped slowly towards the coffin, kneeling by it and appraising it carefully. "If you had so much as scuffed it, I would have killed you, Sherlock Holmes. My master's order of protection does not extend to you if you damage it."

Sherlock was not deterred. "Why is that? What if I had damaged your chair or your little table or your glass of blood? By the way, may I suggest investing in more furniture? It seems a little drab in here."

Alucard cast a look over his shoulder, far less irritable now that his precious deathbed was safe. "The coffin is an extension of myself. Killing you would have been out of self-defense. I'm not bound to a chair or a table or a cup."

"Just your bed."

"It's much more than that," Alucard replied, a lazy grin stretching over his face. "I almost wish you had, you know. I'd love to get a chance to taste your blood and get a peek inside that head of yours. Say, as compensation for coming into my room uninvited, would you offer that as repayment?"

"I'll keep my blood inside my body, thank you." Sherlock paced around the room a bit, eyeing the cold gray slabs of stone with impertinence. "Not very materialistic, are you?"

Alucard watched him, wondering at this human's audacity. This was one of the rare, rare few who knew what he was, and yet remained unafraid. Or, at the very least, did not behave that way. He wondered if it was pure recklessness that caused this, or Integra's assurance that he would not be harmed.

"Why would I be? Knick-knacks are pointless, especially for a slave."

"No relics from your human life, aside from the chair? Or have you always been as you are?"

He smiled. "I was a man once." Then, the smile disappeared. "There are relics, I presume. Likely in some museum or buried beneath the rubble of times long past."

Sherlock paused his appraisal, glancing at Alucard out of the corner of his eyes. "History books say you died in battle, your body cut to pieces and your decapitated head sent to the sultan of the Ottoman Empire."

"Another book says that I was killed by a stake through the heart and then promptly turned to dust. Neither are completely right." Alucard rose from his crouched position and slowly began to draw nearer. His eyes glowed sharply beneath the fringe of his dark hair. "I was marched down a line of enemy soldiers, my own men corpses at my feet. They pushed me to the ground, a man raised an axe above his head, then sliced off mine."

It took every ounce of self-control Sherlock had to refrain from flinching when Alucard loomed over him, close enough that he could see the teeth in the vampire's mouth sharpening as he spoke. "But surely you didn't dare risk come down here just to ask me to ruminate upon my past."

"No," Sherlock said, but paused. "Well, actually… yes. Now that you mention it, that's precisely what I'm here about. I need to know about one of the missions you worked in the year 1989."

The vampire blinked several times, then openly stared at Sherlock for several moments thence. "Oh," he said, slowly. "You're being serious. Are you well, detective? Has the knowledge of the existence of vampires driven you mad already?"

"I am quite sane, thank you," Sherlock seethed. "Just answer me already. Unless you've grown senile and lost your memory?"

Rather than appear affronted by such a flagrant insult, Alucard looked amazed. "Your insolence is going to get you killed someday, mark my words. If I were younger I would have ground you into a fine red paste for that. Perhaps if I had my will, I still would." He shook his head. "Besides. What makes you so certain I'll remember anything so specific? I have lived for quite a long time. Years bleed into one another."

"You'll remember," Sherlock said, with the confidence of a man about to call check-mate. "It was the year Integra took possession of the Hellsing organization. She said she was twelve years old- something tells me those first few cases that she handled would have been noteworthy."

The corner of Alucard's lips twitched, though he did not try to dispute this point. He backed away, hands clasped neatly behind his back as he walked about the room. "I have no idea what relevance this would have on the present, but very well; I'll indulge you."

"In Nottingham, there was a woman who had been drained entirely of blood, and a man- now, as I know, a vampire- who had been taken to prison after the police came upon the scene. Come the day of his trial, however, he was nowhere to be found. He had disappeared from his cell in the middle of the night. His cell mate claimed he had simply vanished in a cloud of mist. The media so lovingly titled him, 'The Transient Transylvanian'."

Alucard paused. A large, toothy grin had spread over his face. "Ha! You're in luck, I remember that case distinctly; that was Integra's first mission! Impeccable choice!" He raised a hand and made a shrugging gesture. "Of course, I don't see why I have to tell you anything, if you don't make it worth my while."

"Oh, for the love of…" Sherlock heaved an angry sigh. "What? What? What do you want?"

"Moriarty. What do you know of him?"

"He's a consulting criminal. He has a network. He's still out there."

"And?"

"And… he's a psychopath. I have nothing else."

"Nothing?" Alucard sneered. "You're a pathetic waste of time if you truly have so little evidence on what you deem your worst enemy."

"Perhaps that is why he's my worst enemy."

"That does not change my point," Alucard said, beginning a slow circle around the detective. "Think. You're good at that, aren't you? Every spider has a web. People in positions of power always have networks. Connections. How did you meet? Or, I should say: how did he introduce himself to you?"

"Through…" Sherlock thought back. "Through Molly. He was her boyfriend, or at least pretending to be."

"Oh, is that how he said hello?" The room had grown just a bit colder. "You didn't know your enemy until he reached out to shake your hand? How might he have known to use Molly, of all people? Little, unassuming, unimportant Molly? He was watching you, Sherlock Holmes. Hiding in the dark, until, perhaps out of frustration, he decided he needed your attention. How did you learn his name?"

"Through…" Sherlock paused, eyelids lowering. "You read the blog."

"I was waiting around for everyone to get here for a few hours. In the meantime, I thought I'd give it a read. But back to the subject, even the taxi driver was an attention grab." Alucard cocked his head. "It seems 1989 is a year of firsts for many of you humans. Integra taking her father's place. The first time you found out the truth about one of Moriarty's murders. I'd say he's been keeping an eye on you ever since then."

"But I already knew that!" Sherlock hissed. "How does this help me dismantle his web?"

"Tell me. Who is the most powerful person you've known since childhood?"

Sherlock stilled.

"Your brother," Alucard murmured, "trades in secrets. If you want to start getting a better understanding of your enemy, start looking at the things he's looking at."

"And the vampire, from thirty years ago?" Sherlock asked, more out of curiosity now that his suspicion that Mycroft had been hiding vampires from him for a long, long time was finally confirmed.

Alucard chuckled. "Well, it was the first time Integra had ordered me to kill for her. I made sure to make an example out of him."

Hello, and welcome back! This chapter was fucking excruciating for me to write because I kept going back and editing, so for the love of God I hope it turned out okay! I had thought to maybe extend it a little more, but when I saw I had reached over 4,000 words I was like, 'welp, maybe work on plot progression now, rather than stay in the relationship developing rabbit-hole'. And so, here I am! Thank you all for your patience.

Also, thank you everyone for your reviews! Quite a few of you mentioned your personal head cannons regarding a vampire's internal heat, ranging from an unnatural cold to the idea that a vampire is only warm after feeding on fresh blood. I may wind up going back and editing that just for the sake of making more sense as far as what Vampire RulesTM this story follows, so thank you for that input.

I really, really enjoy writing Sherlock and Alucard interacting, okay? For me, I just like all the ways Alucard shifts behaviorally around the detective. Sometimes he'll see Sherlock as an intellectual equal, sometimes he'll be just another foolish human, sometimes he'll be a friend or food, and sometimes he'll be like an apprentice of sorts that Alucard is trying to guide in the right direction, because he's seen so many brilliant minds go to waste over the years. Sherlock is like the brain to Anderson's brawn (rivalry-wise), only he has to try and not treat Sherlock like competition, since they're on the same side and Integra forbids it. He's still sort of grappling with how he should be treating the two detectives, as you might have picked up.

He'll find out soon enough. ;)

Excuse my ramblings. I've been fighting a nasty (cold? Flu? Who the fuck knows, I'm too poor to see a doctor) and I'm probably only half-coherent through all the NyQuil. Have an amazing rest of the week! Thank you so much for your reviews/favorites/follows/etc! Love you all!