Title: A Toast to Eternity
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Note: Vampire AU.
Rating: NC-17 in later chapters.
Description: For centuries vampires and werewolves have been in war. Any sort of relationship with the enemy are strictly forbidden - but then again, Sherlock was never fond of following the rules.
Chapter III
The trip back to his mansion wasn't nearly as exciting as his hunt; but this disappointment would have to be thrown aside. He now had bigger things to worry about, and all those were consequences of his reckless actions. John had been nice enough to cover his tracks, however, this made Sherlock wonder how far would that werewolf go to hide this secret. He frowned, lost in his thoughts.
Sherlock walked inside the mansion, his gaze was fixed on his hand. He wanted to meet the werewolf again, but how could he? There must be a way that didn't involve putting himself at risk.
This was just before sunrise: he proceeded to his coffin in the dungeons.
Sherlock woke up and stared at his coffin lid. Red velvet. The same colour as the blood he drank so often. He pushed it open and sat down, checking his wound one more time. It was almost completely healed. He sighed in relief and got up, directing himself towards the dining room.
Of course, there was Mycroft waiting for him. Sherlock sighed impatiently, sitting on where it was indicated him to, across the table. He took a sip of his glass of blood, while Mycroft just observed his movements with a smirk on his face.
"So, are you having fun with your little pet dog?" Mycroft said, grinning while breaking the silence between them. Sherlock arched his eyebrows and immediately turned to look at him. "Of course I knew of it, Sherlock. Who do you take me for?" He said, clearing his throat.
Sherlock frowned, answering nothing while staring at the glass in his hands. If his brother knew about this, wasn't it likely that the others knew of it too?
Mycroft continued his dialogue, even though Sherlock insisted on ignoring him and acting indifferent. "I don't know how you manage to get along with it, though." Sherlock glared at him, as if he had been insulted. "My, my, could it be that we are getting attached?" Mycroft said, grinning, supported on one of his arms. "And I thought you were just toying with him."
"It's none of your business, Mycroft." Sherlock growled, he had enough of this. He drank quickly the rest of his blood, just so he could get out of that hell as fast as possible.
"Sherlock," Mycroft called out, in a serious tone. Sherlock looked at him, almost against his own will. "Our brothers are coming soon."
"I'm aware of this." Sherlock answered in a dead note, while rising up to leave his seat. Mycroft observed his brother, and could tell, without difficulty, that he was feeling at ease.
"Then you know that this plaything... this, whatever you are doing – or planning on doing –, won't be a secret forever." Mycroft warned, looking directly into Sherlock's eyes. "And that they'll discover."
Sherlock was standing now, examining his brother. He knew Mycroft did care for him, deep down. But he also did know that his actions last night would lead to complicated situations.
Mycroft still hadn't finished. "No," He said, taking in the glass of blood in his hand. "That they probably even know."
Sherlock glared at him one more time before leaving the room.
Sherlock had to find something to distract himself with. The best thing to do was hunt; it would clear his mind. Though he could've just got blood from the dungeons, it would've been easier, but it wasn't the same thing. The encounter the last night with that werewolf had left him not only confused – it left him vulnerable –, even for just a moment.
The night after that Sherlock didn't feel like hunting, or even doing anything. He wanted to stare to his red velvet lid and be alone with his thoughts. But he got up, left the mansion, and let his legs take him wherever it felt like going to – into the woods –. Before he knew it, he was at the same place he and the werewolf had been the other night.
He just needed space. A time to think. His brothers knew about this. No, Mycroft was deducing they knew, it wasn't official. But if they did, he could be easily sentenced.
"Are you regretting your actions towards me?" He heard a voice say. Looking behind him, he found John, leaning against a tree with a compassionate expression on his face.
"Are you?" Sherlock shot back. John sighed and nodded his head. They stayed quiet for a while, both staring intently at each other.
A smirk grew on Sherlock's face. "It's surprising to see you with your clothes on, John. I like you better without them, though."
"Very funny." John faked a laugh, trying to mask his irritation. Sherlock didn't let this pass.
"You seem to have a lot you want to talk about." The vampire pointed out, making John look at him immediately.
"Don't you?" John asked, almost a rhetorical question.
"Sure I do." Sherlock shrugged. "I'll give you the honours."
"Fine." John said, still leaning on the tree. He looked to his side, uncomfortably. He then looked back at Sherlock. "What the hell are we doing?"
Sherlock smirked. "We are talking." John looked at him, obviously irritated.
The vampire sighed. "Use your head, John." He started, making John look at him in annoyance. "I'm not going to kill you because I'm in debt. You, though, didn't have any particular reason to save me, but even so you did." Sherlock said, in a tone of accusation that John couldn't have missed.
"You want me to explain myself?" The werewolf asked in disbelief, arms crossed over his chest.
"Please do." Sherlock signalized with his hand.
John stopped for a while, choosing his words. He looked down."Well, I..." He started saying, but again lost the track of his thoughts. "I don't agree with this war." Sherlock looked at him impatiently.
"I could tell that just by the fact that you saved me. Elaborate."
"If you'd shut up for a moment maybe I would!" He said, annoyed. He recomposed himself, proceeding to his explanation. "I knew about the attack that killed your sister, it was uncalled for. It was only fair for your side to want revenge. But... It's wrong. It's all wrong. We shouldn't have to die because of a centuries old argument."
Sherlock said nothing.
"That's it. I'm finished." John said. Sherlock was still staring at him; John could tell he was taking his own opinions on the matter in consideration. Maybe he felt the same way, maybe, despite being opposites, they weren't so different after all.
"The simplicity of your mind amazes me." Sherlock said suddenly, smirking.
"Really?" John couldn't believe the words coming out of the arrogant vampire's mouth. But apparently the vampire decided to ignore the irony in his question.
"Tell me, how old are you?" Sherlock continued, getting closer to the werewolf, looking intently in his eyes.
"I-I..."John could feel himself suddenly getting suffocated by the vampire's presence, who leaned on to him. John's back was pressed on the tree behind him.
"About 500? No, I'd say 573, to be exact." Sherlock continued, making logical and rational statements. Apparently John would make his thoughts flow a lot easier – he wondered where that could possibly come from –.
"How could you know that?" John was shocked.
"I observe." Sherlock said, looking into John's golden eyes for a long moment. "Now shut up, I need to think." But he didn't move.
Sherlock pulled John's head towards his own. John lost his breath for a moment, his heart was pounding fast and loud. He was certain that Sherlock could hear, making him feel a lot more exposed.
Sherlock did hear, but in a gentle gesture, he put his cold hand over John's chest. John looked up to him, with a puzzled expression. Sherlock slowly leaned down, pressing his lips over John's lightly. John opened his own, breathing in. His hand was holding the vampire's shoulder, he was afraid he would fall down if he hadn't.
Sherlock sucked John's lower lip, making the werewolf moan. John's other hand proceeded to grip tightly Sherlock's curls. John licked the ceiling of the vampire's mouth, making him shiver.
Mycroft didn't usually walk; he usually just got to places by carriages, unlike his brother. Sherlock would always prefer walking, but then again, he could never begin to understand how the mind of his younger brother worked – it was unpredictable –.
Mycroft had an appointment in town, his carriage was taking him by the stone road down the mansion, the trip was peaceful. They stopped by one of the many small houses, and Mycroft got out of his carriage. He fixed his suit just before knocking on the door, that opened not a long time after his arrival.
The room was extremely hot, even more for a vampire. The fireplace was being used, but this was just the predictable environment.
"A very nice place you got here." Mycroft said politely, looking at his host, whom was sitting at a wooden table, where he seemed to be writing some letter.
"Well, us werewolves don't have nearly as much money as yourselves." He said – something that made Mycroft laugh lightly, amused –.
"Yes." He said, agreeing with the statement. Destiny could be very cruel, even to a leader. "Should we get to business, Lestrade?"
AN: So I did write it just in time, didn't I? Sorry if this chapter seems unorganized, there seems to be something very wrong with my document uploader. Anyway, thank you very much for all the nice comments regarding my birthday, you're all so sweet <3