The Consulting Vampire Chapter 2/?
The Consulting Vampire - AO3
Chapter 2 - AO3
Author: angel_kink
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Other characters: Sergeant Donovan, Anderson, Detective Inspector Lestrade
Rating: PG 13 (will go up)
Warning: Vampire AU. Lots of blood.
Word Count: 3100 (this chapter)
Summary: John gets his first glimpse at the “Consulting Vampire” at work.
A/N: Since people seemed to like chapter 1, I’m gonna keep going. I have enough ideas for about 4 chapters, but that’s just to get to the start of the plot so I have no idea how long this will get. Also, I have two Big Bangs in the works and I work long hours during the week, so updates might be sporadic. I’m sorry :(
During the cab ride, John kept glancing at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t exactly having second thoughts, but he was certainly nervous about the whole situation. He’d jumped into this head first and now here he was heading towards a crime scene with a vampire and he had no idea why.
“You have more questions.”
John hadn’t realized his quick glances had turned into one long lingering stare until Sherlock had spoken. He quickly looked forward again and tried to stop gawking so obviously.
“Yes. Where are we going?”
“I told you. A crime scene. Next?”
“Yes, but why are we headed to a crime scene?”
“I’m a consultant.”
“A consultant?”
“Yes, whenever the police are out of their depth - which is always - they consult me.”
“You mean... specifically about...” John vaguely gestured towards Sherlock, who only smirked in response.
“My assistance does usually involve information on a certain type of death, yes, but it’s what I can do, not what I am, that they need me for.”
“And what is it that you can do?”
“I can observe.”
“Observe. Okay... And what does that mean?”
Sherlock looked over at John and let his eyes scan over him. John already had enough trouble sitting still under his gaze, but now he knew full well that he was being ‘observed’ - whatever that meant - and it took all his willpower not to panic.
“Afghanistan or Iraq?”
“Pardon?”
“Which was it?”
“Afghanistan. How did you-”
“Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists - you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic - wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan - Afghanistan or Iraq.”
“That was amazing. Brilliant. But why take me along? I couldn’t even hope to do that.”
“Of course not, John. But you’re an army Doctor. You enjoy the thrill. Your heart races at the thought, just like it is right now. A quickened pulse, body flooding with adrenaline.” John gulped, moderately disturbed that Sherlock could probably hear his heartbeat. He could never hide that from him. Sherlock would always knew when he was excited about something and John wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. “You work well under pressure. Better in fact. Besides... none of the medical examiners will work with me.”
“What, you frighten them?”
“No. I annoy them, apparently.”
John laughed and Sherlock frowned.
-
When they arrived at the crime scene a large portion of the street was already closed off to the public. The policewoman rolled her eyes when she saw Sherlock approaching. She crossed her arms and stood in front of the yellow tape defiantly, clearly challenging Sherlock to try to get past her without some sort of a confrontation. When she spotted John her face softened slightly and she raised a curious eyebrow at Sherlock.
“Who’d you bring with you, Freak?”
“Sergeant Sally Donovan, this is my friend Doctor John Watson.”
“Friend? How’d you get a friend?”
“I’m, uh, renting the upstairs room,” John answered. She looked even more confused at that and turned back to Sherlock.
“You may speak freely around him, Sally. He knows.”
“What are you thinking sharing a flat with a vampire? This one, especially? Not just deadly, but bloody annoying too.”
“I... I don’t know actually. It just happened.”
“You should get a hobby - a normal hobby. I hear fishing’s nice.”
“Right, okay, very good,” Sherlock interrupted. “Lestrade is expecting me.”
“Is he now?”
“Yes, now let me pass.”
“Right, of course. This way,” she said with a smirk. She lifted the yellow tape, but when Sherlock bent over to go under it he jerked backwards. “Oh, oops,” she said as she pulled a small golden cross necklace from under her blouse. “I suppose my new necklace is a Sherlock repellent.”
Sherlock furrowed his brow at her before lifting the tape a few feet away and letting himself under. John passed under the tape Sally was holding up and mumbled a half hearted ‘thank you’ to her before quickly trailing behind Sherlock. It was obvious that Sherlock was very clearly unused to being caught off guard.
They went up the stairs of the abandoned multi-level home until they entered a small third story room crowded with forensic personnel and police officers. There was a body on the floor in the center of the room face down in a pool of blood that was taking up most of the attention from everyone around them. Nobody seemed to pay any attention to them at first. But after a moment a gray haired man standing next to the corpse spotted them and started barking orders at people.
“Everyone who doesn’t have Special Operations clearance needs to exit the building. We’ll have a debriefing in twenty minutes.” It took only a few seconds for all, but a few people to be remaining in the room. John, Sherlock, the man who was clearly in charge, and one of the forensics specialists remained. “And who’s this, Sherlock?”
“This is Doctor John Watson,” Sherlock sighed, clearly annoyed and having to repeat his introductions yet again. “John, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade.”
“And what’s he doing here at my crime scene?”
“He’ll be assisting me.”
“That’s what I’m for,” the forensic specialist said.
“Anderson, your face puts me off as I work. It’s far too distracting.” Sherlock held his hand up to block the line of sight to the man’s face. “If you want me to do your job for you, you can assist me by leaving the room.”
“Sherlock,” Lestrade sighed. “It’s hard to find people with the proper level of clearance to work on these cases. Anderson is all we have available right now. You have to work with him.”
“I told you, that’s what John’s here for.”
Lestrade looked at John. “You ever work in forensics before?”
“No - no I haven’t. But I was an army Doctor. Seen plenty of injuries.”
“But no forensics.” He looked back at Sherlock. “I can’t allow-”
“Let John work with me on this case or I won’t work on it at all. And then you’ll never get this taken care of.”
“Fine,” Lestrade muttered. John was surprised at how quickly he’d caved in, but he kept his opinion on the matter to himself. “Anderson, leave the room.”
“What? I was called in specifically-”
“Anderson! I’ll see you at the debriefing. Leave the room.”
“You can’t be serious,” he said as he made his way to the door. “This is absolutely insane.”
As soon as the door shut behind him Sherlock turned to John.
“What can you tell me about the body,” he said as he gestured towards the corpse on the floor. John wasn’t exactly sure what he was allowed to do at a crime scene so he looked to Lestrade for some sort of permission.
“Do what he says,” Lestrade said with a nod.
John got down on his knees and looked at the body. She was a young woman, no older than her mid-twenties, dressed in plain jeans and a scarlet red blouse. He could tell that her throat had been torn out, but there wasn’t an entire bodies worth of blood on the floor. John shuddered. A couple of days ago his mind would have never leapt the conclusion that this was a vampire attack. Now he could tell exactly what it was with just a glance.
Sherlock hovered for a moment, but soon knelt on the floor on the other side of the body. He could see Sherlock staring at him out of the corner of his eye, but John focused on the corpse in front of him instead. He reached out and examined the woman’s hand. He checked the state of rigor mortis and made note of the abrasions on her fingers. He also paid attention to the body temperature and skin coloration before setting the hand back on the floor.
“She’s been dead for probably about 24 hours. Severe blood loss, obviously. She broke several of her nails and has cuts on her hands. Fought back probably.” He looked up at Sherlock, who was still staring at him. “What else do you want from me exactly? I don’t know really know what I’m doing here.”
“No, that’s perfect,” he said as he adjusted the corpse’s head to get a better view at the bite marks. “All of it quite obvious, of course, but spot on nonetheless.” John blinked at the insult and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could respond Sherlock was already talking at an alarming pace. “The vampire who killed her was young - probably her first kill -”
“Her?” Lestrade questioned, but Sherlock just continued talking.
“She missed the major arteries and went straight for the veins on the surface. She grew frustrated and started tearing the flesh at random in order to create a larger wound. She didn’t know her victim. She came up from behind. The woman clawed at her - struggled violently - but the vampire at least understood her newfound strength and won the struggle. Perhaps she’s a couple days old. A week at most. She wouldn’t have waited this long unless she was alone - abandoned by her maker. She has no idea what she’s doing. This was a kill out of desperation.”
“That’s fantastic,” John said.
“No, it’s dreadful,” Sherlock replied.
“It could have been an accidental turning,” Lestrade offered.
“Not likely. Accidental turnings usually know their maker. She was turned in a single night and left to fend for herself.”
“How does one get 'turned' accidentally,” John asked.” Actually, how does one get turned at all? I never got to ask that. I meant to. We rushed out the door so quickly...”
“Just how long have you known about vampires,” Lestrade asked. When John raised his eyebrows and looked at his watch, Lestrade rolled his eyes and turned to Sherlock. “You can’t be serious! Look, teach him the basics later. Right now I just need to know if you can track down this vampire and put a stop to this?”
“Of course,” Sherlock said as he stood from the floor. “She’ll be eliminated by tomorrow evening. Come along, John.” Without thinking about it, John stood up and followed him briskly out the door.
-
Their cab ride home was painfully quiet as they each stewed in their own thoughts. John was still coping with the new world he’d found himself thrust into, but Sherlock was very obviously entirely wrapped up in the case. Sherlock would occasionally type something furiously on his phone and scroll through texts and images at a ridiculous speed. The rest of the time he seemed to be staring off into space and muttering things to himself. John wasn’t entirely sure if this was par for the course for him, but he certainly wasn’t going to interrupt him.
When they got home just past midnight, Sherlock immediately started some experiment in the kitchen and John went to the bathroom to wash up before bed. He had an interview in the morning and wasn’t about to miss out on a job opportunity just because he was out late hanging out at a crime scene with his new vampire flatmate. Though the more he thought about it, that was a pretty legitimate reason to take off an entire week. Maybe a month. Or a year. Still, he was determined to keep his real life moving forward. He had to find work.
As John was brushing his teeth he noticed small amounts of blood when he was rinsing out his mouth. It wasn’t uncommon for his gums to bleed when he brushed, but now the very sight of blood seemed so much more significant. John wondered if those few specks of red were enough for Sherlock to detect. There was so much he still didn’t know. And Sherlock didn’t seem like he’d always be in such an answer happy mood, so he might not get a chance to ask him more questions for a very long time. He wondered if he’d have a chance tonight to ask him more things or if the case was going to take up all of his attention.
John hadn’t realized he’d dropped the glass until he heard it shatter on the floor. A shard ricocheted off the linoleum and imbedded itself in the side of his foot. He immediately sunk to the floor and examined his wound, hoping that the damage would be minimal and he wouldn’t have to go to the hospital. He had a well stocked emergency kit and as long as it didn't nick anything major he'd probably be alright. His mind went back to Sherlock’s words, but he didn’t feel like he could really leave the flat with a shard of glass in his foot. He had to take care of this and do it as fast as possible.
He gently pulled out the glass and applied pressure to his wound with a towel. He could already tell it was going to require stitches, but his first priority was to just stop the bleeding and get out of the house before-
Sherlock opened the bathroom door and stared down at him.
“I’m sorry,” John said quickly. “It was an accident.”
“I had one rule, John,” Sherlock said as he turned around and stormed out of sight. “‘Don’t bleed profusely in this flat.’ Just that one.”
“I didn’t really have a choice,” John shouted, unsure of how far Sherlock had walked away. “What was I supposed to do, run outside with glass in my foot?”
“Yes.” Sherlock sounded distant, but still close enough that John could talk normally and be heard.
“Then I’d have bleed all over the carpet and you’d never get it out. Best I bleed here in the bathroom,” he said as he moved his foot over to the tub. He turned on the water and began to clean out the wound. “I can have this patched up in a couple of minutes anyway.”
“That’s not the point, John.” Sherlock had reappeared in the bathroom door. John looked at him briefly before directing all of his attention to the task at hand. “Now the entire apartment smells like your blood.”
“I thought you said it wouldn’t drive you mad?”
“Mad? No. Highly annoyed? Yes. Extremely.”
“Why? You don’t drink it anymore?”
“Not from my-” Sherlock stopped mid sentence and looked to the floor.
“Your what?” John looked up again and met Sherlock's defiant eyes. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame regarding John with an unreadable expression, but John wasn't about to give up. “What am I, Sherlock? What makes me different from other people?”
“I don’t drink from the people I consider mine.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s not unusual for vampires to partner with humans for assistance with their own respective continued survival. It’s been happening for thousands of years.” Sherlock opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the first aid kit. He handed it to John.
“What kind of assistance are you talking about?”
“This building we are living in is under Mrs. Hudson’s name - she lives downstairs and you’ll most likely meet her by tomorrow. She has a habit of popping her head in here on a regular basis. Most of my financial and legal matters are taken care of through her as well. I choose not to feed on humans who assist me. I consider it mixing business with pleasure. I simply won’t do it.”
“Ok, what do I do, exactly? I mean, Mrs. Hudson I get. But me?”
“John, you’re assistance tonight was most useful.”
“Really? Didn’t feel like I did much.”
“Your mere presence convinced Lestrade to force Anderson out of the room. I don’t believe you understand how much I appreciate that fact alone.”
John laughed. “Right, ok, I’m a good Anderson repellent. I guess that’s something.” John finished bandaging his foot and set it gently on the linoleum. He wasn’t going to try to walk just yet, but he’d done all that he could do for his foot for the time being. “But you’ve fed on other humans?”
“Obviously.”
“How long ago was your last, er... meal?” John took the towel and wiped up the spots of blood that were still on the floor.
“I last fed on a human more than a year ago. I don’t kill anymore, but willing participants are few and far between. Usually I’m sustained from donations acquired from certain medical professionals.”
“Like Doctors?”
“Yes. And other specialists.”
“You know-”
“No. You just concentrate on having a successful interview tomorrow. Leave the blood acquisitions to me.”
“How did you... nevermind," he said with a wave of his hand. "I’m tired. And like you said, I have an interview tomorrow. I'm going to bed.” John stood up from the edge of the tub, wobbling slightly when he put his weight on his injured foot. He put his hand against the wall to steady himself and then hobbled towards the door. Sherlock stepped out of his way and let John pass.
John made his way up to his room and fell asleep before his head even hit the pillow.
Chapter 2 - AO3
Author: angel_kink
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Other characters: Sergeant Donovan, Anderson, Detective Inspector Lestrade
Rating: PG 13 (will go up)
Warning: Vampire AU. Lots of blood.
Word Count: 3100 (this chapter)
Summary: John gets his first glimpse at the “Consulting Vampire” at work.
A/N: Since people seemed to like chapter 1, I’m gonna keep going. I have enough ideas for about 4 chapters, but that’s just to get to the start of the plot so I have no idea how long this will get. Also, I have two Big Bangs in the works and I work long hours during the week, so updates might be sporadic. I’m sorry :(
During the cab ride, John kept glancing at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t exactly having second thoughts, but he was certainly nervous about the whole situation. He’d jumped into this head first and now here he was heading towards a crime scene with a vampire and he had no idea why.
“You have more questions.”
John hadn’t realized his quick glances had turned into one long lingering stare until Sherlock had spoken. He quickly looked forward again and tried to stop gawking so obviously.
“Yes. Where are we going?”
“I told you. A crime scene. Next?”
“Yes, but why are we headed to a crime scene?”
“I’m a consultant.”
“A consultant?”
“Yes, whenever the police are out of their depth - which is always - they consult me.”
“You mean... specifically about...” John vaguely gestured towards Sherlock, who only smirked in response.
“My assistance does usually involve information on a certain type of death, yes, but it’s what I can do, not what I am, that they need me for.”
“And what is it that you can do?”
“I can observe.”
“Observe. Okay... And what does that mean?”
Sherlock looked over at John and let his eyes scan over him. John already had enough trouble sitting still under his gaze, but now he knew full well that he was being ‘observed’ - whatever that meant - and it took all his willpower not to panic.
“Afghanistan or Iraq?”
“Pardon?”
“Which was it?”
“Afghanistan. How did you-”
“Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists - you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic - wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan - Afghanistan or Iraq.”
“That was amazing. Brilliant. But why take me along? I couldn’t even hope to do that.”
“Of course not, John. But you’re an army Doctor. You enjoy the thrill. Your heart races at the thought, just like it is right now. A quickened pulse, body flooding with adrenaline.” John gulped, moderately disturbed that Sherlock could probably hear his heartbeat. He could never hide that from him. Sherlock would always knew when he was excited about something and John wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. “You work well under pressure. Better in fact. Besides... none of the medical examiners will work with me.”
“What, you frighten them?”
“No. I annoy them, apparently.”
John laughed and Sherlock frowned.
-
When they arrived at the crime scene a large portion of the street was already closed off to the public. The policewoman rolled her eyes when she saw Sherlock approaching. She crossed her arms and stood in front of the yellow tape defiantly, clearly challenging Sherlock to try to get past her without some sort of a confrontation. When she spotted John her face softened slightly and she raised a curious eyebrow at Sherlock.
“Who’d you bring with you, Freak?”
“Sergeant Sally Donovan, this is my friend Doctor John Watson.”
“Friend? How’d you get a friend?”
“I’m, uh, renting the upstairs room,” John answered. She looked even more confused at that and turned back to Sherlock.
“You may speak freely around him, Sally. He knows.”
“What are you thinking sharing a flat with a vampire? This one, especially? Not just deadly, but bloody annoying too.”
“I... I don’t know actually. It just happened.”
“You should get a hobby - a normal hobby. I hear fishing’s nice.”
“Right, okay, very good,” Sherlock interrupted. “Lestrade is expecting me.”
“Is he now?”
“Yes, now let me pass.”
“Right, of course. This way,” she said with a smirk. She lifted the yellow tape, but when Sherlock bent over to go under it he jerked backwards. “Oh, oops,” she said as she pulled a small golden cross necklace from under her blouse. “I suppose my new necklace is a Sherlock repellent.”
Sherlock furrowed his brow at her before lifting the tape a few feet away and letting himself under. John passed under the tape Sally was holding up and mumbled a half hearted ‘thank you’ to her before quickly trailing behind Sherlock. It was obvious that Sherlock was very clearly unused to being caught off guard.
They went up the stairs of the abandoned multi-level home until they entered a small third story room crowded with forensic personnel and police officers. There was a body on the floor in the center of the room face down in a pool of blood that was taking up most of the attention from everyone around them. Nobody seemed to pay any attention to them at first. But after a moment a gray haired man standing next to the corpse spotted them and started barking orders at people.
“Everyone who doesn’t have Special Operations clearance needs to exit the building. We’ll have a debriefing in twenty minutes.” It took only a few seconds for all, but a few people to be remaining in the room. John, Sherlock, the man who was clearly in charge, and one of the forensics specialists remained. “And who’s this, Sherlock?”
“This is Doctor John Watson,” Sherlock sighed, clearly annoyed and having to repeat his introductions yet again. “John, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade.”
“And what’s he doing here at my crime scene?”
“He’ll be assisting me.”
“That’s what I’m for,” the forensic specialist said.
“Anderson, your face puts me off as I work. It’s far too distracting.” Sherlock held his hand up to block the line of sight to the man’s face. “If you want me to do your job for you, you can assist me by leaving the room.”
“Sherlock,” Lestrade sighed. “It’s hard to find people with the proper level of clearance to work on these cases. Anderson is all we have available right now. You have to work with him.”
“I told you, that’s what John’s here for.”
Lestrade looked at John. “You ever work in forensics before?”
“No - no I haven’t. But I was an army Doctor. Seen plenty of injuries.”
“But no forensics.” He looked back at Sherlock. “I can’t allow-”
“Let John work with me on this case or I won’t work on it at all. And then you’ll never get this taken care of.”
“Fine,” Lestrade muttered. John was surprised at how quickly he’d caved in, but he kept his opinion on the matter to himself. “Anderson, leave the room.”
“What? I was called in specifically-”
“Anderson! I’ll see you at the debriefing. Leave the room.”
“You can’t be serious,” he said as he made his way to the door. “This is absolutely insane.”
As soon as the door shut behind him Sherlock turned to John.
“What can you tell me about the body,” he said as he gestured towards the corpse on the floor. John wasn’t exactly sure what he was allowed to do at a crime scene so he looked to Lestrade for some sort of permission.
“Do what he says,” Lestrade said with a nod.
John got down on his knees and looked at the body. She was a young woman, no older than her mid-twenties, dressed in plain jeans and a scarlet red blouse. He could tell that her throat had been torn out, but there wasn’t an entire bodies worth of blood on the floor. John shuddered. A couple of days ago his mind would have never leapt the conclusion that this was a vampire attack. Now he could tell exactly what it was with just a glance.
Sherlock hovered for a moment, but soon knelt on the floor on the other side of the body. He could see Sherlock staring at him out of the corner of his eye, but John focused on the corpse in front of him instead. He reached out and examined the woman’s hand. He checked the state of rigor mortis and made note of the abrasions on her fingers. He also paid attention to the body temperature and skin coloration before setting the hand back on the floor.
“She’s been dead for probably about 24 hours. Severe blood loss, obviously. She broke several of her nails and has cuts on her hands. Fought back probably.” He looked up at Sherlock, who was still staring at him. “What else do you want from me exactly? I don’t know really know what I’m doing here.”
“No, that’s perfect,” he said as he adjusted the corpse’s head to get a better view at the bite marks. “All of it quite obvious, of course, but spot on nonetheless.” John blinked at the insult and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could respond Sherlock was already talking at an alarming pace. “The vampire who killed her was young - probably her first kill -”
“Her?” Lestrade questioned, but Sherlock just continued talking.
“She missed the major arteries and went straight for the veins on the surface. She grew frustrated and started tearing the flesh at random in order to create a larger wound. She didn’t know her victim. She came up from behind. The woman clawed at her - struggled violently - but the vampire at least understood her newfound strength and won the struggle. Perhaps she’s a couple days old. A week at most. She wouldn’t have waited this long unless she was alone - abandoned by her maker. She has no idea what she’s doing. This was a kill out of desperation.”
“That’s fantastic,” John said.
“No, it’s dreadful,” Sherlock replied.
“It could have been an accidental turning,” Lestrade offered.
“Not likely. Accidental turnings usually know their maker. She was turned in a single night and left to fend for herself.”
“How does one get 'turned' accidentally,” John asked.” Actually, how does one get turned at all? I never got to ask that. I meant to. We rushed out the door so quickly...”
“Just how long have you known about vampires,” Lestrade asked. When John raised his eyebrows and looked at his watch, Lestrade rolled his eyes and turned to Sherlock. “You can’t be serious! Look, teach him the basics later. Right now I just need to know if you can track down this vampire and put a stop to this?”
“Of course,” Sherlock said as he stood from the floor. “She’ll be eliminated by tomorrow evening. Come along, John.” Without thinking about it, John stood up and followed him briskly out the door.
-
Their cab ride home was painfully quiet as they each stewed in their own thoughts. John was still coping with the new world he’d found himself thrust into, but Sherlock was very obviously entirely wrapped up in the case. Sherlock would occasionally type something furiously on his phone and scroll through texts and images at a ridiculous speed. The rest of the time he seemed to be staring off into space and muttering things to himself. John wasn’t entirely sure if this was par for the course for him, but he certainly wasn’t going to interrupt him.
When they got home just past midnight, Sherlock immediately started some experiment in the kitchen and John went to the bathroom to wash up before bed. He had an interview in the morning and wasn’t about to miss out on a job opportunity just because he was out late hanging out at a crime scene with his new vampire flatmate. Though the more he thought about it, that was a pretty legitimate reason to take off an entire week. Maybe a month. Or a year. Still, he was determined to keep his real life moving forward. He had to find work.
As John was brushing his teeth he noticed small amounts of blood when he was rinsing out his mouth. It wasn’t uncommon for his gums to bleed when he brushed, but now the very sight of blood seemed so much more significant. John wondered if those few specks of red were enough for Sherlock to detect. There was so much he still didn’t know. And Sherlock didn’t seem like he’d always be in such an answer happy mood, so he might not get a chance to ask him more questions for a very long time. He wondered if he’d have a chance tonight to ask him more things or if the case was going to take up all of his attention.
John hadn’t realized he’d dropped the glass until he heard it shatter on the floor. A shard ricocheted off the linoleum and imbedded itself in the side of his foot. He immediately sunk to the floor and examined his wound, hoping that the damage would be minimal and he wouldn’t have to go to the hospital. He had a well stocked emergency kit and as long as it didn't nick anything major he'd probably be alright. His mind went back to Sherlock’s words, but he didn’t feel like he could really leave the flat with a shard of glass in his foot. He had to take care of this and do it as fast as possible.
He gently pulled out the glass and applied pressure to his wound with a towel. He could already tell it was going to require stitches, but his first priority was to just stop the bleeding and get out of the house before-
Sherlock opened the bathroom door and stared down at him.
“I’m sorry,” John said quickly. “It was an accident.”
“I had one rule, John,” Sherlock said as he turned around and stormed out of sight. “‘Don’t bleed profusely in this flat.’ Just that one.”
“I didn’t really have a choice,” John shouted, unsure of how far Sherlock had walked away. “What was I supposed to do, run outside with glass in my foot?”
“Yes.” Sherlock sounded distant, but still close enough that John could talk normally and be heard.
“Then I’d have bleed all over the carpet and you’d never get it out. Best I bleed here in the bathroom,” he said as he moved his foot over to the tub. He turned on the water and began to clean out the wound. “I can have this patched up in a couple of minutes anyway.”
“That’s not the point, John.” Sherlock had reappeared in the bathroom door. John looked at him briefly before directing all of his attention to the task at hand. “Now the entire apartment smells like your blood.”
“I thought you said it wouldn’t drive you mad?”
“Mad? No. Highly annoyed? Yes. Extremely.”
“Why? You don’t drink it anymore?”
“Not from my-” Sherlock stopped mid sentence and looked to the floor.
“Your what?” John looked up again and met Sherlock's defiant eyes. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame regarding John with an unreadable expression, but John wasn't about to give up. “What am I, Sherlock? What makes me different from other people?”
“I don’t drink from the people I consider mine.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s not unusual for vampires to partner with humans for assistance with their own respective continued survival. It’s been happening for thousands of years.” Sherlock opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the first aid kit. He handed it to John.
“What kind of assistance are you talking about?”
“This building we are living in is under Mrs. Hudson’s name - she lives downstairs and you’ll most likely meet her by tomorrow. She has a habit of popping her head in here on a regular basis. Most of my financial and legal matters are taken care of through her as well. I choose not to feed on humans who assist me. I consider it mixing business with pleasure. I simply won’t do it.”
“Ok, what do I do, exactly? I mean, Mrs. Hudson I get. But me?”
“John, you’re assistance tonight was most useful.”
“Really? Didn’t feel like I did much.”
“Your mere presence convinced Lestrade to force Anderson out of the room. I don’t believe you understand how much I appreciate that fact alone.”
John laughed. “Right, ok, I’m a good Anderson repellent. I guess that’s something.” John finished bandaging his foot and set it gently on the linoleum. He wasn’t going to try to walk just yet, but he’d done all that he could do for his foot for the time being. “But you’ve fed on other humans?”
“Obviously.”
“How long ago was your last, er... meal?” John took the towel and wiped up the spots of blood that were still on the floor.
“I last fed on a human more than a year ago. I don’t kill anymore, but willing participants are few and far between. Usually I’m sustained from donations acquired from certain medical professionals.”
“Like Doctors?”
“Yes. And other specialists.”
“You know-”
“No. You just concentrate on having a successful interview tomorrow. Leave the blood acquisitions to me.”
“How did you... nevermind," he said with a wave of his hand. "I’m tired. And like you said, I have an interview tomorrow. I'm going to bed.” John stood up from the edge of the tub, wobbling slightly when he put his weight on his injured foot. He put his hand against the wall to steady himself and then hobbled towards the door. Sherlock stepped out of his way and let John pass.
John made his way up to his room and fell asleep before his head even hit the pillow.