We Meet Again (2/4)
Title: We Meet Again (2/4)
Pairing: John/Sherlock ( Alphabetically)
Word count: ~ 16,500 overall. ~3000 this part.
Rating: R
Beta : The awesome hopeinashes
Summary: In a world world where vampires and human co exist (mostly), being a personal donor to a vampire was a highly coveted position. Unfortunately for John Watson, he didn't share that opinion.
Warnings: Vampires, violence, blood and sexual themes.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really.
PART TWO :
He felt himself relax. Whoever this vampire was, he was obviously extremely shallow. He was sure that he would be out of the bloody camp in no time.
“Oh, it’s a new law. Barely three years old,” Molly was saying. “Don’t worry. Last time Sherlock didn’t even turn up. His brother came to choose for him.”
“How many personal donors does this Sher-lock go through?”
Molly was trying hard to hide her glee.“Oh, quite a few. He chucks them all out after a few days. I think it’s because he rarely comes himself and his brother’s taste doesn’t really match his own.”
“I didn’t know that PD’s were compulsory,” John said. It was very unlike a vampire to be forced into anything.
“The Holmess’ are a very influential family. Sherlock’s a grade two vampire and they’ve an allowance for 3 PD's, you know. If he doesn’t have even one, people will talk.”
“Oh,” John said, realising guiltily that he didn’t even know what grade his own sister was.
“Oh, he’s here, he’s here!” Molly said, her fingers gripping the couch like she was stopping herself from getting up and running to him.
There was a general buzz of excitement as everyone stood up to get a better look at their visitors. John remained seated, it was too much of an effort to get up from the couch. The crowd parted as the two men briskly walked to the raised platform. The taller, leaner man, dressed in a stylish dark suit and purple shirt, immediately sank down onto the black armchair provided and twisted sideways so his long legs dangled over the armrest. He crossed them and made a waving motion to the other man in the room, as if to say ‘get on with it’. All the while he typed furiously on his phone and didn’t look up even once.
By the way Molly was gawping at him, eyes wide with worship, John guessed that the man was Sherlock Holmes. He tilted his head. He supposed he could see why she was hopelessly in love with him. He was attractive, in an odd way, with his dark curly hair and pale skin.
But John felt that it was the other man he had to be more careful of. The shorter, podgier one in a grey suit. He was leaning on a black umbrella and ignoring the dramatics of the younger man on the sofa, giving the room a small smile.
“Who’s he, then?” John whispered to Molly.
She mouthed, “the brother.”
“Good evening, everyone”, the man with the umbrella said; The accent screamed Eton. “My name is Mycroft Holmes, and-”
“Oh for heavens’ sake Mycroft,” Sherlock interrupted, his voice loud and stark. “Must we go through this again?”
“Yes,” Mycroft answered patiently and turned back to the room. John had to grin at the exchange. It was becoming obvious that whoever this Sherlock was, he wasn’t keen on keeping a personal donor. It really did look like he would be out of here soon. He wondered if he could fake a loo break and leave.
“Please, sit down everybody,” the older man said, motioning for them to take their places. “I know a lot of you are hopeful about the position today-”
John noticed that Sherlock was still typing, oblivious to what was going on around him.
“-And I see some familiar faces in the crowd-”
There was a rumble of approving voices around.
“-I am gratified that so many of you would choose to come again. We, at the Association, are humbled by the support shown to us whichever borough we visit.”
People whistled and clapped and Mycroft waited serenely for it to die down.
“Now, let us not waste any more time. Most of you are familiar with the protocol. Shall we start with...” Mycroft scanned the room and John studied his nails. “Ah yes, you, why don’t we start with you. Come, introduce yourself.”
The 17 year old boy from the waiting area stood up and looked nervously at both vampires, as if he couldn’t decide who to pitch his introduction to. Sherlock was still absorbed in his phone, not sparing a glance at the people assembled.
Mycroft motioned him to the front of the room, “Come here, child. Why don’t you tell me your name?”
“M’ names Max,” he said, looking up at Mycroft and then peeking at Sherlock to check if he was listening. “I’m 17, from Wembely and I’m graduating this year. I’m an O negative, and I would really, really love it if-”
“Next!” Sherlock barked, waving the boy away but not looking up from his phone. The poor lad looked crestfallen.
“But I-”
“Next!” Sherlock thundered, finally looking up from his phone. John sucked in a breath, the man’s gaze was glittering in what was definitely malice, the pale colouring not lending a shred of warmth. He reminded John of a hulking praying mantis, with his slanting eyes and angular face. His body was all lean lines and sharp edges, tense with barely contained energy. Max took an involuntary step back and John couldn’t help but disapprove. There was no need to intimidate a child.
“Is he always like this?” he whispered to Molly. She nodded, managing to look terrified as well as crushingly in love all in one go. Poor girl, John sympathised.
“That’s enough, Sherlock,” Mycroft chatised.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, swinging his legs on the floor so he was sitting upright. “I do not understand why you force me to these torturous things. Every last human here is a waste of my time-”
“You haven’t even glanced at them yet!” Mycroft snapped. Molly winced and John had the impression that Mycroft had said something very wrong indeed. The vampire known as Sherlock jumped up from the couch, casual with his super human speed, grinning in triumph at his brother.
He rounded on the group now cowering on the couches and pointed to John's right, where a bunch of young women were watching the man on stage in fascination and horror.
“25, bisexual going by how unnecessarily close she’s sitting to her friend, unemployed and desperately needing money, probably an A negative.” He swivelled and pointed to a couch in the corner, where a man and woman were seated. “Married, but hiding it to increase their chances of getting chosen”. He crossed the stage and now was staring directly in John's direction. Molly tensed, but Sherlock seemed more interested in the people behind them,
“Teacher, her boyfriend's cheating on her but she doesn’t want to admit it so she’s here to make him jealous-” his eyes flicked to his right “- the blonde one is actually a man, the one sitting next to him is a coke addict, gay, -” he moved again, focussing on the front row. He reminded John of an dancer showing off to an audience, “- Anthropology student, child of divorce, oh dear god are you people purposely being dull, this one’s Rh positive!”
“Enough!” Mycroft roared, his fangs extended. Several people gasped and John didn’t blame them. He’d dealt with vampires before, and extending fangs meant they were a moment away from tearing your throat out. To his credit, Sherlock looked more surprised than alarmed at his brother's outburst, not extending his fangs in turn.
“Oh stop being such a drama queen,” he sneered, flopping down on the couch again. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Mycroft glanced at the humans in the room, obviously embarrassed and covered his mouth with his hand. He took a deep breath. “I will not tolerate this anymore, Sherlock. You will take a personal donor or, so help me, I will tell Mummy.”
Sherlock crossed his arms and glared. John couldn’t help but smile a little. He reminded him of Harry when John used to steal her barbies. Molly gave a little sniffle next to him and John raised an eyebrow at her.
“He didn’t even recognise me,” she said, her voice shaking with unshed tears.
“Oh Molly, believe me you’re better off,” he whispered, patting her arm. This only seemed to make her more upset because she buried her face in his shoulder, her sniffing getting louder. Both the anthropologist and child of divorce glanced behind curiously. John tensed, not liking that they were drawing attention.
Luckily, the brothers were still arguing on stage.
“ - I would take this more seriously if you’d just get more interesting people!”
“ - I have been to 8 boroughs in the last three months, Sherlock! You reject everybody-”
“Have you seen them? Cattle, that’s all they are! Brainless, uneducated, boring-”
Molly seemed to take the uneducated comment as proof that Sherlock hadn’t recognised her and she let out a sob, desperately trying to burrow deeper into his shoulder. He awkwardly patted her on the back. This time the blonde man/woman behind them whispered in his ear,
“All right there, mate?”
John winced, “Fine, fine, thanks. She’s just tired, that’s all.”
“Proper bastard, that one,” he agreed, even though John had already turned back to fix his eyes on the stage. He switched to rubbing soothing circles on Molly's back, like his mum used to do for him whenever he was upset.
“ - Sherlock, I have been assured that there are highly educated people in this group-”
“Oh, so what! Everyone here is a clone -”
“That’s not true-”
“Yes it is! Same age group, same qualifications, same brand of under-”
“What about that one?”
“The same! Are you blind Mycrof- oh. ”
John realised that the brothers had stopped arguing the same time he felt the entire room's eyes on him. His face heated up and he let go of Molly, who was down to sniffles and wiping her nose on his jacket.
“Why don’t you introduce yourself?” Mycroft said, twirling his umbrella and looking pleased with himself.
“Er, John Watson,” he said into the pregnant silence. He tried not to focus on the praying mantis image as Sherlock’s gaze sharpened and narrowed. It made it easier to stare right back into those strange eyes. Molly had sat up now and she let out a startled breath as Sherlock frowned at her.
“Come here,” he ordered. John tensed, his stomach tightening in a way that didn’t bode well. It was the same feeling he had gotten the day he had been shot.
Molly nudged him. “Go on!”
“I think he means you,” John muttered.
“No,” the vampire said sharply, “I meant you.”
“Right...” John said, feeling confused and annoyed. This was not going ideally. No bloody vampire was supposed to notice him! He was supposed to be back home by 6 and in his bed before 7. And then what? A traitorous voice in head whispered.
John pursed his lips, refusing to indulge those thoughts. Right now, his instincts were telling him he needed all his wits about him. He pushed himself off the couch with not a little difficulty, earning a few sniggers from the people around him. He ignored them, squared his shoulders and limped to the front, stopping right below the stage. It was only raised only about a foot, but John understood the psychological advantage that went with looking down on people. He smirked inwardly, fortunately for him, being short had made him almost immune to it.
Both the vampires studied him in silence for a few moments, but it was Mycroft who spoke first. “What’s your blood type?”
“B negative,” Sherlock said instantly, before John could get a word in. John blinked, wondering how in hell he knew that. Had they already read his file?
“I deduced it,” Sherlock said.
“I never asked how you knew,” John said, annoyed now.
“But you thought it,” the vampire said, smirking. The next thing John knew the man had grabbed his arm and was hauling him up to the stage. Fear rose like a wave and he resisted automatically, reflexes exploding as he pushed his weight back, twisted right and jammed his cane into the vampire's kidneys. There was a pained grunt from the man above, and he was shoved away.
John tottered back, but managed to keep his balance, his heart thudding in his ears. There was a ringing silence around him, punctuated by shocked gasps and loud mutters of “Nutter!”.
He swallowed, all too aware that he had just attacked a vampire and, worse, he had overreacted. In hindsight, it didn’t seem like the vampire had been trying to hurt him; just help him up onto the stage. Great, Watson, why not just broadcast to the world that you have PTSD? He glanced at Mycroft, who was looking at him with a combination of wary admiration as well as disapproval. It was an expression he recognised well, usually directed at him by his commanding officers.
Sherlock was just about straightening up, clutching his side and John braced for a painful punch to his face.
But Sherlock just grinned at him, a wide delighted grin that John thought was a little mad.
“I’ll take him,” he wheezed.
“What?” John said, his voice tinged with panic.
“Are you sure, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked, twirling his umbrella again. “He seems ... damaged.”
“Hey!” John protested.
The vampires ignored him. “Yes, I’m sure!” Sherlock snapped, “Would you rather I pick the underage idiot?”
The umbrella stopped mid twirl, “Yes, I would, actually.”
Sherlock smirked. “Too bad. I want him.”
“Very well,” Mycroft let out a long suffering sigh. “Mindy will draw up the papers.”
“Excuse me!” John said loudly, “What in blazes are you on about?”
Sherlock jumped off the stage to stand directly in front of him, leaning down to peer at his face. John stood his ground, glaring at the pale eyed vampire’s obvious glee.
“You’re my personal donor! Come, here’s your cane. Mycroft will get your things sent to my home.”
John’s ears felt hot as he accepted the cane, but he didn’t budge an inch. “Sorry, but there’s been some sort of mistake. I have no interest in becoming a PD.”
“What?” Sherlock frowned. He flicked his eyes to his brother who was watching with a bland look of disinterest. Mycroft gave a small shake of head and Sherlock nodded in reply.
“You can’t decline.”
“What?” John’s temper was returning.
“I’m afraid so, Dr. Watson,” Mycroft informed him from above. “Being a Personal Donor is a great honour, you see. Not accepting would be unthinkable, a crime even. Why, just look at all the disappointed people behind you.”
John glared at Mycroft for good measure before turning to look at the dismayed expressions on everyone’s faces as they filed out of the room.
“So what? I just came to donate to the bank , I have no intention to become anyone’s PD.”
Sherlock frowned and glanced at Mycroft. Again, his brother gave him a small short shake of head. “Doctor Watson ,” Mycroft continued, like he was trying his patience. “There is no recorded personal donor ever regretting his or her getting chosen by vampire. The laws clearly states that entry into the volunteer room means you are willing.”
“But I was forced in here!” he said, outraged.
“Then you should have lodged a formal complaint stating reasons for your exclusion from the screening protocol,” Mycroft said coolly.
“Fine!” John said, taking a step away from Sherlock. He was still standing too close. “I will.”
“It is too late, Doctor,” Mycroft said, smiling down at him. John felt the hair at the back of his neck rise.
“Oh, for god’s sake!” Sherlock was scowling. “Why are you making such a fuss! I won’t be bad to you.”
John narrowed his eyes. “I did not choose to be here. Can you not understand that? Choose someone else!”
“Oh, Dull!” Sherlock spat, “Come along now!” He was reaching for him again and John took another step back. His leg throbbed with the effort.
“Sh - Sherlock, let him go,” a small voice said.
Both men turned to the source of the voice, a small woman who was twisting her skirt in her nervousness.
“Go away, Molly,” Sherlock said coldly.
“He doesn’t want you,” she pressed on, her voice trembling.
The vampire bared his fangs at her and John widened his eyes at the casual display.
“Oh? Should I take you instead then? That’s what you want , isn’t it?” he sneered.
Molly grimaced, “That’s - that’s not what I meant!”
“Then leave me be! I tolerate enough of you at Barts.”
“There’s no need to-” John started.
Molly shook her head. “It’s all right John,” she said in a tone that also meant ‘I’m used to it’. “I thought maybe I could help, that’s all.”
John felt warmth flood him at her selflessness.
“Don’t worry, Molly. I can handle it.”
Sherlock scoffed. “Are you going to come now? Don’t bore me.”
John contemplated running. Turning and running just to piss them off, but while Sherlock seemed like the type to think that a human running from a vampire was funny, Mycroft on the other hand would take it much more seriously. He didn’t want to risk being sent to jail for assault or treason.
Sherlock took his silence for acceptance. “Good! Mycroft, get his things sent to Baker Street.”
It was a second before John realised the full meaning of those words. His gun! Shit! If anyone from the government found his gun he was going to be in big, big trouble. He wouldn’t be able to protect Bill either, who was still serving in Afghanistan.
“Wait! Wait a moment,” he said, swallowing. “Let me pack an overnight bag, at least.”
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, “I hope you’re not stupid enough to think you can run.”
“If I am, would you choose someone else?” John tried.
“Only after I’d bled you dry,” Sherlock informed him.
Molly gasped and John hoped his horror didn’t show on his face. “That’s murder,” he pointed out.
Sherlock shrugged and looked to Mycroft.
“Death by feeding, while tragic, is accidental manslaughter at best,” the older brother said promptly. “Bail at 100,000 pounds.”
“You’re joking,” John breathed, not missing how Mycroft had said 100 00 pounds. Like it was mere pocket change.
“No, he isn’t. He is the one responsible for the laws after all. He takes them very seriously,” Sherlock said, like he thought it was funny.
“In any case, Doctor,” Mycroft continued, “I am sure we can allow you to go home to pick up a few essentials to make up for this ... inconvenience. However, I would advise against running.” The umbrella twirled, “It never does end well.”
John gripped his cane, “I thought no donor ever regretted his or her getting chosen by a vampire.”
Mycroft smiled at him, cold and amused. “I said that there is no recorded personal donor ever regretted his or her getting chosen by vampire.”
John clamped down on his fury, aware that arguing with Mycroft, who was obviously a very powerful man, was useless. He had more pressing matters to attend to. Like hiding his gun. Dismayed, he realised he would probably have to get rid of it permanently.
“Fine, Er. I’ll just leave, shall I?”
“Sherlock, go with him. He is your responsibility now, ” Mycroft said.
But Sherlock was now typing on his phone and didn’t respond. John glanced at Mycroft who was still smiling that private smile of his. It was more than a little unnerving.
“I can go alone,” John said, trying not to sound too hopeful. He didn’t think he would be able to get his gun past the younger vampire.
“All right. Sherlock will come and collect you later tonight. Won’t you, Sherlock?”
The younger vampire was frowning at this blackberry screen, “What? Yes, of course!”
“That’s settled then. Good evening, Doctor Watson, Doctor Hooper,” Mycroft said and left.
John paused for a second, watching Sherlock mutter while he typed into his phone. He felt a hand on his arm, “He’s always like this. Come on, let’s go.” Molly said.
John let himself be led out of the donation camp, feeling light headed. The thud of their footsteps on the pavement, the cars rushing by, the smell of damp London air, it all seemed surreal. Maybe he was still in the hospital in Dubai and this was a dream.
“I’m sorry,” Molly said suddenly.
John blinked down at her, grateful for the line of warmth she provided as she walked next to him.
“If I hadn’t been crying this wouldn’t have happened. I know you didn’t want this, I’m so sorry.”
John sighed, “You don’t have to apologise, Molly. You can never predict these kinds of things.”
“Can I - can I help you with anything?” she asked. John studied the determined set of her mouth. He had a hard time working out whether she meant help him pack or help him escape the country.
“Give me your number, I’ll call you if I need anything.”
**
End Part Two. Feedback is <3
>>PART THREE>>
Pairing: John/Sherlock ( Alphabetically)
Word count: ~ 16,500 overall. ~3000 this part.
Rating: R
Beta : The awesome hopeinashes
Summary: In a world world where vampires and human co exist (mostly), being a personal donor to a vampire was a highly coveted position. Unfortunately for John Watson, he didn't share that opinion.
Warnings: Vampires, violence, blood and sexual themes.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really.
PART TWO :
He felt himself relax. Whoever this vampire was, he was obviously extremely shallow. He was sure that he would be out of the bloody camp in no time.
“Oh, it’s a new law. Barely three years old,” Molly was saying. “Don’t worry. Last time Sherlock didn’t even turn up. His brother came to choose for him.”
“How many personal donors does this Sher-lock go through?”
Molly was trying hard to hide her glee.“Oh, quite a few. He chucks them all out after a few days. I think it’s because he rarely comes himself and his brother’s taste doesn’t really match his own.”
“I didn’t know that PD’s were compulsory,” John said. It was very unlike a vampire to be forced into anything.
“The Holmess’ are a very influential family. Sherlock’s a grade two vampire and they’ve an allowance for 3 PD's, you know. If he doesn’t have even one, people will talk.”
“Oh,” John said, realising guiltily that he didn’t even know what grade his own sister was.
“Oh, he’s here, he’s here!” Molly said, her fingers gripping the couch like she was stopping herself from getting up and running to him.
There was a general buzz of excitement as everyone stood up to get a better look at their visitors. John remained seated, it was too much of an effort to get up from the couch. The crowd parted as the two men briskly walked to the raised platform. The taller, leaner man, dressed in a stylish dark suit and purple shirt, immediately sank down onto the black armchair provided and twisted sideways so his long legs dangled over the armrest. He crossed them and made a waving motion to the other man in the room, as if to say ‘get on with it’. All the while he typed furiously on his phone and didn’t look up even once.
By the way Molly was gawping at him, eyes wide with worship, John guessed that the man was Sherlock Holmes. He tilted his head. He supposed he could see why she was hopelessly in love with him. He was attractive, in an odd way, with his dark curly hair and pale skin.
But John felt that it was the other man he had to be more careful of. The shorter, podgier one in a grey suit. He was leaning on a black umbrella and ignoring the dramatics of the younger man on the sofa, giving the room a small smile.
“Who’s he, then?” John whispered to Molly.
She mouthed, “the brother.”
“Good evening, everyone”, the man with the umbrella said; The accent screamed Eton. “My name is Mycroft Holmes, and-”
“Oh for heavens’ sake Mycroft,” Sherlock interrupted, his voice loud and stark. “Must we go through this again?”
“Yes,” Mycroft answered patiently and turned back to the room. John had to grin at the exchange. It was becoming obvious that whoever this Sherlock was, he wasn’t keen on keeping a personal donor. It really did look like he would be out of here soon. He wondered if he could fake a loo break and leave.
“Please, sit down everybody,” the older man said, motioning for them to take their places. “I know a lot of you are hopeful about the position today-”
John noticed that Sherlock was still typing, oblivious to what was going on around him.
“-And I see some familiar faces in the crowd-”
There was a rumble of approving voices around.
“-I am gratified that so many of you would choose to come again. We, at the Association, are humbled by the support shown to us whichever borough we visit.”
People whistled and clapped and Mycroft waited serenely for it to die down.
“Now, let us not waste any more time. Most of you are familiar with the protocol. Shall we start with...” Mycroft scanned the room and John studied his nails. “Ah yes, you, why don’t we start with you. Come, introduce yourself.”
The 17 year old boy from the waiting area stood up and looked nervously at both vampires, as if he couldn’t decide who to pitch his introduction to. Sherlock was still absorbed in his phone, not sparing a glance at the people assembled.
Mycroft motioned him to the front of the room, “Come here, child. Why don’t you tell me your name?”
“M’ names Max,” he said, looking up at Mycroft and then peeking at Sherlock to check if he was listening. “I’m 17, from Wembely and I’m graduating this year. I’m an O negative, and I would really, really love it if-”
“Next!” Sherlock barked, waving the boy away but not looking up from his phone. The poor lad looked crestfallen.
“But I-”
“Next!” Sherlock thundered, finally looking up from his phone. John sucked in a breath, the man’s gaze was glittering in what was definitely malice, the pale colouring not lending a shred of warmth. He reminded John of a hulking praying mantis, with his slanting eyes and angular face. His body was all lean lines and sharp edges, tense with barely contained energy. Max took an involuntary step back and John couldn’t help but disapprove. There was no need to intimidate a child.
“Is he always like this?” he whispered to Molly. She nodded, managing to look terrified as well as crushingly in love all in one go. Poor girl, John sympathised.
“That’s enough, Sherlock,” Mycroft chatised.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, swinging his legs on the floor so he was sitting upright. “I do not understand why you force me to these torturous things. Every last human here is a waste of my time-”
“You haven’t even glanced at them yet!” Mycroft snapped. Molly winced and John had the impression that Mycroft had said something very wrong indeed. The vampire known as Sherlock jumped up from the couch, casual with his super human speed, grinning in triumph at his brother.
He rounded on the group now cowering on the couches and pointed to John's right, where a bunch of young women were watching the man on stage in fascination and horror.
“25, bisexual going by how unnecessarily close she’s sitting to her friend, unemployed and desperately needing money, probably an A negative.” He swivelled and pointed to a couch in the corner, where a man and woman were seated. “Married, but hiding it to increase their chances of getting chosen”. He crossed the stage and now was staring directly in John's direction. Molly tensed, but Sherlock seemed more interested in the people behind them,
“Teacher, her boyfriend's cheating on her but she doesn’t want to admit it so she’s here to make him jealous-” his eyes flicked to his right “- the blonde one is actually a man, the one sitting next to him is a coke addict, gay, -” he moved again, focussing on the front row. He reminded John of an dancer showing off to an audience, “- Anthropology student, child of divorce, oh dear god are you people purposely being dull, this one’s Rh positive!”
“Enough!” Mycroft roared, his fangs extended. Several people gasped and John didn’t blame them. He’d dealt with vampires before, and extending fangs meant they were a moment away from tearing your throat out. To his credit, Sherlock looked more surprised than alarmed at his brother's outburst, not extending his fangs in turn.
“Oh stop being such a drama queen,” he sneered, flopping down on the couch again. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Mycroft glanced at the humans in the room, obviously embarrassed and covered his mouth with his hand. He took a deep breath. “I will not tolerate this anymore, Sherlock. You will take a personal donor or, so help me, I will tell Mummy.”
Sherlock crossed his arms and glared. John couldn’t help but smile a little. He reminded him of Harry when John used to steal her barbies. Molly gave a little sniffle next to him and John raised an eyebrow at her.
“He didn’t even recognise me,” she said, her voice shaking with unshed tears.
“Oh Molly, believe me you’re better off,” he whispered, patting her arm. This only seemed to make her more upset because she buried her face in his shoulder, her sniffing getting louder. Both the anthropologist and child of divorce glanced behind curiously. John tensed, not liking that they were drawing attention.
Luckily, the brothers were still arguing on stage.
“ - I would take this more seriously if you’d just get more interesting people!”
“ - I have been to 8 boroughs in the last three months, Sherlock! You reject everybody-”
“Have you seen them? Cattle, that’s all they are! Brainless, uneducated, boring-”
Molly seemed to take the uneducated comment as proof that Sherlock hadn’t recognised her and she let out a sob, desperately trying to burrow deeper into his shoulder. He awkwardly patted her on the back. This time the blonde man/woman behind them whispered in his ear,
“All right there, mate?”
John winced, “Fine, fine, thanks. She’s just tired, that’s all.”
“Proper bastard, that one,” he agreed, even though John had already turned back to fix his eyes on the stage. He switched to rubbing soothing circles on Molly's back, like his mum used to do for him whenever he was upset.
“ - Sherlock, I have been assured that there are highly educated people in this group-”
“Oh, so what! Everyone here is a clone -”
“That’s not true-”
“Yes it is! Same age group, same qualifications, same brand of under-”
“What about that one?”
“The same! Are you blind Mycrof- oh. ”
John realised that the brothers had stopped arguing the same time he felt the entire room's eyes on him. His face heated up and he let go of Molly, who was down to sniffles and wiping her nose on his jacket.
“Why don’t you introduce yourself?” Mycroft said, twirling his umbrella and looking pleased with himself.
“Er, John Watson,” he said into the pregnant silence. He tried not to focus on the praying mantis image as Sherlock’s gaze sharpened and narrowed. It made it easier to stare right back into those strange eyes. Molly had sat up now and she let out a startled breath as Sherlock frowned at her.
“Come here,” he ordered. John tensed, his stomach tightening in a way that didn’t bode well. It was the same feeling he had gotten the day he had been shot.
Molly nudged him. “Go on!”
“I think he means you,” John muttered.
“No,” the vampire said sharply, “I meant you.”
“Right...” John said, feeling confused and annoyed. This was not going ideally. No bloody vampire was supposed to notice him! He was supposed to be back home by 6 and in his bed before 7. And then what? A traitorous voice in head whispered.
John pursed his lips, refusing to indulge those thoughts. Right now, his instincts were telling him he needed all his wits about him. He pushed himself off the couch with not a little difficulty, earning a few sniggers from the people around him. He ignored them, squared his shoulders and limped to the front, stopping right below the stage. It was only raised only about a foot, but John understood the psychological advantage that went with looking down on people. He smirked inwardly, fortunately for him, being short had made him almost immune to it.
Both the vampires studied him in silence for a few moments, but it was Mycroft who spoke first. “What’s your blood type?”
“B negative,” Sherlock said instantly, before John could get a word in. John blinked, wondering how in hell he knew that. Had they already read his file?
“I deduced it,” Sherlock said.
“I never asked how you knew,” John said, annoyed now.
“But you thought it,” the vampire said, smirking. The next thing John knew the man had grabbed his arm and was hauling him up to the stage. Fear rose like a wave and he resisted automatically, reflexes exploding as he pushed his weight back, twisted right and jammed his cane into the vampire's kidneys. There was a pained grunt from the man above, and he was shoved away.
John tottered back, but managed to keep his balance, his heart thudding in his ears. There was a ringing silence around him, punctuated by shocked gasps and loud mutters of “Nutter!”.
He swallowed, all too aware that he had just attacked a vampire and, worse, he had overreacted. In hindsight, it didn’t seem like the vampire had been trying to hurt him; just help him up onto the stage. Great, Watson, why not just broadcast to the world that you have PTSD? He glanced at Mycroft, who was looking at him with a combination of wary admiration as well as disapproval. It was an expression he recognised well, usually directed at him by his commanding officers.
Sherlock was just about straightening up, clutching his side and John braced for a painful punch to his face.
But Sherlock just grinned at him, a wide delighted grin that John thought was a little mad.
“I’ll take him,” he wheezed.
“What?” John said, his voice tinged with panic.
“Are you sure, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked, twirling his umbrella again. “He seems ... damaged.”
“Hey!” John protested.
The vampires ignored him. “Yes, I’m sure!” Sherlock snapped, “Would you rather I pick the underage idiot?”
The umbrella stopped mid twirl, “Yes, I would, actually.”
Sherlock smirked. “Too bad. I want him.”
“Very well,” Mycroft let out a long suffering sigh. “Mindy will draw up the papers.”
“Excuse me!” John said loudly, “What in blazes are you on about?”
Sherlock jumped off the stage to stand directly in front of him, leaning down to peer at his face. John stood his ground, glaring at the pale eyed vampire’s obvious glee.
“You’re my personal donor! Come, here’s your cane. Mycroft will get your things sent to my home.”
John’s ears felt hot as he accepted the cane, but he didn’t budge an inch. “Sorry, but there’s been some sort of mistake. I have no interest in becoming a PD.”
“What?” Sherlock frowned. He flicked his eyes to his brother who was watching with a bland look of disinterest. Mycroft gave a small shake of head and Sherlock nodded in reply.
“You can’t decline.”
“What?” John’s temper was returning.
“I’m afraid so, Dr. Watson,” Mycroft informed him from above. “Being a Personal Donor is a great honour, you see. Not accepting would be unthinkable, a crime even. Why, just look at all the disappointed people behind you.”
John glared at Mycroft for good measure before turning to look at the dismayed expressions on everyone’s faces as they filed out of the room.
“So what? I just came to donate to the bank , I have no intention to become anyone’s PD.”
Sherlock frowned and glanced at Mycroft. Again, his brother gave him a small short shake of head. “Doctor Watson ,” Mycroft continued, like he was trying his patience. “There is no recorded personal donor ever regretting his or her getting chosen by vampire. The laws clearly states that entry into the volunteer room means you are willing.”
“But I was forced in here!” he said, outraged.
“Then you should have lodged a formal complaint stating reasons for your exclusion from the screening protocol,” Mycroft said coolly.
“Fine!” John said, taking a step away from Sherlock. He was still standing too close. “I will.”
“It is too late, Doctor,” Mycroft said, smiling down at him. John felt the hair at the back of his neck rise.
“Oh, for god’s sake!” Sherlock was scowling. “Why are you making such a fuss! I won’t be bad to you.”
John narrowed his eyes. “I did not choose to be here. Can you not understand that? Choose someone else!”
“Oh, Dull!” Sherlock spat, “Come along now!” He was reaching for him again and John took another step back. His leg throbbed with the effort.
“Sh - Sherlock, let him go,” a small voice said.
Both men turned to the source of the voice, a small woman who was twisting her skirt in her nervousness.
“Go away, Molly,” Sherlock said coldly.
“He doesn’t want you,” she pressed on, her voice trembling.
The vampire bared his fangs at her and John widened his eyes at the casual display.
“Oh? Should I take you instead then? That’s what you want , isn’t it?” he sneered.
Molly grimaced, “That’s - that’s not what I meant!”
“Then leave me be! I tolerate enough of you at Barts.”
“There’s no need to-” John started.
Molly shook her head. “It’s all right John,” she said in a tone that also meant ‘I’m used to it’. “I thought maybe I could help, that’s all.”
John felt warmth flood him at her selflessness.
“Don’t worry, Molly. I can handle it.”
Sherlock scoffed. “Are you going to come now? Don’t bore me.”
John contemplated running. Turning and running just to piss them off, but while Sherlock seemed like the type to think that a human running from a vampire was funny, Mycroft on the other hand would take it much more seriously. He didn’t want to risk being sent to jail for assault or treason.
Sherlock took his silence for acceptance. “Good! Mycroft, get his things sent to Baker Street.”
It was a second before John realised the full meaning of those words. His gun! Shit! If anyone from the government found his gun he was going to be in big, big trouble. He wouldn’t be able to protect Bill either, who was still serving in Afghanistan.
“Wait! Wait a moment,” he said, swallowing. “Let me pack an overnight bag, at least.”
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, “I hope you’re not stupid enough to think you can run.”
“If I am, would you choose someone else?” John tried.
“Only after I’d bled you dry,” Sherlock informed him.
Molly gasped and John hoped his horror didn’t show on his face. “That’s murder,” he pointed out.
Sherlock shrugged and looked to Mycroft.
“Death by feeding, while tragic, is accidental manslaughter at best,” the older brother said promptly. “Bail at 100,000 pounds.”
“You’re joking,” John breathed, not missing how Mycroft had said 100 00 pounds. Like it was mere pocket change.
“No, he isn’t. He is the one responsible for the laws after all. He takes them very seriously,” Sherlock said, like he thought it was funny.
“In any case, Doctor,” Mycroft continued, “I am sure we can allow you to go home to pick up a few essentials to make up for this ... inconvenience. However, I would advise against running.” The umbrella twirled, “It never does end well.”
John gripped his cane, “I thought no donor ever regretted his or her getting chosen by a vampire.”
Mycroft smiled at him, cold and amused. “I said that there is no recorded personal donor ever regretted his or her getting chosen by vampire.”
John clamped down on his fury, aware that arguing with Mycroft, who was obviously a very powerful man, was useless. He had more pressing matters to attend to. Like hiding his gun. Dismayed, he realised he would probably have to get rid of it permanently.
“Fine, Er. I’ll just leave, shall I?”
“Sherlock, go with him. He is your responsibility now, ” Mycroft said.
But Sherlock was now typing on his phone and didn’t respond. John glanced at Mycroft who was still smiling that private smile of his. It was more than a little unnerving.
“I can go alone,” John said, trying not to sound too hopeful. He didn’t think he would be able to get his gun past the younger vampire.
“All right. Sherlock will come and collect you later tonight. Won’t you, Sherlock?”
The younger vampire was frowning at this blackberry screen, “What? Yes, of course!”
“That’s settled then. Good evening, Doctor Watson, Doctor Hooper,” Mycroft said and left.
John paused for a second, watching Sherlock mutter while he typed into his phone. He felt a hand on his arm, “He’s always like this. Come on, let’s go.” Molly said.
John let himself be led out of the donation camp, feeling light headed. The thud of their footsteps on the pavement, the cars rushing by, the smell of damp London air, it all seemed surreal. Maybe he was still in the hospital in Dubai and this was a dream.
“I’m sorry,” Molly said suddenly.
John blinked down at her, grateful for the line of warmth she provided as she walked next to him.
“If I hadn’t been crying this wouldn’t have happened. I know you didn’t want this, I’m so sorry.”
John sighed, “You don’t have to apologise, Molly. You can never predict these kinds of things.”
“Can I - can I help you with anything?” she asked. John studied the determined set of her mouth. He had a hard time working out whether she meant help him pack or help him escape the country.
“Give me your number, I’ll call you if I need anything.”
**
End Part Two. Feedback is <3
>>PART THREE>>