When he felt Mycroft get into the cab beside him, Sherlock glanced over at him quietly- a little confused as to why he had gotten in the cab instead of the car that was waiting for him. He sat up straight, not saying anything, just waiting for him to speak. He sat up straight, adjusting his coat quietly as he leaned back after a moment, staring out of the window when he heard Mycroft speak.
❝Well, that’s helpful. I’d agree with that..❞ He went back to being quiet again, just sitting still in the cab as it started to move, and he glared out the window for a moment, being quiet. He didn’t know how to start a conversation, much less how to hold one with Mycroft. Mycroft always seemed so ahead with things.
By this point, Sherlock had to figure something out otherwise the cab ride might become…a little awkward. ❝Anything important happening? Other than this case, of course.❞ It was the best he could do, really.
Mycroft disliked the exactitude with which he had to consider his answer to even such a simple question. The peril of the Holmes' conversations with each other; they always understood every possible inference and underlying connotation, and ability to turn anything into a jibe. Oh well.
"I saw mummy last week, she's doing well and sends her regards."
Squatting down on the small, broken on one side, square of cement outside the door, Greg folded himself up with cigarette in one hand, mobile in the other as he thought about everything that had happened.
New messages chimed through but he ignored them, taking a few minutes to wrap his brain around everything. It was in this time that the youngest Lestrade walked in, Greg’s half-brother Myles, and sat in the doorway looking at his brother. They didn’t speak, they knew each other too well for that.
Extinguishing the cigarette, Greg stood and leaned against the wall, rubbing his hand on his brother’s head in silent greeting as he finally looked over the messages. This situation was strange but with the ability to process without being seen really helped Greg with all of it.
The new rule, only answering the question posed, was a strange one. There was no reason Greg scene for this to be set out but he could follow it.
If we don’t go to the same school how do you even know who I am?
Mycroft's working on one of his assignments when the next text comes through, he could continue and still give both the conversation and homework sufficient thought but decides to give the messaging his full attention instead.
Lestrade pouted and sat, crossing his arms and looking at that unknown man. “Who the hell are you and what do you want? If you wanted me to be brought here in ‘a politer manner’ maybe you should have called?”
He was definitely angry about how he was treated. Anyway he now had questions and he wanted that man to answer and quick.
"I wish to discuss your dealings with Sherlock, let's just say I'm an interested party," Mycroft replies, watching closely for any reaction from Lestrade. The man is clearly angry, but that only means Mycroft must use said anger to get his answers.
There was another sudden shift in Stefan’s mood. His insides reacted upon a slight tension coursing through every vein. The man had referenced the younger Salvatore’s foolhardy behavior as a mere rut; or well, the way Stefan heard it anyway. Sure, he weren’t currently participating a role to the world at this time; never going a day unaware of it. However, Stefan couldn’t say he appreciated Mycroft’s prompting suggestion in addressing his current behavior. As if he were inevitably expected to return to prior deeds, and that was the problem.
Once prompted to respond to the man, Stefan couldn’t contain his slight urge to express immediate distaste. ❝Well, I guess for starters- you could quit talkin’ to me about my hypothetical future like a damn fortune cookie— yeah?❞
Indifference remained at his face as he hid any form of noticeable irritation. Needless to say, he felt a tad judged, and for that, his sanity had now rocked towards instability. Impulses ready to explode from even the tiniest of gestures, or a single wrong word. Unpredictable, and charged of distorted emotions.
In passing time of the human’s continuance, his nerves slowly restored in check. Not entirely. The two men were at an understanding. One that would induce equal cooperation to an equal benefit. Though, that hadn’t felt satisfying to Stefan. The man’s opinion of him left the younger Salvatore with unease. And truthfully, the vampire partly wanted to rip Mycroft from limb to limb.
Stefan moved to his feet, simply motioning with single steps inside their conversing space. Only a good eye could spot the predatory air fluctuating back and forth within Stefan’s temperament. ❝— if you want fun, the first step’s taking everything outta theory and actually doing.❞ A malicious glint flashed in the vampire’s eyes, signifying his present teeter of two natures occuring internally. ❝While you’re sitting there talking up a big game, I’m here thinking about dining in… — `probably time for me to get out of the house a little.❞ His gaze was playful when meeting Mycroft’s return.
❝So, we can finish your little Oprah session in the car. ❞ Stefan proceeded in the direction of the front door. ❝I’m taking you out. We’ll enjoy ourselves with a ton of strangers, and then, I’ll show you all about personal fun.❞
Mycroft makes an internal note, his words had the desired effect; confirming Stefan's sore spot, try as he might to hide, it was clear to Mycroft just how irked Stefan was. He states simply,
"I do apologise, that was most uncouth of me."
Many men with Mycroft's power would have the arrogance to assume he's safe in Stefan's presence. That the vampire wouldn't dare to use such a valuable resource as a snack. Mycroft however, though realistically aware of his vast intellect, is neither egotistical nor an idiot. He knows Stefan's behaviour is more than mere performance or idle threat. And is prepared.
"Very well. I'm sure it will be greatly enjoyable. I will however have to insist we take my car, I believe it will meet your satisfaction," he says, gesturing through the window at the limo.
Lestrade’s taking a break. Coffee time. He’s drinking and walking in the street when a big black car arrives next to him. He looks to it and has a light laugh. “Nice car… certainly a rich one.” He sighs and keeps walking. But as soon as he walks again, the car follows. Hearing that, Greg starts to go faster. Unfortunately he wasn’t able to lose his new friend. The car stops right before him, and prevents him from crossing the street. He sighs again when two men get out and open the door for him.
Greg tries to escape but the second man stops him and pushes him into the car. The door closes and the first man drives. Greg stays serious. “Where are we going?” No answer. “Where are you sending me?” Still nothing.
He sighs again and tries to mentally note their road. The car arrives in a warehouse and Greg really starts to wonder who his kidnappers were.
Mycroft's mouth purses into a line as he takes in the minutia of Lestrade. As much as Mycroft wants Lestrade aware of his power and reach, being brought here so forcefully is not a good start. Gesturing to the chair he says sincerely,
"Have a seat Detective Inspector, I must apologise I hoped you would be brought here in a politer manner."
As he did every night, Greg moved on to the task of making dinner. His youngest brother would be walked over from the sitter’s any minute now and they’d need to eat soon after. It wasn’t common for the other two Lestrades, dad and Walt, to miss dinner but that wasn’t going to stop the teen from preparing food, no matter how poorly.
What was unusual was he brought his phone along, still angry but he was expecting answers. The manners Greg had told him it was better to respond than to ignore. Pulling everything out to make some instant macaroni and cheese and a tin of peas to make it things healthy, he was stopped by the chiming of his phone.
Reading the message, Greg hung his head, this stranger was right. If Greg didn’t want to be talking he’d have stopped, not answered anymore. Putting the phone back down on the counter. With his foot, opening the bottom drawer, rooting around to the back he pulled out a pack of crumpled cigarettes he kept hidden and went outside.
After a few drags and more pacing than he should have done, Greg walked back into the kitchen, grabbed his phone and darted back outside.
You got me there. I’ve no argument. Good job. -GL
Information of your selection then. Leaves me to questions and you’ll decide to answer them or not? Right, you got to go to school with me. We in classes together? -GL
Mycroft watches his little brother with an indulgent frown as the boy runs about from room to room in what most would think is a chaotic fashion, Mycroft of course knows better. It's merely a part of Sherlock's latest experiment (as cumbersome as it may be) and therefore Mycroft grudgingly tolerates it.
He smiles unbidden at the sound of the text and has to quash it lest Sherlock see. He doesn't walk into another room; far too obvious. Instead he simply forces a casual stance as he answers. Of course technically he only needs answer the question, not correct the assumption, but he decides to be generous just this once.
Incorrect, we don't attend the same school which of course means we aren't in classes together. Though I will let you know that we are of similar age.
Additionally, in the spirit of making this a challenge; from now on I will only strictly answer the question posed.
I have reached 150 followers! Thank you very much guys! I love every single one of you and I want to speak to you all, to play with you all and to have fun! And now a little follow forever, in alphabetical order. Those are really awesome blogs I follow, but if you aren’t in it, that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I do! I love everyone! :)
Summary: Mycroft and Sherlock are vampires, this causes problems. Written for exchangelock Sherlock Fic Exchange for plainjane.
The moon’s light casts shadows; trees extend their crooked hands to cover a spectre between them, leaves rustle only the little that’s intended. The owls have fled sensing something other among them.
He stands still, not one to run or chase, and waits for his prey to come to him.
He indulges, allowing himself the childish cavorting that his lesser brethren feel is their life; their exertion of power. He knows better.
He smirks, stepping into the path of a blond man and grabbing hold of him. The man fights futilely.
“Don’t worry; I’m not going to hurt you,” he says soothingly before his tone twists into a harsh shout, “I’m just going to kill you.”
He slickly slides fangs into the man’s jugular, drinking deeply.
A ring tone sounds from his pocket to the tune of staying alive, he lets it ring.
*
Mycroft has always worked in the shadows, both metaphorical and literal, he knows that’s where true power lies. Many of his vampire brethren believe his place of power is merely a cover to better serve the vampires, but in reality it’s for vampires and humans both. He has people in all the necessary positions of power; politics, military, law enforcement, business, etc. It’s only good sense that he has vampires in said positions also.
He makes allowances for vampires and their power struggles, just as he does for the humans. But this new move is untenable. They want to let the world know about vampires, and subjugate all the humans. Mycroft sighs when he discovers what’s happening. It’s far better for vampires that humans know nothing of their true existence, that way they can’t fight against them or try to kill them.
Mycroft flicks his tongue around his mouth as though chewing something undesirable. Usually in these situations it’s not too much trouble for him to use his various spies to disband the movement from the inside, either by seeding discord or if necessary with a more permanent solution. This new ‘vampire king’ however is smarter, doesn’t appear making loud triumphant speeches to his followers. He’s a shadow, with a spidery network, much like Mycroft.
Mycroft knows he’ll have to handle this one himself.
*
Informing Lestrade is a necessity; the man must be made aware of the potential danger. It’s only that the detective inspector seems finally comfortable in the lavishness of his home that causes Mycroft’s reluctance.
It’s not the most delicate approach but he feels it’s pertinent to not waste time on whether he’s insane and therefore demonstrates by showing his fangs. He doesn’t miss Lestrade’s hand twitching towards a baton that isn’t there.
Lestrade is quiet, thinking; he stays that way for a long while and then nods, tentatively saying, “Okay. There’s a reason you’re telling me this now, what is it?”
“I have to personally deal with some vampires, it will be dangerous for both of us. I know you’ll refuse a protective detail but I’ll provide you with the necessary weapons to protect yourself.”
“Wow, right okay, well you’ll have to show me how to use them, where should we start?”
*
Sherlock barely glances at the file his brother hands him before discarding it, it seems Mycroft’s delegating again.
“I’m not going to do your work for you just because you’re busy with your boring political…” Sherlock pauses, snaps his gaze to Mycroft; narrows his eyes as realisation settles in.
“John leave us, I need to speak with Mycroft alone.”
“What, why?”
“It seems Sherlock wants to keep his recent revelations from you, perhaps to break them to you more carefully later,” Mycroft answers, turning to Sherlock, “you’re definitely coming along well, more tact than I would expect from you.”
“What are you talking about?” John asks.
Mycroft smiles with condescension, walking towards the door before turning around to deliver parting words, “We’re vampires.”
John stares at the door and then turns to Sherlock,
“What did he say? What’s he talking about?”
“It’s true, Mycroft and I are vampires.”
“Oh, you’re vampires, of course, you’re vampires, that makes complete sense!”
“I don’t see why it’s such a big deal. We simply have different nutritional requirements.”
“Different nutritional requirements. Right, only different in the way you drink people’s blood.”
“Blood bags.”
“Oh, that’s okay then,” John replies sarcastically.
“If you could hurry up and deal with this, you’re missing the most important part.”
“Do tell.”
“The reason Mycroft told you in the first place is him reminding me that you’re my weakness. There’s a power struggle going on amongst the vampires, that’s the drama brother is busy dealing with. When they realise we’re trying to stop them, the other vampires will try to come after you to get to me.”
“That’s great. Just great,” John says, “so what’s next?”
“You don’t need to know. It will be fine.”
“First you spring on me that you’re a vampire and now you’re keeping more secrets?”
Sherlock just shrugs. John heads to his room and slams the door behind him.
*
Lestrade balks but says nothing as Mycroft casually has someone drip their blood into a bone china teacup. It’s hard enough to adjust to the whole situation without his lover flaunting it, but Lestrade also knows Mycroft’s doing this for a reason. Possibly to push him away, and he’s not going to allow that to happen.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he states firmly.
Mycroft sighs, “I’m sorry Gregory.”
“Just focus on your scheme and don’t worry about me,” Greg says, and then turns to the woman with her wrist hovering over Mycroft’s cup, “so what’s your name?”
“You can call me Anthea,” she replies, smile shark-like. The cut on her wrist closes up and Greg startles.
“She’s a vampire?” he asks.
“Yes. I only drink from vampires, less chance of an unhappy accident that way.”
*
Sherlock insists on working with Mycroft (claiming the vampire cases intrigue far outweighs the other one). Mycroft acquiesces. Together they find the name of this vampire king: Moriarty. It’s a name they’re both familiar with.
Moriarty’s connections go far but Mycroft’s go further. However getting the man himself isn’t enough. If they’re going to get the entire network, they’ll have to draw him out of the shadows. Have to allow him what he wants.
“It’s the only sensible option,” Mycroft says.
“And the fact that you get to sit and watch my downfall is just a convenient perk,” Sherlock replies bitterly.
“Have you been paying no attention for the past several centuries? I’ve spent the majority of my time trying to keep you out of trouble!”
Sherlock says nothing; it’s enough of a response.
*
“You’re less angry today,” Sherlock states as soon as John enters the living room.
“A little less,” John admits, adding, “also I’ve missed you.”
Sherlock lets out a bark of delighted laughter before drawing John in for a kiss, he’s missed this too.
He can almost feel John’s curiosity and tells him, “Ask your questions.”
“So the not sleeping and not eating’s a vampire thing right?”
Sherlock grins, “Yes.”
*
The revelation of vampires to the public is a bloody affair, though not as bad as it could’ve been. Mycroft carefully dissuades politicians from taking any form of openly aggressive stance against the vampires. Whilst simultaneously corralling the mostly peaceful vampires to stay that way.
There are riots in the streets and corpses with fang bites in the morgues; nothing unexpected.
It’s two weeks later that the awaited gut punch comes.
The headline shouts bold from the front page:
SHERLOCK HOLMES IS A VAMPIRE
*
There are vampire assassins trained on John and Lestrade. Knowing something like this was coming doesn’t make it hurt any less; doesn’t still the roar of panic in any way.
The fall’s a show for the mortals. Moriarty knows that it wouldn’t kill a vampire just as Sherlock knows a bullet wouldn’t do the same.
Sherlock and Mycroft silently board the private plane, both stone-faced; neither showing the heartache nor longing they know each other’s feeling. Countless human generations behind them, it always ends the same.
“Caring is not an advantage,” Sherlock parries the old words back at Mycroft.
They leave London. Everyone knows they’re vampires now. There will be no returning home.
A short, uninhibited scoff chimed in with the human before him (practically drowning out the man’s concluding words). Despite the sincere interest held in hearing Mycroft’s proposal, Stefan’s participation had been all too quick to dismal.
❝What is this, a meeting at the UN?❞ In unison to his derogatory remark, Stefan casually approached his guest.
❝It all sounds a little - geekish. Even for me. — Sit down, buddy.❞ His encouragement paired with trailing laughter. More or less, conveying all this as a joke. With careless language, Stefan’s eyes momentarily weighed heavily locked to Mycroft’s collar; caping the neck. As if half-attentive, an additional comment, ❝We can talk ‘fun’ right now-❞ With that, the younger Salvatore were ready to negotiate.
❝Alright, lets see … — Well, A. You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m agreeing to anything on the back of some ‘IOU coupon’. Meaning, you don’t get to weasel your way out of this.
As for the blood … I don’t want easy.❞ Stefan’s grasp of a now, empty liquor glass prompted his second round. In his motioning, the vampire continued to express his expectations. ❝I’ve got my little requests, you’ve got yours.❞
Now returning to his previous post, Stefan’s faded hints diverted to the last subject of concern. ❝And now, I’m gonna have to burst your ‘society bubble’ here.— Turns out, this information age has it’s perks!❞ Seating himself unto the leather cushion, he met gazes with Mycroft, completely energized by a jest of childish pride. ❝Or well, repercussions. Borrowing other peoples information’s old news—❞ He paused, gulping down half the glass, making room for one last, ridiculous comment. ❝2 for 1 deals at the Black Market.❞
——————————————————————
ooc lmfao this is an unnecessary length, but you know how obnoxious stefan gets when he can’t spend his leisure time brooding xP rippah’s the new sexy
Mycroft takes a seat and gives a nod at Stefan's intention to begin discussions,
"Very well, I'll give some specifics, for starters both sides of your convoluted conceptualisation of duality are quite useful. There are always people who need to be killed messily, for sending a message and such. And when you're on your best behaviour again I imagine you would find some redemptive joy in helping set the world to rights," he pauses before adding with utmost sincerity, "I'm very willing to discuss anything you wish to receive in return."
Mycroft then leans back, speaking with nonchalance,
"I'm well aware of the corner the black market has with regards to information. I do find that legitimate means serve my needs well enough. I would, by way of demonstration, show you the ease with which I could empty all of both yours and your brother's bank accounts and put all necessary members of said banks on Vervain, but I suspect your solution would be just as effortless. So shall we instead agree to accept that we both know exactly what we're doing."
He sits forward again, letting his intense gaze find Stefan, and allowing his lips to quirk into a smirk,
"As for fun, on an entirely personal level, you are a unique creature. You attract powerful friends and you're definitely one to watch out for; you're not unlike me in that respect, it's a very desirable quality."
Smart was never a word Greg had heard in relation to his own name. Intelligence was for those who couldn’t do. In the Lestrade house, one’s worth was ranked on their athletic ability not their brains but, if asked, Greg was failing at all of it. He was intelligent, however, quick and curious, more importantly he was willing to learn but didn’t because he was the captain of the rugby team, that was his spot in life. Rugby, football, all that brought in dad’s approval, though it was all being showered on Greg’s younger (and more talented) brother these days.
Something about the word ‘genius’ instantly set Greg on the defense, a young man taught to suppress feelings and being a teen barely in control of all his emotions as it was, he snapped through them quickly. Without a single thought, the self implied tone of the first message changing that of the second, Greg responded. One simple, short message that was extremely telling about the sender.
And who says I want to earn it? -GL
Greg did. God did he, this was the most interesting thing to have happened in ages. Having entered this head down, finish quietly mentality lately there was finally something of a new challenge and he wanted to rise to it. However, he was also separating them and protecting himself. A genius would want nothing to do with a kid of Greg’s intelligence and it’s better to push away now than to disappoint later.
Mycroft holds back from giving a detailed psychological analysis entailing the several points he can deduce merely from their conversation so far, it would only rile Greg, and also reluctantly stops himself from making an apology which would only seem condescending. The best course is to write something concise and to the point.
The words are far more confident than he feels and he wonders whether he should change tact. Logically he knows he's right, but emotionally there seems to be something obscure gnawing at his gut. In the end he allows his logic to lead the way, as always.
You do, you're continuing to converse which suggests you're at the very least interested - Anonymous
Mycroft skims through the latest report of his little brother's dalliances. It seems he's helping this detective inspector Lestrade again. He ponders Lestrade's possible motivations, and the potential for his influence to be positive or negative. Clearly this person is someone Sherlock thinks holds some value or he wouldn't trouble himself with working with Lestrade more than once. More intriguing still is a man willing to repeatedly work with Sherlock. Therefore more information is a must.
First he'll meet the man and see what he can deduce before doing more extensive checks based on his findings. It takes him only a few minutes of searching to find Lestrade's location. He orders one of his cars to retrieve the man and another to take him to the warehouse where they'll meet.
He considers the warehouse and his own appearance, ensuring that everything is in place before the car arrives.
Greg fires off the message without thinking, something he’s far too good at both in regular conversation and in text message. There was a sense of honesty and integrity in Greg, one that wasn’t fully developed, it would shine through in moments but he was far more apt to lean on deceit and manipulation to get what he wanted (with age would come the ability to use both successfully).
Unlike the last message he sent, this he doesn’t regret. Knowing his opponent is intelligent benefits him. Greg will adapt accordingly. There’s a quest for knowledge in the boy that will never be satisfied as well as the love of a challenge. If these messages continued, he’d study vocabulary and start to work words in as he learned them.
Do you decide when the “time is right” or do I get a say? Is it something I have to earn or prove? -GL
Mycroft again carefully considers his answer. This has been been a notion Mycroft has struggled with, of course always certain of his being smart, the realisation of how smart only came once he started school (having spent many years being home-schooled). He still has difficulty not merely thinking of most others as stupid (and himself the slightly smart norm). Statistically speaking, he is an outlier, genius is not quite an accurate term as all encompassing as it is. His little brother is a genius and for years Mycroft thought him slow. But a plain statement would be best for now, the sheer level of 'real smart' he'll allow Greg to figure out for himself.
Yes. I am considered a genius.
You definitely get a say, I suppose 'earning' would be a more apt description: the more about me you figure out, the more I will disclose.
