“How…” He swallows, gathers his courage. Letting his hand slide down over Sherlock’s slender neck and gliding his thumb up and down the trachea so as to feel the gulping down of blood, John continues. “How do I taste?”
Sherlock moans, then, long, loud, and very nearly distressed. He holds John’s wrist tighter to his mouth.
“Coppery, I bet. God, I wish I could taste you.” Another moan. Sherlock’s eyes are completely closed as he takes what he needs, though he squeezes them shut whenever John supplies commentary, and isn’t that charming? “It. Um. Ha. It feels…it feels like you’re still inside me, you know. A-after the fact. Like you’re in my blood. Just…wanted to share.”
i am so honored by all the art that’s been made for my vampire!sherlock fic, a night at the opera and want to share a few examples of some beautiful work i’ve been sent. this particular piece is by my dear darling friend pat, @abstractfrog , who correctly called me out for this insane scene in chapter 11 and then committed it to visualization. as you might imagine i’m incredibly grateful and stare at this every day.
Thinking of vampire sherlock, only because I want to think of William doing his best to control his emotions whenever Sherlock has to find someone to feed on.
'Sherlock Holmes is seen with someone? It's most likely his time to feed himself. Not because of any other reasons'
Maybe NY arc, William gets crazy motivated to heal fast and be in better health, so that Sherlock can feed solely on him. And in those months that they were apart (between NY and going back to London), William ensured his diet and his health is kept at its best. Sherlock may not have the choice to not feed else he will starve to death, but at least when they are together again Sherlock wouldn't have to worry of drinking from William again.
Post NY arc, if William has to secretly leave the house just to see Sherlock, he will do it. Just because he is in hiding, and the people Sherlock normally look for to feed on is also nearby, does not mean William will accept that. He had wished to be Sherlock's only, he wanted Sherlock to be his only as well.
Living next door to Sherlock and John was always a challenge. You often cooked for them, and you got the impression that Sherlock was stranger than usual. For example, when you'd cut yourself, or when he was high. Plus, you never took John's warnings seriously, until one day, you'd pay the price.
You've known John and Sherlock for a long time. You lived in the flat next door, and you could say for sure that you were their friend. You helped them out now and then when necessary. You cooked them lunch once in a while, walked Sherlock to a crime scene when John couldn't, that sort of thing.
Sometimes you felt like they were your second home. Still, you found it strange how John kept warning you about Sherlock and about getting hurt.
You never understood his warnings and even though the detective had his days, you didn't find him dangerous. Rather, you developed a soft spot for him. He was quite handsome, after all, and you'd say you got on well with him.
Nor did you understand why you should be wary of wounds and blood. That was perhaps even more confusing. It was like you had to hurt yourself in front of him on purpose. Or if it was aimed at the detective's experiments, you didn't pay any attention.
John was at work, you were at their apartment making them something to eat. You were chopping vegetables and humming to yourself while the detective was doing some experiment of his on the other side of the room.
You thought you'd have to sharpen your knife, as it was so dull you couldn't cut properly with it. You winced as the knife slid off the vegetable in question and seemed to suddenly sharpen, digging into your palm.
You cursed and started to tend to it. You wouldn't have made a big deal out of it when the detective startled you. In the blink of an eye, he was right next to you. You didn't even notice when he got to you. He even had a band-aid ready.
"I'll help you," he said as if it were nothing, and gently took your cut hand.
"It's just a scratch," you protested, but he didn't let go anyway and insisted on helping you.
The whole time he was tending to you, you noticed how difficult it was to tear his eyes away from the wound. He cleaned your wound under water and with a handkerchief before bringing your injured hand to his mouth and kissing you on the open wound. He kept your hand to his mouth suspiciously longer than you would have expected before finally sealing the wound.
"You should be more careful next time," he finally said before he let go of your hand and went into his bedroom. You didn't understand why he seemed hypnotized one moment and then the next like he wanted nothing to do with you.
You shrugged it off and continued cooking. You chalked it up to his normally strange behavior.
It had been a long and exhausting day for you and you thought you would find comfort in Sherlock and John. You knocked on the door and walked in. The doctor was nowhere to be seen. He was probably somewhere with Mary. To be at work, and it was too late.
You noticed the detective sitting in his chair. You said hello, but there was no answer. You walked over to him, but when you saw the state he was in, you froze in place.
The sight of him made you think of your dead friend who was found dead in her apartment before you moved here. Sherlock had the same blank expression and deadly pale skin.
"Sherlock?" You addressed him, but got no response. You watched him to see if he was breathing, but you didn't see any chest movement.
Hesitantly, you walked over to him and tried to feel for a pulse. He was already suspiciously cold to the touch and you couldn't feel anything. You broke out in an icy sweat. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and, with shaking hands, tried to dial 911.
"It's nothing," Sherlock said in a daze. You took a few steps closer to him, as he still looked like a lifeless body. You were about to wave it off and dial the number when he grabbed your arm and pulled you into his chair. You cried out in surprise and inadvertently dropped your phone.
"Sherlock," you said, trying to wriggle away from him, but all you achieved was turning so that you could see his face.
His pupils were dilated, like he was on drugs. You were about to object when he stroked his cold hand over your cheek and tucked your hair behind your ear.
"You smell so delicious. Let me just taste it," he muttered dazedly, leaning into your neck. You wanted to pull away from him, but you never thought he would have such superhuman strength. He pressed his nose to your neck at first, before finding just the right spot to lick before finally biting you.
You gasped as a wave of pain washed over you. He grabbed you better so you couldn't move. After a moment, the pain subsided and you came to numb to everything around you. You just felt yourself losing strength. You stopped struggling and a void surrounded your mind.
When Sherlock finally pulled away, his color was much better. He was still licking the blood that oozed from the wound before he bit his lip and kissed you where he bit you. The wound slowly began to heal and within a minute there was no sign of it.
You were still numb, but slowly you began to realize what had happened to you and your body began to shake with fear. Finally, all of John's warnings had run out. Everything in you screamed in fear and wanted to run, to hide in safety, but you were too weak to do so.
You watched with horror in your eyes as the detective leaned in close to you again with bloody lips and kissed you on the lips. You could still smell your blood on them now. He pulled away and watched as you slowly closed your eyes and sleep took over.
You still felt tired, but somehow the previous episode seemed so unreal that you decided it was just a nightmare. Your hand went to your neck for good measure. You didn't feel any teeth marks or a wound.
You opened your eyes and found you were covered by a blanket. You heard John arguing with Sherlock. From what you heard, you had no idea why they were arguing.
You had no idea what time it was or how long you'd been asleep, but you didn't want to disturb them. You were tired and you wanted to sleep.
"I'd better get back to my place. I didn't know I was that tired," you yawned and got up from the chair. The two men stopped arguing in an instant and looked at you as if they had seen a ghost.
"It's getting late. You can stay here," the detective offered, and you noticed that he looked perfectly normal. It was probably really just a dream.
"It's okay. It's right next door anyway," you replied, not wanting to be a bother to them.
"I insist," he didn't let on. And no matter what you argued, he insisted. You were still tired, and finally you were persuaded to stay.
"You can sleep here," Sherlock said, taking you into his bedroom. You lay down on his bed and he covered you with the covers.
"Thanks, Sherlock," you thanked him before closing your eyes. You heard him say you're welcome before you fell asleep.
You woke up from your sleep when you felt the mattress sink and someone lay down next to you. From the familiar smell and whose bed you were lying in, you knew it was the detective. He lay down close to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and you could feel his breath on the back of your neck. You didn't move, trying to look like you were asleep.
You thought that was the end of it, and you were already slowly falling asleep again when you felt his lips on your neck. At the sensation, you remembered his sharp teeth and the pain when he bit you. Now you were wide awake. You shivered and touched your neck as if you needed to make sure it was real. Of course there was nothing there.
"Did it really happen?" you asked hesitantly. You felt him give you a better hug before he finally spoke.
"Do you hate me for this?" he asked, and there was an unusual uncertainty in his voice. His open admission took you completely by surprise. You had no idea what to expect, denial maybe, but not this.
"No," you replied, rolling over to face him. "I'll just admit to being slightly confused. The whole thing felt like a dream," you admitted, watching him.
He let go of you and stroked your cheek. You took the hand and pulled it closer to you. At the same time, you held it in a way that made you want to take his pulse. But you had the impression that you were holding him wrong, because you didn't feel anything.
"What would you like to hear. I'm a vampire. I got carried away," he said, and you thought you finally felt one thump of a pulse.
"It's so strange. Especially with someone as logical as you," you said after a moment of silence. Sherlock just chuckled at that, revealing his sharp teeth.
Even though you now knew what he was and what he had done to you before, you didn't feel disgust for him. You still saw him as the weird detective and you had more sympathy for him.
You had a lot of questions for him about what he was. The classic questions about the sun, garlic, a stake through the heart, decapitation, that sort of thing. He was glad you took it so well and was willing to answer everything. Even the most absurd questions.
Eventually you talked until almost dawn, when you finally fell asleep still in his arms with a question you didn't get to ask all the way through.
From that day on, you grew closer and gradually found out how to handle him. It no longer surprised you when you found him a drugged corpse, or when you accidentally cut yourself. Although John still warned you about Sherlock, he was glad there was someone else who could keep an eye on him.
It was a day like any other, and John asked if you would keep an eye on the detective. Of course, you had no problem with that. When you entered the flat, you noticed that Sherlock was covered in blood. You still thought it was strange, but you already knew what and how.
You greeted him as usual, since you knew he was still sentient, and cleaned up the empty blood bag after him. You walked past the detective, planning to settle into the chair opposite and read, when he grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him as if nothing had happened. You sat on his lap and let him hold you.
"No blood tonight," you said determinedly as you felt his lips on your neck. Sometimes you let him drink from you, but you also learned to resist him.
Sherlock mumbled something in agreement before kissing your neck, his favorite place, before resting his head on your shoulder and hugging you tighter. You always attributed it to the effect of the drugs, but he was much more affectionate when he was high.
"I love you so much," he said, still in a daze as he cuddled you.
"Maybe my blood," you retorted. When he was in that state, you couldn't take him seriously.
"'Not the blood. I love all of you," he didn't let on. He felt he should tell you.
"Sherlock, you're high! When you sober up, you'll say something else," you retorted, settling so that you were now looking him in the eye.
"You don't believe me," he stated, resting his head on the seat.
"No. You're high. You're not completely sane," you replied adamantly.
"Hmm," was the only response before he closed his eyes.
Hours later, the effects of the drug finally wore off. You were still sitting in his arms, reading the book you'd brought here just in case. He let you know he was awake with a small kiss on your neck.
"Are you feeling better?" You asked without looking at him, setting the book down on the coffee table.
"I am all the time," he replied.
"I'd argue about that," you replied confidently.
"I meant every word," and he pulled you closer to him.
"Every word?" You asked hesitantly. Now you were wondering what all he remembered of it.
"Even the way I told you I loved you," he said, and you felt your confidence leave you, and you thought the detective heard your heart beating frightenedly. "You needn't be afraid. I know you love me too," he added as if it was nothing serious.
"I never said that," and you tried to sound as if it had no effect on you. But your heart said otherwise.
"If it hadn't, you wouldn't have let me do this," and he began to shower your neck with tiny kisses. These began to slowly make their way to your jaw and finally to your lips, which he paid the most attention to.
"Maybe I like you a little," you said with a smile as you pulled away.
