ihadabadday | The Black Book - AU - Locked to seaweed

"Considering the fact that you have used your own... leaving to stick yourself to me, yes. I do think that we need a shower." Sherlock leaned up and kissed John, deeply, then reluctantly moved John off his lap by wiggling out from under him. He headed towards the shower, turning it on as hot as he could, then stepping in, moaning at the wonderful heat. After two pretty quick bouts of sex back to back, his muscles were aching, and he was still smarting a tiny bit where John had opened him up wide that night they bonded. The shower felt.. well, ironic for him to say, but.. heavenly.

John cleaned up the bed and made it before going into the bathroom. He stepped into the shower behind Sherlock.

"You're warm." It was odd, his mate being warm. Over the past twenty four hours, he had gotten so used to the cooler temperature of Sherlock.

"What do you want to do with the rest of our day?" He asked.

"Mmmm...." Sherlock smiled when John stepped in behind him. He turned around (which was tricky in the rather small shower) and kissed John deeply, then turned back to start soaping himself up.

"I don't always feel like death slightly warmed over." he teased back. "Besides, touching you is like touching a radiator!" He chuckled while he was washing the now dried and stick come off of his stomach and chest.

"I did not have any plans in particular." Sherlock admitted. "Did you have any suggestions on how you wanted to spend the rest of your day?"

John returned the kiss and smiled at him. "I don't know. Maybe I should get my things and move them over."

Once Sherlock was done with the soap, he took it. The blonde began to clean himself up.

He changed places with Sherlock to rinse himself off. He made a face. "The water feels cold."

"I turned it to the hottest it could go, you furnace!" Sherlock teased. "You must have used up all the heat inbetween our sex sessions. It probably didn't have enough time to warm back up." Sherlock shook his head.

"I would be happy to help you move your belongings here. If you wish, there is a room upstairs, if you want to have a place of your own to go. If not, we can arrange my dresser or possibly purchase a new one. I don't know how much you have in the way of belongings and clothing."

John mock glared at him as he finished rinsing off. "It's not my fault that I run hot." He huffed. But there was a smile to words. He loved this, this easy teasing between them. It was comfortable.

He stepped out of the shower and found his towel from earlier. He began to dry off.

"I don't have a lot." He told Sherlock, "Everything should fit in a duffel bag."

Sherlock finished washing his hair (how had the come gotten up there???) And then stepped out of the shower after turning the water off. He had to frown at at. All John had could fit into a duffel bag? Well, he was going to have to fix that. He would take John out to get him new clothes, jumpers for the winter, comfy trousers for the whole years, vests, some nice button up shirts, a couple of new pairs of loafers, maybe some sand shoes for off days....

Yes. This was going to have to happen. And soon. As a vampire, he knew how to invest his money, and it had hundreds of years worth of interest in some accounts, so he was had enough money. His family went back a very long time, he was not hurting, and yet he still preferred to live in this rather small and cramped flat, mostly because of its prime location.

John looked at him and then smiled. "Do you want to come with me?" He asked. He shifted a bit on his feet.

He was embarrassed, but not. He had spent a good chunk of time in the military. He didn't have many belongings. Or clothes.

After Sherlock gave his answer, he slipped into the bedroom to dress in his discarded clothes.

"Of course." Sherlock said with a soft smile. He followed a moment behind, getting dressed, including his hooded Belstaff. He's much prefer skulking around the city at night, but unfortunately, most crime and police work happened during the day, which seemed counter-intuitive, but that was how it was.

So he did the best he could to stay out of the light, and did what he had to during the day. He had to admit that he was a bit jealous of John. He could walk around like a human, in the daylight, and no one is ever the wiser. And he was quite obvious with his red eyes, thick coat, hood, and gloves, even in the heat of the London summer. No one could ever mistake him for anything but a vampire.

Sherlock sighed and shook those thoughts out of his head. He didn't regret Turning, though he had of course had no choice at the time. It had afforded him many things, near immortality was one of them. But the drawbacks were many as well- persecution, prejudice, and the need to always keep out of the blasted sun.

When he was ready, he pulled up his hood and pulled on his glasses, finally arranging his long blue scarf around his neck to shield that tender skin.

"I'm ready." He said.

John was pulling on his canvas jacket and smiled at Sherlock. "I heard during full solar eclipses that vampires can go out during the day and not have all the protection."

He opened the door to the flat and headed down the stairs.

He stepped out into the sun and let put a breath. He did love the outdoors. One day, he wanted to retire to the country.

"Yes, but there isn't going to be another full solar eclipse for several years. April 8th, 2024, actually. And the full eclipse doesn't last for long." The last full solar eclipse had been not quite 2 years ago, and it had been glorious, to be able to go our for a very short time with no protection. He had enjoyed it for the little time it had been available.

Sherlock watched him enjoying the sun. Of course he felt a twinge of jealousy. He enjoyed the sun once, and the warmth. After 400 years, he still hadn't forgotten how it felt.

And once again, Sherlock had to shake those thoughts out of his head. He raised his hand for a taxi. "Where to, John?" He asked, as one pulled up.

John slipped into the cab when it arrived and leaned in to give the cabbie an address. He then leaned back and took Sherlock's hand. He squeezed gently.

"I wish there was a way I could take you out into the sun and let you feel it again." he mused.

But he then fell quiet and looked out the window as London passed. He often walked everywhere, so it was different seeing London this way.

"I do feel it, in a way." He replied, squeezing back. "I still feel the heat, even through my coat, and my gloves. But it isn't a good, warming kind of heat. It's more of a burning sort of sensation." It was hard for him to explain what it was like, being a vampire. "Even if for some reason, I could be in the sun, it would still not be the same as what you feel." He gave John a smile, but it didn't quite meet his eyes.

"Despite my aversion to sunlight, and my need for blood, being a vampire does has it advantages, immortality is the biggest one, of course. I can see in the dark, I have higher stamina, I can run faster and longer than I could when I was a human. And of course, there is the Thrall." He chuckled. "But that's really not an advantage with you, now is it?"

"I could always act like your Thrall works on me." John grinned at him, "How many humans have you used the Thrall on?" He asked. There was no jealousy in him, just curiosity.

The blonde got out of the cab as Sherlock paid. Once more he took the vampire's hand. Because of the area he lived, there were quite a few creatures abound. And not all of them were friendly to cross-species relationships.

"Hey bloodsucker! Let that human go!" One of the creatures snarled, "Or you can share."

Sherlock looked away, a little shamed. "Too many to count." He admitted. "For a very long time, I would use my Thrall to entice victims back to my lair, where I would either use them, or drink from them, or both. Most of the time, I would..." He paused and sighed, looking up. He was not surprised to see that the cab driver was eyeing him warily.

"Often, I would... dispose of them. so no one would find out what I was. I lived- as best I could- incognito. For almost 300 years, it served me well. But with the start of the Industrial Revolution and all of the modern technology that came from it, it became literally impossible to hide who I was. So that had to stop." Even with that revelation, the driver still didn't seem to relax, and he was quite happy when they arrived at their destination, taking Sherlock's money very tentatively.

This was a rather strange part of town, where Demons and Imps and Faeries and Vampires all lived together- joining together in their shared outcast status. He tried to ignore the catcalls and insults, but when someone suggested sharing John, Sherlock's eyes glowed red in anger. He hissed and used his quick speed to run over to the man and slammed him, up against the wall. It was a goblin, and Sherlock could easily hold him up.

"You best apologize." Sherlock didn't even bother to use his Thrall. The deadly tone of his voice was enough. "If you value your life."

Racism, John noted dryly, had shifted from race and country of origin to creature status. Even though Vampires were among the elite, most looked at them with disdain. And it made his blood boil. It wasn't as if the vampires were depending on others for support. Many of them had families, from their sires, and support that way.

John watched as Sherlock slammed the Goblin against the wall. "Careful, you may break something." He told his mate, "And we wouldn't want him running to the cops."

He smiled at the Goblin, his horns appearing as he imitated smoke curling around his head. For all the Goblin knew, he was an occult specialist and a curse breaker. But there were rumors of a Demon Hunter who lived in the area.

"Lemmme gooooo!!" The Goblin was small and wiggly, and was able to get out of Sherlock's grasp. "You're a freak!" He threw a parting shot when he was far enough away. He ducked down an alley and was gone.

Sherlock was trying his hardest not to care, not to let this get to him, but he had been called a freak for hundreds of years now, and it wore him down bit by bit until the word became a raw wound that rubbed every time the insult was lobbed at him.

"The sooner we are out of here, the better." He murmured, putting his head down and pulling his hood low and shoving his hands in the pockets of his Belstaff, trying to drawing up into himself as much as he could. How did John survive here, looking like a human, he wondered? If they hated Vampires, they must hate humans even more, and he was sure that they would kill any human who wandered in here alone.

John's appearance had gone back to normal. "I'm the boogeyman to a lot of them." he told his mate as he led him to the building his flat was in.

"Where did you come crawling out from?" And older woman who was sitting on the front steps hissed at John.

"Beatrice... I live here." John replied, "Are you going to let me pass, or do I need to bind you again?"

The ancient looking woman hissed at him, but moved to the side.

John rolled his eyes and then grabbed Sherlock, dragging him up the steps and into the council flat. So many creatures lived in these flats, and those who were just back from the front lines. It was an area that the Yard didn't come around too much.

Sherlock wasn't really paying much attention to anything, he was in his own world. He was following John, and listening to him, but he was hunched up, making himself look as invisible as possible. He just wanted to get the hell out of here and forget that this had ever happened.

He only made one little noise of surprise as he was drug inside the building and up the stairs. It was a tony flat, hardly even one room with a tiny bathroom off to the side. There wasn't even a separate bedroom, or any sort of kitchen, other than a tiny refrigerator pressed against one wall. How did he live here? It was more like a prison cell than anything else. Sherlock would know,. He'd spent time in prison simply for being a Vampire.

John grabbed the duffel from under the small bed and began to pack. Not much went in, a couple pairs of pants, some vests, trousers and shirts. He grabbed his minimal toiletries and then zipped the bag close. He paused and then unzipped the bag, retrieving a thin black box. He slid that into his pocket.

All in all, he had less than what could fit in the duffel.

He looked at his slumped mate. "Lets get out of here."

Sherlock saw the thin black box. He was curious as to what was inside of it, but before he could ask, John was done and said that they should leave. He just nodded, and followed him back down the stairs and past the old woman who gave them a harsh look while John hailed a cab, and they got in, heading back towards Baker Street.

"I don't know how well white magics or prayers would work on me." John said after a moment. He was trusting Sherlock with this.

"Even after the Fall, Mum never lost her faith. She still believed in Him, it, everything." He rubbed his face, "Dads went to church every Sunday with her."

He was a big fucking mess genetically speaking. A Fallen as a mother, a human father (though he suspected his father wasn't entirely human) and enough weird things that he played so much close to the chest.

Sherlock looked to him, a bit confused. They hadn't been talking about white magic,and he wasn't sure where this conversation had come from.

"I am a Vampire, John. If I tried to use white magic, it would probably kill me. I am Unholy. I am Dark. White magic is the very opposite of my very being." His voice was low. He was still curled up into himself as much as he could be in the cab.

He took a deep breath, and sighed. Since John was opening up, he would too. "I... was the child of a deacon, when I was turned. The Old One who turned me did so to get back at my father for killing his mate. My father... when I turned.. tried to kill me. I fled. I was 30 human years old and I had nothing."

"I guess I was saying all of that for this." He pulled out the box, but didn't open it.

"It's my father's rosary." He explained.

John smiled and then kissed Sherlock. Oh this vampire. "It's us against the world now."

Touching a rosary wouldn't kill him, but it would burn him where it touched, so he would have to be very careful about dealing with that box. If he had his druthers, he wouldn't allow it in his flat, but it wasn't just his flat any more, and he would never ask John to get rid of something that had belonged to his father. He had nothing that belonged to his blood family, though he did have some items from his Vampire sire and his unholy family.

Sherlock kissed John back, maybe not as intensely as he did sometimes, but it was an honest and loving kiss.

He had said that his father had died at 70, so he was at least that old, but how long ago had that been? He had never asked. "How.. many human years are you? He figured it couldn't have been too long, as he still looked like a young man, just a bit older than he had been when he was turned

The Black Book - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

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