Crimson (Vamplock Fanfic)

Chapter 6

Sherlock

"A vampire! A bloody vampire!"

"John please-"

"No Sherlock! Why didn't you tell me you were a fucking vampire?! Of all the things you choose not to tell me, you choose to neglect the fact that you're a blood-sucking monster?!"

"I didn't have a choice John! It was either your safety or my life. I would gladly kill 100 men, women, and children to keep you safe from me! I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to you by my own hand!"

We stood in the middle of our room back at the inn, my mouth, neck and hands caked in dry blood. With bewildered eyes, John took in my gory appearance as he wiped his hand over his face in frustration. I never understood human feelings but John's were self-evident and clear that he was uncomfortable in the situation I presented him with.

"John, just let me explain myself-"

"Oh really?" John interrupted me. "Because I would love to hear an explanation about this whole thing! So, please, by all means, explain this!" John gestured to my bloodied mess that covered my face and hands.

"You may want to sit down. It's not the shortest of stories." I sit down at the edge of the bed and rub my blood-stained hands together.

"Wait." John left to go to the bathroom as he returned with a damp washcloth and generously forced it into my hand. I sighed as I started to clean my hands and neck of my late night massacre. John pursed his lips as he gently sat next to me on the bed and let a deep sigh pass his lips as I started in on my story.

"The year of my birth was 1854, January 6th to be exact. I was born at St. Bart's hospital but given little chance to live. I was born very small and frail. My parents tried every treatment available to man before turning to the darker side of treatment. Being vampires themselves, they tried everything to make me better. When nothing prevailed, feeding their blood to me was their last resort. So while other children were being fed milk from a bottle, I was being fed blood from my parent's arm or wrist. The older I got, the less I needed it. But the less I needed it, the more I turned human. Desperate, I eventually found my way back home, practically already dead as my parents tried everything to nurse me back to health. I was so close to being taken by death's grip as they avoided the only solution for me; to be bitten. But they were desperate, so they did what they had to do for me survive. 

"First borns are the hardest to control their thirst. I learned to control my thirst by feeding on small animals and stolen blood bags I acquired through multiple people through the morgue. But the thirst became too strong. So I hit the streets, using my gentlemanly charm to persuade men and women to come home with me and I would feed. I realized I had an addiction, turning to real drugs and balancing between drugs and feeding. Until I met you, and that ended it all. Until now."

John hung his head after I finished my explanation as he breathed a heavy sigh and rubbed his hand over his face again in frustration.

"Sherlock-" He started. But I cut him off.

"No John, you were right, I needed to come clean about who I was and what I was doing. I wasn't being honest." I looked away for a brief moment to the window, seeing tourists and villagers alike wander down the streets and being completely oblivious to our personal situation just a wall of brick and stone that separated us and the real world.

"But I'm still not being completely honest." I confessed as John lightly chuckled, rubbing his forehead and closing his eyes.

"What more is there to say?" John questioned, raising his voice a little.