Crimson (Vamplock Fanfic)

Chapter 8

John

We arrived back to our room, leading a still-dazed Sherlock into the bathroom to undress him and draw a bath for him. He sat down in the warm water as I undressed myself and sat in front of him with a washcloth and a bottle of soap.

"John?"

"Shh, it's okay. I'm right here, Sherlock." I reassured, running my wet hands through his damp curls with shampoo, watching the blood wash out and down his body and over his face. He cringed and squeezed his eyes shut to avoid the soap running into his sight. I furrowed my brow in pity, but most of all worry.

He was somebody I've come to know and personally love. I would do anything and everything for him. But some days I've had my doubts of how I could ever love a monster. A monster who was so easy to love. He still holds on to this idea of being born a creature that is unable to love and never being one to receive it. He never wanted to receive it, just by the fact he hates himself for the monster he is. But I've never seen a monster. I've seen a man, who behind that sociopathic mask he insists on wearing, is the most loving and gentle man I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.

I finished cleaning him, leading him out of the tub and having him get dressed in one of his ratty t-shirts and a pair of equally ratty sweatpants. I drained the water in the tub and got dressed myself, joining him in bed and turning on the telly but keeping the volume to a minimum.

I've never seen Sherlock lay down and almost go to sleep before. Knowing he really can't sleep anyways, he came close to passing out one or two times laying next to me.

"John?" He finally spoke.

"Yes Sherlock?" I asked. He rolled over to give me that saddest gaze I've ever seen on a grown man. His eyes were a deep blue with specks of purple as he was on the verge of tears.

"Can I snuggle with you?" He whimpered.

"Of course darling."

I didn't speak a word when he buried himself into my chest, hearing him bring in the scent of my shirt. I didn't speak a word when he clung onto me like a baby gorilla would do to its mother, digging his fingers into my skin. And I didn't speak a word when he snuck kisses every once in awhile to my neck and upper chest.

I ran my fingers through his hair as that would startle him with every brush-through I did. I gently kissed his curls and whispered nonsense words into his ear, anything from how much I loved him to how great of a mind he has. He responded with small grunts or whines, burying himself just a little farther into my chest. He curled his legs in farther into himself, drawing his knees up to chest.

I smirked, seeing how cute he really was. He was absolutely perfect in every way like he was intended to be. His face was disfigured into a look of concentration; eyes closed and nose scrunched up with his brow furrowed. He was in his mind palace.

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Hours passed, flipping through channels that were either unavailable or nothing good. I looked outside.

There standing out in the middle of the road was Mycroft with his umbrella hanging peacefully on his forearm. A shadow was cast across his face but, seeing the umbrella, I knew it was Mycroft.

I carefully and quietly set Sherlock to the other side of the bed, slipping on my jacket and shoes to step outside. The quiet streets and heavy atmosphere gave a clue that it was about to rain.

"I see you're taking care of my little brother well." Mycroft boasted, a smirk sliding across his face. I scoffed, watching the breath escape between my lips and go up in a puff of white.

"What other choice do I have? And what are you doing here? I thought you would be busy running England's government." I joked, earning myself an 'obviously' smirk from the older brother.

"I came to check in on you. Making sure that my brother hasn't killed you yet." He warned, I stepped back.

"Why would he do that?" I asked.

"Because he's a monster. He has no control, like the druggie that he is, he won't be able to stop once he gets started. It's who he's always been. Get out while you can." He barked, his eyes turning the same dark red as Sherlock. I closed my eyes and balled my fists.

"I would never turn my back on Sherlock! Especially when he needs me the most!"

"He is not your friend John! He will neve-"

Mycroft was knocked to the ground, with Sherlock standing over him. The younger brother looked to me, the same shade of red glowing deep in his eyes. I stood in shock and awe, his chest working harder to breathe from his attack.

"John. Leave. Right now." He warned.

"Oh c'mon brother dear, don't you want to give your lover a show? C'mon, what's a little rough housing in the middle of the night? Mother's not here to tell us any different." Mycroft mocked, removing his suit jacket and tossing it aside to roll up the sleeves of his shirt.

"You leave mother out of this Mycroft! And you leave us alone! Just leave! I don't you to get hurt!" Sherlock warned again.

"Oh, poor little brother. You think you're going to hurt me? I'm older and stronger than you! You could never beat me!" The older brother balled his hands into fists. The rain began to fall fast and hard. Sherlock smirked, his curls already soaking wet and sticking to his forehead.

"We'll see about that."

They ran towards each other, blood already starting to fly as they tore each other apart. Gnashing and gnarling of teeth and claws and fangs. I stood by and watched in horror, knowing there was very little that I could do but watch and freeze half to death in the pouring rain.

I heard a snap and and an agonizing cry of pain.

"Sherlock!"