#dunno what happened to everyone else but lets just assume they're dead unless I need someone not dead

[goodfish-bowl]

Bunker in White

Danny Phantom x Supernatural Crossover

Masterpost

DP Crossover Angst Week Day 1 - GIW Experimentation

Summary: Sam and Dean take up a job to go investigate a government base that had been attacked by vampires.

Warnings: vague descriptions of blood and gore

Notes: hmmm, I have never written anything for Supernatural before, but I've seen a good portion of it (years ago). Probably takes place earlier in the show.

Word Count: 2044

AO3 Link

Sam and Dean had gotten this particular lead from Bobby, who in turn got it passed onto him from someone else, so it wasn’t a surprise this particular job was a mess. 

Apparently, a group of vampire’s had decided a weird, underground, government bunker would be the perfect hideout, resulting in a bloodbath between the government goons and the vamps. It was a large group too, which was a point of concern among the hunter’s who turned down the job. No one really knew who’d won inside between the vampires and the government, but Dean had placed his money on the vampires. He honestly doubted that some government agency with an obsession for the color white had any idea what they were up against, much less the correct tools for the job. Dean got proved wrong when they came across the first dead vampire. 

The bunker’s fluorescent lights were harsh against the darkness outside. The entire base still seemed to have power despite not being connected to any sort of power grid or system. It had made it an absolute pain in the ass to find, but at least that meant Sam and Dean didn’t have to wander around in the dark. The harsh lighting and bleached interior revealed a slaughter inside, staining the white walls with both vampire and human blood, leaving very little to imagination. The humans, all agents in once-white suits, looked to have been mauled by the vamps, while the dead vampires had holes blasted through them and were covered in green-tinged burns. Dean kicked one, trying to make sure it was actually dead. Yep, dead vamp, the whole place unfortunately smelled like it too. 

Sam had found one of the more physically intact agents with a large bazooka-like weapon next to him at the back of the hallway. Rummaging through the agency's pocket’s Sam tossed the ID card over for Dean to read over, while Sam picked up the weapon. 

Dean flipped open the wallet, and huffed when the agent was only referred to by a letter and position. No personal information whatsoever. 

“This asshole is apparently ‘Agent B, senior heavy weapon specialist of the Ghost Investigation Ward’, which means shit to me,” Dean complained. 

“‘Ghost Investigation Ward’? Is that supposed to be some sort of knockoff hunter’s group? Because points for vampire killing, less points for dying,” Sam added. “Either way, they were messing around with something supernatural, and had weapons that could blast straight through a vampire. Think we could find something here?”

Dean shrugged, “I’m down to take their weapons at the least. New tactics are always appreciated.”

Sam took the bazooka, and Dean picked up any other weapons of interest, from weighted nets, to more guns, storing them in piles to collect and ferry to the car later. The ID got them access to a couple more rooms, including a security camera and file room, which Sam said he was going back to later. The deeper they descended into the base, the more spaced out the bodies were, and the more violently the agents had seemed to fight, like they were protecting something. 

“Do you think they actually managed to catch a ghost here?” Sam tossed out. 

Dean snorted, “Doubt it. Sure, you can blast a hole through a vamp, but you can’t blast a hole through a ghost. Just trapping one is a pain, let alone moving it to the middle of bumfuck nowhere, Illinois.” 

Hydraulic doors hissed as the brothers entered the next level, only to pause from the sudden change in pattern. This one opened up into a laboratory, partitioned off by thick glass walls, rather than the collection of offices and storage the upper floors had been.  

Dean’s eyes narrowed at the carnage inside the laboratories. 

“What the hell were they taking apart that bleed fucking green?” Dean cursed.

Dean completely ignored the bodies of who he assumed had been the scientists. There were tons of vials of various liquids, most of them being that same saturated, radioactive green. There were also jars, lots of jars, of what he assumed were the bits and pieces of whatever creature bled green. 

“Doesn’t look like whatever they were dissecting was dead while they were taking apart,” Sam commented, pointing out the restraints on the bloodied autopsy table. 

“Fuck, that’s sick. At least kill whatever you're taking apart first.” 

Dean watched as Sam went over to a stack of papers, filing through them quickly with a grimace on his face.

 “Well, they seem to believe they caught a ghost, at least. They definitely caught something before the vampires wiped them out. The reports refer to it as Subject P-1.”

“Think it’s still here?” Dean asked. 

“Maybe. This report is a few days old, and we know the vampires attacked within that same time frame, so it’s possible that ‘P-1’ is either still here, dead here, or managed to escape in the crossfire,” Sam guessed.

“I suppose we’ll find out. We only got one more level to go.”

Dean left the lab, going down the elevator to the last level. There was nothing there, except for a singular glass cell with what looked like a blast door as its entrance, all shining with some sort of green energy. There seemed to be automated weapons and cameras all pointing at the cell, and Dean considered it a bit extreme. But also down there was the biggest collection of dead vampires they had found so far. 

The weapons in the room had obviously activated for whatever reason, considering the number of vampires with holes blown through them compared to the agents, of which there only seemed to be two, who looked more like they had also been caught in the crossfire of the weapons, rather than becoming vampire food like most of the guys upstairs.  

“Dean…” Sam shoved him, and pointed to the cell. There was…something inside. 

Dean walked over, shoving bodies out of the way with his foot to stand in front of the cell. The green… whatever it was, shone along the glass and hummed with energy, reminding Dean vaguely of an electrified fence. The inside of the cell was a mess but in a different way than outside. It reminded Dean of a few of the cells he had seen monsters hold people in before. It was dirty, and covered in blood, both red and that unknown green. There was no cot, or toilet, or any other sort of accommodation. 

The only thing in the cell was a small figure, dressed in nothing but tattered scrubs, and covered in its own blood balled up in the corner, head between its legs. Dean could only make out pale, emancipated legs and feet, and a mess of matted, black hair. 

“Is it alive?” Dean asked, tapping on the glass, which surprisingly didn’t zapped him.

Sam had a grimace on his face. “I…think.”

“Hey!” Dean shouted. 

No reaction. 

Dean pounded more heavily on the glass with his fist, “Hey! Are you alive?”

No reaction. 

“Are you P-1?” Sam asked instead. 

This got a reaction. The figure picked up their head, placing empty, hollow, and frighteningly blue eyes on Sam. They seemed to be a young boy, face pale and thin, deep bags under his eyes. His eyes were glassy and distant, looking through Sam rather than at him. 

“Well, that’s unnerving,” Dean muttered, giving Sam a look before shoving his shoulder. “Tell him to do something else.”

Sam frowned, thinking for a moment before saying anything. “P-1, state your status,” Sam commanded. 

The boy, P-1, remained silent.

“I don’t think it talks, Sammy,” Dean snorted. 

Sam sputtered indignantly. “What do you want me to do then? We know he’s P-1 now, and that he’s still somehow alive.”

“Well, we know he ain’t human, and that he’s whatever these goons have been picking apart. No clue what he is, but in that state, I doubt he can do much. The lights are one but no one seems to be home, Sammy,” Dean said. 

It was a harsh suggestion but, “We could just put him down and be done with it. The vamps are all dead, there’s nothing here except braindead P-1 over there.”

Sam, apparently, very much disagreed with that idea. “He’s a kid, Dean! And he’s been tortured for who knows how long. We’re not putting him down!”

Dean groaned. “Do you want to take him with us or something?!” Dean asked incredulously. 

Sam was silent, apparently thinking over the idea like it was a legitimate suggestion. 

“No,” Dean immediately denied. “Nope, no way, Sammy. We’re not adopting whatever-the-fuck that kid is. He’s not a dog. We have no idea what he’s capable of, let alone if he’s dangerous!” 

 “Then we keep an eye on him! You said it yourself, in that state, I doubt he can barely move. We could even put him in Bobby’s panic room if he acts up, but honestly,” Sam glanced over to the boy, “I doubt he would even notice.”

Dean hated the idea. He didn’t want the kid to potentially go ballistic, and there had to be some reason he was locked up in the first place. But he couldn’t think of any other reasons to leave the kid there. If anything, they could figure out what the kid was so that they knew how to defeat anything like him in the future. 

“Fine!” Dean relented. “But you’re taking care of him.”

Sam seemed to untense and turned back to the boy. “P-1, move to the door,” he ordered, before more quietly adding, “We’re getting you out of here, kid.”

The boy stood up, swaying on his legs, before approaching the door, standing just outside of it. Dean watched as Sam fidgeted with the door, before eventually having to pull another ID from one of the nearby agents to get the door open. Sam led the kid out, who didn’t have much of a reaction at all. Dean frowned at how small the kid was, now that he could get a better estimate literally standing next to him. He couldn’t be older than 12. 

“Okay, we’re leaving. We got some cool things and you’ve adopted a weird kid. We can confirm the vampires all died here too. Anything else we need to grab before we go back?” Dean huffed. 

“I’m going to see what I can pull from the record room on the way back. Could you take him back to the car?” Sam asked. 

Dean looked at the kid again. Yep. No one home at all. He doubted the kid even knew what was going on. At least he wouldn’t complain about Dean’s music choices. 

“Fine, but you take too long and I’m leaving your ass here,” Dean stated. “Come-on, P-1.”

Dean took the elevator back up the entrance, still careful to check around if they had missed anything still-alive, only to have silence. The kid barely made any noise as he moved, Dean decided he didn’t like that after the third time he jumped at the kid standing directly behind him. 

“I’m getting you a bell,” he grumbled. 

Back at the car, Dean tossed his looted weapons into the trunk, glancing at the kid before rummaging into his and Sam’s duffles for some spare clothes. It looked really suspicious to have a bloodied kid in a medical gown walking around. It would be oversized, but Dean grabbed a flannel, jeans, and a belt. Bobby would probably have something from when he and Sam were that small. 

“Hey, kid, P-1, put these on,” Dean held the clothes out to the kid, who didn’t react. 

Dean groaned. “Oh come on! This is why Sam’s your caretaker. I don’t know how to dress a kid!” 

Dean approached. “Gotta fucking command him like a dog,” he muttered. “P-1, arms up.”

The boy raised his arms, and Dean untied the medical gown letting it fall to the ground. Dean froze, bile building in the back of his throat, fighting the urge to throw up. Images of the jars and vials passed behind his eyes. No wonder the kid was mentally gone, Dean couldn’t see anyone surviving, let alone living long enough to walk out.

God, they needed to get the kid to Bobby. 

[youwereroleplayingitsannoying]

I'm a sucker for some vamp!lock... Pun intended!

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You both like Johnlock.

Stranger: [vampire/unilock; John and Sherlock used to be good friends for a while in secondary school; there's been a lot of rumours going around about Sherlock is practising Satanism and drinking blood and killing animals and stuff like that; Mycroft who's a vampire as well decided it would be best to fake his dead to put an end to it and not risk that their secret would be unconvered, he made up a story about Sherlock having had a car accident and told the school he was being in a coma, asking everyone to refrain from visiting and after a month announced that Sherlock had died; it's set two years after that; John spotted Sherlock (who's calling himself William Scott now) at his university and keeps trying to prove that it's Sherlock]

Did you seriously try to lure the secretary into giving you my file? Stop spying on me. For god's sake! WS

You: [Reading, bear with]

You: No, you don't get to turn this back on me. Do you think I'm an idiot? JW

Stranger: I don't know anything about you! I just know that you tried to charm the secretary to get my fail. You might be charming, but I have her loyality. She's sort of a distant relative. WS

Stranger: *file

You: You know everything about me, and I know enough about you to know that this isn't you. How far do I have to go to get you to stop fucking hiding from the real world? JW

Stranger: I'm not hiding. WS

You: You're hiding. People started spreading rumours, the atmosphere got bad. I understand that. I was there, I saw you, I saw what it did to you when they spoke about you like that. I believed him, for a while. Mycroft, I mean. I really thought you were dead. I thought they'd bullied you to an early grave, do you know that? I thought you got so depressed from being so sorely bullied that you just went and offed yourself, and there was nothing I could do to save you. Did you know that? JW

Stranger: The official explanation was a car accident, not a suicide. WS

Stranger: I mean.. that's what I've heard. WS

You: Please, everyone assumed the worst, no matter how they might have spun it. JW

You: I deserve at least the truth, Sherlock Holmes. At least. JW

Stranger: (delayed) You should know that I wouldn't just "off myself". SH

You: How could I know? You were a mystery to me. We hung out, sure. You showed me some incredible things. But you didn't show me any of yourself. JW

You: I'm sorry that I didn't see how bad things had gotten. I should have helped sooner. JW

Stranger: Oh Christ. It had nothing to do with you or the rumours. At least not in a way that it affected my mood or anything. SH

You: I don't understand. What else could it have been? JW

Stranger: Precautions. SH

You: Precautions... For what? Did they get physical with you? JW

Stranger: No. But they did get too close to the truth. SH

You: What truth? Did you do something? JW

Stranger: You remember the things they said about me drinking blood? SH

You: Of course I do. Nonsense stuff, though, just because you're a bit pale and your hair is dark. Teenagers being shitty teenagers. JW

Stranger: Teenagers being on the right track there. SH

You: Are you talking about those weird experiments you'd do? Because I never told anybody about those, I swear. JW

You: I thought they were interesting. I liked seeing them. JW

Stranger: It's not about my experiments. I am drinking blood. SH

You: Let's humour this for a moment: Why? JW

Stranger: I'm a vampire. SH

You: Oh my God... What's happened to you, Sherlock? Did they really drive you so crazy? JW

You: I'm so sorry. I should have looked harder. JW

Stranger: And this is why I didn't tell you about me faking my death. SH

You: Because you knew I'd want to get you some professional help? It's called being a friend. I'm still here. I still want to be that. Please let me be that for you. JW

Stranger: No because I knew you wouldn't believe me. John, I didn't start to think I'm a vampire somewhere along the way. I already was. And this is certainly not the first time I've faked my death either. SH

You: Sherlock, you have to understand how this sounds. Please, I know it must be hard talking to a person from such a difficult time, but I want to help. You're not a vampire. JW

Stranger: Fine, explain to me then how I'm still alive, when I was born in 1812. Explain to me why I live of blood. SH

You: This is... Delusion, Sherlock. You don't need blood. Luckily, it's not the kind of thing to hurt if you drink it, but you need other food as well. JW

Stranger: It is something that is harmful to humans, John. Human blood contains too much iron for a human metabolism. It's poisonous in large amounts, despite that humans can't digest blood either. In larger amounts than just a few drops from a cut or something, the stomach revolts and you throw up. SH

You: You're definitely Sherlock. I'm going to fail all of my exams this term. JW

Stranger: Perhaps you should have paid more attention to your studies than trying to prove I'm alive, just to claim that I'm insane. SH

You: Not insane. Deluded. There's a very fine difference in that one comes with no control and no respect for those other than yourself, and the other just means you've been misled somewhere along the way. JW

Stranger: I was not bloody mislead! Nor delusional. You are just being a bad friend for not even trying to believe me. SH

You: You left me. JW

You: I needed you and you left me. JW

Stranger: For good reason as we see now. SH

You: Fuck you. You don't have a high horse to climb onto right now. Get over here and fucking prove it to me if you want it to be real so badly. Stop insulting me and tell me why I shouldn't be insulting you after what you did. JW

Stranger: Fine. You want proof? I've got a gun over here. Shoot me. If that wound doesn't instantly close and heal up within a couple of days, you can still consider me nuts. SH

You: I'm not going to shoot you, Sherlock. JW

Stranger: How else am I supposed to prove it to you then? SH

You: I dunno. Show me your teeth. Burn in the sun. Turn into a fucking bat, I dare you. JW

Stranger: If I show you my original birth certificate you'll think it's faked, if I'll show you old photographs you'll say they're manipulated. I have the feeling I have to be drastic here. SH

Stranger: I can't turn into a bat! This isn't a low budget movie! SH

You: Oh, sure, you being a vampire is completely sane, but turning into a bat is too far. JW

Stranger: Yes it is. Bit insulting too, it's like calling humans monkeys just because they share some of the same traits. SH

You: Find me proof from someone that isn't you, then. Show me a friend. Find me someone else you can't have faked. JW

Stranger: I also don't burn in the sun. That myth developed because most of us used to go out at night to feed because it would look a bit odd to go out in the middle of the day and bite someone. SH

Stranger: What do you mean find someone else? SH

You: Get me an opinion that wouldn't lie to me. JW

Stranger: Mycroft. SH

Stranger: No, hang on. Lying is basically his job description. SH

You: Give me a photo and a birth certificate and leave them with me for a day. JW

Stranger: How about Ms Lucas? You know that secretary you tried to charm? SH

You: Why are you so intensely set on this? Why can't you just admit to me that you're too embarrassed to tell the truth? JW

Stranger: I don't have photos from before the mid 1800's. But I have portraits, one's actually painted by my mother. And if you're going to take it anywhere, I'll come with you. SH

You: You're not going to come with me, because then you're going to manipulate the source I go to that will judge the authenticity of the date. JW

Stranger: Then you are not having it. SH

Stranger: Out of the question. No way, José. SH

You: You can come with me and wait outside. JW

Stranger: Most of my belongings are antique singletons, John. I'm not going to let some idiot calling himself an expert close to them unless I'm supervising. SH

You: Then bite me. JW

Stranger: What? SH

You: I mean it. Bite me, Sherlock. JW

Stranger: You don't even know what you're talking about. SH

You: I definitely do, and I'm ready. Hit me. Show me who you are and bite me. JW

Stranger: No you don't. You'll get high. SH

You: High? JW

Stranger: It's my saliva. It works like a drug. It's not unhealthy or anything. You just... Well, it's a bit like getting drunk, just with a shot of endorphins. SH

You: Then there's no danger in proving yourself to me. JW

Stranger: I haven't done that in ages... SH

Stranger: Quite literally. SH

You: And here's a willing volunteer, waiting right here for you. How lucky. JW

Stranger: Oh god you're really starting to annoy me. Fine. Come over then. Do you need my address or did you find that out while stalking me? SH

You: Give the address to me, if it'll make you less of a bitch about it. JW

Stranger: 221B Baker Street. SH

You: Of course you can afford to live in Central. Typical. JW

You: [If you want to move into para, would you mind starting? At least just give me a couple of details of any notable way he looks/how the flat is laid out etc]

Stranger: ((oh no, I can start it's fine.. oh and I was thinking except for the fact that he doesn't age, he doesn't look any different than normal, no hard skin, he does have a heartbeat .. I'm just tired of all the vampire cliches xD))

You: [That's okay :D I like everything so far, it's great

Stranger: ((oh and he's especially not ice cold.. :D))

You: [oh boy, John's gonna have a field day...]

Stranger: ((hah yeah :D))

Stranger: Sherlock sighed as he stuffed his phone into his pocket, not about to dignify John's last comment with an answer. He was really annoyed at this point. He had anticipated John not to believe him, he really had, but it still irked him that he just seemed so determined to ignore any word Sherlock said. It was frustrating to try to tell someone the truth only to have that someone demand to stop it and tell the truth. He was also a little nervous though. It had been round about 100 years since he had bitten someone the last time. He had always disliked it. It just felt weird to be so close to strangers. Doing it now felt a bit like climbing into a bike after decades of driving a car. He just wasn't used to it anymore. Trying not to think about it, he walked into the kitchen, busying himself with making tea while he waited for John.

You: John, on his much more normal student budget, had taken the tube and walked to Baker Street. He'd walked the wrong way from the station, so he was ten minutes later than he should have been, and he couldn't help the little flutter of excitement in his chest when he remembered that Sherlock would notice. Somehow, Sherlock always noticed. He still couldn't believe where he was going, who he was going to see. He rang the bell for flat B and there was a nervous shaking in his chest; Sherlock was back. His best friend was alive. And he was going to get a bollocking.

Stranger: Sherlock nearly jumped when he heard the doorbell, taking a deep breath, before he moved downstairs to the door and another as he arrived at the door, placing one hand on the handle, but hesitating for a moment, trying to calm his own heartbeat, but with no success. He was just so ridiculously nervous about seeing John - he seen him in uni, but this was different now that John definitely knew that it was him. Opening the door at last, he gave the other man a small, nervous smile, "Don't even start looking for fangs. I don't have them. Not really anyway. My canins are just a tad longer than average, but not "inhumanly long", they're sharper though. Bit more pointy as well." he explained, as always finding it easier to hide behind explanations.

You: John's stomach fell out of his arse when he saw that face behind the door. It really was him. The sight of it had been eerie enough from a distance, but here, standing right in front of him, John was almost panicking. And then, before he felt his own body move, he threw his arms around Sherlock and hugged him tight. His breath was ragged and his eyes were wet, but damn if he was going to start crying here on the doorstep after all this time. "Shut up," he breathed, his voice breaking. All those feelings he'd gotten over... Thought he'd gotten over, rather... He'd had girlfriends since their secondary school days, but now that stupid crush was bubbling back up faster than his brain could manage to keep up with it. "Just shut up."

Stranger: Sherlock's annoyance and even his nervousness faded away almost instantly when John threw himself at him, his arms automatically moving around the other man. "I've missed you too." he mumbled with a small chuckle and held him just a little tighter. "Should we go upstairs?" he asked quietly and buried his face into John's hair, inhaling the familiar scent.

You: John didn't reply for a long time. He stayed there, feeling Sherlock's embrace and feeling /Sherlock/ for another moment. They'd never been so close before. Best friends, sure, but also stupid irresponsible teenagers that couldn't possibly get too intimate. John had longed for it, and here they now were. "Okay," he said eventually, and he took a few more calming breaths before finally letting his arms drop. He'd wait for Sherlock to lead the way to wherever his flat was, but those hesitant eyes would stay locked on his figure, almost as if he'd disappear without enough attention.

Stranger: Sherlock smiled again and took John's hand almost out instinct, leading him up the stairs, "Are you really sure you want to do this? The whole... Feeding off you thing? You definitely can't go home after that. The high and the blood loss will make it extremely dangerous for you to go out into traffic after that. The high wears off quickly as soon as I stop sucking, but you'll still feel somewhat exhausted and wobbly.." he mumbled and still felt weird about the whole biting thing.

You: It almost broke John's heart all over again to hear Sherlock keep talking about this vampire thing. He didn't want to admit it, but he had hoped that the reuniting of the two friends might have clicked something back into place in the poor man's brilliant brain. "I'm sure," John said. Because really, what did he have to be worried about? He knew Sherlock wasn't going to do it. Those teeth would touch his neck, and then he'd snap out of this upsetting delusion, and realise he didn't bite people and he didn't drink blood and he wasn't a vampire. No, John wasn't scared in the slightest. "I need the proof."

Stranger: "I can basically hear you thinking I'm a nutter." Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes. "Oh and no, it's not part of my "hallucinations" to think that I can read minds. Your thoughts are just blatantly obvious from the expression on your face." he said and frowned for a moment, considering to do it on the sofa, he wanted John to be able to lie comfortably down after it if he needed to. "Bedroom." he stated and lead John through the flat, over into his bedroom. "You did have dinner, right? It's better for your circular system if you have eaten before."

You: "I ate earlier," John assured him. He hadn't. Wrapping up this Sherlock mystery had been all he'd been focused on for such a long time. It wasn't unheard of for him to forget to eat from time to time, and he knew Sherlock wouldn't really be taking his blood. He'd already planned to get chips on the way home. For now, he couldn't deny that the thought of being in Sherlock's bedroom was causing him the kinds of nerves that only this stupid crush could do. "I just want to be here for you. I'm not trying to hurt your feelings. I'm sorry."

Stranger: "Yeah, yeah, I expect an apology after this by the way." Sherlock said and cleared his throat, "Erm.. you should sit down.. it's probably easier if I sit on your lap.." he said and shrugged lightly, waiting for John to sit down, feeling his heartbeat start to increase again, this time in anticipation. While he was a bit insecure about the act itself, he certainly hadn't forgotten how much better blood tasted right from the source.

You: John choked on his own spit when Sherlock had suggested that. Thank God there was a bed there, because he was certainly flushed and dizzy now, even before anything had happened. His heart was pounding and his face was hot and pink from his blush as he went to sit on the bed. "Just... Just tell me where you want me," he said, his voice still thick but this time from embarrassment.

Stranger: Sherlock couldn't help but smile at that comment, but he didn't say anything to it as he straddled John's lap, leaving more than enough space between their hips however, not daring to move closer. "Okay then... Let's get it over with." he said and eyed John's neck for a moment before he reached out to gently tilt John's head a bit, before he leant in and lingered with his lips at John's neck for a second, then opening his mouth and taking another breath, sunk his teeth into John's skin, giving a small moan himself. It was like he drinking fresh pressed orange juice after ages of drinking water. It was a taste explosion.

You: John couldn't say anything. He had no words. It was bullshit, the whole thing, but Sherlock's fingers gently touching his jaw and his hair to move his head, it was... His heart was pounding. He swallowed twice, suddenly feeling extremely exposed as the lips moved closed to his neck. He wasn't a teenager anymore, but he was damn certain that if Sherlock's hips had been any closer to this, he would have a raging hard-on already - and then the teeth speared his skin. He let out a very faint cry of surprise, but didn't dare move a muscle, and as soon as the sharp flash of pain was there, it was already dissipating. There was something much warmer starting to course through his veins, and suddenly he was starting to understand why Sherlock had called it a high. He began to slump a little beneath him, a faint groan falling from his lax mouth.

Stranger: Sherlock made sure not to drink for longer than a couple of seconds, not even as much as he'd lose donating blood, really, before he stopped and licked over the wound, as his saliva was also speeding up the healing process, closing the wound instantly and in a couple of hours it would look like a simple hickey. Licking his lips, he just simply hugged John, waiting for the high to fade away a bit.

You: John had only had a minor taste of whatever that chemical was, but he was already missing it as it faded. He was almost limp in Sherlock's embrace, and had he obtained such a feeling from any other activity, he'd likely have been ready to roll over and go to sleep. But as he caught his breath and began to regain a little more of his brain, he had the gut reaction to put his hands on Sherlock's back and hold on. "What the..." He didn't even know how to finish that sentence. It was like he was balancing on a tightrope between hyperactivity and drowsiness. Wired, but dizzy, alert, but cozy.

Stranger: "That was the worst apology I've ever heard." Sherlock murmured and chuckled a little, instinctively starting to caress John's back. "Are you okay?" he asked softly and pulled his head back a little to look at him, but not breaking the embrace.

You: John's head was resting on Sherlock's chest. He was both drugged and in shock, and he wasn't anywhere near ready to leave the embrace that he'd been craving for so many years. "Yeah," he croaked, and he lifted a trembling hand from Sherlock's back to touch at the bite on his neck. Slightly tender, but dry as a bone. Healed. "What the..." Again, no ending to that sentencce.

Stranger: "Yeah.. let's postpone the apology then." Sherlock said and chuckled a little, "I don't think it's gonna get better anytime soon. It's enough for me to know that you believe me now." he said and closed his eyes as he held John a little tighter again.

You: "Do it again," John said, tipping his head back to expose the spot again. "That... do it again."

Stranger: "Not happening." Sherlock said and pulled back a bit more now, "Not before you have eaten and drunk something. You don't seem like you have eaten before. If you had you wouldn't be that dazed after a small bite like that." he said and looked at John's face. Are you sure you're fine?" he asked worriedly.

You: "I'm sure," John said, his face going pink as he blushed again. Really, he was using any excuse he could to stay right where he was, between Sherlock and Sherlock's bed. "I... I believe you now." He put his hand back on the bite, feeling the bumps. "I can't believe this, Sherlock... What the hell?"

Stranger: Sherlock couldn't help but smirk a little, "Not sure if it's the right moment, but you taste terribly good." he said and chuckled a little. "Still, you really have to eat something, so what are you in the mood for? Take away? A sandwich?" he asked, placing a hand on John's shoulder, gently caressing the already healing wound with his fingertips.

You: John didn't answer right away. And when he did, he didn't actually answer Sherlock's question. He wrapped his arms around the man again, holding him tight. After a pause, he whispered, "I missed you, Sherlock. Cripplingly so."

Stranger: Sherlock smiled and rested his forehead against John's, just enjoying their closeness, "I've missed you too.. you have no idea... That... How much I liked you.. or .. /like/ you.. was also a reason I couldn't tell you I'm still alive..." he admitted quietly, closing his eyes for a moment.

You: John's lips brushed Sherlock's chin, ever so lightly and faintly, as Sherlock brought their foreheads together. Eyes closed, he could feel Sherlock's warm breath on his lips as he spoke. They'd never been so close. "Sherlock," he breathed, and now there was no way this clever man couldn't see that John had utterly fallen for him.

Stranger: Sherlock sighed gently and suddenly, without really realising it, he leant in to capture John's lips with his own. He couldn't explain it, but all of a sudden it felt like the most natural thing to him, it didn't feel strange, it was just as if that had been part of their relationship to each other all along. And God that kiss was almost better than the bite - although he was speaking only for himself here. He couldn't really remember if the daze of a bite was better than a kiss - that kiss.

You: John reacted instantly. It was something he still fantasised about, sometimes. Sherlock had always been on his mind, and now it was finally coming true, and the kiss came so easily, so gently. It was a soft capture of lips, sharing of heat. And then John's hands held tighter onto Sherlock and kissed him a little harder, trying to breathe him in completely. He felt intoxicated again. He wanted this to last forever.

Stranger: Sherlock eventually broke the kiss, still worried for John's circular system, he didn't want him to collapse or anything. "Should we just.. lay down?" he asked and smiled softly at John, pecking his lips again, "You need to rest, love." he said, the term of endearment slipping from his lips without him even noticing it.

You: It made John's heart ache. He wanted this so badly, and here it was, but he had spent so long missing the man that he couldn't quite convince himself that he was back. He pulled, where his hands were on Sherlock's back, and the other came back onto the bed with him. He desperately wanted another bite - Sherlock must have known that - but being back on the bed with a warm body so close was already sending his consciousness flying. He did feel quite light. "Leave and I'll kill you," John said, but his gentle tone and his death grip were enough evidence of his real fear.

Stranger: Sherlock laughed, "I'd like to see you try." he teased and leant in to kiss John again, rolling them both over onto their sides. "But don't worry, I won't go anywhere." he promised and rested his head on John's chest, before he reached out to tug at the duvet, pulling it over their bodies.

You: John was too dazed to argue. The covers were over them, Sherlock was tucked up against him, and he was asleep in what felt like mere seconds. He slept for a good hour, and it took him a long time to get through his slow wake-up. When he was eventually fully awake, an hour and a half had passed, and it took him a moment to remember where he was. He touched his neck again to make sure he hadn't been dreaming.

Stranger: "Well that was a short nap." Sherlock said, his eyes still closed, he hadn't really slept, just dozed a bit, "How are you feeling?" he asked and tilted his head up a bit, looking at John. "Are you feeling dizzy? Nauseous?" he asked quietly.

You: "Tired," John slurred. His eyes were still closed and he hadn't moved from where he lay next to Sherlock. It was real, then. The bite was still there, Sherlock was still there, he was still in this bedroom from yesterday. "Head hurts." Yes, he was feeling odd. Like he'd had a blood test, and was still feeling a bit unnerved and a bit unwell. And he still felt like he had to sleep for eight hours - but he had to admit, most of those things could be explained by his lack of food.

Stranger: ((hey any chance that we can continue on email? It's getting quite late here and I have to get up in like six hours :3))

You: [omg, that's so soon. of course we can ^^]

You: [if you email your reply to eshorter317@gmail.com then I'll reply when i can

Stranger: ((okay :3 I'll mail you in the morning though, just so you don't think I've forgotten about you :3 I'd probably fall asleep writing my next reply anyway :D))

You: [That's okay! Get to sleep x]

Stranger: ((Alrighty :) good night then (or... Morning afternoon evening whatever fits have a good one :D))

Stranger has disconnected.