Sanguine Dynasty: A Study in Blood

Chapter 3

Like the cool welcome home that it had always been, the overcast morning still held the distant moisture that would have tickled the countryside with a watery shade of morning dew. John sucked in a deep breath of that chilly air and a bustling plume of his breath seemed to evaporate before him in a steam cloud that seemed to carry on for metres ahead of him.

Beside him, the cool and muted colours that made up the brickwork houses and business fronts accompanied him as he walked forward, his hands buried deep in his pockets. Even now, bundled up as he was, in his early winter coat, he felt that whisper of a chill against his fingertips.

His eyes flicked up then as he approached his final destination and sure enough, just as the day he had seen him, Sherlock Holmes stood innocently before a tall building with a sheer black door, gold plated numbers were screwed to the front of it.

John paused a moment as he allowed his eyes to rove over that pale figure and once more the sweet scent of floral incense trailed lightly, less intense as it had in the closed off area of the lab the day prior, but it was still there, accented by the coppery twang of blood.

Vampires all smelled slightly different, but the one thing that was synonymous with all of them was that distant scent of gore. The humans had once called them monster. Some still did, but of course, gone were the days where vampires prowled the streets and suckled on the necks of their prey.

The modern vampire shopped for their blood just like any one else might. Thankfully, lycans didn't have that issue, while blood was always a staple within a lycan's diet. Raw meat was what a lycan craved most of all.

But, as the sun glistened down through the grey filter of the clouds, Sherlock's skin may well have been glowing. The almost pure white of his skin was only slightly offset by a slight rose tint that hovered around his high cheekbones. The vampire may well have been carved from marble.

Sherlock chose right then to twist on the spot and his eyes locked with John's, his silvery irises were almost as reflective as the glinted metal that had once seeped from John's bullet wound as he lay bleeding out on the sandy planes of the battlefield.

But this sight wasn't one that inspired panic or pain, instead, John felt as if that silver note that blinked in Sherlock's eyes was a shade that may, soon, wither away the confined that he'd built, like a bird cage around his heart.

"Mr Holmes." John greeted softly, hand outstretched on the approach. A deep baritone chuckle rumbled from within the vampire's chest as he shook his head.

"Sherlock, please." He corrected and John gave a bright smile with a nod. "I trust you made the journey here alright?" Sherlock asked and John couldn't help the shiver that ran through his body at Sherlock's cool skin.

By contrast the heat that gripped his own flesh seemed to burst with life when pitted against the chill that seemed to thrum through Sherlock's and every other vampire's body.

"Oh, yeah." John nodded and stepped back as he watched the man reach up to knock several times with the brass knocker. Almost immediately, an older, frail vampire tugged at the door.

The wrinkles that dampened her face were offset by the warmth that filled her old eyes. Her hair was thin but curled elegantly around her ears and a deep purple dress hugged at her frail physique.

"Oh Sherlock!" The woman cooed as she brought the man before him into a sweeping hug. John could hardly keep the smile at bay as it bloomed across his features at the sweet sight playing out before him.

"Mrs Hudson, this is John Watson. John, this is our future landlady, Mrs Hudson. She's giving me a special deal, her husband managed to get himself sentenced to death a few years back." He explained.