Sanguine Dynasty: A Study in Blood

Chapter 7

The salt washed over John's tongue as bursts of flavour erupted in his mouth like bountiful fireworks. The Pecorino Romano cheese that had been sprinkled over the top of the dish had now been thoroughly mixed in and had melted in the heat of the pasta and sauce.

John scraped at the last remnants of the food then and just as the fork was near his mouth a pungent scent filled his nostrils and he felt his muscles tighten and still. The tension that had overcome his body hadn't been missed by Sherlock as the vampire's eyes flicked over him.

"John? What's wrong?" The deep baritone called over the humdrum of the people around them.

The smells and scents that had amalgamated into a kaleidoscopic mess had slowly drifted away until all that remained was that strange combination of musky odours. The deep mechanical base of engine oil, the strangely sweet delicately rich smoke of a recently lit cigarette and that peppered personal touch, that John could now tell was sweat.

His brows creased then as he dropped his full fork and peered out the window, his nostrils flaring and ears twitching slightly beside his head. "He's here." He growled out.

Sherlock, who'd been watching the lycan's silent moment of clarity with an expression of intrigue twisted in his seat to glare over what John could detect. "Where?" With an extended finger, John pointed towards a vague area of a street that was uninhabited by anyone except for a black cab that had pulled up beside the curb.

Within an instant, Sherlock had risen to his feet and swathed himself in his coat and scarf. "Come along John." He commanded and the lycan didn't need further prompting as he too donned his coat and shuffled out of the establishment, hot on Sherlock's heels.

The cool night air stuck against John's face as his skin was instantly chilled against the breeze. The instinctive want to bundle up further was ignored as he watched Sherlock ignorantly approaching the taxi.

As he did, another car narrowly missed him. John let out a whimpered apology to the driver as they depressed their horn, before following after the detective once more.

Alerted to the beeps, the taxi tugged away from the curb, accelerating away from them and down the street. "Oh for god's sake." John growled out as the scent dissipated, thinned out now that the owner of the odour had fled.

"Hold on." Sherlock instructed with an outstretched arm as he ducked his head, twitching slightly as he flew down imagined streets. "This way!" He called out as he took off in a sprint.

Without a second thought, John's legs began carrying him just behind and beneath his sternum and with a sweet yip of excitement, the wolf within him reared it's head, although this time unprovoked by his usual rage and instead by the glee that came with the chase.

It felt as if the cobwebs that had built around his legs and more specifically, his joints had begun to clear with each of his steps.

His lungs burned with a white hot ache as he sucked in huge mouthfuls of air. Through their flurried and rather haphazard route, the pair had somehow ended up sprinting across a rooftop.

With one serene and elegant leap, Sherlock bridged the two metre gap between two of the building tops, landing firmly on his feet and skidding to a stop. "Come on John!" He called out in encouragement as the shorter man approached the gap.

There would have once been a time where the lycan would have stopped to assess the distance he'd have to jump, but as the wolf snarled it's determined yowl, he knew there was no true way to deny that primal part of him as he followed in Sherlock's steps and leapt from one building to the other.

Beneath him, several feet down, the ground appeared tempting, like a strangely comfortable bed. But John knew that, if he reached it, from his current height, there would be no returning. So instead, in a defiance to gravity, herself, John continued to soar through the air until his shoes clattered against the target building and he stumbled to a stop.