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The night was colder than I anticipated. Well, colder for John really, the frigid air doesn't particularly bother me. I considered us hailing a cab but being stuck in a confined space with John did not seem safe.
Besides, we are almost to our destination; a small restaurant tucked away between rows of shops and tourist attractions.
The owner, Angelo, shows us to a table by the front window. I slide soundlessly into my seat, watching warily as John does the same. I am nervous.
Very nervous, and I catch Angelo's gaze. His eyes are dark, wanting. No doubt John has captured his attention. I can feel a possessive rage crawl like acid through my veins. His eyes dart to meet mine. Our gazes lock in a silent conformation: John Watson is mine. Don't touch him.
Angelo gives John a fleeting glance and quickly disappears. Angelo can control himself better than I can. I focus on the mortals stumbling around in the cold; a couple bundled up under the same coat, and older man and his son drinking beers in the pub across the street. It is calm…too calm, too quiet, too boring.
I find it utterly hateful. John orders and Angelo doesn't turn toward me to ask. He just leaves. John looks confused, is about to call him back, but I hold up my hand.
"It's alright, John. I don't eat while I'm on a case." John's eyebrows shoot up, and then crunch together in heavy disbelief.
"You're not on a case." He says and I let a grin come forth.
"I'm about to be." He sighs, shakes his head and holds my gaze. I fight not to look away. If he continues to stare at me with those hazy blue eyes…my nails dig painfully into my palm. They draw red welts upon my porcelain skin. Control, and breathe. Simple enough…only it's not, because John is still staring and I am still aching and I am the one to break eye contact first. Me. I feel slightly ashamed.
"You look better today." John comments and I try to even out my sputtering heart. I can't exactly speak yet.
"Hm?" Is all I manage.
"The colors back in your cheeks. The circles are gone from under your eyes. You look…" But he trails off with a slight uncomfortable clearing of his throat and for a moment I think my ears betray me. John's heartbeat has increased. I tear my eyes away from the cold outside world and study John's face, the tips of his ears are slightly pink, and his cheeks are flushed. When he's embarrassed it's…insanely adorable.
I nearly choke at my use of sentimental words. What the fuck is happening to me? An uncomfortable silence lingers. Angelo is taking his time with the food…but then I notice John's façade and remember why we are here having dinner in the first place. Because John has had a hard day at surgery. I am immediately overtaken by guilt.
"John," I speak his name carefully and find I like how it sounds on my tongue. Even his name tastes sweet. He looks up at me expectantly and the blush is gone from his face.
I desperately want it back. "What happened at the hospital today?" He stares at me for a while and I find it hard to read him. Then his eyes dip and he plays with edge of his white napkin. I assume the flimsy piece of cloth is more interesting than my piercing gaze.
"I…there was a kid, a boy-around eleven years old. His mother stabbed him with the kitchen knife when he refused to clean his room. The wound was deep, pierced straight through his left lung and cracked one of his ribs. We lost him in ten minutes. He died from blood loss." I remain silent as John takes a deep breath before turning up his head and meeting my gaze.
"The kids are always the hardest to loose." I want to hug John.
I want to reach over the table, pull him across and hug him to my chest, shield him from the horrors of this world. I want to warm him like a fire. Like the fire he lit for me. But I know I can never offer him this. I am not supposed to be feeling this need for human affection. I am not good with the comforting act. But for John's sake I wish I was.
"John…"I say his name because it's the only thing I can say. The only thing I know how to say. He smiles softly, and to my immediate surprise nods.
"I'm alright, Sherlock. Just a bit put off." I want to say I'm sorry. I want to say that that boy's mother will be in jail by tomorrow. I want to tell him that he shouldn't be in my presence, that I don't deserve his company. But most of all I want to tell him that he scares me.
John Watson scares me.
I am terrified of the human emotions he is able to drag out of me. I have never felt so frightened.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" This question takes me a moment to process. It is so randomly placed that I have to blink a couple of times to clear my thoughts. John is staring at my expectantly. Oh.
Is this what friend's talk about? I assume we are that label now, I can't keep saying flat mate can I? I have never been placed in a situation like this before. I clear my throat, feeling John's gaze hot on me. I look out the window. I study the crowd. All the woman I see look dull. They look absorbed. They look too friendly, too kind, too…boring.
"No, not really my area." I decide to answer truthfully. But I see John's look of slight surprise and I immediately regret what I had said. After our previous soft-spoken conversation my answer just changed the field entirely. But John looks comfortable and his aura is contagious.
"Alright. Boyfriend then?"
"Is this what normal people talk about?" I can't help the question. This conversation seems curiously pointless. John laughs.
"I suppose so. Just trying to know more about you." I am confused.
"Why?"
"Because you're different." I don't know why this answer causes my chest to bloom in warmth but it does and I lick my lips, drying to wet them again. My mouth has gone dry.
"Is different good?"
"It's great." I am happy. Damn it all I am happy, and I smile, I allow myself to truly smile. Not too wide, I can't risk the fangs showing but it's so dark in here John probably can't see them either way. And John's grinning back, and I can't help but feeling like a fool. A friend. Is that what he is to me? Do people usually feel this happy towards a friend?
John's food arrives and he eats and I can't help but wish that human food held an appealing quality to it. I find myself missing normality.
But I wipe the thought away quickly. I can't afford to think like that. I sense him first. A shiver down my spine. A ringing in my ears. I look over John's shoulder. Ah, and there he is. His gaze is sharp, black and hungry. He looks like a newborn, ripe, his nostrils flared. Suddenly I know we are not safe.
That John is not safe. And I find myself hating Mycroft even more for putting his life in harm's way by introducing him to me. By thrusting him into my life. I am in too deep.
The vampire continues to hold my gaze, his dark hair shattered in wet streaks across his forehead. His lips are a little too red. Red…blood. Of course. His mouth is soaked in blood.
Oh, fuck…
He has killed. I wouldn't be surprised if Mycroft called me soon. It looks as though he has just turned. And he is starving. The symptoms are too clear. I need to get John back to the flat. I thank Lestrade on his timing. My phone vibrates and I answer without any formalities.
"Where's the body?" He answers with a sigh in his voice.
"Corner of Winchester and 21st." I hang up and glance at John. He's looking at me expectantly. I cannot leave him alone. I look back out the window. The vampire is gone.
"Army doctor…" I muse and he just raises a brow. "Any good?"