When The Improbable Is True, Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Unmasked


John was watching the news when his flat mate burst into the living room.
“John we need to go undercover!” Sherlock said excitedly as he tossed a piece of paper to him.

John picked it up and read the invitation, “A masquerade ball? Are you serious?”

“Yes, the host has had two murders in his house.”

“Ummm,” John mumbled rubbing his neck where there were several faint scars. Sherlock was looking at him expectantly and John felt his argument die in his throat. He wanted to keep Sherlock from finding out he was a vampire, so telling him he could not go to a party because he was transformed at one was not an option.


They arrived at the hall and John shuddered. It looked like had it the night he had been bitten. “We don’t have dance partners.” He mumbled to Sherlock as he subconsciously turned up his already high collar.

“It is not so strange to see men dance together.” Sherlock replied as he scanned the dancers.

“Right.” John said smoothing a gloved thumb over his mask. All around him were masks made of plastic, but he had insisted that his be authentic. Sherlock had ordered both of theirs, and John did not even want to think about how expensive they were. He noticed Sherlock scrutinizing the wait staff and said, “Their outfits are wrong.”

“Yes, I imagine they were more conservative.”

The orchestra began to play and they walked onto the floor. John kept his eyes down and allowed Sherlock to guide him and see what he needed to see. After a while he shut his eyes, trusting Sherlock to lead him.


John had began to relax and enjoy himself. Against his will some words came back to him from that night, “some people can only preform when they are with the right counter part,” and he smiled knowing a blush was spreading across his face. A second later the music changed to a song he had not heard in centuries and some one bumped into him. He opened his eyes in surprise and they widened. Standing there was a man dressed like he had just walked out of the 1700s. His mask was authentic but showed no sighs of age. He bowed quickly and apologized in old french.

John’s pupils dilated. There were masks everywhere. He was trapped. The fanged men were here. They were going to get him, bite him. He should not have come, he had been warned. Now it was too late. They were going to bite-

Somewhere far away some one was calling his name. He looked up and saw Sherlock, “John, you are having a panic attack.”

Feeling dizzy and confused John blinked. He was in the 21st century. Sherlock was trying to hold him closer and he complied. He put his head against the taller man’s chest and inhaled his reassuringly human sent.

“Lets go.” Sherlock said quietly leading him out of the hall. The detective was walking at his usual swift pace and for a moment John panicked and though he would be left behind. He reached out and grabbed the detective’s hand, causing the other man to pause for a second before adjusting his pace.

Feeling slightly embarrassed John looked away from Sherlock. Snow was falling lightly onto the ground. The path they were taking to the taxi’s was clear of foot prints, and he glanced back at the ones he and Sherlock were making.

John felt Sherlock squeeze his hand and looked up to see they had reached a taxi. John reluctantly let go of his hand and climbed in. Sherlock slid in after him and rather than leaving a space between them sat right next to him. John took comfort in feeling the detective next to him.



John collapsed into his chair and Sherlock took out a bottle of wine. “I stole it from my brother so it is probably good.” He said as he filled two glasses and handed one to John.

“I am sorry about what happened in there.” John mumbled staring into his glass.  “I hope you were able to get what you needed.”

Sherlock took a slow sip of wine, silhouetted by the snowy window. “I did.” Before walking out and returning with his violin.

“If it wasn’t for that man...” John said morosely into his glass.

Sherlock looked up from his instrument, “What man?”

“The man who bumped into us,” John said, and Sherlock frowned.

“No one bumped into us, John.” He said in a concerned voice.

“Never mind, I must have imagined it.” John sighed.

Sherlock looked at him for a second longer before he started playing softly. The music helped John focus, and he relaxed, his eyes drifting shut. They snapped open a moment later and found Sherlock sitting on the arm of his chair. As he played he slowly moved closer to John, his back leaning lower and lower. Eventually Sherlock's back was resting on John’s shoulder.

He stopped playing and said, “No one was murdered. There was nothing to investigate. I just did not know how else to ask you to the dance. And then I hurt you. I am sorry John.”

Sherlock’s body stiffened and John knew he was going to hop off the chair and walk off. He did not want him to go. John snaked an arm around Sherlock’s slim waist and shifted him onto his lap. He wrapped both arms around the detective and inhaled deeply, “I am okay.”

Sherlock twisted around to face John, “But I did not need to-” he stopped short when John kissed the tip of his nose. Sherlock had such a look of shock on his face John laughed.

Sherlock’s face cleared and he leaned over to kiss John and dropped his violin. The both instinctive dove after it, falling out of the chair. The violin sat safely in the detective’s out stretched hand, but the detective and vampire had not faired as well. Groaning they untangled themselves and sat on the floor.

They stared at each other for a second before smiling. “Can we try that again? Sherlock asked getting slowly to his feet.

John nodded, then realizing Sherlock could not see him said, “Sure.” Before getting in back into his chair.

Sherlock made a show of putting his violin on the table before heading towards John. As he walked closer a smile he was trying to conceal grew steadily larger. The vampire raised his eyebrows and Sherlock covered his face in his hands. John had never seen the man so flustered.

“Oh, screw this.” Sherlock muttered before sprinting to John and wrapping his arms around his neck. The detective some how managed curled up in John’s lap.

The detective was clearly inexperienced when it came to kissing, but it was not for lack of trying. John felt Sherlock’s lips frown against his. He must have felt the lumps of tissue that concealed his fangs.

“My wisdom teeth,” John said casually, “They are in under my gums and I am afraid to get them removed.”

Sherlock seemed to accept the explanation.



John woke with a groan. He was cramped in his chair under Sherlock and had a severe headache. He glared blearily at the glass next to him. Due to his species he could get drunk and consequently hungover from a sip of wine, and the glass was empty. He lifted Sherlock off him and carefully arranged him on the chair. He smiled briefly looking at the detective, who had a bruise on one of his sharp cheekbones. Sherlock must have gotten it from the fall.

He needed to feed, that would help with the hangover. He never left blood bags in the fridge for fear of Sherlock finding them, so he decided to make a trip to Bart’s. He planted a soft kiss on Sherlock’s bruised cheek before he left.


Once he had fed he felt considerably better. During the cab ride home he thought about the night before. He was falling for a mortal. It went against everything he had been taught and his better judgement, but he could not deny it now.

He tossed the cabbie a few crumpled bills and stepped onto the side walk. He should take Sherlock out to lunch. He was so distracted that he did not notice anything strange about the front door being open. Or the extra tracks in the snow. Or the dent in the lock. Or the strong unfamiliar scents coming from his flat.

He did notice when he heard a hash voice command, “He is the vamp, just kill him.”


John burst into the flat to find a wide eyed Sherlock corned by two armed men. They turned as he entered and one shouted, “Get back, he is a monster.”

John’s face twisted into a furious smile. They were hunters by the looks of it, but luckily for him they clearly were amateurs. “He is not a monster, he is a famous detective. Monsters are not real.”

The other man, who had an elaborate tattoo sleeve of horror movie monsters, sighed, “They are, now would you just let us do our jobs?”

John advanced toward them, “What? Just let you kill my friend? What makes you think he is a monster.”

“We got a report from a reliable source that a vampire lived in 221b Baker Street.” the inked man replied.

John stopped walking a few feet from them, “I live here.”

“Yeah but come on, look at this guy. Tall, thin, pale, dressed in all back. He even mail orders blood.” The other man burst out incredulously.

“I have not.” Sherlock interjected and they raised their weapons again.

“Now those are valid points,” John agreed, “but one very important thing is missing from your list.” He bared his fangs and the hunters stared at him dumbstruck before charging.

He dodged and they turned quickly, one directly into his fist. The man crumpled and the other hesitated before blindly waving a knife at John, who grabbed his arm and bit into it, releasing a sleep chemical.

John lowered the unconscious man to the ground and removed his fangs from his arm. There was a buzzing John could not place until he saw a small ear piece in one of the men’s ears. He picked it up and heard some one say, “Well that was very educational. Thank you Doctor Watson.” before dropping it.

He turned to see Sherlock standing in the spot he had found him. “Wisdom teeth.” The detective said in a quite voice before walking out of the flat. Feeling sick John stared after him, lunch plans forgotten.


After calling Lestrade to take the hunters away John sat in his chair. Sherlock would want him out, no one wants a vampire around. The thought they could be together was a day dream.

John did not seem to notice the hell hound as he entered the flat with a few officers. Lestrade gave the order to have the hunters cuffed even though they were still out cold and watched as they were carried out of the flat. Once the officers were out of sight the DI’s face betrayed his worry. He stood in front of the vampire, who’s eyes seemed glazed over.

He let out a small whine of concern and waved his hand in front of John’s eyes. Lestrade knew that vampires were prone to lengthy and realistic flash backs. He glanced around before closing and locking the door to the flat. He pulled the shades shut and hesitated before changing.

His is shoulder broadened, and fur grew rapidly from every inch of his skin. A second later where the Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard had been was monstrous grey dog, his head over six feet from the ground. He carefully picked his way across the room to lay at John’s feet. The hound looked up at the soulless being, content to watch over him until he returned to the present. Or until Sherlock came back.

John was lost in his memories, back in a time when he had been human.