#hunter!john

Snippet

Santino was hungry, and hunger meant he needed to hunt. Surrounded by the large forest surrounding his estate, he could hunt game freely... If not for the fact he was one of the vampires that couldn't stand animal blood. Not that it didn't taste fine, but it made him violently sick and yet, he found himself trying once again, because the alternative was going to the city to find a willing or unsuspecting soul to drink from. But with the escalating conflict between vampires and monster hunters, the risk was bigger, maybe just too big right now. Especially since Santino was having an affair with a hunter, and not just any of them but the very best. Their golden child, their most perfect soldier, John Wick.

On the grounds near his mansion, he quickly found deer tracks, and it didn't take him long to find the majestic animal. He hated killing them, they were beautiful, fragile, sensitive, the royal animals of the woods. Yet he was out here, killing one of them for his own sake, even if that would only bring him a very fleeting satiation. But hunger and desperation were stronger this time.

He sank his teeth into its neck, feeling the warm blood spilling over his tongue. It was always comforting, no matter whose blood it was, even if he always disliked the feeling of fur against his lips.

The energy he got from the blood was enough to keep him up for an hour before he started feeling the side effects. The awful headache, like a migraine stabbing through his head. But what was worse was the nausea and stomach pain. It was awful, he ended up being violently sick, every strain shot a wave of pain through his whole body, making him whimper each time. He was a mess, knelt in front of the toilet, panting when he got a chance to try and catch his breath.

Santino cursed under his breath, regretting his decision. He tried to breathe through the nausea to stop feeling light headed. It felt worse when he closed his eyes, even for a moment, it was like the whole room was spinning, making him more vigilant. He was not sure how long he spent there, considering how awful he felt, it felt like an hour. Panic rushed through his body, making him shake slightly even as he tried to hold back his noises.

After some time, he felt well enough to stand up and wash his face in hopes that it would help him calm down. Maybe he drank too much blood this time. He took a few steps back, wanting to get to his bed but got too dizzy. He stopped and sank down, leaned against the wall, all he could do now was sit and wait for the side effects to go away.

He was thinking about John, how it has been weeks since he had seen him. The situation between hunters and vampires got worse and they had trouble meeting, even if it was in secret.

Santino leaned his head against the counter and feared he would pass out, he felt even more drained than before taking the blood. He shut his eyes closed and tried to rest like that. The pain was unbearable.

There was a faint noise in the background, he wasn't sure what it was since he was falling into unconsciousness. He was worried it was a hunter, but he could barely open his eyes, his vision blurry. He still detected a familiar figure walking towards him.

“Are you okay? What happened?” It was John, the only hunter Santino loved and cared for. “Your door wasn't locked and I saw you through the window.” He was already checking for any injuries on Santino's body, taking a hold of his hand for support.

Stranger: That's quite unfortunate. In any case, I need the flat. Find somewhere else to stay. -SH

You: Right, no. I'm on my way home now and I'm going to bed. -JW

Stranger: No, you can't come home. Take my card and stay at a nice hotel. -SH

You: [Delayed] What did you do? -JW

Stranger: I didn't do anything, I just need you to not be here tonight. -SH

You: Why? -JW

Stranger: Because I do. -SH

You: Give me a reason or I won't. -JW

Stranger: I just need the night alone. This is all I ask, when have I ever asked anything of you? -SH

Stranger: In retrospect, not a good argument. -SH

Stranger: Damn. I'm going through some... issues tonight. How about that? -SH

You: Sherlock, you ask everything of me. -JW

Stranger: Yes yes, which is why I've rescinded that line of reasoning. -SH

You: And if you're going through issues, I am most certainly coming home. -JW

Stranger: Why? -SH

You: Because it's you, Sherlock. -JW

Stranger: I don't need your assistance. -SH

You: Yeah, well, I'm still bloody coming and you can't stop me. -JW

Stranger: It's embarrassing. -SH

You: What is? -JW

Stranger: Tonight will be, for one. -SH

You: Why? -JW

Stranger: Because I won't be acting myself and you will likely be horrified but it's not my fault. I tried to warn you off. -SH

You: [Delayed] Jesus Christ, you relapsed. -JW

Stranger: NO. -SH

Stranger: No, that's not it. -SH

You: Really? Then what else is it? -JW

Stranger: You're not going to believe me. -SH

Stranger: And now when I tell you, you'll just think I'm high. -SH

Stranger: I'm not, by the way. -SH

You: Tell me. -JW

Stranger: My family suffers from a genetic condition called lycanthropy. Or, as the general public knows it: werewolves. It's the full moon tonight. -SH

You: [Delayed] Not funny. -JW

Stranger: It isn't a joke and if you're coming home it doesn't matter if you believe now or not. -SH

Stranger: But do try to get here before sundown. -SH

You: You can't be serious. -JW

Stranger: I am. -SH

You: Fucking hell. My flatmate was a werewolf and I had no bloody idea. -JW

Stranger: Of course you had no idea, that was the point. Mycroft has a safe house that I usually shift at, but it is, for some unknowable reason, housing foreign diplomats at the moment and I've nowhere else to go. -SH

You: I'm sorry, Sherlock. -JW

Stranger: What? Why are you sorry? -SH

Stranger: I lied and kept secrets, isn't it me that should be sorry if anyone? -SH

You: [No Response]

Stranger: John? Are you coming home or not? -SH

Stranger: [Delayed] I'm sorry? -SH

You: [No Response]

You: It wasn't as if he really wanted to do it, but old habits took a very long time to die. The urge to jump into the hunt was too strong to ignore. And how could he? Years of tracking them down, and there had been one beneath his roof. He should have known, but it appeared as though he'd grown slow. No matter. This would surely test him now. Coming from the front, as Sherlock would expect, the doctor dragged his fingers through his hair as he reached into his waist band to remove his gun. He gave no indication that anything had changed with his walk-clearly practiced-and raised his gun. He didn't hesitate firing it in Sherlock's general vicinity, partially hidden by the wall divider. The game was most certainly on.

Stranger: John didn't respond before the change took him over. It wasn't the ideal situation, but hopefully the wolf would recognize his connection with the other and not be too aggravated when the other man entered the flat. He took a moment to thoroughly stretch and scratch at his ears after he'd shifted, before perking up at the sound of John's steps. The rational, reasonable part of his mind was heavily clouded by the wolf's mind and instincts. All hopes of avoiding aggravation were, literally, shot to hell a moment later. He kept close to the floor, growling. It smelled like John. It sounded like John's gate. John did have a gun. But how could this be John? Sherlock wrestled with confusion while the wolf took a more active approach, uncaring whether this was a friend. He'd been shot at. He was angry and scared-- his other only ever shifted in safe places, why was this happening? He crept forward, peering around the wall divider to see what he was facing.

You: There was no hesitation as he shot at the ground to keep the wolf from seeing him. His grip on the firearm tightened as he stepped closer, a gait certainly unlike the John the detective knew. He was going to blow his cover, already had if Sherlock was as clever as he'd thought. "I'm surprised you never figured it out, Sherlock. You're so much smarter than I am." He taunted, tongue dragging over his lips as he took in any and all possible weapons of the room. Broken leg chair, or table, scalpel left over from a recent experiment. There was so much to use-even /chemicals/. "I'm rather ashamed that I didn't know you were a werewolf. You were so very good at hiding it... I'm sorry that I'll have to ruin all of that for you."

Stranger: Sherlock scampered back at the shot, confused and upset by the taunting voice. He yelped as his foot slipped and he hit the floor. He needed to run. He /had/ to run. Or fight, but a close quarters fight while the man held a gun didn't have great odds. He'd be shot before he got close. Sherlock felt ill. He'd be shot. John would do that to him. How was this possible? He kept low to the floor and shuffled in the opposite direction from the man. The hunter.

You: John stepped out with precision as he stepped in the line of sight of the wolf. "Is that really all you're good for? Whining? Do you ever fight back, Sherlock Holmes? I know you're not as weak as you make yourself." He sighed, giving a sharp tsk as he stepped closer. "I'm very disappointed in you. Is that all you'll do then? I guess you'll be the easiest kill I've had in a very long while." John frowned, ready to take aim once again. He was able to track each movement with ease.

Stranger: Why was John doing this? How had he become this person, like a switch had been flipped and now this man, his /friend/ stood before him ready to kill. He couldn't fight. John had saved his life in so many ways, he couldn't attack him. He lay down on his belly, whimpering and watching. He had to get the gun away, but John needed to be closer. Closing his eyes, knowing he was courting death, he tipped his head to the side, exposing his neck in a display of submission.

You: Rolling his eyes at the trick, John stopped where he was. "You think I'll fall for that? You're not the first wolf I've killed, Sherlock... You likely won't be the last either." He concluded, deigning it best not to get any closer. "If I'm going to kill you, your submission isn't going to stop me; it only makes things easier. I'm a /hunter/ and you just made the game easier. Promise I won't let it hurt, and you consider it a favor from a friend." It was a curious change, wasn't it? Being a caring person only to switch immediately with the trigger of the word 'lycanthropy.'

Stranger: So much for that plan. He edged backward a bit. The stairs were behind him, he could easily turn and bolt. But what then? Roam the streets until he changed back? And then what, just waltz back in to 221B like nothing had happened? He needed a plan, he needed a better idea, but it was so hard to think with the wolf's instincts to attack so strong. He got up on his feet again and growled, moving back some more as he decided what to do.

You: With a click of tongue to teeth, John took one step forward and shook his head with pity. "Pathetic. That's really all you've got? All bark and no bite, aren't you, Sherlock?" He questioned rhetorically, pursing his lips after a thought. "How about you go back to that pretty pitiful position again, hmn? Crouch down for me and bare your neck. I'll make your death quick. It's not as if you're really interested in keeping it, are you?" John taunted further.

Stranger: Feeling he had no other choice, Sherlock made the best move that he could. Slowly he crept forward as though he was going to return to his previous position. At the last second he jumped up, lunging against John in an effort to off balance him. His teeth snapped at the gun, knowing it was the most dangerous thing in the room.

You: It was a second too late to react, but he recovered well. Allowing himself to fall back, he prepared to fire when the snap of teeth and movement sent the weapon flying. Immediately John braced his forearm against Sherlock's throat and used his strength to shove the creature away, or at least roll them so he could pin the beast down.

Stranger: The gun was gone, or at least out of immediate reach. Sherlock clawed at John's chest, fighting against the arm that held him back. If he could pin him, incapacitate him somehow, his Rational brain could figure this out. He growled as he struggled for the upper hand.

You: John's arm began to dip lightly with a grunt, obviously unused to such strenuous activities. His body had grown weaker since his last hunt and his time in hospital beds after the war. He hissed his frustrations and immediately shoved Sherlock up and back from his person to collect himself time for a weapon or an attack.

Stranger: Sherlock knew he could not afford to give John a moment to regroup. As soon as he could he pounced again, trying to corral the man into the corner where he couldn't reach anything. Weaponless, John was not really a threat. Sherlock could probably overwhelm him, but then what? Then he'd rip the throat out of his best and only friend?

You: Catching the movement easily, John moved to the side and right into the corner. Which was fine given he could have a weapon at his disposal. Grasping the nearest object, which seemed to be a book, the hunter snorted his disbelief but readied himself. "Come on, puppy. Let's see what else you've got."

Stranger: Sherlock snarled and snapped his teeth. Without giving the movement a thought he threw himself forward, aiming to clamp his teeth around John's arm or shoulder. The wolf wasn't used to exertion like this, but nature was on his side with sharp teeth and claws.

You: As if John would allow it, he used the book for Sherlock's teeth and rushed forward into a roll in the direction of the gun. He came up short, but that was fine as he moved to his feet. He would dare allow the wolf to bite him, because as soon as he did, John would be one of them.

Stranger: Sherlock yelped loudly as John whacked his snout with the book. He was dazed for a moment, but followed John's movement. The gun. He didn't bother to hide what he was doing, but scampered toward the weapon, trying to push it under the sofa.

You: John hissed as the weapon disappeared beneath the couch, taking steps backwards instead. In one quick movement, he was going for the door, deciding it best to return much later. He'd kill Sherlock one way or another.

Stranger: Sherlock lunged after him, but when the man disappeared down the stairs he could hear his steps pounding on the pavement. Fuck. /Fuck./ The immediate danger had passed, but it was impossible to know what John might come back with, if he came back at all. There was no way for him to barricade himself in, no means of defending himself past his teeth and claws. He hesitated for a moment at the top of the stairs and then padded quietly down, looking outside. John was long gone. He sniffed at the air. Pack. He needed protection. As much as his human mind hated to admit it, he needed Mycroft. Looking around carefully once more for John, Sherlock set off at a run. 

You: It was a dreadful night and he was more than exhausted. Considering he was getting far too old for these shifts, Mycroft settled against his study chair with a low wolfish growl. Gregory was somewhere puttering around the house and ensuring he had everything he needed, which was all so very relieving given that it meant he could do less work. He already ran himself ragged before every change. Resting for a moment, the amber haired official pushed himself to the feet and began his descent down the stairs to the kitchen. It was then that he heard the scratching at the door. Sitting a few feet from the entrance, Mycroft listened and scented the air to determine just who it might be. It was only a second before realization set in and Greg was moving to answer it.

Stranger: Sherlock ran as fast as he could. It was hard to navigate this way, to see the signs and know where he was, but he didn't dare stop. He had no idea where John was. Eventually he managed to reach Mycroft's townhouse and scratched at the door. He whined, head butting the wood and hoping that Mycroft would be able to answer.  It wasn't that Greg particularly liked full moons, but more the fact that he liked being useful to his lover. Mycroft was so bloody self sufficient sometimes, it was a relief to be able to coddle the man (wolf) a little bit. He'd just finished filling a bowl of water and making a cup of tea when he heard the scratching as well. He dried off his hands and crossed to the door, opening it. He was nearly trampled as Sherlock darted inside.

You: The panic on his younger brother's face was evidence enough. He didn't even hesitate to begin his walk towards his study once more, expecting Gregory and Sherlock to follow. And once they didn't, he gave a sharp growl to note that he desired their attention. Someone had gone terribly wrong with Sherlock, all of which he would hopefully be able to see on the cameras. Stopping at the study door, he waited for his lover to walk in, gaze on the screens.