Sherlock's Kiss [Fuhua Vampire Colleague]

She was trembling there, and Sherlock glanced at her, walked around her, and frowned with disgust in his eyes.

Darkness filled between his pupils, his gray eyes stained red with blood and the golden light of the candles, dark clouds hung over his shoulders, and his breath was terribly gloomy.

Sherlock knelt down and hugged John Watson, "You're a fool," Sherlock said softly, "I won't die if I get shot, but you will, you can't do this again next time, you can't do this kind of thing again The second time, do you know?"

John Watson was so weak that he couldn't hear what he said, Sherlock hugged him in frustration, John Watson moved in his arms, and couldn't help whimpering slightly because of the severe pain, Sherlock's clothes moved in an extremely elegant and smooth way. The gesture floated behind him, the street was half-lit and half-dark, the lights of the night watch spilled a faint light in several windows, but the end of the street was as dark as ink, Sherlock felt very lonely, he hugged the ordinary little doctor in his arms , the light of the stars and the moon shone on his coat, emitting a faint silver light.

In contrast, Harley Watson, who was trailing behind him, seemed extremely gloomy, she was dark in color.

John Watson's heartbeat was extremely weak in his ears, and Sherlock could hear his heartbeat under any circumstances, but at this moment, the beating was extremely low, and the sound was thin and weak, completely incompatible with John Watson's heartbeat. Usually full of wildness, strength and vigor compared to the throbbing, there seems to be a kind of cold sadness that Sherlock has never heard before in this beating, like a melancholy sigh, telling pain and despair.

"Stay awake, John," he said, "hold on a little longer." The ordinary human was gradually chilling in his arms, feeling as if he had fallen into a river and had just been salvaged, dripping with cold sweat.

Sherlock looked down at Harley Watson who was following behind his windbreaker while shedding tears and shivering, trotting to catch up with him.

In her hand, she firmly held on to her brother's cane, which he couldn't leave his body for an inch.

When he met John Watson, a small and humble doctor in the clinic, he realized that he was born to meet John Watson. Without the company of John Watson, his eternal life would be very lonely. Dreams are just a lonely journey to death.

No matter how great he is, Sherlock Holmes has never been truly appreciated by human beings since he existed in the world for 170 years. All the human beings who praise him and follow him have a strong purpose in order to get his favor and win him. A ritual to grant him eternal life.

But John Watson doesn't ask for anything from him, he really cares about him and protects him. He is the best human being that Sherlock has ever seen.

The story is different because of his appearance, and this journey to death becomes romantic.

Sherlock hugged him tightly, John Watson's weight was within the range he could bear, but within half an hour, Sherlock's arms and chest from the gunshot wound became more and more painful, his blood and John Watson's blood was mixed together and kept dripping on the ground.

A small residential house in the countryside appeared in Sherlock's field of vision. Sherlock walked across the field. The weeds on the land grew up to his knees. The crops in the field had been harvested, and the land looked extraordinarily vast and empty. Suddenly, Sherlock stared across a plateau at the wispy wisp of smoke rising from the chimney, a sign that the master was fast asleep over the fire in the fireplace.

Sherlock walked there, hoping that it would be a house with complete facilities and medicines instead of a barren farm, and his hope was not lost.

After walking through the field for a few minutes, he and Harriet broke into this huge plantation mansion.

Sherlock doesn't need an invitation, and rumors that vampires need permission to enter human homes are pure rumours.

He knocked on the door, and the disturbed manor owner came down to meet him with a gun, and regarded him as a robber who broke through the empty door in the middle of the night. After the door opened, Sherlock stared at him with blood on his face, and the manor owner immediately Hanging down the weapon in his hand, including his woman and all the servants in the house obediently started to prepare the room for him.

Sherlock rushed up the wide stairs, carried John Watson into a warm and comfortable bedroom, and laid him flat on a large soft bed with tulle curtains.

Seeing that the windows of the room were all wide open, Sherlock walked over with a frown, closed the windows with his blood-stained hands, and closed the shutters. A blanket or something," he ordered, "hang it in the window, and keep all the light out of my way!"

Sherlock assumed the posture of a king, roaring and giving orders, without allowing any objection from others, "Also, lower the curtain by the bed in half! Do you hear me? It's almost dawn, and I don't want the sun to come in."

According to Sherlock's request, the room was sealed. A few candles danced on the wicks. Then, a sleep-deprived and haggard hostess led several servants upstairs. The expression put some herbs, ointments and hot water basins and towels on the round table in the small room.

Seeing that everything was well arranged, Sherlock stood at the door, intending to shut all these people out.

Hariye stood at the door with tears in her eyes, her lips were bloodless with fright, trembling desperately, her face was pale, like a very miserable child.

Sherlock stared at her for a long time, then sighed, "You, come in."

Harriet immediately got into the bedroom lit with dim lights. Her hands were tightly clenched into fists, and she was vigilantly grabbing the walnut cane. The little vest on her body was torn apart in the fight, and the door closed behind her. After climbing up, Gada locked it behind her back, and the sound made her shiver again in fright.

Sherlock took off his coat and his suit jacket, and with a slight wail in pain, he put one arm on the edge of the table to support his body.

The town was probably boiled over. The police surrounded the bloody hotel like bees. There were two torn corpses inside. A man and a woman were lying in a pool of blood. No one could save them. The hospital in the town It was impossible to go, that's why Sherlock took the pains to carry John Watson to the suburbs with his wounds, and he had to bring a slow-moving and ignorant mop bottle.

Sherlock didn't think about his own injuries any more. He wiped his face with a silk cloth, washed his hands, and quickly sat on the edge of the bed with the curtains drawn, stretching out his fingers to remove the wound for John Watson. clothing.

The coat left him, and Sherlock undid the buttons of his shirt one by one, and opened the soaked clothes. John Watson's abdomen was badly injured, the blood hole became blurred and horrible, and the pale skin was covered with blood. Dyed through, John Watson groaned feebly as Sherlock took off his shoes.

"My brother... is he... going to die..." Hariye sobbed in fear, tears and snot reflected light on her face, her big eyes were watching her brother's wound, the two bullets The hole was rotten, and the hot bullet had burned the skin around it. John Watson looked dizzy and extremely weak.

Sherlock glared at her very coldly. To be honest, after he eliminated the two hunters in the rotunda, his whole body was ruled by blood. There was indeed a second or two in his mind full of killings against Harley. Ye Huasheng aroused a strong killing intent, if it wasn't for John Watson weakly interceding for his sister on the floor, Sherlock's claws would have been covered with warm and thick blood from her throat.

Sherlock didn't answer her question, his white shirt was covered with plasma, his bullet hole was still bleeding, and it would take him a while for the flesh pierced by the bullet to solidify back, and the metal bullet would be in the His flesh devoured inside, heading toward his stomach, and he wouldn't vomit the indigestible bullet out of his esophagus until his internal bleeding had fully healed.

Sherlock lifted John Watson's wrist to test his pulse.

Hariye took another step towards the bed, and asked him again with great concern, "What's wrong with my brother, sir?"

"You will call me sir now." Sherlock looked at her coldly, and he replied, "He is in a terrible condition, the bullet is stuck in him so deep, I have to cut his abdomen to be whole take it out."

Harriet's face tensed at this moment, the crutch fell to the ground with a thud, and her hands were wiping on the vest. There was something wrong with this child.

She said, "Do you want to use a knife? Will my brother die because of it?"

Sherlock had a gloomy face in the candlelight, "I will not allow him to die before my eyes!" He squeezed John Watson's finger, put it on his lips and kissed it, then lowered his head, and asked the poor doctor softly, " How do you feel, my John?"

"It's a bit uncomfortable..." John Watson was losing consciousness, and his voice became slurred.

Sherlock said: "I want to operate on you. I didn't find anesthesia in such a big house, but there is a kind of herb that can relieve your pain after the operation, but that herb only reduces your pain, and the pain cannot be completely relieved." Back off, you have to bear with it, after I take out the bullet, I will help Baza stop the bleeding as quickly as possible."

"I'm going to faint," John Watson said, "I'm not sure I can stay awake, I didn't expect to be like this... I'm getting weaker and weaker..." He barely glanced at Sherlock, Immediately, he turned his head sideways as if he had been hit hard, moaning/groaning in pain, the blood gushed out of his abdomen again, the amount surprised Harriet, she ran to jump on John Watson Crying loudly, Sherlock stopped her with his eyes.

"Save your energy, dry your tears, go and twist the towel, and see your brother, who made him like this."

"I wasn't aiming at him! Why did he block the bullet for you! Why! You are a vampire. My brother knows if you are still healed after being shot! Even so, why does my brother still block the bullet for you? ?” Harriet bit her lower lip tightly to hold back her sobs.

Sherlock snorted. He took out a pocketknife, wiped it clean with the alcohol and bandages sent by the hostess, and then put the sharp edge of the knife on the flames. After that, go ask him yourself, don't be dazed! Give me a towel! Wipe the sweat off his face and neck, and make him feel better!"

Sherlock wet the bandages with copious amounts of alcohol, wiped his bloody belly, and moved his penknife towards him, stopping abruptly, looking uneasily at John Watson, who placed his other hand on John Watson. On Watson's forehead, stroking his sweaty bangs, "Don't worry about my John, I will try my best to reduce your pain, I know pain is not easy, I have suffered countless pains, I swear I will never let You are in pain," he said, "bit the gauze in your mouth, my John, lest you bite off your tongue in the midst of your pain."

John Watson curled up on the bed, nodded, and Sherlock reached out and gently stuffed a gauze into his mouth.

Hariye sat on the head of the bed, propped his brother's head up on her lap, and held a wet towel in his small hand to wipe off the sweat caused by the severe pain.

"You promise to save my brother?" she said, looking at Sherlock. "You're going to cut him up, aren't you?"

Sherlock, who had been looking down at John Watson, raised his eyes to look at Harriet when he heard this.

"My concern for him will not be lost to yours," he said, "Harry Ye Watson, in this world, I am the one who most wants John to live. If he dies, I will let you be buried with him."

After Sherlock finished speaking, he lowered his head again. His eyesight was still very good in the weak candlelight. He lowered the knife and poked it on John Watson's bullet hole.

John Watson immediately grasped the bed sheet, screaming dully from his throat, biting the gauze as if he was in great pain.

Sherlock actually trembled. He tried his best to restrain the violent emotions in his heart. If he could, he would immediately throw away the knife that was cutting his flesh, and John, who hugged him tightly, used all his tenderness to comfort him and let him Forget all worries and pains, but Sherlock couldn't do this. He listened to John Watson's sobbing, his eyes firmly attached to his wound, under the black curly hair, the corners of his mouth were tightly straightened into a serious line.

He completely submerged the knife edge into John Watson's flesh. John Watson suddenly tensed up straight, with veins popping up on his forehead and neck. Sherlock was stunned. He stopped blankly.

"My brother is going to die of pain!" Harriet cried, she hugged John Watson's painful head tightly and was at a loss.

He had a flash of the urge to inflict a ritual on John Watson. All he needed to do was to give him the conversion of bloodlines that would instantly end his suffering and restore his physical body to health, and he drove away the terrible thought.

"Calm down," Sherlock reassured him and himself, "Calm down, my John, pushing will only make you weaker, relax, I'll be quick," he whispered softly instead, " I am always here, you have to believe that you will not die with me. You know that I am a king, you have to believe in me," he said, "you changed my destiny, in the past, when you appeared in my life Before in my life, I never dared to dream that one day, I would meet a special human being and have a close relationship with him in a special way. You and I do not get along in the way between blood and servants, You and I don't have any fetters of blood desire, it's purely a feeling." The knife opened a layer of flesh, and John Watson tried his best to endure the severe and real pain, and his whole body was trembling in the bed.

Sherlock uttered each word painfully, trying to divert John Watson's attention from the pain with words, "This is not the journey I want to give you, I took you out of your sweet little home, I What I want to give you is joy and adventure, but not this." Self-blame made the corners of his mouth twist, "You trust me so much, I will never kill you."

The angle of the knife cut was deeper and wider, Sherlock stopped the cutting action, and explored the fat of his flesh with the tip of the knife. It was a metal bullet the size of a little finger, with a smooth tip, just to prevent it when it ran out of the gun chamber. It can minimize air friction and bring more deadly damage to the enemy. A bullet propelled by gunpowder and scorching heat. In the deepest part of the wound, Sherlock found what he was looking for. The tip of the knife picked up the bullet, John Watson's body trembled violently, his throat was full of mournful moans, and he collapsed on the bed, his hands with swollen veins and excruciating pain kept scratching in the sheets, Xia Locke's gray eyes suddenly had a burst of water vapor, like a diamond covered with a layer of white mist, and became more hazy.

John Watson's whole body seemed to be in excruciating pain. He was trembling crazily, and his friendly and lovely face became so frightening that Sherlock didn't even dare to touch it, for fear that his face would change if he moved his hand away. He had to lose his life, there was a dead silence, Sherlock's hands were trembling, he sighed deeply, and the first bullet that saw the light of day fell into the glass water glass with a clatter.

There is a second one.

"John, listen to me, don't think about the pain, you know, there is a city in this world, when I was very young, my father told me about that city, it's in this land, John, That great city is called the City of Darkness," Sherlock said softly, his voice was very calm, he kept lowering his head intently, staring at John Watson's clenched fist, and then staring deeply at the oozing water from his abdomen. Plasma wounds.

His words did not stop there.

"Every blood race knows the existence of that city. It is actually a huge country. Yes, it should be a country. It is a country established by the ancestors of our blood race. It is a city that belongs to the night. It is made of steel and Made of marble, in a great grotto somewhere in the land, it is a forgotten heart, waiting for the infusion of blood, waiting for the return of exiled people to revive it, the dark city has never been exposed to the sun Irradiation, it is adjacent to the underground river and the underground ocean. Long before the rise of Rome, our city was already very large. The ancestors of our blood race encountered that grotto while running naked in the bitter cold forest under the moon, and they have been there ever since Take root, but some of the blood races were expelled from the city because of some crimes. It is our group of homeless races who wandered in human territory, lost their way, and became displaced for thousands of years. Years have passed, but the city still stands there. One day, a king will be born among my people, a great blood master that has never been seen before. He will unite the scattered people and lead us back to the sunless world. On the coast, the city that belongs to the night. My John, my dream, is to take my people back to that city that belongs to us, and never be an enemy of human beings, even if we can only go back for an hour, even if we can only let It is enough for me to take a look at that dark city, let our race’s feet step on that piece of land that belongs to us, and enjoy a moment of peace.”

The second bullet sank to the bottom of the glass with bright red bloodshot eyes.

Hari Yeh still looked nervously at her brother who seemed to be unconscious.

Sherlock put down the knife, he bent down, raised a hand to caress John Watson's cheek with closed eyes, he took out the bandage from his mouth, John Watson slowly closed his lips, and Sherlock was Harriet lowered his lips in front of her, held John Watson's chin with her fingers, and kissed his wet lips lightly. He lovingly sucked his lovely lips and smoothed the quivering marks on them. , John Watson frowned, narrowed his eyes, opened them weakly, and looked at him.

Sherlock stroked his face, "My John, the night is full of blood and terror, while the day is so cruel and ruthless, blood and madness are entangled between me and you, what you desire is a thrilling life, and I just happened to be able to give you this, and next time I will be more cautious and not let you suffer this kind of disaster, my dream has become your dream, hasn't it? This dream is now shared by both of us."

Sherlock pressed his snow-white fingers to his mouth, stroked him, and calmed him down. He closed his eyes again, and his rapid breathing eased. Sherlock raised his pulse and listened for a while with his fingertips. His heartbeat, John Watson's blood pressure were back to normal.

He began to bandage his veins with a mixture of bandages and herbs that barely sedated the pain.

Harriet stood in front of him stupidly and stared at him.

Sherlock put down the bandage and frowned at her. "Is there something on my face?" he asked.

"You just... kissed my brother... right in front of my eyes..." Harriet's eyes were so wide that she could compare it to the moon in the sky.

Sherlock poured a glass of water from the table and looked at her, "Do you want to see more?" He raised his head and drank a sip of water, bent down again, and fed the clear water from his mouth to John Watson's weak lips. Suddenly, a transparent liquid flowed out from the corner of his mouth. Sherlock used this method to pour a few sips of water into his mouth. It seemed that this little water worked. John Watson took a deep breath and came back to life. like.

"Don't worry." Sherlock said, "Water will affect your blood clotting function, you are a doctor, you understand, this will quench your thirst, I will give you a few more glasses of water later."

John Watson nodded, looking much better now.

Sherlock put the water glass back on the table, covered John Watson with a thin quilt, then found a chair and sat in, staring at Harley Watson's immature face motionless.

She climbed off the bed and tiptoed to the bedside table, standing there like a child waiting to be trained, not knowing where to put her hands.

A rooster crowing was heard outside, but the whole house was silent.Sherlock was relieved that John Watson was alive, and as good as ever.

Sherlock's face was full of exhaustion, his white shirt was bright red, dirty in a mess, stained and wrinkled, and there was one more thing he was happy about, his wounds were beginning to heal.

Sherlock's body was still riddled with bullet holes and his cheekbones were full of fatigue, but he had recovered enough that two hours ago, he looked almost dead.

"Now, I have time to deal with you, Harley Watson." Sherlock put his arm on the armrest, put two fingers on his beautiful temples, and stared coldly at him with his arrogant and irresistible misty eyes. Hold on to Harley Ye Watson.

A drop of fearful sweat dripped from the little girl's temple.

The author has something to say:

Ooooooooooooo what to do, I fell in love with Xiaoxia in this article first

I think his kind of blood is getting more and more interesting.

If little Harley was stared at by him like this, I would fight for the blue man with my brother【Well, I don’t think I should let the story develop so bloody【Right】

Update tomorrow~~~