"Welcome to our home, Mr. Holmes," a voice said from the gloom of the barn.
John looked up, squinting. As his eyes adjusted, he began to make out the shapes in the interior of the barn.
A couple of couches and chairs sat in the middle of the open building. One man lounged on the couch facing the door, his feet propped up on a bloodstained coffee table.
John eyed him. The man seemed to be of average height, somewhere in his late thirties. He stood and stepped over to the coffee table, coming to just out of arm's reach, his face set in a carefully detached expression that eerily mirrored the detective's own.
"So you were expecting us," Sherlock said. "I wondered. The barn looked much too maintained for the house, though I admire your effort to make it look abandoned."
"Can't fool you, can we?"
"Everyone who has ever tried it is dead, so no, I can't imagine it would be healthy."
The man burst out laughing, making John jump.
"Desmond," he said.
Their captor stepped around them, circling with his gun still trained on John's chest as he stepped up beside the blond.
The blond smacked Desmond's gun hand. "They're guests, Des. No need for that. You're not going to leave, are you, Mr. Holmes?"
Sherlock arched an eyebrow, then deliberately stepped past the two and seated himself on one of the armchairs, lounging back in it as casually as if he was in his own chair at the flat.
"Sherlock!" John hissed, glancing over his shoulder at the open door. What was he doing? Of all the idiotic things...
"Come, Mr. Watson." The blond gestured to the armchair beside Sherlock's. "Don't be rude."
Clenching his hands, John sat down.
"Everyone!" Desmond shouted. "Come on out and meet our guests!"
Something rustled overhead, and John looked up, hunching his shoulders. Eyes gleamed in the darkness of the rafters, then a shape dropped down, landing in a near-silent crouch.
One...
Two...
Three...
Four more followed the first, landing all around them in a circle. John swallowed hard, glanced over at Sherlock. For a brief second, something flickered in the detective's eyes.
Then it was gone.
The five newcomers stood in a circle around them. They all looked human, just like Desmond and the blond man, but their preternatural stillness, plus the agility they'd displayed in dropping down from the rafters, sent a chill up John's spine.
"Very cute," Sherlock commented as the blond took a seat on the couch.
"Yes, well, just to remind you of what you're dealing with. My name's Ray, by the way." The blond nodded to the woman standing close to him. "This is Lila, my wife."
Early thirties, brown hair, nice figure. Must spend a lot of time in the gym, John thought. Then, Really? These people live in an abandoned barn! They're not ordinary people like my neighbors and fellow shoppers!
"James." Ray gestured to one of the other men. "Why don't you find our guests a drink. What do we have in stock?"
"No, thank you," Sherlock interrupted. "I think we'd both prefer to get to business."
Ray tilted his head to the side, then nodded. "All right. To business." He glanced over at Lila, then patted the seat beside him. As she came to sit down, Ray leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees with his hands clasped in front of him. "What do you wish to know?"
"For starters-are you really so disillusioned as to think you're vampires?"
John winced. "Don't--don't antagonize them, Sherlock."
Ray's smile widened. "Why would you ask that?"
"Oh, let's see-the fact that one of the latest victims listed this as his address. The victim that was found with human blood in his stomach. The fact that I can see the brown bloodstains in your teeth and the corners of your mouths. Slumming in a barn. The obvious prosthetic fangs that your friend Desmond displayed when he cornered us outside." Sherlock's eyes narrowed. I'm just curious as to what the point would be, unless you really as just that insane."
Behind John, someone snorted.
"I'm also curious as to why you didn't move when the last victim was found," Sherlock continued. "That's just showing utter stupidity on your part."
"Sherlock," John growled.
Ray smiled. "You commented earlier that anyone who tried to fool you ended up dead. Even if I was stupid enough to make that mistake, unfortunately for you, we're already dead."
"Oh please," Sherlock muttered.
Ray's eyes flashed, and an edge crept into his voice. "We're not afraid of you, Mr. Holmes. Or your sharpshooting blogger. Did it ever occur to you that maybe we were hoping this would happen? That the great Sherlock Holmes couldn't pass up a chance to track down another serial killer, bring another murderer to justice?"
"You couldn't have known for certain that I would come," Sherlock shot back.
Ray shrugged, and his smile crept a little wider, showing the edges of his teeth. John's pulse spiked. He could see Ray's normal, flat-edged human teeth, but sliding down past those teeth were others, these as sharp as needles.
"Perhaps not, Mr. Holmes," Ray said quietly. "But we all have our sources, don't we?"
Sherlock's back stiffened.
Mycroft, John thought. Mycroft was the only one who knew we were coming here. Mycroft sent us here. But...Mycroft...?
"Mycroft wouldn't betray me," Sherlock said in a flat tone that somehow still carried an edge.
Ray's smile only grew wider, and the fangs locked into place. John twisted around to see a man step closer to his chair, also displaying fangs.
Oh-kay. Apparently Sherlock was wrong on this one.
John glanced at the door just in time to see Desmond push it shut. He swore under his breath.
###
In under five minutes, Sam felt the TARDIS touch down. He stood and walked to the console as the Doctor pulled a screen down, tapping it. A black-and-white view of outside popped up, revealing a muddy barnyard.
The Doctor twisted a knob, and the view rotated, showing in turn an empty gravel driveway and road, a broken-down house, and a decrepit barn with the door hanging halfway open. A flicker of movement in the darkened door caught his eye.
"Stop, stop." Sam put his hand on the Doctor's arm.
The Doctor stopped, giving Sam a curious glance with upraised eyebrows.
"You see something?" Amy asked over his shoulder.
Sam nodded, watching the screen intently. A man stepped up to the door and looked around the barnyard. Sam stiffened, but the man's eyes swept right past the TARDIS. A grin pulled the man's lips apart, revealing the mouthful of sharp fangs, before he stepped back and closed the door.
Sam pushed away from the console. "Dean, we got confirmed vamps!"
"Comin'!" Dean's voice echoed through the metal hallway.
Sam brushed his hair away from his eyes, studying the layout of the barn. He tapped his foot. He didn't see any barn windows along the ground floor of the barn, though there was a loft door about twenty feet up, near the peaked roof.
Dean came jogging into the console room, carrying machetes and the saw-off double-barrel shotgun in one hand and the Beretta in his other hand. Sam could see the handle of Dean's second-favorite gun, the silver Taurus, sticking from the holster on Dean's belt.
"What-what are you doing?" the Doctor asked. "Where did-"
"Doc," Dean said, handing Sam the weapons then turning to alien. "We are about to go into a nest of monsters who live to drink blood, okay? Pardon me if I just want to be prepared."
Amy crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders. "These were humans once, right? Is that part of the legend true?"
Sam nodded as he strapped one of the machetes around his waist. "But the only way to kill them is behead them. Silver doesn't work, and sunlight only gives them the equivalent of a bad sunburn."
The Doctor looked back and forth between the brothers, eyebrows peaked in worry. "They were human once, so there has to be some of that left in them. There always is! You-you can't just go in there guns blazing!"
Sam glanced over at Dean. Dean's lips tightened, and Sam knew what he was thinking of-the last time they'd run into vampires. "What if they're like Lenore and her nest?" he asked in a low voice. "The Doc's right."
"You don't think I know that?" Dean snapped. "But we have to be ready. If they're not like Lenore, they're gonna try to kill us, maybe even turn us." He held out the shotgun to the Doctor. "If you're going in there, you need some way to defend yourself, 'cause Sammy and I ain't gonna be able to keep our eyes on you all the time."
The Doctor shook his head, backing away from the gun. "I have my sonic screwdriver. That's all I need."
"Doc!" Dean's voice had an edge of desperation to it. "C'mon, man. This won't kill 'em, just slow 'em down a bit."
Amy stepped up and grabbed the gun from Dean. "Show me how it works."
Sam noticed the Doctor's disapproving frown at Amy, but shook his head and turned back to the viewscreen. "We need to hurry up."
"Did you see anyone?" Dean asked.
"Just the one vamp, but who knows how many are in there? I didn't even see any humans, but..." Sam shrugged. "Surprise is gonna be our best bet, I think." He tapped the loft door. "If you really want to try talking to them first, Doc, think you can fly us up here? Dean and I'll sneak into the rafters, and you can come in the front door. That way if things go sideways, they won't know we're there."
The Doctor smiled uneasily. "Piece of cake, right old girl?" He rubbed the console.
"Better idea," Dean said. "You take Amy up there with you. The Doc and I'll come in the front door."
"But-" Sam started.
"Sam, I ain't climbing from no spaceship into a window. And someone needs to protect the Doc. Here." Dean handed him his machete. "They probably won't let us keep our weapons."
Sam nodded, closing his hand around the grip of the weapon. He locked eyes with his brother. Dean smirked and nodded, clapping him on the shoulder. Sam smiled back. They were ready. They'd make it through.
"Okay," Dean said. "Let's roll, Doc."