Umm… not mine….don't sue…that is all.

Chapter one

Lestrade sighed as he looked at the folder currently resting on his desk. "Bloody hell." He was going to have to ask for help soon. This particular criminal was avoiding him at all cost. "I know what you are, so why can't I find you?" He murmured to himself.

"Can't find what?"

Lestrade jumped halfway out of his seat in surprise. "Sherlock!" He waved the other man in and bade him shut the door behind himself. "What are you doing here?"

The lanky man flopped in one of the seats in front of the DI's desk carelessly. "Bored," he replied.

"Where's John?" Lestrade asked curiously. It seemed the two were inseparable lately so it was odd to see only one half of the duo.

"At the surgery," Sherlock replied, waving a hand in dismissal.
Lestrade raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Well then. I'm glad you're here. I need your help."

"Don't you always?" Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"Do you want to hear it or not?" Lestrade asked impatiently.

"Yes, yes, alright." Sherlock motioned for him to hurry up. "Get on with it."

"Alright. Okay, this is going to sound pretty odd but I don't think we are dealing with a human killer for this one."

Two hours later Sherlock returned to 221b to find John waiting for him on the couch. "Where were you?" John asked suspiciously.
"Lestrade called. He needed my opinion on a case." Sherlock replied distractedly, mind still trying to come up with some other conclusion for the case he had been shown, not finding any.
John narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Really?"

"Mm," Sherlock agreed sitting down and opening his laptop, beginning to tap away immediately.

John was silent for a bit. "Well, I'm going to turn in early tonight," he said getting up with a groan. "Bloody back is killing me." Might have something to do with what I just had done to it.

"Right," Sherlock said, not really paying attention.

"If you go out please let me know, Sherlock." Sherlock glanced up, a frown on his face. "I worry about you sometimes, running off by yourself," John told him staring at the floor, a faint blush on his cheeks.

Sherlock smiled happily, feeling warmth spread through his chest at John's concern. "You want me to wake you up just to tell you I'm going out?" He asked.

John nodded slightly. "Yes."

"If you say so," Sherlock replied, looking back to the computer screen.

John sighed and went to shower and go to bed.

As soon as the water for the shower turned on Sherlock sighed heavily and rubbed his face tiredly, leaning back in his chair. "Impossible," he mumbled. "There is no way that Lestrade can be right. They don't exist."

An hour later he got a text from Lestrade telling him that he was following the killer. He was up and halfway out the door before he remembered his promise to John. Glancing at the stairs leading to John's room he sighed.

"John?" Sherlock asked quietly, half hoping John was asleep, the other half not so sure. "John?" A little louder that time when there was no response.

"Mm?" Was the muffled reply from the direction of the bed. "Sherlock?" John queried, raising his head slightly.

Sherlock's eyes adjusted to the dim light in the room, he could make out John lying on his stomach, his arms cushioning his head. He was blinking blearily up at his door where Sherlock was standing. "Something wrong?" he asked sitting up slightly.

Sherlock shook his head slightly, part in the negative, part to try to erase the sight of John half naked from his head.

"No, nothing wrong. You told me you wanted me to let you know if I was going out."

John blinked. "Oh." He rubbed his eyes. "You want me to come?" He asked already starting to slide out of bed.

Sherlock groaned to himself. God yes, you have no idea. He turned away before the urge to go to John overwhelmed him. "No, I will be meeting Lestrade. We'll be fine."

John looked at him, head tilted to the side. "Sherlock?" He stepped closer to the taller man, reaching a hand out to rest on the thin shoulder in front of him. "Are you alright?"

Sherlock was trembling with the urge to pin John against the wall. "'M fine." He muttered, closing his eyes to relish John's touch. He had been feeling this way since the pool, every touch from John sending sparks up his spine and heat coiling in his stomach. John was still talking, asking him if he wanted John to call Lestrade and tell him that Sherlock was ill. He was trying to turn Sherlock around to face him, his voice getting more worried the longer Sherlock resisted.

His control finally snapped.

Suddenly Sherlock spun around, slamming John into the wall next to the door. John blinked up at him, confusion etched in his face. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock growled low in his throat bending close to John's face and inhaling his scent deeply. He closed his eyes, all thought chased away by John's closeness and touch.

John was starting to panic slightly, unnerved by Sherlock's silence, his hands reaching up to hold Sherlock away slightly. "Sherlock?" He said again.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, unfocused and hazy, pupils blown wide. "John?"

"Sherlock, what-?" John swallowed unable to focus.

Sherlock was focused entirely on John's lips now, staring at the way he formed words. Sherlock leaned closer, eyes sliding shut as their lips met softly. Sherlock moaned deep in his chest.

John's eyes were wide and shocked. "Sher-" The rest of the name was muffled as their lips met.

The kiss only lasted a few short moments but to Sherlock it seemed to last for a lifetime, electricity running from his lips all through his body. Then John broke the kiss, spluttering, looking at Sherlock like he had grown a second head. "Sherlock, what the bloody hell was that about?" he asked indignantly, his hand going to his mouth even as he stared at Sherlock.

"I.." Sherlock didn't know what to say. He had never lost control before. "I'm sorry."

With that he ran from the room, despite John's yell for him to wait, his eyes blurry and his heart pounding. Oh god what have I done? I've ruined everything! Sherlock's mind whirled with possible scenarios of what could happen because of this, most of them involving John's moving out.

Thankfully another text from Lestrade distracted him, bringing his mind back to the case, but in the back of his mind there was a voice repeating something he never would have thought he'd ask himself.

What have I done?

"Sherlock?" Lestrade's voice echoed in the ally they were to meet at, the suspect had gone into the club around the corner. "That you Sherlock?" He queried, squinting down the alleyway, trying to identify the shape moving swiftly toward him.
"No, it's Anderson." Came the sarcastic reply.

"Oh, that's good then. At least I won't get insulted too much." Came the quick retort.

Sherlock smirked. Lestrade was getting faster at that. "Where is this killer we're supposed to be chasing?" He asked, looking around the alley.

"Went into the bar 'round the corner. Heard her mumbling something about needed to use the phone."

Sherlock raised a brow. "Really?" The doubt was thick in his voice.

"That's what I heard," Lestrade replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"And she hasn't come out yet?"


"Hmm." Sherlock hummed, and Lestrade could hear the wheels in his head spinning. "What does she look like?" He asked, wanting all the facts.

"Like that," Lestrade said, pointing to the bar where the woman was coming out pulling her jacket tighter around her.

Sherlock spun around, taking a step toward the woman then pausing, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Not from around here obviously." He murmured, mostly to himself.

Lestrade looked at him. "We going after her?" he asked, preparing for a long run as the woman was trying to flag a cab.

Sherlock glanced at him quickly, then back to the woman. "No. I'm going after her. You call backup."

"Backup?" Lestrade asked, surprised. "For that tiny thing?" though he knew better.

"Yes." Sherlock replied. Lestrade blinked and Sherlock was gone, coattails flapping as he ran.

"Sherlock! Wait!" Lestrade yelled, giving chase as he sent a quick text to John, telling him Sherlock was going off half-cocked again.

Sherlock looked around himself warily, the woman had disappeared in a dead end alley. "I know you're here. There's no reason to run anymore." He said to the empty street, still looking carefully for any sign of movement.

"Oh, there never was a reason to run other than to get you by yourself, Sherlock Holmes." Said a light voice with a slightly musical quality to it from his left.

He spun, trying to see her, when suddenly he was pushed into the wall where her voice had come from, a voice hissing in his ear. "You should have stayed home tonight, human." Then there was a dull pressure on his neck and all he knew was pain.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade rounded the corner just as the woman dropped his friend to the ground where he lay gasping in pain, blood running from his neck and mouth, his arms and legs jerking, his back arching off the ground. Lestrade raised his gun and fired at the woman who laughed and flitted to the side.

"You of all people should know that won't work." She told him, leaning against a wall watching Sherlock writhe around on the ground, his eyes shut tightly and his breath hissing out from his clenched teeth.

"You bit him." Lestrade stated, glancing at her smiling face. "You're turning him?"

"Mm." She agreed. "He will make a fine vampire, don't you think?"

"You have no idea.." Lestrade muttered, running his hands over his face tiredly. "Can I take him home? Or are you keeping him?"

"Oh, you can have him. You won't see or hear about me again." She told him waving a hand dismissively. Then she was gone.

"Fuck." Lestrade went and knelt next to Sherlock's twitching body. "C'mon then, Sherlock, up you get." Lestrade eased Sherlock to his feet, the taller mans arm draped around his shoulders, and lead him to the car waiting for him at the end of the alley.

John paced back and forth in his room, waiting for Lestrade to reply to his text. His thoughts centered on the text he had received from the man the night before.

He's run off again. Going after him. No need to worry.


No need to worry my arse. John snorted. There was always a reason to worry when Sherlock ran off. There was even more reason to worry when the lanky man didn't come back to their flat.

*beep* John immediately stopped pacing, flipping his phone open, eyes scanning the text quickly. He frowned. Why on earth would Sherlock go out of town and not tell me?

Sherlock became aware slowly. He would say conscious but he already was. "Lestrade?" He croaked, his throat burning. He cleared it and tried again, "Lestrade?" Much better.

"Sherlock." Lestrade's voice sounded distant, as if from the other side of the room, or the other side of a door. "Open your eyes, Sherlock."

Sherlock frowned, but obeyed. He blinked. And again. "Lestrade?" He looked around himself slowly, trying to sit up. When he couldn't he looked down, seeing the restraints around his wrists, chest, and ankles. "Lestrade, what the hell is going on?" He yanked on the restraints sharply, and they groaned in protest. Must be pretty old. Sherlock looked toward Lestrade and his eyes widened. "Why the hell am I in a cell?"

Lestrade sighed, bringing Sherlock's intense gaze to him. "Do you remember anything at all Sherlock?"

Sherlock frowned, trying to think past the burn in his throat. He shook his head, closing his eyes as he sighed. Then froze.

Lestrade noticed him freeze and put his back to the half open door, ready to bolt. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock tilted his head, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. "What is that wonderful smell?" He asked, his eyes still closed.

Lestrade gulped, his eyes darting to the restraints, hoping they would hold and knowing that they wouldn't if the man really wanted to get out of them.

He look back up to Sherlock's face and recoiled when he saw the man's eyes open and focused on him. "Sherlock.." The eyes snapped up to his face, pupils blown wide.

Sherlock didn't know what was happening. That smell was intoxicating. He wanted to go to it, drink it in, and drown in it.

He tried to sit up again, frowning at the restraints. He flexed his arms, testing the strength of them. His eyes snapped open, glaring at the cloth around his wrists. He growled, the sound more animal like than usual, and jerked his arms up hard, restraints ripping like paper. He smirked and ripped the one on his chest off, then jerked his feet free. He slid around to sit on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes again. He lifted his head, sniffing the air, the wonderful smell leading out of the room and to the front door. Sherlock smiled, opening his eyes, and stood regarding the cell doors in front of him with disdain. He cocked his head to the side. "Hm."

Suddenly he kicked out his foot, the iron bars shattering on impact, then he was gone.

Lestrade practically flew down the front steps to his car, the image of Sherlock ripping his restraints off like they were nothing ingrained in his head. He had never been as afraid of that man as he had been right then, when those eyes- those crimson eyes- had settled on him.

He got into his car and drove off to the Yard, hoping that Sherlock wouldn't be able to follow through all the other scents in this busy town.

Sherlock paused in Lestrade's entryway, his eyes focused on a mirror he had passed on his way through. He frowned in confusion, walking back to it slowly, not really believing what he had seen.

He paused in front of it, slowly raising his eyes. "Oh my god.."

"Lestrade?" John let the frantic man into the flat, starting some water to boil in the kettle for tea.

"John, he's disappeared. I was following him then he just vanished, I have no idea where he went." Lestrade refused to look at the man across from him, ashamed of his lies. "I'll find him John. I promise."

"When you do you had better bring him back here we have things we need to talk about." John looked like he was remembering something and Lestrade wondered what had happened between the two men.

"I will," he replied.

Sherlock slowly looked into the mirror again, his hands running over his face slowly. "He was right." He whispered. "Lestrade was right. It was a vampire. It bit me. It turned me." Now he remembered what had happened. He remembered the pain of the last 24 hours, the blood that had run down his chest from the wound in his throat. He remembered when he had felt his heart stop…

He opened his mouth, looking at his teeth closely, noticing the slightly pointed canines. Crap. He sighed, and started walking outside when he noticed a note on the inside of the door.

He frowned as he read it, looking back towards the kitchen then back down to the note. "Hm."


I know this may sound a bit odd but I know what you are now and I know what you want the most. I left some in the fridge for you. Please don't make a mess I just had the floor cleaned.


Sherlock snorted. The nerve of that man sometimes. He shook his head slightly and walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out the packets of blood that sat on the shelf.

He uncapped one and sniffed it, frowning slightly. It didn't smell as good as what he had smelled earlier but he supposed that it was because this wasn't fresh. He shrugged to himself and took a small drink, waiting to gag. He swallowed slowly then started chugging the rest, small drops falling from the sides of his mouth.

He huffed a deep breath when the bag was empty, wiping at his lips to remove any trace of the blood, then licked it off his fingers, humming slightly.

"Not too bad, I guess." He said to himself quietly. He sighed. I suppose I should go see Lestrade… Though I'd like to see John, I'm afraid I'll hurt him. He flipped the note over and read the back.

I'll be at the Yard when you've had your fill.

Sherlock sighed again and started his journey to the Yard to try to get some answers out of his favorite DI.

Lestrade sighed again looking at his watch, then at the door to his office, then back at his watch. He wouldn't be able to stay in his office much longer without raising suspicion.

"Waiting for someone. Geoff?"

Lestrade nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice behind him. "Bloody hell, man! Can't you knock?"

Sherlock smirked. "Do I ever?" he asked, seating himself on the edge of Geoff's desk.

Lestrade sighed yet again, running his hand through his hair. "No, I suppose not."

Lestrade looked up at him slowly almost afraid of what he would see.

Sherlock smiled. "No need to be scared this time Geoff. I got the gift you left me."

Lestrade nodded. "Good."

"So.." Sherlock let the question trail off, knowing Geoff would finish it on his own. And he did, then he told him all he knew about what Sherlock had become.

When he was done, Sherlock had one more question for him. "How do you know all this?"

Lestrade looked down at his hands. "I was a Hunter." He said quietly.


"Yes. Was. Then I fell in love with one of the things I was meant to kill."

Sherlock's eyebrows raised, "What happened?"

"They killed him." Geoff was so quiet Sherlock almost couldn't hear him.

Sherlock's eyebrows nearly touched his hairline. Him?

"Then they told me to leave and never come back. They told me I had gotten too soft. Too weak." His hands were clenched on the edge of his desk so hard Sherlock hear the bones and wood creaking.

Sherlock wasn't used to giving comfort but he figured he could try this once for his friend. He laid a hand on his shoulder softly. "I'm sorry." He said sincerely.

Geoff gave a small smile and patted his hand. "It was a long time ago, Sherlock." He sighed again and looked up at the black haired man on his desk.

"I have one question for you." He said.

Sherlock raised a brow. "Go on." He prompted.

"Are you going to tell the good doctor?"

Sherlock eyes went wide.

Oh god… what am I going to tell him? I can't go back there, I'll hurt him…

Sherlock groaned, Geoff chuckled and patted his back reassuringly. "You'll be fine, just be honest with him."

Sherlock looked up. "I can't go back there Geoff. I can't." He shook his head sadly. "He won't want me to come back, not after what I did to him."

It was Lestrade's turn to raise a brow in question. "What did you do this time?"

Sherlock glared at him. "I kissed him." He said quietly.

Geoff laughed out loud and Sherlock glared harder. "What?" he asked offended.

"Sorry mate, sorry." He chuckled again. "It's just.. It's about damn time."

Sherlock's eye widened. "How did-?"

Geoff laughed again, "How did I know?" He finished for him. "It's bloody obvious that you want him, you never take your eyes off him, you touch him as often as you can get away with, and are obsessively jealous whenever anyone else shows the slightest interest in him."

Sherlock blinked. "Oh," was all he could say. "But he doesn't want me to go back, he's furious at me."

Geoff scoffed slightly. "No he's not. He's confused yes, but he's not angry."

"You saw him after?" Sherlock asked hopefully

"Mm," Geoff agreed softly. "He was worried you had got yourself hurt again."

Sherlock laughed, startling Lestrade with the openness of it, the honesty. "I guess he was right to worry this time, eh?" Sherlock said still chuckling. Lestrade blinked at him, nodding.

Sherlock frowned, eyes unfocused. "Will you come with me?" He asked quietly, shocking the DI yet again.

"I don't see why I couldn't," he replied slowly.

Sherlock smiled widely and pulled him from his desk. "Let's go then," he said happily.

"John?" Geoff called, sticking his head into the doctor's room after he saw the light was off.

"Mmph." Was the reply.

"Sherlock's here," he explained, smiling as John shot out of bed and ran past him in his boxers and a t-shirt.

"Sherlock?" John's eyes were wide as he stared at the lanky mans back where he looked out the window. Sherlock tilted his head slightly letting John know that he had heard him.

"Hello John," Sherlock replied quietly.

"Sherlock what happened? Where did you run off to? Why didn't you tell me where you were going, I was worried sick."

Sherlock turned after he was sure he had himself under control. He had glimpsed his flat mate running down his stairs dressed in only his boxers and t- shirt. It had taken everything Sherlock had not to run to him and molest him.

"I'm fine. Just a last minute lead led me out of town. Didn't have a chance to call." He replied, taking a step closer to the shorter man. He caught the quick shake of Geoff's head and froze, closing his eyes tightly, willing himself to calm down.

John looked puzzled. "Are you sure you're alright Sherlock? You look more pale than normal."

There was a muffled snort form behind John, and Sherlock glared at Geoff, who raised his hands in surrender.

"I'll just leave you two for the night. Sherlock, call or text if you need anything at any time, I will answer."

Sherlock nodded, "Yes thank you Geoff."

John looked back and forth between them knowing he was missing something big but not knowing what it was. "Umm."

Sherlock looked at him, his gazed more focused than John had ever seen. More intent. He swallowed. "Later John."

John nodded shakily.

Lestrade coughed loudly bringing Sherlock's attention to him, and looked at him pointedly. Sherlock nodded.

"G'night then," Geoff said walking out and leaving the newborn to his mate. Poor John. He thought chuckling to himself. Too bad Sherlock didn't want John to know.

Sherlock had turned back to the window as soon as Lestrade had left, his hand rubbing his throat seemingly without thought on his part. He sighed.

John looked closely at him seeing how very pale he was, how gaunt, how hungry he looked. "Are you really okay Sherlock?"

Sherlock smiled. "I'm fine, just tired." He faked a yawn. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight John."

"G'night," John replied, frowning.

Sherlock groaned again, not sure how he was going to get through this without telling John what had happened. Not like he'd believe me. He thought with a snort. "God, I wish I could tell you how much I love you John. But it's too dangerous now. I can never have you," he muttered to himself, running his hands over his face in frustration.

He lay still all night thinking about what he could do to forget his feelings for the man in the room above him.

"Sherlock, I'm just going to the store. I'll be back in no time I don't need you to follow me," John said tiredly. This wasn't the first time they had had this argument.

"Moriarty's still out there John. He's still looking for a chance to get at one of us." Sherlock sounded desperate. Please don't leave me.

"Sherlock I promise I will call if I feel I'm being followed." By anyone other than your brother's goons, he added silently.

Sherlock sighed, he did that a lot now, and relented. He knew something bad was going to happen but with John being so stubborn he wouldn't be able to stop it from happening.


"Thank you," John said, with a sigh of relief.

"Be careful John." The tone of Sherlock's voice turned him back around.

Sherlock's eyes were downcast and his hands were clenched at his sides, trembling slightly.

"Sherlock?" John's voice shook slightly, his hand reaching out to raise Sherlock's face to look at him. A split second before his hand made contact Sherlock was gone. He just disappeared, leaving John dazed and thinking maybe he was daydreaming or something.

Sherlock locked his bedroom door behind him, leaning against it as he tried to calm himself. He had been so close to giving in again. So close. John smelled so good, it was so much better than Geoff smelled.

Unknown to John, Sherlock spent most of his nights now watching the other man sleep, his regular breathing having a calming effect on the black haired man. Every night he would fight the temptation to slide closer to the soldier laying on his stomach, a position he seemed to prefer, his arms cradling his head on his pillow, the sheet down around his waist, his hair shining in the moonlight from his recent shower.

Sherlock stared at him for hours until John would finally start to stir, the feeling of being watched seeping through his mind slowly. He would sit up groggily, looking around. "Losing my bloody mind," he would mutter before laying down again.

Sherlock found he could relax after having watched him for a while. It allowed him to think clearly.

He had figured out two very important things in his time watching John sleep.

The first was that he was catching himself wanting to tell the smaller man about what he was more often than usual. The second was that the feelings he was trying to suppress were only getting stronger.

John sighed as he reflected on what had changed in the past month since Sherlock's little disappearing act. The man didn't eat anymore, slept even less, and John could swear the he had seen those grey-blue eyes turn a startling shade of crimson for a moment during one of their more heated discussions. Sherlock had spun around at John's shocked gasp, but when John had forced the man to look at him again the color was still the same blue-grey it always had been.

I must be going mad. He thought sullenly.

He was so deep in his thoughts he didn't notice the cab pull up beside him, or the man that threw the bag over his head, nor did he notice Geoff down the corner yelling his name as the cab drove off.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade yelled, pounding on the vampire's door as hard as he could. "Sherlock open the bloody door!"

"What do you want Geoff?" Sherlock asked, flinging the door open angrily. Lestrade flinched but didn't back down.

"Why the hell did you let him off by himself? Have you lost your mind?" Lestrade was shouting in Sherlock's face, somehow leaning over him, causing the taller man to take a step back.

Sherlock's eyes were wide, his mouth falling open at the implication that something had happened. As thoughts of John's current predicament race through his head his eyes began to change color as a growl trickled out of his clenched teeth.

Lestrade grabbed his arms quickly trying to delay the wrath of the man in front of him. "Focus, Sherlock!" He said. "Find him."

"How?" Sherlock growled, his deep red eyes focusing on the grey haired man once more.

"You're not exactly human anymore Sherlock. Use those senses of yours." Geoff reminded him quietly.

Sherlock closed his eyes, focusing on John. His smell. His eyes snapped open, his eyes focused on something in the distance. He growled again. "Follow me."

Then he was gone, racing down the street, following John's scent through London, weaving through traffic and people with ease.

Lestrade smiled to himself, checking the tracker he had put on Sherlock's coat, knowing the man was never without it. "Go get your man Sherlock." He murmured.

John woke slowly, his head pounding. He groaned quietly, afraid to open his eyes, remembering what had happened. He remembered Geoff yelling for him as he was forced into the cab, therefore help would be coming soon.

"Finally awake I see." John's eyes shot open at the familiar voice behind him and he groaned again.

"Oh, great. You again." He glanced at his chest. "What? No bombs this time?"

Jim Moriarty came around to stand in front of him, smiling his cracked smile. "Boring."

John sighed. The man was even more off balance than the last time they had met.

"What do you want?" John asked tiredly. His head snapped to the side as Moriarty hit him with the gun in his hand. John's vision swan in little streamers for a second and he blinked rapidly to try to clear his vision.

"Ow." He muttered.

Jim smiled his crazy smile. "It's going to hurt worse Doctor Watson, I promise you that."

John turned his head as another man entered with a wicked looking knife. "Fuck," he stated simply.

Moriarty laughed.

Sherlock ran as fast as he dared in broad daylight, trying to hide his eyes he pulled a pair of sunglasses from a stand and slid them on, ignoring the shopkeepers yells. He wasn't too worried about Geoff being able to find him. He had felt the other man place the tracker on him and moved it to his pocket so it wouldn't fall off in his mad dash across London.

Sherlock looked up at the sky as a sharp crack of thunder sounded through the air almost before he saw the lightning. "Shit."

He ran faster, no longer caring if he scared the people around him with his speed.

John please be okay..

Sherlock found John right as a scream ripped through the air- John's scream- he felt himself snarling at the familiar stench of Moriarty. He leapt to the second floor of the abandoned house he had followed them to and crept through the window, not making a sound.

He slowly, quietly, made his way to where John was strapped to a surgery table, his face also strapped down, holding it still as a thick man with a heavy stench of liquor cut into John's cheek, drawing another muffled scream from him.

Sherlock growled and the man turned quickly, taking a step back as he caught sight of the creature in front of the door.

"What the hell-"

The question was cut off as Sherlock snapped his neck easily.

John was looking up at him, his eyes half closed in pain. Those beautiful blue eyes Sherlock loved looking at so much were murky with pain and Sherlock growled again, untying John and pulling him up.

"Can you walk?" He asked quietly, not wanting Moriarty to know he was here.

John shook his head no. "Can't focus enough." He replied just as quietly.

Sherlock grabbed him and picked him up bridal style, ignoring John's squeak of surprise.

"Hush," he told John soothingly. "I've got you. And I'm not letting go this time."

Sherlock was walking carefully down the stairs to the first floor when he caught a whiff of nasty from behind him. He stopped and sat John down gently. "One more thing to take care of, love." He told him, John's shocked eyes looking up at him, still hazy.

"Ah, Sherlock," Moriarty clapped his hands and smiled. "So good of you to join us."

Sherlock bared his teeth, canines long and very much visible to the other man, who took several steps back quickly before his back hit the wall. He looked from Sherlock's teeth to the startling crimson of his eyes. "What the hell are you?"

"Why does everyone ask me that?" He asked, more to himself than to the man cowering in front of him.

"Wait." Moriarty frowned, as if remembering something. "You're a-"

He was cut off as Sherlock wrapped a hand around his throat. "If you value your life you will not finish that thought." Sherlock growled in his ear.

"He'll find out one way or another Sherlock. You can't hide forever."

"He won't find out from you," Sherlock hissed in his ear and causally bent his head down a bit more, his nose brushing the shorter mans neck. "You smell absolutely revolting but I am quite hungry."

Moriarty whimpered quietly as Sherlock's teeth scratched his skin, then gasped as they sank in deeply.

John tried to focus on what was happening between the two men in front of him but his ears were ringing and his sight was blurry. He lay his head back against the wall and took a deep breath. And another. Slowly his sight cleared as did his hearing.

"You're a-"

"If you value your life you won't finish that thought."

"He'll find out one way or another Sherlock. You can't hide forever."

Sherlock hissed something in Moriarty's ear. There was fear creeping onto the man's face from whatever it was that Sherlock was saying, then a whimper, followed by a choked gasp.

After a moment Sherlock stepped back, tilted his head to the side slightly, then, almost casually, snapped Moriarty's neck, letting him fall to the floor.

He turned back to John slowly, his eyes scanning the area for more threats. John stared at him, eyes almost comically wide.

Oh my god…

He's….he bit…there's blood..

John's mind wasn't working properly anymore it seemed. It was stuck on the fact that there was blood trailing slowly down from the sides of Sherlock's mouth, that the man absently licked away, his eyes still scanning the darkened rooms around them. Then John saw his eyes. He'd seen that color before. It was the color of blood that came straight from the heart. A red so dark it was almost black. Then those frightening eyes focused on him and John forgot how to think.

Oh crap. Sherlock thought as he looked into John's clear and focused eyes. Eyes that were staring at him, staring at his eyes and mouth.

"John?" He asked quietly.

John jumped slightly, his gaze flickering away then back quickly, as if afraid to take his eyes off the creature before him. "Sherlock?" He asked as if not quite sure if that was who was in front of him.

"It's me John."

Confusion filled the blue eyes of the man on the floor. "How?" Seemed to be the only word he could think to say.

"Can we talk at home?" Sherlock asked hopefully, then turned and growled as a car door slammed outside.

"Sherlock!" Geoff Lestrade slammed the houses' front door open, hoping to give the vampire enough warning to hide his features or to control himself.

"Up here," came the reply from the staircase. Geoff ran as fast as he could to them hoping to get there before anyone else, knowing that he would find at least one man in here with bite marks on his neck.

"How many Sherlock?"

"Just one," Sherlock gestured to the man laying crumpled behind him.

"Here," Geoff handed Sherlock a pocket knife. "Try to make it look real."

Sherlock nodded and walked over to the body by the wall, slitting its throat cleanly, the wiped the blade on a spare piece of his clothing before handing it back to Lestrade.

John still just sat there, staring at Sherlock's eyes.

Geoff sighed heavily. "How much did he see?"

"Enough," came Sherlock's terse reply. Geoff looked over to him to see the man's shoulders hunched as if to ward off a blow and his eyes downcast.

"He'll understand Sherlock."

Sherlock shook his head slowly. "Look at him. He can't even look away for fear of me attacking him." Sherlock's voice was choked as if fighting tears.

John blinked as he realized he was being talked about. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock flinched like he had been hit. "I'm sorry John. I'll leave. You won't have to see me again," he said still not looking at John.

"Sherlock." His voice much closer than before.

Sherlock looked up, surprised to see John standing in front of him, holding onto Geoff's arm but standing.

"Sherlock," he said again, his hand reaching up to touch the pale man's face. Sherlock flinched again but didn't move away.

John paused, but continued the movement when Sherlock didn't disappear again. "You startled me is all."

Sherlock looked at him suspiciously. John smiled at him.

Sherlock leaned into the hand on his cheek, his eyes sliding closed as he rubbed his face into that warm palm. He sighed contentedly, and John's smile turned soft, even tender.

Lestrade smiled to himself.

"You really mean to tell me that Sherlock-" the name was stretched in disbelief,"- broke that man's neck and cut the other ones?" Sally Donovan asked, clearly not believing a single word John was saying to her.

"Yes, Sally. That's what I'm saying." This was the third time he had to go through this and it was getting tiring.

"Still scrubbing Anderson's carpets I see Donovan?" Sherlock asked from where he had appeared at John's side the moment she had looked away.

She turned to him startled, looking quickly to where she had just seen him talking to Lestrade on the other side of the room.

"And still forgetting to take your own personal items," the tall man added with a smirk as Sally huffed and stomped away.

"That was a bit not good Sherlock," John said, trying to keep a straight face and steady voice.

Sherlock shrugged. "She was bothering you."

"You bother me too sometimes, Sherlock. Are you going to run yourself off?" John asked with a smile that was turned away from the man beside him.

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "That's different," he replied.

John snorted.

"Alright, Sherlock." Geoff rounded on him the moment John had left to use the bathroom. "You are going to explain this to him yes?"

Sherlock looked away and nodded. "Of course."

Geoff's eyes narrowed. "Sherlock.."

"Yes, yes, alright." Sherlock held his hands up in surrender. "I'll talk to him."


"Talk to me about what?"

John walked slowly into the kitchen, coming to a stop next to Sherlock, looking up into the man's face, trying to read the thoughts behind those blue-grey eyes.

"Nothing." Came the immediate response from the taller man.

Lestrade kicked him under the table. The look in his eyes telling the dark haired man if you don't tell him I will.

Sherlock sighed. "We need to talk, John."

John blinked after they had finished explaining everything to him. "Wow," was the only thought he could voice.

He was kind of annoyed the Geoff had found out before him. But he understood Sherlock's reluctance to tell him. He would have felt the same if the situations had been reversed.

"John?" Sherlock asked hesitantly, not looking at him.

John ignored him for a moment. They had even told how Geoff had known what was happening and he understood why the man had fallen for a vampire.

He's even more beautiful than he was before.

Sherlock looked at him sharply, eyes widening slightly. And Lestrade narrowed his eyes.

They had talked about what powers Sherlock had and what ones might develop. Including the possibility of mind reading. Obviously it had developed.

Lestrade smiled a knowing smile and stood. "I'll just leave you two to talk then, shall I?"

Neither man acknowledged him.

He sighed and let himself out.

Why is he staring at me? Do I have something on my face? God he's gorgeous. John's thoughts were chaotic.

And Sherlock heard every one of them.

Sherlock was looking at the man in front of him with awe and confusion in his face.

John was lost in a fantasy world involving a certain man's teeth, a slow blush rising to his cheeks.

Sherlock blinked rapidly, his own cheeks reddening slightly, his eyes unfocused and his breathing becoming erratic. "John…"

John turned quickly, thinking something was wrong until he saw the expression on his flat mates face.

His eyes widened as he realized what had happened. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He berated himself. They just bloody told me then I go off to fantasy land with him right next to me. God I'm an idiot.

"Sherlock, I-" he was cut off as a pair of hands grabbed his face and pulled him forward, Sherlock's forehead resting against his own. The taller man sighed in content, his eyes sliding shut as he nuzzled John's ears, which had turned beet red when he had realized Sherlock could hear his thoughts.

John moaned as Sherlock nipped his earlobe softly, experimentally.

God, yes, Sherlock. More.

Sherlock grinned.

John raised his hands to wrap around the vampire's shoulders as he straightened, lifting John easily as he stood.

John squeaked as he was lifted and carried to Sherlock's bedroom. "Sherlock?"

"Hm?" Sherlock was still nuzzling him.

"Um." John lost his train of thought as Sherlock nipped his neck. "Oh god.." He moaned, tilting his head back.

Sherlock smiled against John's neck, nipping harder, chuckling as John went limp in his arms, sounds coming from his mouth he would deny making later on.

"Please Sherlock.." John begged.

Sherlock frowned. "I can't. I can't bite you." He said sorrowfully.

John was panting as he brought his head down to rest on Sherlock's shoulder, an idea forming in his mind. "Put me down."

John ran to his room and grabbed his knife from its hiding place under his pillow. No need to bite now.

Sherlock smiled when he saw when John had grabbed. He took it from him gently as John lay back on the bed.

"You're not too attached to this shirt are you?" Sherlock asked, twirling the blade like an expert. John shook his head absently, not really hearing what was being said. He had always had a fascination with sharp, shiny things.

Sherlock grinned.

John's head fell back onto Sherlock's pillow as the taller man drew the very sharp blade up John's still clothed chest.

John's breathing was already ragged with the thought of what was going to happen. "God, Sherlock.." he moaned.

Sherlock turned the blade suddenly and with a sharp gesture sliced through John's shirt and undershirt. John gasped as the pieces fell to the sides of him. He looked up when he felt Sherlock stop moving.

Sherlock was staring at John's chest in shock.

"When did..?"

John laughed quietly. "A long time ago Sherlock," John replied.

Sherlock was staring at the nipple and belly button rings John had, his eyes darkening to that deep crimson John had seen after Sherlock had killed Moriarty. It sent chills through him to see that gaze directed at him.

"Mm." Sherlock hummed as he leaned down to John's chest slowly.

John jerked as Sherlock's tongue flickered over the nipple ring, a deep moan escaping his throat.

"Sensitive I take it?"

John shuddered as the black haired man's breath ghosted over his nipple. "Very.. God, yes, very."

Sherlock smiled his evil smile as he tugged sharply on the silver ring, John yelping loudly, his hips thrusting into the air, a long moan following Sherlock's laugh.

"Stop teasing you arse." John growled, reaching for Sherlock and pulling his face closer. He paused with their mouths inches apart, breath caressing each other's lips. Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed, bringing their lips together gently, his hands caressing John's cheek and neck gently.

John whimpered and scooted closer to the other man, his arms wrapping around Sherlock's neck. Sherlock moaned and deepened the kiss, coaxing John's mouth open gently, his tongue teasing the other mans to come play.

Sherlock laid John down on the bed, not breaking the kiss, his hands smoothing down the sides of the man beneath him. John shuddered at the feather light touches, his body begging for more.

John broke away from the kiss and grabbed the knife that was by Sherlock's knee. He ran the blade up his own sternum, the blood flowing freely.

Sherlock hissed above him, eyes clamped shut. "John.."

John shushed him. "I trust you, Sherlock."

"You shouldn't." Sherlock shuddered and opened his eyes, his focus immediately shifting to John's chest. He let out a shaky breath, leaning down, his breath ghosting along John's chest making him shiver.

"Tell me if I get too rough?" Sherlock asked desperately, glancing up at him, his eyes drowning pools of red, pupils blown wide.

John nodded quickly. "Of course."

Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut as he turned back to John's chest, his tongue snaking out to lick the top of the wound.

John hissed and threw his head back, his hands digging into Sherlock's black curls. "Oh god.." he moaned as he arched his chest toward Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock savored the taste of John, so sweet, so rich. He moaned leaning down to lap at the wound, feeling John's hand in his hair, tugging gently. He could hear John moaning above him, felt him jerk in surprise when he latched on and sucked hard, heard the stuttered breath that followed.

Gods how he wanted to bite into him, but he knew he couldn't. Sherlock couldn't risk it.

He didn't know if he had the control to stop before he took too much, like he had with Moriarty, though that was on purpose.

John was tugging more insistently now and Sherlock raised his head slowly, his eyes still drowning and his mouth hanging open, blood dripping from his bottom lip.

John groaned at the sight, heat coiling low in his stomach. He pulled Sherlock's head up and kissed him hard, bruising those soft lips, eating at his mouth as he rolled them, straddling Sherlock's hips and rocking gently. They both groaned at the contact.

"John.." Sherlock sighed, his hands rubbing John's hips as they rocked into him. He could feel his fangs touching his lips as he lost his control bit by bit. He moaned at a hard thrust by John and jerked his head away roughly, growling low in his throat as John started biting down his neck, not bothering to be gentle.

Sherlock slid his eyes open and spotted the railing at the head of the bed. He reached out with both hands and locked his fingers around it.

John practically ripped Sherlock's shirt off of him, losing a couple buttons in his haste.

He was pretty sure Sherlock hadn't seen his back yet. He felt that if he had, John would be on his stomach right now, which he wouldn't mind, but he wanted to taste the man beneath him.

Sherlock picked up on John's stray thoughts about his back and he frowned, wondering what he was talking about. He tilted his head up slightly as John was licking his collar bones and peered over the hunched shoulders. Oh my god… his head fell back and he moaned loud and long.

On John's back, covering most of it from what Sherlock could see was an intricate tribal tattoo. Wings to be more precise. Beautiful wings.

Oops.. Thought John as Sherlock leaned up. John knew what he was looking for so he brought his head down to lick at the collar bones in front of him. He chuckled when Sherlock moaned and let his head fall back.

John glanced up when heard a creaking noise and saw that Sherlock had warped the metal of the headboard, his knuckles whiter than the rest of him as he gripped the bars. He had also bitten into his bottom lip with his fangs, blood rolling slowly down his chin unnoticed.

John tilted his head to the side slightly, his expression curious.

He leaned up and licked at Sherlock's mouth, the tang of copper on his tongue more welcome than he thought it would be.

Sherlock whimpered into John's mouth, releasing his grip of the railing with one hand to bring it to cup John's cheek.

John was tugging at Sherlock's belt anxious to get the other man's pants off. He broke the kiss scooting down the long legs under him, fingers working at the belt quickly.

Sherlock's stomach jerked with every loop the belt was pulled out of and he moaned when John finally undid the button and zipper and began pulling them down his legs, taking his boxers with him.

Then John's weight on his legs was gone. Sherlock opened his eyes and watched John strip himself of the remainder of his clothes. He noticed another tattoo, smaller, around his ankle. It looked almost like thorns wrapped around him.

"Please, John."

John crawled back over him letting his body slide into place, both of them moaning at the contact. John leaned up and nibbled on Sherlock's ear. "Have you ever done this before?" He asked softly.

Sherlock shook his head no, not able to form words at the moment.

"I'll be gentle, then," John said with a soft smile.

"God, no, please don't be." Anything but gentle, please.. Sherlock thought to himself.

"Alright then," John replied, reaching to his pants to pull out the lube he had grabbed when he grabbed his knife.

He slicked his fingers quickly, eager to be inside the man below him, and brought one to the vampire's entrance, rubbing gently as Sherlock squirmed.

"Please, John," Sherlock repeated.

Sherlock was lost in sensations as John teased his entrance and he hissed and the older man slid a finger into him. John shushed him, telling him to relax, that it would feel better soon.

Sherlock trusted him so he did as he was told. As he relaxed John started moving his finger back and forth slowly, as if looking for something.

Sherlock's eyes shot open and he gasped. "What-"

John smiled, pleased with this reaction. "That was your prostate, love."

Sherlock groaned as John brushed that spot again. He didn't even notice that John had added a second finger, scissoring them to try to loosen the taller man up.

"This might be easier for you to be on your stomach, Sherlock."

"No! No, this is fine. I want to see you." He finished softly, a slight blush rising to his cheeks.

John was having a difficult time trying to hold himself back. It took almost everything he had to not just thrust into Sherlock without any prep being done.

"Are you ready, Sherlock?" He asked quietly.

Sherlock nodded, eyes still closed.

John slicked himself up and got into position. "Look at me, love. Focus on me."

Sherlock obeyed, his deep red eyes zeroing in on John's face.

John groaned as he started easing into the man beneath him. So tight…Good god so tight and hot…

His eyes rolled to the back of his head when he finally slid that last bit in and held as still as possible, waiting for Sherlock to adjust.

Sherlock had gripped the railing again, his fingers straining not to bend the metal any further. He hissed as John stopped, fully sheathed inside him.

He focused on his breathing , willing himself to be calm, to relax.

Slowly the pain faded, replaced with a slow pleasure he had never felt before, more heat coiling in his stomach, making him twitch his hips slightly.

"Shit," John said breathlessly, his hands snapping to Sherlock's hips and holding him still.

Sherlock watched John's face as he did it again, slowly thrusting into John.

The shorter man threw his head back and groaned deep in his chest. "You trying to kill me?" he asked, panting.

Sherlock smiled, "Not yet."

John started thrusting slowly, so slowly, drawing sighs and gasps from his pale lover. Sherlock wrapped his legs around John's waist and yanked him forward, burying him deep inside as the both moaned.

"Alright then," John muttered, snapping his hips as Sherlock writhed for him, the metal bar under his hands bending in odd shapes that John would have to look at later.

He shifted his legs and tilted Sherlock's hip a bit, then thrust in again.

"Oh god!" Sherlock cried, his back arching off the bed completely. "Again!" he demanded.

John was more than happy to comply.

Sherlock was moaning almost constantly now, hips moving with John's own, both of their breathing becoming erratic as they got closer to the edge.

Sherlock moaned low in his throat and bit through his lip as he came hard, John's name a whisper on his lips. John following soon after with a muffled scream of Sherlock's name.

John collapsed on Sherlock's chest, exhausted. "That was.."

"Amazing," Sherlock finished, wrapping his arms around john's shoulders and holding him tight, nuzzling his face into the sandy blonde hair in front of his nose.

"I love you, John." He murmured quietly.

John smiled against his chest, hugging Sherlock closer.

"Love you too."

ok so obviously not the best but... anyway i do have a second chapter written (mostly) i can and will finish/post it if people tell me... so review and let me know

Ok the links i keep trying to put here for John's tatoo are not working...go to my profile