"One day we'll be standing round a body, and he'll be the one that put it there."

Donovan's voice repeated in John's head as he returned to the flat, carelessly tossing his coat on the armchair and resting on it with a sigh. He thoughts still lingered around his flatmate, still worrying about him but when his phone rang, he was quick to answer it. Before he could speak, there was labored breathing.

"John." Came a shaky voice from the other side of the phone. His heart immediatly went into a panic frenzy. His hands shook as he tried his best in not dropping the phone. He countinued to hear labored breathing. "Please..."

"Sherlock...?" He finally responded in a still voice, not wanting to show Sherlock that he was panicing. He took a few, calm breaths as he continued to hear Sherlock struggling. "What happened? Where are you?" John asked as his eyes bolted across the room in hopes of finding a pen and paper.

"Ah..." He heard Sherlock release a painful groan before some shuffling. "John..." Was that all he could say?

"Sherlock, for god sakes-"

"Around the corner... In the ally. John, please come quick." Hearing Sherlock in distress was enough for John to bolt out of the door without his coat. He didn't care if he left the door open, or forgot to put on a coat, or even pick up his phone after he had dropped it. All that matters is Sherlock. And as soon as he turned the corner, that was who he saw, fallen on his sides, bullet wound on the chest. "Jesus..." he whispered breathlessly as he sprinted down the ally to meet Sherlock. He immediatly began to work, removing Sherlocks coat to find that his skin feels surprisingly cold. He ignored the thought and pushed his shirt up to view his wound but his eyes caught at his slender figured and his lightly toned chest. He pulled his shirt down and began to gather the dying detective in his arms before struggling to his feet.

Sherlock's head rolled against Johns shoulder, his face nearly lining up to his flatmates neck. His eyes flicked opened at the scent that filled his lungs, the scent that made his eyes flutter closed, the scent that made his hand touched the nape of Johns neck to bring him closer, the scent that made him moan softly. His throat constricted, making it ache and harder for him to breath. "John..." he let out a shuddered breath as he felt his pearly fangs elongate at another inhale.

"I'm taking you home, now. Sherlock. I'm not loosing you again." He could hear his own voice in a panic and forced himself to calm, keeping his emotions in check. He ran with Sherlock in his arms, down the ally to turn the corner. He ignored the people who stared, almost not noticing that Sherlock Holmes has been shot. He charged through the door, kicking it closed with his boot and struggled to reach up the stairs. Halfway, he collapsed, Sherlock on top.

"I need..." The detectives words were stuck in his throat. He didn't know how to explain this before his body gave out on him. He just needed three simple words that will make John understand. I'm a vampire? I love you? I need blood? What could it possibly be?

"I know what you need... If I could get upstairs...-"

"Where's Mrs. Hudson?" His eyes searched the hallway. No signs of her. Good. What as about to happen may frighten her to death and he didn't want that to happen. "Where is she." He nearly growled, gripping the cuffs of John shirt, knee slipping between his flatmates thighs. John let out an uneasy breath, not knowing what the hell was happening.

"N-not here, Sherlock. What's the matter...?" John felt his own face burn and his heart pumped and that made Sherlock groan in unsatisfaction as his back arched and a small hiss was released. "Sherlock, I have to fix that wound-" His hand clamped over Johns running mouth and he found him quickly protesting, muffling something and shaking his head in attempts of removing the detectives hand away from his mouth. His body thrash upwards but that only made Sherlock's hips smash against his. John muffled a curse and Sherlocks name mixed together in one sentence. His breathing quickened as Sherlock dipped his head and take in a deep breath of John scent before sliding his tongue from his collarbone to his jugular and stopping, his tongue retreating before he pulled back his lips to reveal his pearly fangs. The pain could end here by simply ripping his throat open and drinking all of the blood that spilled but then... The pain of killing the person he cared the most will strike him more than the pain he was feeling now.

He movements stopped suddenly. Not feeling John struggles and not hearing Johns muffling made Sherlock curious so he pulled back slightly. When he saw the fearful eyes of John, his fangs retracted quickly and he forced himself away from his flatmate, back hitting against the wall of the hallway. His breathing became ragged as he felt his throat ache in a way that made his body shudder from the pain. He would never drink from John, never forcing him down only to sink his fangs in that delicate neck of his.

He placed his hands over his ears and shut his eyes to block out any noise that came from the outside. His mind had become more sensative which meant that anything could make his brain explode. His body shook more as he still smelled Johns scent lingering in the air. "John... I'm sorry..." Sherlock breathed out as he felt his body give away slowly. "I need blood, John. I need you." He choked out as he began coughing and even a splatter of blood came out of his mouth.

John still watched, his mind slowly processing all of the information. "Your... Your a vampire?" He asked moments later after he gained control of his emotions. The answer was already clear to him but he just couldn't help it.

Sherlock winced at his voice and the sound of shuffling but dared not to open his eyes even when John told him to. "Can't," he shuddered violently as the pain came in large waves, ingulfing him. "I... I can't see-" His sences concentrated on one thing now. It was blood. He wasn't sure who's blood but the scent grew, his tongue flicking out curiously. His eyes snapped open to see what was it that dropped on his lips. John was in a crouching position with a bloody finger held over Sherlocks lips. He felt his mind go dizzy at the sight of his blood.

"It's alright." John said as if a mother were talking to her child. His finger inched it's way towards Sherlock mouth befor he grabed his finger and opened his mouth, revealing his perky fangs once more. John stared fascinated at his fangs. All of his training at Bart's was useless against Sherlock. He didn't know how this was even possible. "That's it." he hummed as Sherlock took his finger into his mouth. He shook softly as he felt Sherlock pass his tongue over the fresh wound before sucking deeply, causing a groan to release from his lips. "Just not so rough!" he yelped as Sherlock bit down of his finger slightly.

Sherlock was way gone to be listening. His body ached for more then just droplets of blood. He wanted more of John than what he was getting. That's when his self-control broke down to nothing as his grip on Johns wrist tightened almost painfully. His speed was to quick for Johns eyes to catch up on and his power nearly broke his bones as he slammed John against the wall, his hand on the nape of his neck, his other hand covering Johns mouth, his hips pinning the other man's hips, and his knees against his. The swift movement caused John to gasp in pain before Sherlock brought his mouth near his jugular. First, he watched it with predatory eyes before carefully licking it, enjoying the salty taste of his sweat. Then, he scrapped his fangs against his skin, causing John's heartrate to shoot up. And finally, going in for the kill.

As Sherlock roughly bit down, John bit his tongue to stop from screaming as his hips jerked upwards. Sherlock's grunts were animalistic, digging his fangs deeper and pinning his hips against Johns while running his tongue at the edges of the wound, lapping up the blood as quick as he could. He moved his hand from Johns mouth as soon as his muffling had stopped.

"Sh-Sherlock..." John moaned as he thrusted against Sherlock for friction as he began building himself up. The pain had cause John to become excited because it brought him back to the war. "Oh..." he sighed as Sherlock pulled away slowly, leaving a pleasurable feeling before he lapped up the blood that was running from his collarbone to his wound. "Keep going... Please," John begged as he felt the detective wrap his arm around his waist before his knees buckled. Sherlock quickly lifted John by his thighs as he felt arms wrap around his neck. "I know when you should stop-"

"But what if I don't?" Sherlock growled deeply in his ear as he scraped his fangs over his earlobe. John panted at the thought of Sherlock draining him. He didn't want that to happen but the sensation of his fangs slowly entering him and his tongue running against his neck... Its too much.

"You will. You wouldn't murder your only flatmate. Now please... Bite me." John whispered heatedly before leaning back to meet Sherlocks burning eyes. He hesitantly moved forward and placed his own lips against Sherlock's bloody ones.

Sherlock moanes as he parted his own lips before slipping his tongue into Johns mouth. He dominated the bloggers mouth every chance he could as he pressed John a bit harder against the wall but he did not seem to complain. "John..." Sherlock's voice soften slightly after leaning back from the kiss. John could tell his was still starved and when he looked at Sherlock's chest, he smiled at the fact that he already healed from the amount blood he took but somehow, he still has room for more.

Understanding Sherlock, John tipped his head, revealing his wounded neck to Sherlock and hooking his legs behind him. John brought himself closer, rubbing himself slowly against Sherlock. "Hard, Sherlock." He ordered him as he closed his eyes.

"Yes, sir." Sherlock gazed at his wound once more and began matching his thrusts with Johns before leaning in and revealing his bloody fangs. With one quick movement, he bit down, hard enough to make John cry out. The feeling was pain but also pleasurable to him, making his hips buck upwards harder that he did before. Sherlock was tipping over the edge, one more thrust upwards and he came with a growl as he sank his teeth down deeper.

John was torn apart, coming with a large shout and a cry as he tangled his fingers in Sherlocks curls. He was still leaning against the wall because of Sherlock's never-faltering stregnth but he still felt Sherlock tremble after he retreated and retracted his fangs, tongue sliding out to clean the wound and cutting his own tongue to spill his blood on Johns wound so that it would heal. Sherlock sighed when his saliva did it's job. He began carrying the weakened doctor up the steps and into the flat, kicking the door closed and continued to walk towards his bed.


"Shh, John. Now now."


"No. Just rest. We will talk about it the next morning." He mumbled in Johns ear before placing John softly in the middle of the bed. Sherlock removed Johns boots and unbuttoned his pants before tugging them off and tossing them somewhere in the room before pulling the covers over John.

"I trust you, Sherlock..." John mumbled softly before fisting the sheets. "I trust you enough to allow your actions."

"I told you," Sherlock began as he cleaned his mouth with the cuffs of his sleave. "We will talk about this tomorrow. Now is not the time."

"I love you, Sherlock." Sherlock froze before he could leave the room. Hearing thoes words come out of Johns mouth made his body shiver. How could he love him? How could 'drinking him dry' be considered as love? Whats the bloody matter with humans. John is no where human to be calling this love...

"Goodnight." Sherlock said before shutting the door behind him, ignoring what John has said to him. Love? How could he love a monster like him? How could he stand being bitten that way? These are questions that not even Sherlock Holmes can answer without the proper research...

...And that is exactly what he'll do.