The blood was so rich and good. Type O, his favourite. The victim was healthy and young. The man had to at least have been 25-30 years old. Sherlock watched as his victim's eyes lost their glow. The man had succumbed quickly, screamed for about three minutes. He was, of course, muffled though by Sherlock's handy tools.

When the body was drained dry, Sherlock dropped it and looked at his work with a smile on his face. Gasoline was poured onto the man's dead body. The vampire lit it on fire and watched in satisfaction as it turned into nothing but ashes. Sherlock knew from the day he was born as this creature that he had to be sneaky. He had to hide from humans; he had to destroy the bodies of his victims. Both were easy for the detective. Getting rid of the body was simple. After draining the body of every last drop of blood, he would light it on fire and bury the ashes in the woods. He'd make sure everything was okay when reading the missing-persons report that would be issued a few days later.

The vampire spaced out his murders. He would drink every drop of blood from the victim because he knew his next meal wouldn't be for the next few months. He had to space them because, even though the Scotland Yarders were idiots, they'd notice a string of missing people.

Sherlock wasn't sure what was different about coming home to Baker Street this night, but it was. The detective felt suspicious when entering the flat. He felt as though someone was watching him. Sherlock slipped into his bedroom and lay down in his bed. He wasn't going to sleep. He never slept; he never needed to sleep.

At about half past three in the morning, the vampire heard footsteps outside his room. Sherlock had supposed it was John who had woken up in the middle of the night and came down to have some tea. The army doctor had done this on several occasions so it wasn't new to the detective. What was new was when John opened the door to Sherlock's room. Sherlock sat up in his bed and watched John as the light turned on.

"John, what are you doing?" asked the detective. The doctor took a deep breath before speaking. "Sherlock, I've noticed that…that every few month, on the 23rd like today, you go out late at night and don't come back until early hours in the morning. As your flat mate and worried friend, I wanted to ask what are you doing out this late?" John took up a look of hope and sentiment.

Sherlock gave John a small smile. "Don't worry so much John, it's not important and you don't need to get into it." The shorter of the two stood in the doorway awkwardly, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "Sherlock, please tell me." John insisted. The vampire frowned. "I'm afraid I can't do that John." He didn't want to lie to his friend, he had even contemplated on telling John his secret, but it was too dangerous for him to know.

John was not happy to hear this. "Sherlock!-I…never mind. Keep things from me, it's not my business to know. I don't care." John turned and closed the door behind him. Sherlock got up from his bed and walked around it to stand by the window.

The detective was surprised when he found himself hungry again. His fangs elongated in need. Sherlock shook, though not uncommon to be hungry again after feeding so quickly, it usually happened when his kind had found their potential mate….

AN: Please review if you want me to keep going with this, and also leave some constructive criticism. I could use it.