Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun.

Warning: Vamp!Lock, supernatural themes, some violence, supernatural themes and love between two men.

AN: This is a collab between the absolutely amazing Trulywicked and Acherona. Here we are with a new Sherlock story from us. This one has supernatural themes to it, happily mixes the world of Sherlock with the world of myths. We hope you like it.

Also, title to this story is taken from the episode Lovers Walk from Buffy the Vampireslayer.

Love isn't brains children, it's blood.

Part one.

Sherlock watched as John stood at his grave, an odd squeeze in the center of his chest where his heart beat in its sluggish manner. He knew that most of the idiots who'd fallen prey to the romantic notions of his kind would be shocked to discover that their hearts did beat, just much more sedately than humankind's hearts. To bring his pulse up to a human rate he'd have to force his heart to beat faster or have just gone through an extremely exercising event. There were many things humans got wrong about his kind, they could eat, had reflections, did not sleep in coffins, didn't burst into flames in sunlight, and they did not turn to ash once killed. When his kind were killed they left behind a body, a corpse just like anyone else, though it was much harder to successfully kill them than it was to kill a human.

Being immortal had perks but it didn't equal invulnerability. Not to death and, more distressing for Sherlock, not to love. A vicious motivator he'd called it once and indeed it was. It ripped and tore at the heart and he did not like it. He might like it better if he could reveal himself to the man breaking down just a little in front of his false grave and if it could have hope of being reciprocated some day but the first was out of the question and the second was highly unlikely, such a low probability as to be insane to even contemplate it.

He watched John walk away from his grave and once more cursed the fact that vampirism didn't come with a soulless, heartless existence. It was extremely unpleasant to be feeling this guilt and sorrow.

John couldn't believe the gall of Sherlock, standing in the shadows just watching as John poured his heart out. His eyes narrowed as he doubled back after leaving the cemetery and sending Mrs. Hudson away with a cab safely. He made sure to stay downwind of his flatmate, best friend, vampire and the love of his life, as fucked up as that thought was.

He saw Sherlock still standing in the grove of trees, looking toward the grave where no one lay. John's feet didn't make a sound as he snuck up on the supposedly dead consulting detective.

"You are a right fucking git, you know that right. A lying tit of a bastard. How could you do that to me? Just decide to take a flying leap of a building without warning. You are my best friend, the one I trusted more than anything and you go and do this moronic thing." John's voice was a low, dangerous growl. He couldn't believe how utterly pissed he was with Sherlock. "Do you have any idea what this could have done to me? If I didn't know that you can't die from such a leap I would have been gutted you bloody bastard."

Had anyone else been watching they would have seen an unheard of occurrence: Sherlock Holmes' jaw dropping in speechless shock. Thoughts clicked, flicked, and ran into each other, all of them centering around John and his last comment. "What?" Not the most articulate thing to say.

John was practically vibrating with rage and any other time seeing Sherlock floundering in shock might have been a lark but right now it only fueled his anger. Without a second thought he pulled his left shoulder back with all his strength behind it, he planted his fist in Sherlock's face, hearing the satisfying crunch of bones breaking beneath his knuckles. It wouldn't do any real or long term damage to the vampire but it would hurt for the moment and that was enough for John. The answering throb in his split knuckles was definitely worth it. "I can't believe you, how could you do it?"

Sherlock had landed on his arse from the force of the blow, hand cupping his nose, "Fuck." It hurt, badly. He was used to minor injuries but he hadn't had a broken nose since the Victorian era and John's fist had hit like a sledgehammer. He knew his friend was strong but that had taken him by surprise. Vampire bones and cartilage were stronger than human bones so the force required to break them was greater, that John carried that much strength in his compact body was both fascinating and embarrassingly arousing and the scent of his own blood didn't help.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and wiggled it around until it was back in the proper place and looked up at John, still holding his nose as the first stage of healing took place, "I had to."

"No you didn't. You didn't have to do things this way." John loomed over Sherlock before reaching for the lapels of that ridiculously sexy coat and hauled the vampire to his feet. "You are not alone anymore Sherlock. I thought you got that. Do you really have so little faith in me that you thought that I couldn't help?" John was still growling, feeling both angry and hurt. John had forsaken a whole life of training when he moved in with, befriended and finally fell in love with the infuriating bastard of a man in front of him. That Sherlock still didn't count on him...it hurt.

"Yes I did John. There were three snipers assigned to shoot if I didn't 'kill' myself. One on Lestrade, one on Mrs. Hudson, and one on you." He wrapped his fingers around John's wrists, feeling the tension and strength and anger there. He was tempted to use a thrall to calm John down but he wasn't entirely certain that would go over well if John was one of the people who were resistant to enthrallment.

"Fine, I can understand that you had to jump." John pulled away from Sherlock's grip and started to pace, watching Sherlock from the corner of his eye. "But your actions afterward are inexcusable. You were actually going to let me believe you were dead, without any thought what that would do to me, how it would destroy me." It was a statement, not a question. "You've seen me fight, seen me shoot and two people taking care of three snipers is a hell of a lot easier than doing everything on your own."

"If I'd told you you'd have immediately come after me. The snipers would have been alerted and carried out their orders." He carefully squeezed his nose, testing how much it had healed so far before finally lowering his hand to wipe the blood away, cleaning it off his hand with a handkerchief. His own blood was never particularly appetizing.

John sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Contrary to what you might believe, I'm not completely moronic. I've been to war Sherlock, I've been trained for battle since before I could walk. I know better than to have run after you like a dog seeking its master." His hand ached, his split knuckles oozing blood sluggishly but underneath the anger his heart ached more. "You know what...Fuck this, fuck you."

Sherlock fought down the panic that tried to rise in his throat at that and instead reached out to pull John around to face him, eyes narrow in deduction as he put together John's words since sneaking up behind him and then they widened just a bit, surprised once more flickering through them, "You're a hunter."

"No, I am a doctor, a soldier. I may have been raised a hunter but I'm not one." It had never sat right with John, hunting and killing beings for no other reason than that they were different, that they needed blood to survive and were considered immortal. Live and let live was his motto. As long as they didn't went rogue and killed without thought then John had no problems with vampires...hell he was in love with one.

Sherlock's brows knit, "How long have you known about me?"

"Almost since the very beginning. It wasn't really difficult to figure out, doesn't need much sleep or food. Quick reflexes and just the way you carry yourself. You wear who you are just like you wear your coat if one only knows where to look." John answered honestly; he had no energy to do otherwise.

How could he have missed that? Missed that John knew what he was, that John had been raised to hunt what he was? How could he have overlooked the clues that were now bubbling up in his memory? The simple answer was trust, John had shot the cabbie to save him, it would have been too early for John to discern his nature then. John had killed to protect him after only a day and a half of acquaintance, not just that but he'd refused Mycroft's bribe. Because of that he trusted John enough that he hadn't bothered looking deeper into his flatmate, assured that he wouldn't hurt him. No point in refusing a bribe or killing the cabbie if he was going to hurt him.

And John was right, he realized with deepening chagrin. His training as a soldier alone would have kept him back, had him thinking as he always did in a combat situation, the hunter training would have just added extra layers of caution onto that. "Forgive me."

The muscles in John's jaw worked and flexed as he ground his teeth together. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose as he turned to face Sherlock taking a step closer to the taller man. "Always, I suppose I'm a masochist since I'll always forgive you."

The tight clench in his chest went away and Sherlock squeezed John's arm gently before releasing him. "Can you stand being in Mycroft's presence then? There are plans to be made." What he meant was essentially 'Come with me, come play with me John!' that would have best been spoken in a high squeaky child's voice.

John's eyes gleamed with excitement and amusement as he replied. "Well I suppose I can suffer his company as the plans are made." His grin was as the sun, John couldn't help himself, no one made him feel as Sherlock did. No one fed all his needs like Sherlock, John didn't want to give that up, not for anything.

"Suffer would be accurate. There's a car over the hill," he nodded in the direction opposite the one John had walked away from the grave then began walking, only slightly pausing to make sure John was beside him as they made their way to the car.

John was happy that the easy companionship was back between them. He wasn't one to hold a grudge, he'd spoken his mind and punched Sherlock and now he had forgiven him. It really was as easy as that. His love for the other man would remain hidden; he knew someone as amazing as Sherlock would never look twice at a normal, human ex-army doctor even if romance had been 'his area'. Having Sherlock's friendship was enough.

He slid into the car after Sherlock and felt the leather seat mold itself to his body. "Say what you want about brother git, he knows quality in cars."

"He should, they're one of his indulgences. His garage is crowded; soon he'll have to add another annex." Sherlock fiddled with the seatbelt strap before firing off a question to John, his insatiable curiosity already taking hold and wanting to learn more about the hunter line he came from, "Long family line or recent?"

"Long, the Watsons in some shape or form has been hunters for close to a millennium." John had been force fed the 'proud' history of their family since infancy. Both his father and mother reciting the written down journals and the stories passed down orally until he just wanted to bang his head against the nearest hard surface just to make it stop.

"Ah, that explains the ease you had getting the appropriate force," he rubbed his nose, already healed completely, "Even as a soldier that punch would have been difficult for most people," his lips curved up, "Of course you are never most people."

"Nope and don't you forget it." John grinned at him. "You're right though, our line has evolved, some extra strength and speed...to even out the playing field a little. To my family's shame and disappointment I was never very interested in playing though. That's the reason we don't even talk anymore. I'm the huge disappointment of the Watsons."

"More fool them," it was softly spoken, "Before blood banks and clubs where it's easy to find a willing, knowing donor the hunters were needed. Too many vampires hunting, especially fledglings who don't have control just yet, causes bloodfever. But now, no one needs to hunt any longer. I would say you're one of the very few who's brain evolved along with the physiology."

"Stop it, I might believe you actually harmed that massive brain of yours jumping off a building if you continue complementing me. It nearly wigs me out." John smiled though, taking the edge off his words. "But you are right. It's not healthy living in the past, regurgitating past glories and wanting nothing more than to relive them. The world is a different place today, it changes with every passing day and one has to change with it to have any chance of a true life."

"Good job you moved in with me then, keep you out of that trap." He smirked at his friend and stretched his neck with a low almost moaning sigh. "I am actually tired. Damn that little mad bastard and the tangle he set up."

"Well make plans to burn the web he weaved and before we carry those plans out you will sleep and you will feed." It wasn't exactly a straight out order but it wasn't a mere suggestion either. John would take care of Sherlock since the git was too stubborn to do it properly by himself. "I expect that Mycroft has a well stocked fridge of blood."

"Mmm, yes of course he does." The firm tone in John's voice triggered a cascade of fantasies in the back of his mind, the majority of them involving John in his uniform, some of them with Sherlock's riding crop. He had a feeling that he shouldn't wear his favorite pajama bottoms when he slept. He didn't want them to stain if he had a wet dream.

"Good, then that's settled." John looked out the window at the passing landscape. Trees and green fields giving way to the hustle and bustle of London, he liked the city, felt at home in the smog and crowds, the pulse of London was like a living heart, a rhythm John could live his life by. "Oh by the way, does Greg know what you are?" That was something that John hadn't been able to figure out and it wasn't as if he could come straight out and ask the DI either.

"Not unless Mycroft shared that information with him, no." Sherlock pulled out the new phone Mycroft had arranged for him and brought up some research. "I don't doubt he might suspect the existence of vampires however he tells himself that the occasional strange body is simply someone getting too into the Hammer films."

John nodded to himself as Sherlock spoke. "Mm, Greg's much too smart not to suspect something like vampires exists but he's also a very practical man so it might be that he doesn't 'want' to know." He paused and then looked to Sherlock with furrowed brow. "Why would Mycroft share something like vampires existence with Lestrade?"

Sherlock looked up from his phone, lifting a brow, "Come now John surely you don't think you're the first my brother has attempted to bribe into spying on me? Mycroft has known Lestrade as long as I have, though only recently has it become biblically."

John's jaw dropped, the attempt to get Greg to spy on Sherlock he could understand but the other thing...he couldn't picture a more implausible couple. "Greg is sleeping with Mycroft?" His voice was filled with disbelief. "I can't imagine two more different people."

"Indeed, an ordinary Detective Inspector and the Master vampire of Britain? Likely not to end well," he controlled his amusement at John's astonished expression, "Certainly not when Lestrade stops being willfully blind. Hmm perhaps he'll shoot my brother." He sounded inordinately pleased by that possibility.

"You are much too gleeful about the prospect of that happening." It was supposed to come out chastising but since John couldn't stop grinning the effect was rather ruined. "Perhaps it will end well though; perhaps it will work because they are so different." Deep down underneath a slightly jaded surface, John still wanted to believe in love.

"Not if they don't have something more than babysitting me in common. Imagine those conversations." He fired off a text to his brother, telling him to have an extra setting for tea. "Of course it's likely it's just sexual between them, certainly I've not see Lestrade accompanying Mycroft to the opera."

John wrinkled his nose a little at the thought of Greg and Mycroft doing the nasty, it was an image he didn't want stuck in his head. "Jolly for them I say, let them bump uglies to their hearts content. As long as neither of them doesn't end up dead, then I don't care."

Sherlock made a vague sound of agreement. "Then to change the subject, how much have you been holding back during cases to keep me in the dark," here he pouted just a bit at the incredulous thought that John had managed to hide something from him, "about your hunter abilities and training?"

John shrugged and gave Sherlock a rather sly look. "I couldn't exactly use my hunter abilities could I? You would have recognized those moves instantly. I haven't been holding back too much though, you are a challenging man to keep up with Sherlock Holmes."

He smiled at John, "Well all the better not to bore you. No holding back when we start unraveling the tangle Moriarty left. I imagine you'll need all your skills and abilities to help me handle it."

"No point in hiding now that you know that I know." John smiled. "I'm actually looking forward to showing you just what I'm made of." John wasn't super strong or anything like that but he could hold his own in a fight.

Sherlock found himself absolutely appalled at how quickly his mind managed to turn that into a dirty phrase. Not so much because of the images it brought to mind, those were mostly intriguing, but because his mind really shouldn't be as focused on the potential sexual aspects enough to almost immediately make an innocent statement something filthy, even if it was John saying it. He gave his attention to his phone again in an attempt to avoid thinking things that would give him a visible problem, "Hm, yes. I rather look forward to that myself."

"Once Moriarty's web is handled maybe we can have a spar, just for the hell of it. See if I can't whip you into submission." As soon as the words were out John wished he could take them, oh how he wished he could take them back. His feelings for Sherlock were supposed to be buried deep and ignored in favor of keeping his friendship, that was very much difficult when his mind provided vivid imagery of just how he could get Sherlock to submit. More than a bit not good.

Sherlock's thumb slipped his control just a bit and hit the screen of the phone hard enough to crack it. Dear God if he wasn't having fantasies before he certainly was now. And as usual his mouth ran away from him, "Hm I'd like to see you try Captain."

Stupid. Stupid. That purring line held all too much of his interest in John for heart's safety.

John threw Sherlock a look from the corner of his eye as he filed away the other's reaction. He'd noticed both the cracked screen and the lowering of Sherlock's tone of voice. He didn't know just what it meant but he would examine it later, when he could freak out in private. If John's feelings weren't as one-sided has he'd believed they were, then he actually didn't know what to do but he would have to do something. He'd learned something from living with Sherlock though and that was that more data was acquired.

"Yes, Captain. I was an army doctor but still a soldier, I promise you that I could drill the men under me until they cried."

He crossed his legs because he'd just lost all hope of keeping his mind clean and if he weren't a vampire with sluggish blood flow he'd be blushing. He gave a little too much attention to tucking his phone away again, he'd have to tell Mycroft that it broke when John punched him because he was not admitting to any sort of loss of control in front of his brother. "Ah but I'm not under you am I?" More was the pity, his over active brain provided from the peanut gallery.

"Not yet but I'm confident I could bring you to your knees in battle." John flexed his hand, watching his bruised and split knuckles from punching Sherlock. He didn't have the perk of accelerated healing so he had to live with his aches. Still it had been very much worth it, bruised knuckles were nothing against a bullet in the shoulder, lodged in the bone.

Sherlock almost made a whimper of relief as the car stopped before he could say anything about 'only in battle' or get too deep in a fantasy of being on his knees in front of John, preferably naked. "We're here so you'll have to convince me that you could have me on my knees at a later date I'm afraid." Oh God time to get himself out of the car and away from this conversation. He opened the door and slid out with his usual grace.

John followed Sherlock out of the car, less graceful but with a small smile playing over his lips. Oh he would have fun collecting the data he needed. He felt more alive than he had in a long time, even living with Sherlock. He looked up at the unassuming, tasteful building. One couldn't see that a Master vampire resided there but John figured that was the point, he took a deep breath and followed Sherlock inside.

To be continued…

AN: Thank you so much for reading and we would love to hear what you think so far. See you next chapter.