The plot monkeys came up with this brain child after an inspiring episode of Castle, Season 2: Episode 6- which I have shamelessly borrowed from for this fic (with a little twist from Criminal Minds to spice it up).

Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own Sherlock or the plot parts and dialogue heavily borrowed from Castle and CM.

I hope you enjoy!

In all the darkest pages in the malign supernatural,

there is no more terrible tradition than that of a vampire –

a pariah even among demons.

~ Montague Summers

Sherlock barely restrained the huff of annoyance trying to escape his mouth as the people in his flat bantered back and forth over their favorite horror films. He wished they'd just shut up already and get to it so he could at least retreat to the solace of his mind palace in the near dark without being noticed.

Normally he loved the weeks leading up to Halloween—people were always so creative when it came to murders around this time. This year, however, remained uncharacteristically calm and it was driving the consulting detective insane. He was so bored, he was contemplating a Frankenstein-like experiment just for the sake of something to do. Sherlock had only held off because he knew that John would frown upon such things.

And that's how he ended up wedged on the couch between its right arm and his blogger. It was the weekend before the ghostly holiday and the doctor had gotten the brilliant idea that they should invite their friends over for a movie night.

"So what's your favorite scary movie, Sherlock?" Molly asked as she came back into the sitting room with a huge bowl of popcorn. She set it on the coffee table before sitting down in his squishy leather chair.

Mike Dimmock turned a bit to regard the genius with open curiosity from his claimed position in John's wingback chair.

"They're all rather tedious," Sherlock answered, distain thick in his deep baritone. "And most are rather ridiculous. They are so simple! All you have to do—"

"Sherlock," John warned with an evil sideways glance.

"I dunno," Lestrade said, leaning around John to address Sherlock. "I would have thought you would enjoy something in the genre. After all, the horror film industry has so much to offer—there's your classic slasher flicks, then you have the monster movies—zombies included—demon possession and evil spirits, and the who-dunnits."

"Greg, don't you think that slasher films and the who-dunnits are really the same thing?" Dimmock inquired.

"No—he has a point," Molly chimed in. "Take Halloween, the quintessential slasher movie. You know the murder is Michael Myers."

"Alright, I see your point—but I was thinking of Saw actually," Michael conceded and took a swig from his beer bottle.

Sherlock snorted at that. "Honestly, Dimmock—I thought you had better taste than that. It was quite obvious who the killer was within the first twenty minutes! Remind me again how you made DI ranking?"

The barbed comment earned him a smack on the leg from his flat mate.

"Fine," the genius acquiesced. "If you must know, I rather enjoyed the premise of that movie The Silence of the Lambs."

Dimmock rolled his eyes and muttered, "Of course you did."

"I always pictured you as more of a zombie kind of bloke myself…" Greg declared with a shrug.

"Hmm…well, yes—in theory the concept is rather intriguing…" Sherlock admitted.

"I like the classic slashers myself," Michael said.

"Which one?" John asked as he grabbed a handful of popcorn.

"Halloween—what else is there? It's the iconic horror movie!" Dimmock replied.

"Yes!" Molly agreed. "It follows the three basic rules of all horror movies."

Despite his better judgment, Sherlock asked the one question he knew he'd regret, "And what are those?"

Four pairs of eyes swiveled to stare at him.

"You're joking, right? Lestrade begged at the same time John declared, "Everyone knows the rules!"

Sherlock crossed his arms and huffed, "Well, clearly I don't so someone just tell me then!"

"Alright—it's like this," Molly explained. "These are the three basic rules to surviving any horror movie. Number one—only virgins can outsmart the killer. Sex equals death here. Number two—you can't drink or do drugs because it's a sin and basically an extension of number one. And number three—you can never under any circumstances say 'I'll be right back' because you won't be back."

"Well, we're all buggered with number two!" Dimmock laughed and raised his beer. "I think the only one of us that has a fighting chance is Sherlock!"

Greg chuckled and Molly giggled behind her hand and avoided looking at the consulting detective.

"What?" Sherlock demanded.

John coughed to cover up the laugh threatening to bubble forth and answered, "Umm, they're implying that you're a virgin."

The pout that the doctor knew so well graced Sherlock's face as he turned his head away from his companions at glare into the dark corner of the sitting room.

"Oh, come now," John said and laid a hand on his flat mate's elbow. "They're just taking the piss—it's alright."

Even in the dim lighting, they could make out the blush creeping along the genius' cheeks.

"I think it's sweet actually," declared Molly.

Dimmock stared at him in disbelief. "I was just joking. Are you seriously still a virgin? At your age? You've got to be kidding me, Sherlock!"

Greg started to laugh even harder. "Well—we all know that John isn't. You're screwed, mate, if you ever end up in a horror movie!" That got everyone in an uproar.

John regarded Sherlock with increased interest for several long seconds. He had always wondered about his best friend's history in that regard—especially after Mycroft's comment from so long ago, but it was something they never discussed. The flushed cheeks told the doctor all he needed to know about that accuracy of Dimmock's assumption.

It was alright, he didn't mind taking the heat for this one since the subject was clearly making Sherlock uncomfortable. John leaned forward and waved his hands to get everyone's attention. "Alright, alright! Let's get to then, shall we? Ladies first—so Molly, what is our first feature this evening?"

She grinned and retrieved a movie from her purse and flounced over to the DVD player. As she stuck in this disc, she informed them, "I thought that a nice, newer cult classic was in order. This is my favorite: Scream."

"Lovely!" John applauded her choice for their movie marathon.

While Sherlock started to fast forward through the previews, Michael proposed, "Let's make this a bit more interesting—a game if you will."

"What did you have in mind?" Greg asked, taking the bait.

With an evil grin, Dimmock responded, "So we continue this throughout the whole night: every time someone asks 'Is anyone there?'—you take a drink. Any time someone can't get a phone signal—you drink. Any time someone closes a door to find the killer standing right there—you drink!"

"And anytime someone says 'I'll be right back!'—you drink!" Molly added, excitedly, paying homage to her movie of choice.

"Oh God!" Lestrade groaned. "Are you trying to give us all alcohol poisoning tonight?"

"Shut it, you twat—you can take it!" Michael scoffed.

"We definitely have enough beer to keep us going!" John supplied cheerily

Sherlock sighed and flicked off the end table light next to him as the beginning credits started to flash across the screen. This was going to be a long night…


Several hours later and three movies in, his four companions were all fairly sauced. Sherlock was finding their drunken antics far more interesting than the films themselves. About half way through the second movie, they all started talking to the characters in the movies—warning them to look behind them, shouting to turn on lights in a room, telling the fictional people to run the other way…it was all fairly amusing.

"God—I am so drunk right now!" Dimmock complained as he leaned his head against the backrest of the chair.

"Lightweight," teased John as he stumbled back in from obtaining another round of beers from the kitchen. He passed them out then flopped down into his seat, falling onto Sherlock in the process.

The consulting detective jerked back in surprise as his flat mate invaded his personal space. There wasn't anywhere for him to go. John paused momentarily as his intoxicated brain tried to process the sudden look of panic crossing his partner's face. He rested a warm hand on Sherlock's chest in what was meant to be a calming manner.

"Relax," the doctor stage whispered. "I don't bite…" An indecent grin spread across his face as he added, "…hard…"

The two DIs snickered in response and Molly giggled behind her hand, thinking in her drunkenness that if her mouth was covered, then the genius couldn't hear her.

"John…" Sherlock reprimanded weakly and tried to gently shove his blogger away.

He did not need his flat mate crawling all over him. It was bad enough that the doctor had on several occasions that evening, reached over unconsciously and either grabbed his hand or his thigh during a rather scary or intense scene. In his drunken haze, John had migrated closer and closer to his best friend. It was rather distracting and Sherlock, much to his annoyance, was trying desperately to quell his body's reaction to the close proximity of his blogger.

"Damn—can the two of you wait until we leave before you start shagging?" demanded Greg in feigned exasperation as he heaved himself up from the opposite end of the couch.

Molly and Dimmock both followed the older DI's lead and stumbled towards the door, acting like they were going to sneak out without the flat mates noticing.

"We're not shagging!" John protested loudly. "Though it might do Sherlock some good if he had a nice fuck—you know, loosen you up? A little tension reliever every once and a while…"

"John!" Sherlock rebuked just as loudly as the laughter of their friends floated back up the stairwell to them.

"Enjoy that Johnny Boy!" Dimmock called to him. "Don't tell us about that in the morning!" Then the front door slammed shut and they were left alone with each other.

"Really, John—this is quite uncalled for," the detective warned, trying to hold his blogger at bay.

"Wuzza matter?" the doctor slurred, sliding the hand on his flat mate's chest a little further south. As it came dangerously close to touching his crotch, Sherlock bolted out of his seat.

John frowned in disapproval at their sudden distance. "C'mere. I know you want to…"

Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Despite that—as the case may be—you are quite inebriated at the moment, John. And you're not gay—as you've declared countless times before."

The doctor, kneeling on the couch, beckoned him with his left hand. "I make an exception for you."

"No," the genius stated firmly. "I want you to come into my bed of your own volition without being under the influence of a substance that lowers your inhibitions. And I would also prefer you to being using proper grammar as well. Your use of language is severely impaired where you're drunk, John, and it is rather off-putting."

"Well sod off, you tosser!" John exclaimed indignantly as he staggered towards the stairs leading up to his room. "I'll just go have a wank by m'self then!"

Sherlock blushed at the improper images that popped into his mind at that statement. He was nearly on the verge of caving in when he heard John bump into something upstairs and start laughing at his own clumsiness. He sighed again. It was definitely in his best interest to wait until John could say those things to him sober. God only knew how much of this conversation the good doctor was going to remember in the morning.

John groaned as he gingerly sat down at his seat at the kitchen table. He dropped his head into his hands in an attempt to block out the unusually bright light of the room.

Sherlock just shook his head and placed a cup of tea near his flat mate's elbow, along with two paracetamol tablets and a glass of water.

"Thanks," the doctor mumbled and popped the pills into his mouth.

Sliding into his regular chair across from John, Sherlock regarded his blogger with unveiled amusement.

"How much do you remember from last night?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow.

With another groan, the doctor gave his flat mate a morose look. "You only ever ask that when I've managed to make a complete drunken fool of myself. What did I do this time?"

Smirking, the detective baited him, "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Well, when you say it like that, yeah…"

"Dimmock suggested we were shagging and then you came onto me quite strongly."

"Oh no…please tell me our friends had left!"

"They had."

"What did I say to you? I'm sure I made a right bloody arse of myself, didn't I?"

Now let's see how he handles this in the harsh light of day… "You proffered me—after attempting to sit back down, you fell on top of me. When I proceeded to try and distance myself from you, you made that comment that you 'didn't bite hard'. It was then that our 'friends' decided to take their leave. I do believe they were worried that we were going to partake of some sexual act right then and there. Dimmock made his comment as they were on the way down the stairs and you decided to make a bold move and attempted to fondle me—luckily I escaped your grasp before you could cause yourself too much embarrassment. But as I put some distance between us, you said 'you know you want it'. It was then that I reminded you that you are not gay, you told me that you would make an exception for me. I told you no, after which you informed me that you were going to go upstairs and 'have a wank'. It was all quite amusing."

The expression on John's face stated clearly that he was completely mortified by his drunken behavior. "I am so sorry, Sherlock…"

The genius just hummed in response and took a long sip of his tea. And this was precisely why he hadn't taken John up on his offer last night. He could only imagine what the scene would have been like this morning with his blogger waking up with Sherlock in bed with him. No—he was right to stand by his convictions. The doctor would only come to his bed with a clear mind, knowing exactly what the implications of his actions were—not as a drunken mistake. John meant too much to him to have any sexual encounter between them be a mistake. And clearly, any act they would have performed together last night would have been viewed by John as such in the harsh light of the morning.

Though he was still curious… "I wonder, however, how you feel about such activities now in the daylight?"

John stared blankly at him.

Sherlock clarified, "In all the research that I've done over the years on this matter, I have discovered that libations, when consumed in excess, tend to lower one's inhibitions. The subconscious barriers slip and people speak their minds more freely, but whatever they say tends to be something they have thought about before but normally would never give voice to… So I will ask you—since you're now sober, would you still consider taking me to bed?"

A deep blush spread across the doctor's cheeks and he quickly averted his eyes. He stood abruptly and mumbled about needing a shower before making a hasty exit from the kitchen.

The detective smirked into his tea. Well, that had been very interesting…very interesting indeed…

Okay-so I know that the wonderful festival of Samhain (also known as All Hallows' Eve, also known as Halloween) isn't necessarily celebrated in the UK like it is here in the States-but as this holiday is near and dear to my heart, please just go with me on this one. No Brit-pick hate mail about how you all don't celebrate it...which is interesting considering it's roots are Celtic in nature...anyway!-Just go with the flow people.

This is probably going to be a bit darker than some of my other stuff—not as much sweet fluffiness-so you're in for some rougher, ah, scenes than I've written thus far. After writing After Effects, I had to work on something that wasn't going to send me into diabetic shock...

***ALSO, and probably more importantly: I got the blue screen of death on my poor laptop recently (if you know what I'm taking about-you understand). As a result, I lost several files that I was in the process of working on-the rest of this story included. I have a tech-savvy friend attempting to recover the lost data. In the meantime, I'm going to try and rewrite what I lost and pray that he can get it back. Either way you will have a story! I just wanted to get this first section up since you know-starting a story that takes place at Halloween and posting the first bit weeks later is just weird to me, so here you are and I'll be back! I promise :) And lots of virtual candy corn to anyone who recognizes the movie reference earlier in the notes...