Author's Note: Johnlock is sorta inevitable in a story like this, what with the relationship (my idea of the relationship) between vampires and their prey... which is, uh, us. So just be warned. Also note that this is an alternate (but similar) universe fan fiction.

Sherlock's POV:

I close my eyes and breathe slowly. Breathing in every smell, every scent. My senses pick up everything. The dampness in the air. Rain. A faint smell of burnt. Someone's lit a fire. I can hear the screeching of the brakes on a cab and the faint smell of cigarette fills my nostrils. Someone brushes my sleeve. A sound reaches my ears. The steady beating of a heart.

Steady. Focus on what you're doing. Home. You're going home. More heartbeats. The London night crowd. Thousands of people, oblivious, unsuspecting people. Just one wouldn't hurt. There are so many of them. They wouldn't even remember. A young girl brushes past me. She's hurrying quickly to some destination. Her quickened heartbeat pounds in my ears.

I round a corner and duck into a nearby alley. Leaning against the wall, I try to breathe. Easy. You can't. I close my eyes and try to shut out everything, but it's no use. All the sounds of life pound in my ears. Smells fill my senses. A+, B-, oh an O. Those are tangy… no, stop. Stop. I have to stop. I can't. But I want to. I haven't let myself in month. It's not healthy, it's dangerous. But what else am I supposed to do? I can't just go out and feed whenever I want. Normally walks in the moonlight help clear my mind from such thoughts, but it's been so bloody long.

My tongue darts out in between my chapped lips. I need to feed. There's always the morgue. There's enough blood there to last a lifetime, or part of one. But I want fresh blood. Warm flowing blood. My breathing has increased. The thought of fresh blood makes my body shake. I can't go on much longer. I need to get inside. You can do this. You've lasted this long. Just get back to the flat.

"Are you okay?"

God no. No. I won't open my eyes. I don't have to. Girl. Small build. Young. Vulnerable. Just wanting to help. Heartbeat steady.

"Do you need help?" I can feel her hand on my coat. I open my eyes. She's standing in front of me, concern filling her large eyes. "Do you want me to get you help?"

I open my mouth to say something, but immediately the scent of her flows into it. B+. I shove my hands into my eyes.

"NO!" I find myself yelling, more to me than to her. She takes a step back, but she can see that I'm shaking.

"Listen. I'm gonna get you some help, okay?" She tries taking my arm. I look down at her. My eyes go automatically to her neck. She's wearing a semi-revealing shirt so it's fully exposed. I can see a vain pulsing under her thin skin.

"You don't look so good," she says leaning in close to my face. She puts a hesitant hand to my forehead pushing my sweat-soaked bangs out of the way. "God, you're burning up." She pulls her hand away, but I grab it. Her eyebrows knit together. "What are y-" I cover her mouth with my hand. I can't take it anymore. I have to feed, and it's now or never.

I drag her further into the alley. Her screams are muffled under my hand. We're near the back of the alley when she bites into my hand. I pull it back and hiss, she screams once but I stop her with my other hand.

I push her up against the wall, trapping her with my legs and my free hand. Her wild eyes dart back and forth pleadingly. I hate to do this to her. She was just trying to help, but I can't wait any longer. I take my hand off her mouth and move it to her throat pressing into her vocal chords. She makes a strangled noise, but I don't pay attention.

I lean in toward her neck. Her scent overwhelms me. I can smell her perfume, her fear. My fangs extend and I hover them over her neck. My pupils dilate. My irises change from blue to a deep red. I sink my teeth into her neck, feeling the blood pooling in my mouth. It's wonderful. So warm. I gulp it down gleefully. I can feel it running down my throat, throughout my body, warming my cold limbs.

The girl shudders and slips down the wall. I put my hand under her back to keep her upright. I'm still sucking the blood from her. I know how much I can take. A pint, no more.

I lap up her blood eagerly, trying not to take it too quickly, trying to savor it. She moans quietly and then her head falls forward. She's blacked out. At least she doesn't feel any more pain.

I take as much as I can; resisting the urge to drain her completely, then I lay her gently on the ground and head out of the alley. Someone will find her in the morning. She'll be fine. I wipe the blood off my mouth with the back of my hand. I'm hesitant to lick it off, but I have to. Can't just go round London with my hand covered in blood. People would talk.

I reach 221B in record time, feeling refreshed. I hate sucking the blood from innocent people, but god, having fresh blood always makes me feel wonderful, better than any drug can make me feel. If only it weren't what it is.

I silently slip into the flat, taking care to shut the door so that it doesn't creak. It's almost 3am. So why is the telly still on? I creep silently into the sitting room. John's passed out on the sofa. It's obvious that he had tried to wait up for me.

I look toward the telly, some late night movie is playing. I switch it off and revel in the silence of the room. John's steady breathing is the only sound that reaches my sensitive ears. It's beautiful. I turn to watch him. God he's adorable, curled up in a little ball. He's wearing his striped jumper, clutching the Union Jack pillow to his chest as though it's a teddy bear.

I could watch him all night, but I can't. I go over to him and scoop him up in my arms. He's light as a feather mostly because of my strength, which has been renewed thanks to my recent feeding. John mumbles something and clutches at my shirt in his sleep. My heart flutters a little. No. No, Sherlock. No emotions.

I clear my head and carry John upstairs to his room. I set him down on his bed and pull the covers over him. He snuggles down into his pillow and sighs, a slight smile on his lips. I ruffle his hair a bit. My blogger. My innocent little blogger. He doesn't know. He doesn't know about me. Doesn't know what I am. He doesn't know the reason for my late nights on the town, why I go so long without eating, or why I stay cooped up in 221B on sunny days. He doesn't know and he can never know.

I brush the back of my cold fingers on his warm cheek. He stirs a bit, his eyelids flutter. I quickly duck out of his room and shut the door. I walk back downstairs and head into the bathroom. Shutting the door I lean against it and sigh heavily.

I look over at the mirror to my right. My gaunt reflection stares back at me. It's not true, what people say about vampires. I should know. We're not bloodthirsty monsters, at least not all the time. We have our episodes, just like anyone in denial of anything. We do have reflections. It's true that we don't like sunlight, but we don't burst into flames when it touches us, or do anything stupid like sparkle. And we do feel things, which can be a problem. At least it's a problem for me.

My problem put simply is John. Ever since I met him I've felt that need. That urge. I want him. But it's more than just the usual want. I want more than his blood. I want him, all of him, which scares me. I've never had to deal with feelings before. I've always been good at keeping them distant. But when I'm around John, my defenses melt away. He's just so genuine, so sweet, so unafraid. It makes me think that maybe I could be with him, that he wouldn't be scared of me. But who am I kidding. I'm a monster. I know the moment I have him, I won't be able to resist, and that's what keeps me distant from him. He assumes it's because I'm some sort of inhuman machine, incapable of feeling any emotion. If only he knew.

I run my hand through my hair and breathe a few times then I take my coat off and hang it on the door. The front of my shirt is soaked in blood. I pray that I didn't get any on John. I strip myself of the wet garment and I let it soak in the sink as I take a ridiculously long shower. Standing under the water helps me relax, helps me think. I lean my head back and let the hot droplets hit my face, letting them wash away any traces of blood that might still be on me.

I finish and then slip into a fresh shirt and pants and my blue robe. I sit in my chair and flip through the channels on the telly. Nothing. News. Nothing. Soaps. Nothing. I switch it off and press my fingertips together. I close my eyes and think. I could try to go to sleep, but what's the point? I don't need sleep, it's just a distraction. But what else is there to do?

Sighing, I make my way to my room. I slide under the covers and curl up in a tight ball. I wish John were with me. The cold covers against my icy skin makes me shiver. He would be able to warm me up. Maybe I should go and keep him company? No, you idiot. You can't just go and "keep him company." You know what will happen and then what? He'll know and he'll leave.

I close my eyes and try to sleep, clearing my mind of all thoughts. I don't want to think about John, I don't want to feel. It's bad enough that I have to deal with what I am; I don't need silly feeling to complicate things even further.

I toss and turn for hours and then I decide to just go and sit on the sofa. The first rays of morning are just staring to flit in through the curtains as I make my way to the living room. I cringe as the sunbeams cross over my face. Cursing, I pull the drapes shut all the way. Sunlight always annoys me. Why do we even need it? It's just there for the plants and such, why can't it just be centered on them? Why's it got to go bloody everywhere?

I sprawl out on the couch and close my eyes. The sound of early morning reaches my ears. Life goes on as usual outside the flat. Ordinary people with ordinary lives. And then there's me. God, I wish I could be normal. Live life like everyone else. Day by day. Not a care in the world.

I lose track of the hours, lying there on the couch, wishing that I wasn't what I am. Finally I hear a noise from behind me. John.

"Mornin," John says shuffling into the kitchen. He pops some toast into the toaster. "Want me to make you something?"

I shake my head. "Already eaten."

John nods. He hums as he bustles about the kitchen buttering his toast and trying to decide what jam to use.

I watch him through half-lidded eyes. He's so ordinary. So normal. It's ridiculous. I wish again that I could be like him. He sits down and opens today's paper. Taking a bite of toast he peruses the pages.

"You gotten any new cases?" John asks through a mouthful of toast.

"No," I respond, closing my eyes.

John makes a 'hmm' noise and his eyes dart back and forth on the newspaper page. He stops and furrows his brow. "You see this?" he asks pointing to the page. "Young girl was found in an alley last night. Says she had been attacked by something." I stiffen. "Bite marks on her neck." John looks up. "Sound interesting?"

I've made the paper. I knew it was stupid to feed, especially in the streets, but I couldn't help myself.

John looks over at me. "You want to investigate?" I shake my head. John goes back to his toast. I can tell that he wants me to have something to do. We haven't had cases for god knows how long, and we both know how I get when I'm bored. Cases also help to take my mind off other things, like physical needs and wants. Off of feeding, and John.

John glances up at the clock. "Whew, that late already?" he says getting up. He tries to find a place for his plate among my experiments. He ends up just leaving the plate on the table. He comes into the sitting room and stands over the couch looking down at me. "You gonna be staying in today?"

I open an eye and look up at him. "Yes," I reply curtly, ignoring the fact that John's scent is overpowering. It fills my senses and I bite my lip. I can hear his steady heartbeat above me, the sound of his soft breathing. He's AB+. I've never tasted that before. No. No you don't. You can't. This is John.

My body betrays me. I can feel my incisors pressing insistently on my bottom lip. They would be drawing blood if I had any to spill. John does. No. Stop. I want John to go away. I can't risk injuring him. Luckily he heads to the stairs.

He turns at the base of the stairs and stands there. "Uh, Sherlock," he says softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was thinking. After I get back from work, this evening. Um. We should go out and catch up. We haven't had a good chat for a while. And flatmates need to keep up to date with each other."

He smiles and I feel that sensation in the pit of my stomach. That little fluttering. No. No emotions.

"Would that be okay tonight?" John asks.

"That sounds fine," I say, my speech partially slurred because of my teeth, which won't go away.

John remains oblivious to my problem. "Great! Shall we say Angelo's?" I nod. John smiles again and bounds upstairs. I make sure he's gone and then I lose it.

I lay there panting on the couch, my fangs fully bared. Why are they doing this? John's scent still fills my head. It's warm and soothing, but god knows what it's doing to me. What John's doing to me.

I want him so badly. Every fiber within me is screaming for him. I want to run my hands through that messy little mop of his, to stare into those puppy dog eyes, to feel his heat, warm against my cold. My mind strays to dangerous territory, thinking about what I might do with him if I had him. What I could do with him.

I run my tongue over my fangs. John's skin is so soft; it would only take one bite. My pupils dilate. One bite, just one bite.

Stop it. I realize what's going on. Calm down. I close my eyes and breathe. What's happening to me? What is this? I've never felt this must need for anything before. Sure when I go without feeding for a long time it comes close. But this is different. This is new. It's not just his blood that's doing this to me. It's him.

"Sherlock? You okay?" John's back. I get up from the couch, clamping my mouth shut.

"I'm fine," I mumble through clenched teeth. Get out of here John. Get out.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," I gasp. "I'm just going to my room." Go John. Get away from me. I push past him in the hallway. He stops me. His fingers feel like fire on my arm.

"Get some rest," John orders. He lets go of my arm. "See you tonight then?" I nod. I have to get away from him. We're so close. I can see every detail of his face, the little bit of worry behind his deep eyes.

Without meaning to, my eyes slide down to his neck. My fangs extend to their full length, pushing my mouth open slightly. I swear I'm shaking. John pats me on the shoulder and gives me a small smile. I breathe through my nose, restraining myself from lunging at him. Then he's gone, off to work like a normal bloke.

As soon as the door clicks I slump down on the wall. Clutching my head in my hands I focus on breathing. My breath comes out in strangled gasps, whistling past my extended fangs. I'm fighting the urge to scream. There are too many emotions.

John. I can't do it anymore. I have to be with him. I have to. But you'll hurt him. You know you will. I stand up shakily, propping myself against the wall for support. I know what I could do to him, but I can't take it anymore.

Tonight. I'll ask him tonight. And I'll tell him what I am. I'll let him decide what he wants to do. If he leaves then at least I won't risk hurting him. But what if he doesn't care? What if he says that he's not afraid? He's John Watson, MD. He's not afraid of such things as vampires. He's been through war. He can handle me.

My mind reels at the thought of John possibly being okay with me. Possibly wanting me. Deep down I know that once he finds out what I am it'd be over. But I don't let myself focus on that. I think about the possibility that John and I can be together.

I slowly make my way to my room, where I fall onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling. I've calmed down a bit. My eyes are normal, but my teeth still have a ways to go before I don't have to worry about them.

I close my eyes. I hate what I am. If I could change I would. But this is the card I've been dealt. If only I could be what John thinks I am, the unemotional consulting detective, who cares about no one but himself. If only that were true. If only I didn't care about John Watson.

End of Chapter 1. Chapter 2 will be posted shortly.