*Please note that I do not work for/ represent BBC or The CW (who own Supernatural, last I checked. If they no longer have the rights, I don't represent the owner). But jolly gee, don't I wish….*

John Watson's guilt was devouring him. Sherlock had returned from his death (it had been a shock trying to trade his life for Sherlock's to find out he wasn't really dead, the idiot) but John still hadn't told him of his secret duty. His flat mate had once told him that future flat mates should know the worst of each other. By keeping Sherlock in the dark John was protecting him, but it was shredding John's conscience to bits. He couldn't know about the secret stash of holy water and salt under the creaky floorboard next to his bed (Mrs. Hudson would have a fit). Lying to Sherlock had been easy until that bloody phone call from the American hunters. They'd needed directions to some demon's grave. Apparently they hadn't yet figured out that Demons' bones could be burned like ghosts.

"John?" Grey eyes were peering at him inquisitively. Damn. Sherlock was making this hard.

"Just thinking." was his unusually gruff answer. Sherlock steepled an eyebrow suspiciously.

"Fine. Pass me your laptop, I'm bored." John couldn't do that. The directions to a Scottish cemetery were still there and would bring up questions. Besides, he'd been looking at buying new silver bullets online.

"Use yours." John glanced at his watch. Dinnertime. Perfect. "Or better yet, let's go get some food. I'd consent to Angelo's." Sherlock seemed to notice that it was a thinly veiled order.

"Fine. It'll staunch this boredom for a few seconds." He was acting like a petulant child, but at least he was dressed.

The taxi ride to Angelo's seemed to take forever in the uncomfortable silence (John was still thinking).

Dinner went as trivial as possible. They talked about some case they'd received that Sherlock had solved in about two seconds. "It was the assistant-obviously."

"Sherlock?" He was going to tell him about the excursions to kill demons and other things that go bump in the night, but the grey eyes peering up at him so eagerly made it impossible. So he said "Can we walk home? It's a lovely night." Normally he wouldn't have agreed, but something about John's demeanor throughout the day caused him to relent.

"Fine, at least it won't be as boring as taking a car." He flipped his collar up dramatically and swished his coat. "Come along John." John shoved his hands in his pockets, trudging along Sherlock's lanky form. They walked in companionable silence until a shrill scream wrenched through the cool night air. Eyes met and they were off on a chase for the attacker. In a nearby alleyway a woman was pressed into the brick wall. Her attacker's face was pressed against her neck. The screams were silenced by a hand over her mouth. "Stop!" Sherlock shouted.

A head rose to meet their eyesight. Bright red orbs glinted back, the woman's lifeblood glinting on fangs.

"Sherlock, run." John ordered.

"But John, that woman..."

"Now, Sherlock. And don't call Lestrade." Greg would want a full investigation on the most likely dead woman's attacker. For once, Sherlock actually listened to John (a Christmas miracle!).

Sherlock paused at the alleyway entrance. "John! Come on!" John ignored his best friend. The vampire was eyeing him up.

"Hmm." It took a deep breath. "Hunter. And here I thought I'd have to catch dessert." It grinned. John's fingers gripped the knife hidden up his sleeve- thankful he'd remembered to bring it.

"You shouldn't have gone hunting tonight, bloodsucker." John drawled.

It snickered. "It's not as if you're the great John Watson. You're probably some bloke named John who thought he'd try his hand at hunting. You're gonna be a great meal." It lunged at John- teeth snapping in the thin air where John had been standing.

"Wrong." John said, borrowing Sherlock's word. He swung the knife, connecting with its bicep. "My name is John Watson." The knife severed the vampire's neck, separating the head from the body. He turned his attention to the woman. Still alive, barely. "Sherlock! I know you're still there. Help me get her back to our flat." John wrenched his jacket off to staunch the bleeding from the bite marks in her neck. Sherlock seemed to materialize by him.

"Why no ambulance? And was it necessary to decapitate the poor fellow?" He fiddled with his coat buttons. "And why did you tell me to run?" Sherlock was sure in a chatty mood. Perhaps he couldn't deduce it from John's knife.

"Later, Sherlock. She needs medical attention." And the cure for vampirism, he added mentally.

"Fine." He huffed. John sighed. The explanation of this was going to suck- pun intended. Mycroft probably had CCTV on this alleyway and would be paying him a not so pleasant visit. Just what he needed.

By some miracle they reached the flat without alerting any authorities. The girl was stabilized. John put the kettle on and prepared a glass of remedy for her- just in case. She began to come around.

"Mmm." Her eyes snapped open- blood red. John jumped into action, forcing the cure down her throat. She began to vomit all over the flat's carpet. At least she wasn't trying to eat them. "You saved me." She whispered when the bout had gone and her humanity had been returned.

"Yeah. Watch the wound. You got a bad round of LSD. You should be alright in a few days. The blood loss will be a problem, try to drink fluids. We'll call you a cab."

Sherlock turned to interrogate him immediately after the woman had left. "All in due time, Sherlock." He made a tea for them with the boiled water from the kettle. "Here, drink it." Sherlock eyed it suspiciously, but sipped it anyway.

"Explain. Now." He ordered.

John took a huge breath and sighed. "That was a vampire. And I-I'm a Hunter."

A/N: Whew. That was hard. I'll keep this brief. Hope you liked it! Comment please