It was finally night time. It was time to go to war. Someone had killed his best friend, and they were going to pay. He could only assume it was the werewolves. They hated his kind, the vampires, the creatures of the night, and they had finally gotten to Sherlock. John had already killed Moriarty, dirty dog, but it wasn't enough.

There would be blood.

Moriarty's right hand man was someone named Moran, and John had finally found his location. When he got his hands on the werewolf he'd wring his neck. It was the only thing on his mind as he made his way to the warehouse, so he was caught off guard when he was tackled to the ground. He blinked up at the woman who held his wrists to the ground as she straddled his hips.

"What are you doing here," she snarled, baring her fangs. A vampire.

"I- I'm here for Moran. What's a vampire doing here?"

"I'm Sebastia Moran. I live here. What do you want?"

He was silent for a moment, processing the information. She was supposed to be a he. She was supposed to be a werewolf. "Did you work for Moriarty?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes," she answered warily. "Why?"

He sighed. "I was looking for Moriarty's right hand man. I assumed he would be a werewolf. I was expecting someone entirely different."

She smirked at him, and it looked like a challenge. "So, you aren't going to kill me because I'm a vampire, or because I'm a woman?"

He stuttered for a moment, wondering which answer was least likely to make her angry. He just wanted to get out of here and get back to his work, killing werewolves. But she was on top of him and she was quite strong. Eaten recently, most likely. He could smell the metallic bite of blood and it was making him hungry, which only served to make this all worse. "Because you're a vampire," he said, assuming that was less likely to hurt her pride.

It was soon apparent this answer didn't satisfy her. She released his hand long enough to deal a blow to his jaw, and he took the time to move his hand to catch her wrist as she reached for his arm again. She narrowed her eyes at him and pushed against his arm, trying to push it back to the ground. He decided to use her effort against her, pulling the arm she was already pushing and letting her tumble off, rolling on top of her and pinning her arms. He heaved a sigh and leveled his slightly annoyed gaze at her. "Listen, I have other things to do. I don't kill vampires. There are few enough of us as there is. So could I just go?"

"Breed is not the same as alliance," she spat. "I side with the werewolves, with Moriarty. Your complacency is going to get you killed."

John frowned down at her. "Do you want a fight?" He released her hands, sitting back on his feet as he straddled her hips. He hoped she'd see it as a peace offering. He watched her as she inspecting him, rubbing his sore jaw. As she softly shook her head, ruffling her blond hair, he let his guard down. That was all she needed. She flipped him onto his back, pinning him down again, her face inches from his.

"Yes," she murmured. "I've been so bored." She let her nose graze his cheek, giggling as he sucked in his breath. "Am I making you nervous?" She pulled back just far enough to blink down at him, tugging at her lower lip with her teeth. "Breathe," she whispered, and he realized he had been holding his breath. He took a few uneven gasps, going a little limp against the concrete. She giggled again and kissed the wound she had inflicted on his jaw gently, then stood and began to walk away. His eyes went wide as he scrambled to his feet. He grabbed her wrist, tugging her to a halt. "Wait." She glanced over her shoulder with a triumphant smirk, her eyes twinkling. He gazed at her with confusion, trying to figure her out. "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving. We'll see each other again."

He returned her smirk, tugging her body to his and placing a chaste kiss on her lips. He then folded his hands together behind his back and took a step back, nodding his farewell. She smiled and sauntered away, her hips making him forget for a moment that she was, technically, his enemy.

He was in trouble.