This job John had found himself while in London. Apparently some people had been murdered, their bodies drained of all of their blood, with small but gruesome puncture wounds along the neck. It wasn't very hard to figure it out. A vampire was what John was dealing with this time.

This whole deal had been put under the radar by Scotland yard, but of course John found out. (No thanks to Lestrade.)

John found the nest by connecting the dots; literally. He used a map of the city and planted a dot at each attack site, then drew lines to each, and at the center where they all crossed, was the nest, and John was closing in on it fast.

A wooden stake was clenched in his hand, while a spare one laid in his coat pocket. They had been soaked with Dead-man's blood before he had set out for the nest; just a stab to the heart would be enough, and head's off for good measure, then burning the bodies would finish the process. 'I just hope there's not that many…' John thought to himself before sighing heavily.

He stealthily crept through the abandoned building, until screams pierced the air. It shouldn't be like this, someone or something else was here. John barreled forward at top speed, breaking down the double doors that led to the main room. He saw that at least five dead bodies were laying on the ground, drenched in their own blood and the head's seperated from the bodies. A solitary man stood in the center of all this commotion, wiping his hands with a spare cloth. The man turned around, and John suddenly knew who it was; he never forgets a face. "What the hell are you doing here?" He yelled loudly, letting the weapon in his hand drop to his side.

Taking care of these nuisances. What else would I be doing here?" Sherlock's eyes flashed to black almost immediately.

John shuddered. "Can you please not do that?" He questioned softly

"Do what?"

"The eye thing."

"I don't control it most of the time. That's the one thing I don't have the hang of yet." His eyes faded back to the light grey.

The hunter sighed in frustration, flipping the stake in his hand to a defensive position. "I'm just gonna go then. Since you did the job for me." He started for the door.

"Yet you take the credit."

John stopped, and turned back to face the demon. "What?" He intertogated.

Sherlock smirked, chuckling, the deep sound of it echoing softly off the walls. "Exactly what I said. You take the credit for the jobs that I take care of."

"Because you always get here before me! If you gave me a chance then I'll actually be able to take care of it myself!" John raised his voice. "And I can't exactly say that a fricking demon has been doing my jobs for me!"

"Why not?"

"It's wrong that's what!" John was just about full out screaming by now. "If I walk up to Lestrade and say 'Hey, I've lied. I'm not doing the jobs that you assign me because a demon is taking care of it for me.' He's going to think I'm crazy!"

"So his name is Lestrade."

"You missed the point! Ugh…why am I even talking to you…" John sighed, exasperated. "I'm leaving."

John turned to leave once more, this time for sure, but was stopped by a sudden firm grip on his wrist. John knew. "Will you let go? I've gotta get back." He said.

"I never caught your name."

"It's John…" He told the demon; wrenching his hand out from the grip. John was soon gone.

Sherlock tilter his head, staring after the shorter man. "John…" He liked the feel of that name on his lips and smiled.