A/N Sorry it's been so long since my last update, I wanted to get this chapter right.
John was looking defiantly at Sherlock with a smile plastered on his face like a mask but inside he was not as resolved as he appeared. He was scared, and the warm buzz of adrenaline, which usually distracted him from his fright, was absent. He felt cold and dead inside, but for the knot of fear twisting and writhing in his stomach.
Sherlock was, as always, masking his emotions but you could still see the fear and unease in his eyes, his unwillingness to go through with John's suggestion.
John could see Sherlock's indecision and he knew he could just walk away now and nothing would change, he would be okay, Sherlock could get through this, finish the syringe, regain normal eyes and teeth and a pulse, it would all be fine...
No. Once Captain John H. Watson made a decision, he stuck to it, and he had been considering this particular decision for days, he was sure it would be fine. But Sherlock was almost certainly not going to take up his offer, John could tell. Dare he... provoke him? It would be near suicide! But, there was a little part of John's brain which was certain that Sherlock would never hurt him.
For the sake of his friend, John focused on this part of his brain as he stepped through the door - into Sherlock's room.
The shock and alarm flashed across Sherlock's face, his eyes widening as he stepped back.
What is John doing? What is John doing? What is John doing? What is John doing? No!
Sherlock's attempts, however, to force John back into the corridor, were futile.
John took a deep breath as he steeled himself for the next step. He slowly, but forcefully, reached out, grasped Sherlock's hand and brought it up to his own chest... just above his heart. There was little resistance on Sherlock's part, he didn't seem to understand what John was doing until his hand was on John's chest.
He could feel it, just beneath his fingers, John's heart, beating in a regular rhythm, pumping warm, rich, dark blood through John's veins, coursing up his neck and down his legs and down his arms and around his hands and- no! No! This was not going to happen! He tried to pull away but John was holding his wrist with a grip of iron. Sherlock moaned, partly because he couldn't escape and it was incredibly frustrating, but also because there was blood, real blood, mere inches away. And he had sworn to himself that he would never drink that blood.
John smiled to himself. He could see a feral glint in Sherlock's eye and he was sure he would give in. But no, Sherlock remained with his mouth firmly closed and his eyes firmly averted. John mentally sighed, fine, be like that. He gripped Sherlock's hand even tighter, so he could not possibly remove it and, raising his other hand, placed Sherlock's hand on the pulse point on his wrist.
Sherlock immediately stiffened as his hand was placed on John's wrist. He could really feel his heart beat now, without the layers of jumper in the way. And it was driving him crazy.
Still he abstained.
Finally John, seeing that nothing else would shake Sherlock, played his final card.
He tightened his grip on Sherlock's hand.
John was moving his hand again, Sherlock inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, he could no longer feel John's blood flowing temptingly under his finger tips... Oh God! His fingers touched John's neck and he knew he was doomed. He could feel John's blood almost as if he was really touching it, and not just pressing the pulse point on John's neck. He felt his self-control shatter like a sheet of glass, the piece crashing through his body and making him spring into action.
John smiled as the feral spark dancing in Sherlock's eyes burst into flame, it worked, but what would be the outcome?