Underground London, three months later

Since the first time John and Sherlock had truly confessed their love for each other and let their relationship blossom to the point of sharing a bed, the coven had slowly backed off, which was not a good sign. The time for Sherlock's trial was drawing nearer and John's blood was becoming more and more valuable to them, knowing that if it were to be spilt, Sherlock would not be able to resist the feast. Yet the others were not so keen on waiting so long for the "right moment"; Irene wanted her revenge, Victor wanted out of the deal, Moran was growing bored, and the dogs were restless for another kill. Jim, however, was getting a bit too much fun out of watching them squirm under his hold; it was always fun. But now the four of them were standing in Jim's study waiting for orders as to what they should do about the two before Sherlock made his decision.

"I think it's been over five months, Jim," said Moran spitefully, "It's been over a year. Two springs they've known each other and we haven't made our move yet."

"I didn't expect him to last this long," Jim answered solemnly as he flipped through the pages of their file, "We have to act fast, otherwise we'll have a newborn on our hands and not under our control."

"Sherlock won't let us within an inch of John. He'll have grown even more protective of him now which will make it harder to separate them."

"Yes, I know. Victor—"

"No."

The others, even Irene, were surprised to hear Victor refuse Jim's wishes, but even the man who would do anything to have Sherlock once more had reached his limits.

"Excuse me?" Jim hissed.

"I said no. We can't do this—"

"I'm afraid we don't have a choice, Victor. He betrayed us—"

"How? He hasn't done a damn thing except fall in love with the man he was supposed to and try to start a life for himself without costing anyone else theirs."

Jim shook his head and rolled his eyes, "You know he cannot be forgiven—"

"Jim, this is ridiculous. Why are you doing this?"

"He must learn a lesson, Victor."

"Why?"

"Just try to understand. We told you what Delta saw, we told you that he would destroy us when he did change John, and we told you that he would not get out of this alive."

"But why?"

Irene and Moran looked between them and Jim didn't really seem to understand why he was so opposed to this, but then again, he didn't really care.

"I must destroy him," Jim answered, his voice low and dangerous, "My only competition is no longer enjoyable. He must be beaten, and feeding John Watson to him is the greatest pleasure I can have."

Victor sighed and shook his head before straightening himself and sauntering over to Jim.

"You really think this is the way to go about ending Holmes' life? Why not kill John Watson outright? Sherlock will be begging for death then. You know how hard it is for soulmates to kill one another and that it is impossible without the help from another outside source that we don't want to mess with, especially since we haven't uttered a word downstairs in centuries."

"Yes…yes you're right."

"He's right?" Irene chimed in suddenly, "How—"

"Sebastian, collect Johnny Boy for me. Victor, go with him and get Sherlock. Make sure they are both quiet when brought here and keep them separated."

"Shall I take the dogs?" Moran asked.

"Just three or four. Sherlock will put up a fight and the dogs are stronger than him."

"What about the wolves?"

"Leave them here. The full moon is soon and I can't lose John to lycanthropy."

All three nodded and bowed to Jim before they left the room and went immediately to the dining room to leave Irene there. She wasn't entirely too thrilled to be left alone, but at the same time, she didn't mind, for she was getting what she wanted…more or less. In a matter of hours, maybe even days, Sherlock and John would be dead and they wouldn't have anything else to worry about, as it should be.

"Don't harm him," she warned them, though her voice was soft even as she looked at Victor, "Please."

"We will do what we can," said Victor, "but mind you, we could be gone a few days."

Irene sighed and slowly turned to take her seat at the high end of the table as though she were queen, the feast of the night prior still lying with his ribcage broken open in the middle like a roast.

"Don't harm him," she warned them again, and with that, they were gone and she was alone to think and wait.

221b Baker Street

About three months had passed since John and Sherlock had first started sleeping together and the two had been living a somewhat domestic life together. Well, if domestic means solving murders and case after case for New Scotland Yard and cleaning out the fridge of severed body parts, then their lives were completely normal. Some nights they didn't even make it back to the bedroom, Mrs. Hudson would just find them curled up together on the sofa with their shoes still on their feet, but tonight they luckily had the night off and were lounging together on the sofa, Sherlock's head resting comfortably on John's shoulder and John's arm around him. Still, he was a little tense around Sherlock as if he were going to seduce him once more.

"John?" Sherlock asked quietly as he looked up at him.

"Hm?" he answered as he turned the volume on the television down.

"Why are you still uneasy around me?"

"What? I'm not, Sherlock."

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Then kiss me."

John froze at Sherlock's request, but to prove his own point, he kissed Sherlock swiftly on the lips and sat back against the sofa.

"See? Not tense."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat up more to bring their faces close together, their lips almost touching but not quite, just enough to make John squirm and his heart pound in his chest.

"Tense," Sherlock purred and laid his hand tenderly over John's chest.

"N-not tense…" John argued, but failed to keep his voice steady.

"Tense, John Watson…relax."

The way Sherlock's deep baritone voice vibrated against his chest and went straight to John's trousers was absolutely agonizing. He hated the way the man was able to reduce him to a quivering pulp of…whatever he was, but he had grown to fall completely in love with what he could do to him and how he could make him feel whenever he wanted.

"I…I love you," John breathed and kissed Sherlock tenderly, unable to bear the distance any longer.

Sherlock smirked against his lips before returning the gentle kiss and wrapped his arms around his lover so he could turn and have John settle atop him instead.

"I love you, too," he murmured and subtly began to deepen the kiss to distract John from his wandering hands that were now sneaking up the back of his shirt.

Of course, John did notice, but he didn't say a word to stop him from feeling him the way he was because—damn—it made him feel absolutely amazing. Luckily Sherlock kept it at a boundary to let the tightness in John's trousers relax since he knew the other man was not ready for that just yet.

"Sherlock?" John asked breathlessly when their lips finally parted.

"Yes?" he answered as he began to card his fingers through the other man's hair.

"Can…is there a chance that we could maybe move this…elsewhere…?"

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up and a small smile turned up the corners of his lips, though he was still surprised at John's question. Still, something was telling him that John was only meaning for their protection against Mrs. Hudson or any other intruders that might happen upon them, and so he gracefully scooped up the other man and carried him back to their bedroom.

"I can walk, you know," John said as he was laid down and the door was locked behind them.

"Yes, but this is much faster," Sherlock teased and quietly climbed on top of John and kissed him deeply, nibbling on a few open places free of clothing. Both of them tried to sustain from making a single noise, but both were finding it difficult, especially when Sherlock was making the room hotter than it needed to be.

"Sherlock…" John breathed and tangled his fingers in his dark curls as Sherlock's arm wrapped around his waist to lift his back off the bed. The cold lips against his hot skin were making every aspect about this man incredibly difficult to resist even though every part of his brain was screaming for him to stop him, but he was finding it entirely too difficult to let his body follow through. Even as the vampire began to unbutton his shirt, the man could not let him go just yet. The heat, the want…the desire…everything was keeping him locked in Sherlock's grip and he just wanted to get the rest of his clothes off.

It seemed that Sherlock could hear his thoughts, but he was gladly going slowly just to torment John and make him sweat before he would be completely undressed beneath him, which apparently wasn't going to take long. Before he knew it, John was having his jeans tugged down his legs by Sherlock whose shirt had ended up on the floor, and John was beginning to sweat despite the cold body maneuvering around him. Sherlock's hands were soft and smooth against John's bare skin, and each touch had him practically aching for more, especially when the long fingers began to tug at the waistband of his pants.

Three months had gone by and not once did they end up in bed together like this; they usually fell asleep right when their heads hit their pillows. Yet John was glad their relationship had come to this, and he was glad that he was knowingly giving himself up to Sherlock Holmes, the man he never thought he'd fall absolutely and completely in love with. So there they were, both fighting to get the other's clothes off, but when it was John's turn to remove Sherlock's pants, he became hesitant and a little unsure.

"It's alright," Sherlock reassured him, "This is all the further we go if you'd like. I don't mind at all."

John looked up at him with soft eyes and smiled, pulling him down into a deep kiss and holding him there for the longest time.

"I love you," he murmured and ran his fingers gingerly through his hair, "I want this. I really do want this. I want to remember how you held me and kissed me and not let everything be a blur like our first time. I know you bought specialties for this, so I want to make it special."

The broadest grin spread over Sherlock's lips and he bent to kiss John once more as his fingers curled into his pants and both of them were left in their dignity, exposed for the other to relish in and enjoy every second of it.

"I love you so much, John," he breathed as he began to kiss down the doctor's body, stopping just above his pelvis as somewhat of a tease, and when the other man finally let loose a moan, Sherlock felt himself harden. To him, it was the most exhilarating feeling in the entire world and hopefully John would be wanting him still, for his erection was solid as a rock and would probably cause the other pain he might not want to remember.

"John?" he said softly as he straightened himself over the other, "Darling…I don't want to hurt you."

John raised a brow and looked over Sherlock in confusion.

"You won't hurt me," he insisted, "I want this."

"I know, but there…there is a difference between us and the way our bodies work. Give me your hand."

John's other brow shot up, but he didn't protest and quietly gave Sherlock his hand. He watched as the vampire carefully wrapped it around his erection while his other hand wrapped around John's to get him to feel the difference.

"Oh…" he breathed and looked up into Sherlock's eyes, "That…that brings an entirely new meaning to…Sherlock, I still want this. Do whatever you have to do to make it more comfortable for the both of us. Either that or I will get myself off—"

"No!" Sherlock shouted, though he quickly cleared his throat and rested his hand on John's cheek, "I want to make this pleasurable for you."

"Then please…please take me, Sherlock. Please. Light candles, get your favorite lube, play music, do anything you'd like. Just please, please take me."

Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded once before hopping off the bed and running around the room to light every single candle he could find, turn the fan on for John, fluff the pillows, and finally get the small bag of different lubes he'd bought for them. When he brought them over to the bed, he could see the excitement yet a little twinge of fear in John's eyes…and Sherlock almost backed out.

"John…" he murmured as he sat beside him on the bed and set the bag aside, "I will take good care of you. I won't hurt you as far as I can help it, I promise. After this, I will make sure you're safe and healthy and—"

John easily cut him off with a kiss and fingers knotted in his hair, and said softly, "I trust you. You do whatever you feel you must when we're finished, okay? We're in this together."

Those words coming from his lover's lips were like music to the vampire's ears and all he could do was straddle him and kiss him as if this were their last night on Earth.

"I love you so much, John Hamish Watson," he murmured against his lips, "Just tell me to stop if you need me to and I will. I'll take you straight to the bath and clean you up. Promise."

The smaller man grinned and kissed the other heatedly, his heart pounding and his legs wrapping around the other's body to press them firmly together as the red glow of the sunset seemed to aid the mood. God this was amazing, the feeling of Sherlock Holmes' body pressed against his own and the sound of their short breaths turning into moans as John's entrance was teased with cold, nimble fingers. Their kisses were growing deeper and deeper and John's body was growing hotter and hotter, and just as Sherlock's fingers slid inside him, the doctor let out a loud, gasping moan, his fingers and heels digging into his back.

"Oh god…" John breathed and squeezed his eyes closed as Sherlock carefully slid another finger inside him, the lube coated on them suddenly having turned ice cold after being so warm. Sherlock hesitated moving in further, though he continued after quadruple-checking with John that he was okay, and slowly removed his fingers to slick his own member after putting on a condom.

"I've got you," he murmured as he moved up to kiss John softly, "I won't hurt you…"

With John's nod of approval and his kiss returned, Sherlock slowly began to ease himself inside the other man. He gave a soft cry of both pain and pleasure, but John didn't ask nor want him to stop moving, for the heat and knowledge that the man who was taking him loved him and would never, ever hurt him. On purpose at least, but for now, he couldn't help but hurt John. It had been months since they last had intercourse, and even then John couldn't remember what it felt like, but he knew now that going so long without sex was going to cause him pain each time.

At last, John felt the confidence to wrap his legs around Sherlock and help him slowly ease himself further inside him until he could go no further, and by now, their moans of pleasure were audible even as Sherlock left mark after mark on his lover and captured his lips in kiss after kiss, not ever wanting to let him go even after the sun rose high in the sky. Sherlock slowly rocked back and forth to begin sliding in and out of his lover and peak their pleasure as John's fingers dug into the skin on his back, shuddering moans escaping his lips as he felt Sherlock hit his prostate.

"Sh-Sherlock," John panted and his heels began to dig into Sherlock's back to the point where he could feel each and every muscle move with each thrust, "Oh…harder, please o-oh…god, yes, please!"

Of course anyone would smirk and obey their partner when they sounded like that and begged like that; it was enough to fuel the fire in Sherlock's belly as he picked up pace and aimed right for John's prostate to bring about his pleasure as fast as he could. Their breath was hot and fast and sweat was beginning to dot the human's skin, something that the vampire desperately wished his body would do in a time like this.

"I-I'm here," Sherlock panted as he kissed John's jaw and moaned against his throat, "I've…got you…"

John nodded as best he could, fighting through the pain, and suddenly, his body went taut and with another shuddering cry, his climax spilt onto his stomach and his body fell limp.

"Oh shit…" he panted and began to slowly comb his fingers through Sherlock's hair as he rode out the rest of his orgasm, "That…that was amazing."

Sherlock smiled and slowly slid out of John, his body trembling with the desire for his own orgasm that he could not have, and he kissed him sweetly to help him calm down a little more.

"I'm glad," said Sherlock as he reached for a cloth to clean up his lover, though he noticed he was in pain that they could have otherwise avoided if only Sherlock wasn't a living rock. He frowned when he noticed some small tears and he tilted his head up to look at John with a million apologies in his eyes. "John…"

"Ssh," John hushed him tenderly and kissed his lips as he cupped his face in his hands, "Don't worry about me. I wanted this and I knew the consequences. I trust you, Sherlock. And I love you."

Sherlock's eyes burned with the lack of tears as he closed his eyes and lowered his head in shame. Yes he believed John, but the only part of what he had said that he believed entirely was the fact that he loved him…that was all he had the power to believe.

"I hurt you, John…" he mumbled and sat back, wrapping his arms around his knees, "I made you bleed—"

"Sherlock, I don't care," John argued and slowly moved forward to pull Sherlock back into his arms, careful of the soreness in his backside, "I told you I knew what could happen and I wanted to make love. You don't need to worry about me, I promise. I've got the weekend off anyway, so I'll have a little time to heal as much as I can."

Sherlock didn't utter a word as he relaxed in John's arms, but that's all John needed was to know his lover was no longer on edge. "John?"

"Yes?"

"You sound very sexy when you moan my name."

At that, John couldn't help but laugh and tilt Sherlock's chin up to kiss him sweetly, humming against his lips before pulling back with a soft chuckle.

"You sound sexy all the time," he said teasingly and ran his fingers through Sherlock's messy curls, "Especially when you're tired from sex."

Both men grinned as wide as could be and embraced each other tightly as the last blood red light of the evening began to disappear behind the skyline. This had been one of the most exhilarating nights of their lives, even in Sherlock's ancient years, and in one swift movement, the vampire had the doctor cradled in his arms and carried him to the bathroom where he started a bath for his lover.

"You are absolutely amazing," John hummed as he straddled Sherlock on the edge of the bathtub, "But I think you still have something that needs to come off so you can get off."

The doctor raised a kinky eyebrow, but Sherlock's face fell slightly and he looked down between them, his heart sinking.

"I can't," he murmured as he tossed the condom into the bin, "I'm not able to have an orgasm like humans are. Not anymore. I'm dead, remember? I can't cry, I can't sweat, and I can barely make moisture anywhere. I just want to give you all the pleasure I can while you're still here and safe with me."

John frowned and took his hand in his own, kissing the other's ice cold palm. "I can at least give you pleasure in return," he murmured, "Even if you can't get off, I still want to make you moan like that. It was truthfully very, very sexy."

Sherlock blushed and ran his fingers through John's messy hair before pressing a soft kiss to his lips and then trailing it down to his shoulder, his hands like feathers on the soldier's sides. Even if John could get him off (sort of), Sherlock wasn't sure it would be the best idea now, especially considering the fact that he could have easily split his lover—no, he didn't want to think about that right now; that thought alone was just terrible for him to even fathom.

"You need a bath," Sherlock told him after a long moment of silence, "I have to clean you up and help you heal. Please, let me do that for you my love. The water is warm and you need rest as soon as possible."

The other man pouted and laid his head on his lover's shoulder before Sherlock slid with him into the warm water, smiling happily as it began to comfort and relax him more. John laid against his chest and watched the water lap against the sides of the tub before it finally settled as he and Sherlock relaxed even more in the water.

"Sherlock?" John said after a long, long moment of peace, "May I ask you something?"

"Yes, of course," Sherlock answered and began to rub his hand up and down John's back.

Just as John opened his mouth to speak, one of their phones began vibrating loudly through their trousers on the bedroom floor.

"Lestrade," John muttered and tried to climb out of the bath, but Sherlock held him firmly in place.

"Let it go," he pleaded and kissed over John's neck to try and convince him to stay.

As much as John wanted to stay there, he really couldn't make himself, especially in times like these where people were being murdered left and right and it seemed that Sherlock's former coven was involved.

"I can't," he said and kissed Sherlock lovingly before forcing his way out of the water, "I'll be right back, don't worry."

Sherlock could have easily held John there, but he knew Lestrade wouldn't stop calling if it were important, especially when he was calling at an hour like this. So he watched John walk into the bedroom and pick his trousers off the floor to answer his phone. As he sat there, Sherlock remembered every single curve of John's body, every vein, every scar, just everything...especially his arms, his legs...his hips. He smiled to himself and closed his eyes, but when John's tone became worried, his voice stopped, and then he seemed hurt, Sherlock opened his eyes and sat up in the water, ready to get out.

"Yeah...yeah I'll send him down," John said quietly as he turned towards Sherlock and used his index finger to ask him to come into the bedroom, "Yeah, no problem. I have some stuff I need to catch up on anyway. Are...are you sure you don't need me? Oh...right, yeah. Still—no? Okay...right...yeah, he'll be there as soon as he can. Nah, it's alright. Goodbye."

When John hung up the phone, he looked up at Sherlock and let out as sigh as he walked into the bathroom to drain the water, his step surprisingly smooth considering the damage done.

"Lestrade needs you in," he said and handed Sherlock a clean towel as he put on his own dressing gown, "He said he needed your head on straight so I needn't come along..."

John shrugged, but it was obvious to Sherlock how hurt he was.

"I don't have to go—" he began, but John cut him off.

"You need to. Seriously, we both know it's something important. Otherwise, Lestrade would leave us alone. You know this."

John pressed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's soft lips and pulled him into the bedroom so they could get dressed. He hated when Lestrade only wanted Sherlock, but what he hated even more was being left alone; he didn't even think about the dangers anymore since they were so far away. They hadn't heard or felt anything from the vampires in weeks, but John just assumed stupidly that they weren't going to kill him anymore since they found Sherlock so valuable to them, so he felt like Sherlock being out for a little while wasn't going to hurt anything.

"I'll miss you," he murmured when Sherlock put his coat on, "Solve a crime for me."

Sherlock smiled and kissed John deeply before putting on his scarf, and said, "Stay human for me."

With another kiss, he turned and hurried out the door (he wouldn't leave if he didn't run), and that was that. John was left alone and the vampires began to close in.

Sherlock hated when Lestrade made him leave John at home even if part of him understood why he was to be alone. Lestrade had texted him the details of the case and, as he predicted, yes it was a rather interesting case. Much like John: complex yet an open book, only to him. He missed those beautiful blue eyes and that incredible laugh and smile...oh and the way John kissed him and made him feel almost alive again—

"Case, case, case," he muttered to himself as he forced his mind to get back on track as it so lovingly hated to do when he would think about John, "Body with a letter burnt into the skin of the-"

However, Sherlock did not have time to finish his sentence, for a harsh smell attacked his nostrils and he turned just in time to face the man he had not been alone with in almost fifty years. He felt a drop in his stomach, but he didn't move closer to the man, he only stood ready to protect himself against physical and emotional harm.

"Evening, Victor."

There was absolutely nothing on the telly and John was lacking interest in any movies or anything in general. He was sore and missed his lover... The doctor smiled to himself at the thought of considering Sherlock his lover, and the happy thought let him relax a little more. He would be home soon and then everything would be alright, so he had to keep himself relaxed and distracted until then, otherwise he would be driven mad with boredom. No wonder Sherlock ended up shooting walls when he was bored.

Music filled the flat as John tried to distract himself while he made his dinner, humming to himself and thinking about the case and all the possibilities he could think of. Nothing in the way of self-harm or anything since the action was far too delicate and wouldn't turn out that way if they'd burned themselves; besides, it was a branding. A branding, of course! Sherlock needed to find the branding iron and figure out who or what it belonged to and if it was the marking of a gang or something.

Suddenly, the sound of the front door opening and closing caught John's attention and he turned the radio down to see if he could hear Sherlock grumbling about the case. Nothing. John's eyebrows furrowed, but he shrugged it off. He kept the radio turned down until he could hear someone coming up the stairs, but even then he didn't hear a sound. Maybe Mrs. Hudson was home and just wanted to go to bed. No...he hadn't heard her door close either.

"Sherlock?" John called as he turned around, but the moment he did, he looked up and saw a familiar man climbing over the top of the doorframe and onto the ceiling.

"Smells good, John," Sebastian hummed, his voice dangerously low, "What's in it?"

John couldn't move and he was cornered, backed against the counter with a wooden spoon in his hand. This was one of the times he wished Mrs. Hudson would lock both front doors.

"Some onions," he answered, "and a little bit of garlic. Want a taste, Sebastian?"

Sebastian shook his head as he dropped from the ceiling and landed on his feet before John, a frightening grin upon his lips as he strode towards the doctor.

"No, thanks," he said, "my dinner is waiting for me already."

Victor smirked as he sauntered towards Sherlock, his eyes looking over his tall, slender figure that hadn't changed since the last day they saw each other. It made Victor's stomach drop at the sight and the knowledge that he was no longer welcome in this picture, but that didn't matter now. He had a job to do.

"You haven't aged a day," he said spitefully.

"I could say the same about you," said Sherlock, "but you look like you've gotten a bit of sun. You haven't told anyone what she did to you, have you?"

"That's nobody's business. You knew about it the first and last night we spent together."

"Jim probably knows about your weakness. A disgrace to your man-"

"I didn't come here to make jokes, Holmes. I'm here to extend an invitation to your former home."

"An invitation? For what?"

"Dinner, of course."

Sherlock's mouth watered at the mention of dinner, but he shook his head and tucked his hands in his pocket, waiting for an advance.

"I decline," he said simply, "I'm not leaving John to be attacked by-"

Before he could finish, Victor began to laugh and the scent of more vampires was filling Sherlock's nostrils. This was an ambush.

"He's already being taken care of by our friend Sebastian," Victor said, though he was still laughing a bit, "Accept the invitation or he will be served at dinner. Your choice, Holmes."

Sherlock looked around at the walls of the alley to find the walls seemingly crawling with dogs, but another scent filled his nostrils to an almost overwhelming point. Oh no…

The moment Victor mentioned John being served at dinner, Sherlock's mind began to work in a frenzy. They only wanted him there so he would rejoin the coven or die, therefore they would either feed John to him or make him watch as they murdered him. Either way, John would be brought to the safe house alive. Sherlock did not have to accept nor decline the offer in order to see his lover alive again, but he had to be careful about what he said or did; one wrong move could kill John Watson before he made the front door.

"And if I decline anyway, you'll still have me forced back to that wretched hole?" he said casually, doing well at hiding his fear and desperate need to protect John, "I'm not an idiot, Victor. I know how all of your minds work."

Victor simply rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers for the dogs to advance but not attack. Before he knew it, Sherlock was faced with about a hundred new vampires stalking towards him, some of them behaving rather like starving animals the way they crawled. He still kept his face blank and unafraid as he looked at all of them, actually behaving rather bored.

"Sebastian will definitely be eating well tonight," Victor said and moved closer to Sherlock, a dark brow raised as his walk became more seductive than predatory, "Come on, Sherlock. Come away with me—"

"No."

"Don't you remember our love?"

"I chose to delete it. I don't want anything to do with any of you, Victor. I left that part of this damned life behind me."

Victor narrowed his eyes, realizing now that Sherlock would not be an easy target to lure into their trap...well, as easy as he could get. The man was a damn genius and could practically read minds. But as Victor advanced on him, Sherlock could feel himself giving in to some...some warm, fresh scent...of course: they all had blood on their person. Damn it.

Sherlock looked around the alleyway for an escape route, eyeing the walls and some of the lines above their heads; they were lined with new vampires and there was one...no, two werewolves circling the perimeter. If he didn't go, John would die and in turn, Sherlock would practically be a walking corpse...or at least behave more like one. But before he could make a move to run for John, he was tackled and gagged and dragged through an open sewer.

Don't kill John, he thought to himself as he was taken from the surface, the light of the moon disappearing from sight as the manhole was closed above them.