NOTE: Vamp!Sherlock! Warning: If you're easily grossed out by blood I would recommend not reading this.

- 2 -

Everything hurt. Every bone in his body and every inch of his skin ached. Sherlock was unable to hold a thought. It was a mess, everything was a bloody mess. His head pounded and the attempt at opening his eyes ended in even more pain. All he felt was the softness of his familiar bedsheets and the smell of freshley boiled tea and- wait, what? His memory was a blur and he was still not able to get his brain to work again. But as the pounding slowly faded into a more pleasant but still uncomfortable feeling of pressure, he began to realize that is was neither bedsheets, he was lying on, nor the scent of tea, he was smelling. It reeked of death and decay and the cold metal beneath his body was nowhere to be compared to his bedsheets. At least he was still dressed. When he finally did manage to open his eyes, it was only to face pure darkness. Sherlock moaned. But since it reverbed twice as loud back into his ears he figured that he must have been in some kind of box. Being unable to move reassured him. He felt dizzy, and all he wanted was to drift back into that wonderful state of not having to smell, or feel or see anything. It was incredibly hard to focus, especially with the irritating noise of footsteps approaching... footsteps?

"Rise and shine, Sherlock." Light flooded the comfortable darkness and it felt as if he was about burst into flames. Out of reflex he covered his eyes with his arms, making him realize the sudden expansion of scope. Now focusing only on his senses, for his mind still didn't work properly, he took in the familiar scent surrounding him. But he wasnt yet able to make out what it was. Carefully he removed his arms and slowly opened his eyes, blinked a few times and - wow. As the blur began to clear he experienced in amazement how clear and vivid his perception was. This was unusal. Had he been drugged? Then his eyes fell onto Moriarty and reality hit him like a truck.

"What have you done?!" He winced, surprised by the overwhelming sound of his own voice.

"Remember when I told you I owed you? This is my payment."

Moriarty grinned, his head tilting slightly. The man was clealy even more nuts as Sherlock had assumed. Now that he was slowly starting to regain the ability to think clearly, he reckognized the mourge. He had been sleeping in a storage cell inside the mourge of St. Barts and there even was a fucking tag attached to his toe, with his name written on it. What kind of game was it, that Moriarty was playing?

Instead of stammering half a sentence, Sherlock decided to dart Moriarty a questioning look.

"Oh come on. I told you to expand your horizon. You've already thought about it, haven't you? You just gotta accept to believe it." Moriarty grinned and sharp teeth flashed. It hurt that he was right. Sherlock had in fact considered the posibillity of the existence of vampires. And the possibility of him having become one of them slowly dawned to him as Moriarty spoke further.

"Did the hunger kick in yet?" His high pitched voice made everything sound so harmless, leaving out the ocassional cracks wich revealed his inner psycopath, of course. Moriarty turned around to pick up two bags of blood, wich he had neatly placed on the counter.

"There you go." He threw them onto Sherlocks lap "I've got... stuff to do. Text me if you need anything. Oh - and could you do me a favour and try to not kill anyone? It's a horrible mess to clean up, you know." His lips curled into another wicked smirk and he rushed out the door.

A shudder washed over Sherlock spine. The tension, that had been cloaking the room, vanished with Moriarty. He allowed himself to relax his muscles, letting his head drop to his chest. It was still difficult, to hold on to his drifting thoughts. What now? Sherlocks gaze wandered through the room and settled upon the bloodbags. They smiled at him in consent. It must have been some sort of drug. What on earth did Moriarty do to him? The previous hours had been a blur. He remembered meeting him on the rooftop, the case he had set up for Sherlock... Lestrade had been there too, and John- John! He shuddered in disgust at the thought of what Moriarty might have done to him. Determinded he swung his legs around and got up to his feet. An unpleasant mistake, as it turned out. Sherlock has had trouble with hypotonia before, but not like this. He must have been in that position for hours, probably under the influence of some drug. A prickling sensation washed over his body as finally felt the rush of blood though his head. Taking in a deep breath, he took a step forward. But the soothing sensation of oxygen flooding his bloodstream didn't kick in the way he expected it to. Hold on. In shock and realization his hands frantically searched for a pulse. Nothing. No, no, no, no- Get yourself together Sherlock! This is a dream, wake up. This is a dream, wake up. This is a dream, wake up. Repeating it like a mantra, he started slapping his face. Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP! A muffled, high pitched noise echoed in his head. Another strange sensation, accompanied by nausea, creeped up his body, aching in his veins and ripping at his gums. It tore him apart, making him drop to the floor in pain. He wanted to throw up his insides to make it stop. This was everything but a nightmare, this was real. Racked with pain and out of instinct he whirled around, still kneeling on the floor. His mind shut down at the sight of what was still lying on the metal slide. It called to him, invited him. Mindless as he was he dashed forward and, not even bothering to acknowledge the tube, bit down right into the bag, his newly revealed pair of razor sharp cannies piercing the plastic barrier between him and the soothing taste of heaven. Crimson liquid ran down his throat, easing the stinging pain. It was drained in seconds and Sherlock reached for the second one, a discomforting realization dawning on him. He slowed down, looking at the bloodbag in his hands. Not a dream. This time he raised a shaking hand to screw off the top bit. Okay. With his sense slowly returning to him, he gulped down the lump that had formed in his throat and guided the tube to his mouth. Closing his eyes, Sherlock sucked at it, waiting for the blood to sooth his pain as it run up the tube. He concentrated on the taste and my, was it good. The iron taste was completely covered up by a sweetness, no words could describe. Somehow, if light, love and every positive emotion were to be materialized, Sherlock was certain that it would taste like this. He let himself be enveloped by it. Sucking greedily, until the very last drop had left the bag, he slowly opened his eyes again.

Well fuck.