The next week passed with little incident. During class, John and Sherlock would take notes and participate in class activities. Of course, John often stared into space and had to be prodded by Sherlock. But other than that, classes went smoothly. John smiled and laughed easily and his hands didn't shake once. Back in there room it was a whole different story. As soon as they stepped in the door and closed it, Sherlock would don on the dog ears and tail and sit on the floor, while John sat at his desk. And that is how they'd do homework, Sherlock on the floor, near John's feet and John at the desk. Once in a while, John would reach down and pet Sherlock's head (much to Sherlock's delight). And every night, Sherlock would curl up next to John and keep him warm.

When Friday rolled around, John was exhausted. All he wanted was to curl up in his bed with Sherlock and sleep for a very long time. However, Sherlock said he had some place to be. Why is he always leaving? Where does he go? John wondered as he dragged his feet to their room. When he got there, he noticed an envelope stuck in the door. It had his name on it. He pulled it out of the door and read the return address as he opened the door.

"M-mom?" John questioned the envelope.

He quickly tore it open and slid out two pieces of paper. One was a note and the other was a newspaper article. The note read:

Dear Johnny,

I just thought that you would like this article about Mr. Larson's death. I know it might be sick of me, but I am so glad that he is dead and I am keeping a copy of the article to signify that things can get better. I suppose you could just throw it away, if you don't want it.

Love,

Mom

John shrugged his shoulders and unfolded the newspaper article. It only said what he already knew. Animal attack, yada, yada. Oh, it says that the caller didn't give a name, but simply said that he was a concerned citizen that felt that the menace should be reported….concerned citizen? Wait. I know that no animal could kill him…only another vampire….this happened right after I told Sherlock….wait a minute. He jumped up and left right after I told him! He asked what he looked like….oh my god…he…Sherlock killed Mr. Larson. He killed him…for me?

John stared at the article in his hand, in disbelief. Sherlock killed Mr. Larson. I can't believe he did that…John was sure, without a doubt, that Sherlock had killed Mr. Larson. He didn't know whether to be happy or mad or sad. All he could feel was his heart thumping against his chest. And the boys….he said he'd take care of it and they were all beat up….He did that for me…why would he do that? A little voice piped up and said because he's human. John felt hot tears stream down his face, as he continued to stare at the article.

"H-he w-was s-saving me," John mumbled as he cried softly.

John wiped away the tears and shook himself. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't….He did. I know he did….john laid the article and his mom's note on his bed and went to the bathroom. He turned on the sink and splashed water in his face. He dried his face with the hand towel and looked up. He jumped in surprise when he saw his reflection in the mirror. He squinted at the boy in the mirror, the boy squinted back. he touched his face and the boy in the mirror also touched his.

"Th-that's m-me?" John asked in bewilderment.

It had been so long since he had look in a mirror that he couldn't even remember when it was. He turned his face to the side, watching his own blue eyes watching him. His hair was shaggy and hung on his forehead. He never noticed how long it had gotten or how blonde it was. He traced the worry wrinkles on his forehead and thin white scar that crossed his jawbone. He didn't even know he had a scar. He prodded too pale face and turn from side to side, examining it very closely. He suddenly was very conscience of his appearance. Wow, I am so ugly. I'm nowhere near as attractive as Sherlock. I don't even have cheekbones.

John lamented his appearance, particularly paying attention to his cracked lips. He ran his fingers over them, wishing they were as soft as Sherlock's. He blushed at knowing what Sherlock's lips were like. He closed his eyes and ran his finger back over his lips, imagining it was Sherlock.

"Shh, John," Sherlock's voice whispered to him, "I'll take care of you.

"O-o-ok," John mumbled.

Dream Sherlock leaned down and placed his soft lips on John's. He wrapped his arms around John and pulled him close, pushing his tongue against John's lips. John opened his mouth obediently, allowing Sherlock's tongue to snake through and taste John's. John's hands found their way to Sherlock's shoulders, gripping tightly, trying to hang on with all he was worth. He was on tip-toes trying to reach tall Sherlock's mouth.

"John!" a voice shouted and a hand gently slapped his face.

"Wh-wh-what?" John sputtered, coming out of the daydream.

"Hey," Sherlock's face came into view, "You ok?"

"F-f-fine," John blushed.

He became aware that Sherlock's hands were on his arms. He blushed harder and pulled away, remembering the article and how he was going to ask Sherlock about it. He went around Sherlock and into their room. He noticed a stack of books on Sherlock's desk and a tent in his pants, practically at the same time. He hated the heat in his face and he tried to will it away. He walked to his bed and sat down, picking up the article. Sherlock came out of the bathroom and pulled out the dog ears and tail. He put them on and sat at John's feet.

"Sh-sherlock," John couldn't look at him, "Y-you did th-this d-didn't y-you?"

He handed Sherlock the article. Sherlock scanned it and returned it quickly.

"Yes," he responded calmly.

"A-and th-the b-boys," John wiped his sweaty palms on his knees, "Y-you b-b-beat them up, d-didn't you?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered.

"Wh-why?" john looked into Sherlock's blue gray eyes.

"I want you to be happy," Sherlock looked down at his hands, "I thought that it would make you happy."

"Th-th-thank y-you," John petted Sherlock's hair, "y-you a-are the b-best friend I-I've ever h-had."

Sherlock smiled up at him in pure joy and delight at John's happiness and care. He nuzzled his face into John's leg. John giggled lightly at Sherlock's nuzzles. He swung his legs up and lay down on his bed. Sherlock climbed up and snuggled into him. Soon john was quickly falling asleep. Sherlock watched as John's face relaxed into a small smile and his breathing became deeper.

"What were you daydreaming about earlier?" Sherlock asked, as he often did as John was falling asleep (he knew he'd get a clear, honest answer if he did).

"You," John sighed, "You were kissing me. It was really nice."

"Would you like me to kiss you now?" Sherlock's heart thumped hard against his chest.

"Yes," was John's sleepy reply.

Sherlock gently pressed his lips to John's, loving the way they felt rough against his. He pulled away and sighed, wishing John was awake so he could kiss back.

"Thanks, Sherlock," John whispered.

"You're welcome," Sherlock replied, "I love you."

"Mmm," John snuggled deeper into Sherlock.

And with that, he fell asleep, leaving Sherlock very disappointed. Sherlock wished with all his dead heart, that John would love him. But he knew wishes didn't come true. He knew he was stuck stealing kisses as John fell asleep and snuggling up close to him. That is the extent to which John will allow me to touch him and love him. I will never feel what it's like to actually kiss John Watson. But it didn't matter, as long as I can be near him…yes, that will have to be enough…