Pairings: Johnlock

Summary: Sherlock is a fledgling vampire as well as detective. Mycroft employs John Watson, a newly licensed Watcher, to both watch over and serve his difficult younger brother as he struggles with his new found powers as well as his unexpected interest in the companion he'd love to hate.

Rating: T

Sherlock advanced on John, circling him until he had him backed against the wall of the bedroom turned crime scene. His mind was clouded, the scent of blood strong, so strong, here. The two victims had been cut and bled dry, the accumulated stench of blood and decay was heady and Sherlock's pupils had dilated nearly upon entering the room. Lestrade had warned them that it would be graphic on the phone, had advised them to use any extra precautions they could take.

John watched Sherlock's approach with both fear and resignation, he'd been prepared for this possibility but that didn't make him like it. Sherlock drew up against him, his pupils swollen inhumanly large and his head weaved ever so slightly, the hypnotic movement advertised as a tell of a vampire in feeding heat. John resisted the allure of those black eyes and focused on holding still but remaining pliable.

As dark eyes turned to John's neck and the arteries that pulsed just under the surface, Sherlock's fangs instinctively extended from their sheaths. It was that scant extra half inch that made them so terrifying but John didn't let it show, face rigidly neutral. Lips touched John's neck lightly and Sherlock whimpered slightly as he inhaled the heady scent of fresh blood under ripe skin.

John would never confess to Sherlock just how affectionate he would often become while feeding. It was all too obvious that the man was vastly unaware of it and in John's opinion, was no doubt emotionally unprepared for the possible repercussions. Still, he sucked affectionately at the taut skin of John's neck, drawing specks of of blood to the surface in a small hickey where he would pierce the skin.

As he lowered his mouth to strike, the door to the room opened. Lestrade took one look at what was happening and froze for a fraction of a second before hastily trying to leave. A fraction of a second was a fraction too long and before anyone could speak Sherlock was across the room. The house shook as the blur that was the detective grabbed Lestrade by the throat and lifted him bodily, slamming him against the wall.

John ran across the room in horror, sickened by the frantic slamming of Gregory's shoes against the wall as his windpipe began to close. Pulling his utility knife from his pocket as he ran, John cut a 3 inch gash across his palm. He tackled Sherlock from behind, placing his bleeding hand over the growling man's mouth.

Lestrade fell to the floor with a thud but immediately began crawling, gasping and heaving, out of the doorway while he remained unnoticed. Sherlock, latching onto the wound against his mouth began to slowly sink to the floor as he suckled. Moving with him, John settled with his back against the wall, Sherlock between his legs with his head lolling on John's shoulder, greedily sucking at John's hand.

John tracked his blood loss as he'd been trained to do. This was the job Mycroft had hired him for. It had been time to turn his little brother and one of the best ways to handle the fearsome unpredictability of a fledgling vampire was to pair them with a Watcher. Or "cattle" as those who viewed the vampire community negatively called them.

Sherlock hummed happily in his lap, still steadily drawing on the cut. It was a slower form of feeding, not as much blood flow in so shallow a wound, but Lestrade would no doubt make sure they'd be left alone until they came out of their own will. John stroked his free hand through his ward's hair, enjoying the tangle of heavy brown curls. For someone who was such an imposing, self-possessed man, Sherlock really was a very needy vampire.

John had been hand picked to be Sherlock's Watcher for exactly that reason. Watcher's were taught that the feeding state put most vampires in a more primal mindset. This was only ever a control issue for the younger ones who were easier to overwhelm in their raw form. Mycroft had predicted that his brother would require a lot of careful handling when turned and had been proven right beyond his expectations.

Sherlock had refused to feed from anyone but would not name any criteria for whom he would deign to take sustenance from. Mycroft had been forced to feed Sherlock from donor bags for 2 months while they interviewed a vast parade of Watchers that Sherlock often refused to give any reason for turning down. Until of course, he'd stumbled into John.

An internal alarm told him it was time to start extricating himself from his ward. Removing his hand from the dark curls, he began to stroke Sherlock's throat in a counter rhythm to the young man's swallowing. At first, the vampire simply huffed but when the distraction persisted his dark eyes finally fluttered open to meet John's, gaze fuzzy with lingering hunger.

John smiled and tapped him sharply on the nose twice. Sherlock blinked, startled, but the light shock had the effect it always did, the vampire slowly blinked until it was Sherlock looking at him. He removed John's palm from his swollen lips, giving the gash one last rough lick before handing John his arm back as he would hand him an empty dish. John just smiled and smacked him gently on the back of the head. Sherlock didn't bother hiding his smile and neither did John, happy as he was to see his ward beginning to adjust to the quirks of his new life.

Sherlock stood and held a hand to John, helping him to his feet and then, with uncharacteristic thoughtfulness, took John's bloody hand in his own, turning it palm up to observe the cut. He studied the swollen, reddened skin, tasting the blood on his tongue and savoring the feeling of contentment that rolled in his chest. He had fed three times today and closely due to the stress of the case's environment. His cheeks were flushed a rare shade of pink and darkened even more so as he darted his lips to John's hand.

He lay a gently kiss against the palm, murmuring a low "thank you" before straightening his jacket and leaving the room more quickly than John was willing to bet he'd wanted to.

The Watcher's smile lasted well out of the crime scene and even back to the flat. Sherlock's did as well, even if he refused to let John see it.