John was getting quite used to waking up in strange places with a pounding headache. He had a vague recollection of strong arms carrying him and a feeling of warm contentment. And something else. Something that was almost like being turned on. Almost.

But under it all was a feeling something was missing. Or something was wrong. There was a plate of sandwiches by the bed. Carefully made and placed on a tray with a glass of orange juice and a slice of chocolate cake. John found he was hungry. Remembered that was what he had been doing before and checked his watch. The watch was a military specification thing made of titanium. It had been a Christmas gift from Mycroft, the Christmas after he had met Sherlock. The dial glowed in the dim light of the room, a comforting silver grey colour. It was the same colour as Sherlock's eyes.

John blinked, focussing on the time. He had been asleep for two hours. Another two hours. It was just after three in the morning. John shuddered, he was chilly, despite being carefully covered over with a blanket. His chill, he suspected was not altogether to do with the room temperature.

It always came down to the blankets. He burrowed a little deeper into the soft folds of fabric. He tried to tell himself he was being childish. That a blanket didn't really afford any protection from the monsters. If you couldn't see them it didn't mean they couldn't see you. But still, he carefully made sure not so much as a toe was sticking out. And he was afraid to look under the bed.

Xx

"This can't go on Gregory." Mycroft was sitting in a high backed chair, his face cast into deep shadow in the flickering firelight.

"What can't? Not us?"

"Of course not us. Sherlock and John."

"Yeah, that's difficult."

"John will allow himself to be food. But that's not all Sherlock needs. Or all that he wants." Mycroft smiled sadly and reached for a sandwich (marmite and cheese).

"So what can we do?"

"It's funny that I spend most of my working life coming up with options for other people and faced with this I can only think of two."

"Which are?"

"Turn John and hope that he decides he wants to spend all eternity with Sherlock. Or kill Sherlock."

"Neither of those is very appealing."

"Any other ideas?" Gregory furrowed his brow. There was silence for a few minutes.

"I got nothing. This whole situation has gone way beyond my field of expertise."

"Not your division Greg?" Mycroft allowed himself a wry chuckle

"When you say it like that it sounds bad. I just...I never expected it to be like this...quite so complicated."

"Welcome to my world. What exactly were you expecting, just out of interest?" That was a tiny note of annoyance at the back of his voice.

"Not this. I just wanted it all to be perfect. To be simple."

"I don't think it was ever going to be simple. Why did you decide to bite me?"

"I...I had to." Because when he tried to think, there wasn't a reason. It was as though he had no free choice. Out loud it sounded pathetic.

"Thank you."

"Thank you? I've ruined your life. And your death. And probably Sherlock's and John's."

"Yes. But I'm sure that would have happened anyway. And it would have happened without love. I always used to think that love was pointless. A waste of brain space. Something that prevented more powerful processes from taking place. Thank you."

"Well..yeah..." Greg had a lump in his throat he was determined to conceal. "I do love you."

"I love you too." Mycroft put down his half eaten sandwich.

"Well isn't that lovely." Sherlock's sardonic voice spoke from the shadows. "You're going to be queen of the vampires once Mycroft's king, LeStrade."

"Yes and you will still be an annoying pain in the arse brother dear. Now are you going to behave like a grown up?"

"I might. Then again I might just go and walk naked through the streets."

"I'll let you!"

Sherlock realised Mycroft wasn't bluffing.

"Okay. What do you want to talk about?"