"": dreams.

Italics: thinking.

Bold: Letters and notes.

-/-: time lapse.

Chapter 3- Johns Blog.

The tapping of keys could be heard throughout the apartment. A single light, highlighting a face in the pitch dark room, as John had once again been caught up with his blog writing. He sat back to admire the letters that littered his page. So far he had described how Sherlock had acted during the crime scene. He would normally start writing his blog as soon as the case ended. However this case was different, he had been inspired to write as soon as he saw the many pieces of paper on the floor and Sherlock in the middle thinking hard. He pinched the bridge of his nose feeling tired all of a sudden. Looking up for the first time in hours he noticed that it was pitch dark outside and no lights were on in the apartment. His eyes cast towards the stairs, not hearing anything coming from downstairs, Mrs Hudson must have gone to bed he thought. Closing the lid of his laptop he set it aside on the coffee table, however did not make any move to get up. He sat within the darkness, just sitting there, letting his eyes adjust. After a couple of minutes he finally got up and walk softly and slowly through the apartment, to his bedroom however a sound caught his ear. It was coming from Sherlock's room and it sort of sounded like a moan. I must be hearing things, Sherlock doesn't moan.

He waited outside his door listening for another sound. Not hearing he sighed and pushed his door open and turning on the light, I must be more tied then I thought, hearing things. He changing into his sleep, he pulled back the covers and got into bed, laying there and listening to the many sounds that echoed throughout the apartment. Smiling softly, he closed his eyes and drifted off, but not without a last thought, I must ask Sherlock what that sound was tomorrow morning.

"His hands were pinned above his head. Breath heating the skin behind his ear as his captor whispered sweet nothings. To anyone else this would be sweet, but as Sherlock's eyes roamed over the body pressing against his, Moriarty stared back at him, now having raised his head. To anyone else this person would have been welcomed, but just as always Moriarty had somehow sneaked into his bed while he was asleep. He stared up into the dilated eyes, watching as his blood dripped from the panting mouth. A moist tongue coming out to lick away at the blood that stained his lips. No matter how hard he tried Sherlock couldn't stop the moan the escaped him as he watched this. Knowing that it was his blood that had been taken, and by none other this his enemy.

But why did it have to be his enemy, why did he dream night after night, day after day, that this man would take his blood. And why would he dream that he liked it. Obviously seeing the look on his face, Moriarty started to laugh above him, his chest pushing more and more into him with each noise. Leaning down Sherlock felt his lips slide across his, a hand moving under his head picking his up until both sat on the bed, almost cuddling with each other. Moriarty's hands came up to cup Sherlock's face, holding their faces close, making Sherlock look at him.

"Do you still think this is a dream Sherlock? After all this time?" Moriarty whisper, his lips almost touching Sherlock's as he talked. Sherlock blinked back in response, he started into Moriarty's eyes. Getting more lost in them every second he looked.

"Sherlock, you keep staring at me like that, and oh the things I will do to you" he said licking his lips, moving forward slightly so their lips were touching slightly. Sherlock seemed to break out of the trace he was on and shoved himself backwards and out of Moriarty's arms, sprawling onto the bed. Growing softly, Moriarty lurched forward, pinning Sherlock down and moving to bite into his neck once more. Hearing Sherlock moan under him made the blood that was following into his mouth taste sweeter.

However before it could get any further a loud creak from outside the door was heard, and Moriarty ripped his fangs from Sherlock's neck, causing his to groan loudly in pain. Soon he felt the pressure of the body above him disappear and he was once again alone. He didn't more though, just lying there feeling his neck throb from the sudden bite. Groaning he rolled over, and proceeded to pass out."

Sherlock woke with a start for the first time since the dreams started. His breath coming out in short pants, his hands gripping the bed sheets, his eyes wide open as he stared at the roof. Sighing, Sherlock draped his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, walking over to his chest of draws. Rummaging through them he pick out a white shirt and proceed to put it on, until he looked into the mirror that hung on his wall. He stilled instantly, his shirt hanging off of his body, not even having put it completely on yet, as he saw to red marks sprouting from his neck. He stared in shock at his own reflection, which for Sherlock was a feat in itself for he is never shocked. In this case though he was, his mind raced with question the top five being: Where did these come from? There in the same place as they were in the dream? How is this possible? How am I going to tell John? How do I cover these up? Taking off the shirt he had chosen originally, he again searched through his draws for a one that would cover the marks up. He found a black turtleneck that he had forgotten he had and slipped it on. He looked at himself in the mirror once more, and tilted his head at the sight of himself.

He was wearing the black tunic, with black pants. It didn't look right. Opening another draw, he sort out some jeans that he knew he had but never wore. Slipping them on, he turned and headed out his bedroom door. He walked past John's room and saw it open, but not seeing him inside, he continued on to the kitchen. As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, he immediately noticed the note. Sherlock, gone to get milk, be back soon, John. Nodding he went into the living room, jumping into his chair and grabbing the vampire book he left on the table last night. He didn't want to believe but after last night and this morning, he might just have to. Placing a hand on his neck he felt the sting of the bites. Removing his hand, he opened the book to the contents page and looked for a heading that would tell him about vampire bites. Sherlock finding the right page sat reading, highlighting and storing parts in his mind palace for later use.

-30 Minutes later-

John finally arrived home to find Sherlock sitting crossed legged in his chair, with the book on his lap, reading the pages intently. He did a double take, as he took in Sherlock's appearance, never having seen him in jeans or a turtleneck for that matter. He smiled softly, it was nice to see him looking human for once, and to see him reading a vampire book was almost as shocking. He walked to the kitchen, placing the milk in the fridge and unpacking all the other things he had bought. He rustled about in the kitchen for about ten minutes, making both he and Sherlock a cup of tea. Picking up both of the cups he return to the living room, placing one cup next to Sherlock on the table, and placing his next to him on his table. Picking up his laptop he sat in his chair, opened it and began to write his blog again. Both sat in silence for a couple of hours, before heavy footsteps could be heard on the stairs. Next thing they knew Lestrade was in their apartment out of breath and holding his side, wincing. Both looked up to him in question.

"There's been another body found, this one however is different" he panted out.

"How?" Sherlock asked immediately.

"A note was left this time, and it's address to you Sherlock" Lestrade said. John's eyes widened at the statement, Sherlock however just sat there, not showing any emotion. He simply got up, grab his coat and headed out the door, not waiting for Lestrade and John once again.

Hey Guys, it's Soul! So here's another chapter! I really hope you guys like it. Thanks to everyone who is reading. Please read, follow and review! Until next time, soul :)