John awoke the next morning unable to open his right eye and with a massive headache. Sherlock was right. I should have iced it, John sighed as he got out of bed. Putting on his dressing gown he headed downstairs. He needed to look at the damage in the bathroom.

Entering the sitting room, he saw that Sherlock was awake. Using John's laptop. Of course he has to use my laptop, John thought bitterly.

"What was that, John?" Sherlock asked, not looking up from the screen.

"What?" John asked, confused. Was Sherlock having another one-sided conversation again?

"I thought I heard you say something. My mistake," Sherlock dismissed and started typing.

"Right," John mumbled, "I'm going to make tea and toast, want any?" John asked out of habit. Sherlock grunted in reply. Just tea then, John nodded to himself. He put the kettle on then headed into the bathroom to look at his eye.

His right eye looked like he went a few rounds with a boxer. It was swollen to the size of a golf ball, and it was a dark purple with brown around the edges. People are going to think he got into a row at a pub with this thing. He should have iced it, maybe he would be able to see out of the eye if he did.

Returning to the kitchen hearing the kettle whistle. John set out to prepare tea for himself and Sherlock. He would ice his eye after making tea. He was vaguely aware that Sherlock was watching him from the sitting room. He must be enjoying the fact that he was right. Like always. John thought.

When John finished with the tea, he turned around to see Sherlock sitting at the table. Wasn't he just…? John's thoughts trailed off. He must have just not noticed Sherlock getting up. He put Sherlock's tea in front of him and turned to the freezer to grab an ice pack. He immediately placed it on his face. The cooling sensation calmed the pain in his head. Sitting across from Sherlock, John sipped his tea.

"So then," John started, "Want to tell me what happened now?" He was going to be calm about this. If Sherlock told John the truth, that is.

"You didn't ice your eye last night as I suggested," Sherlock said instead. Ignoring John's question completely.

"Don't change the subject Sherlock." John warned.

"Why wouldn't you apply ice? You're a doctor, you should have known that your eye would swell. Now you won't be able to see out of it for at least a week judging by the size of it. How do you expect me to walk around with you like this? You look like you got into a tiff at a pub." Sherlock continued. Annoyance was apparent in his voice.

John looked at Sherlock for a few moments baffled. How does John being hurt have anything to do with Sherlock? John was the one who had to walk around with one eye for the next week, not Sherlock. John was the one who had to deal with a black eye and explain what happened to him over and over, not Sherlock. John was the one this happened to, not Sherlock.

How could Sherlock make everything about himself? Because he didn't get the black eye defending Sherlock? If he got a black eye during a case, Sherlock would think nothing of it. He was acting as if John got punched on purpose. The bastard. John was getting angry. He knew he should just let this go and press Sherlock about his own attack, but Sherlock had a way of pushing his buttons.

"First of all, Sherlock, I told you I got punched at work by a patient of mine. It couldn't be prevented. So, don't act like I did this on purpose to make your life miserable. It has nothing to do with you. Secondly, I was so bloody tired after holding him down, talking with the police and not sleeping well for the past couple of nights. So, excuse me if I was being human and went to bed without an ice pack. Thirdly, you will tell me what the hell happened to you!" John glared. It wasn't very intimidating due to only using one eye. But the tone he used was that of a soldier. A soldier who was not going to take anymore of Sherlock's attempts to avoid the topic.

Sherlock shifted in his seat. Not because he felt nervous but because he was fascinated with the sound of John's blood now that he was angry, really angry. It seemed when John was in another mood it would sing, but now his blood was roaring. Much like he imagined John would want to do now. Yell at Sherlock for being a classic arsehole. John's blood acted according to his emotions ... interesting.

"I was merely stating my concern," Sherlock said casually. He knew John wouldn't buy it, but he wasn't going to tell John the real reason behind his words. That would be just ridiculous, "As for the other night you would not believe me if I told you. Just know that I am perfectly fine and whatever Mycroft told you is what happened." He stood from the table leaving his untouched tea.

He was preparing to head to his room. He felt his control slipping as he spent more time with John. This had been the longest they were in a room together since he had been turned. And Sherlock was finding it extremely difficult to fight the urge to sink his teeth into John. Something about his blood made the detective almost…lust for a taste. He needed to feed to regain control.

He was moving away from the table when John grabbed his arm. Sherlock turned to find that John had removed the ice pack from his right eye. Making it appear wet, giving the bruise itself a displeasing look. He was standing now, and his body was very tense, a sign of controlling his temper. Oh, how it made his blood rage, it was delightful to Sherlock's ears. He needed to get away from John, now.

"Just tell me the truth. That's all I'm asking for," John said pleadingly. Sherlock took a deep breath and pulled his arm out of John's hold.

"Fine," Sherlock started turning to face John full on. This was a bad idea but if he just said it quickly maybe he could hold off on not ripping John apart, "I was attacked by a vampire, he drank my blood almost completely. Mycroft is a vampire as well and had to turn me to save me. I have spent the past five days learning how to control my new abilities, so I don't go around killing people." Sherlock finished and studied John.

John was giving Sherlock a look that screamed: "You're crazy!" His mouth was slightly open, one eye was slightly narrowed, and his left hand twitched ever so slightly. The expression dropped and John gently rubbed his face with his hands. Sighing deeply, he removed his hands and gave Sherlock a hard look.

"I don't ask for much and I put up with a lot. I just don't understand why you can't tell me the truth. Mycroft's story is more believable than that! You honestly think that I would even…" John groaned, rotating his body away from Sherlock slightly in annoyance. He turned back and raised his right hand pointing at Sherlock a few times. As if trying to convey a message through that, "You know what? I don't care anymore. I don't, just…just forget it, yeah?" John shook his head, raising his hands in a sign of surrender. He forcefully grabbed the ice pack, left the kitchen and headed to his own room.


It had been a week since that day and John had hardly spoken to Sherlock. He would still talk to him if Sherlock addressed him with a question, but his answers were that of a doctor. Straight forward and emotionless. Never said more than he had to and never started a conversation. It was starting to annoy Sherlock. The man even stopped asking Sherlock if he had eaten. John had stopped taking care of Sherlock.

Obviously, their last conversation really upset John. How was Sherlock supposed to fix it? He told John the truth; it wasn't his fault that the doctor didn't believe him. If only he could hear what John was thinking, it had happened once before, but it hadn't happened again. He would just have to rely on his deductions.

Normally, that would be fine but when it came to emotions, Sherlock was at a loss. Not only did he not understand them but now that John had been so distant from Sherlock, he's been hiding his expressions. Sherlock couldn't read him.

"This is ridiculous," Sherlock grumbled as he sat up on the sofa and stared intently at John. It was seven in the evening and John had barely even looked at Sherlock today. He could have ten nicotine patches on his arm right now and John wouldn't even notice. He continued to not pay the detective any attention. He was just sitting there pretending to read the paper. "It has been a week, John,"

"Very observant of you Sherlock. It has been a week," John said sarcastically as he turned the page of his paper. He wasn't reading it, of course he wasn't. Sherlock would not stop staring at him. It was…distracting.

"Oh, for God sakes John, stop your…your sulking! It's becoming tedious. How am I expected to work with you like this? You won't speak to me properly and you know that you help me think. I need you to stop this ridiculous act you're putting on and return to normal." Sherlock said firmly.

"Unbelievable, "John mumbled as folded his paper and set it aside. He adjusted himself in his chair, so he was facing Sherlock. His eye was no longer swollen so he was able to see out of it now. The bruising also was getting better, but it still was tender if he touched it, "Sulking? You think I'm sulking? This is coming from the man that sulks on a regular basis. I would think of all people, you would know what sulking looks like. I'm not sulking Sherlock. I'm just done." John shook his head and stood.

"What does that even mean?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he watched John approach the door to get his coat.

"It means I'm done Sherlock," John said simply as he opened the door to their flat. I'm done caring, Sherlock heard John think. "I'm going out," John mumbled and left. He left just like that.

Sherlock heard John's footsteps well after him leaving the flat. He was going to the pub, predictable. John just needed time to cool off. He didn't mean what he said. Not really, he was still angry. Sherlock could tell by the sound of his blood. Sherlock just had to wait longer, that's all.

The door to 221 opened and Sherlock thought for a moment that John had returned. He later realized it was not John, but his brother and Lestrade. Perhaps they have a case for him. That would be a good distraction from all this…this…whatever it is with John. The door to his flat opened and Sherlock stood from the sofa.

"Hello Sherlock," Mycroft greeted, "How are you faring?"

"What do you want?" Sherlock groaned knowing the tone Mycroft was using. He had a case, and it was probably going to be dull.

"There have been a few attacks this past week," Lestrade began, and Sherlock waited for him to continue, "Vampire attacks. We believe it's a message…for you,"

"All the victims share the same appearance." Mycroft added.

"Because of this you believe it's a message to me?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He didn't like where this was going. "By the way you both are standing suggests that it would bother me. If a vampire was targeting people that looked like me then I wouldn't worry. I'm not afraid of being a target. It wouldn't be the first time. That means that the vampire is targeting someone that would get to me. But nothing gets to me," Sherlock rattled off then his eyes widened slightly, "John," He whispered.

"Yes Sherlock, we believe that the vampire is trying to tell you he is after Dr. Watson. We know that the one responsible for this is the one that attacked you. He has been eluding us for some time. Attacking people and leaving them for dead. He must be upset that you are still alive and a vampire. He is one that does not like loose ends." Mycroft finished giving Sherlock a calculated stare.

"Why would he be going after John? Why not just come to me?" Sherlock started to pace.

"Well for one, vamps are harder to kill and for another he might think you and John are… mates." Lestrade struggled to get out.

"Of course we are, everyone knows that." Sherlock stopped pacing and stared at Lestrade like he was an idiot.

"Not… not mates like friends. Mates like…well you know," Lestrade sighed. This was an uncomfortable conversation.

"I'm afraid he doesn't Gregory, Sherlock is unfamiliar with sex," Mycroft smirked, "Mates like you are a couple, Sherlock." He finished bluntly.

"That's absurd!" Sherlock growled and started pacing again.

"Is it? You live together, work together, protect each other, go out often and you look at each other with… longing. Honestly it is sickening," Mycroft made a face of disgust. "Face it, Sherlock. You and Dr. Watson are a couple," Mycroft finished smugly.

"Fine we act like a couple, so what? Does this vampire think killing John would satisfy his sense of dealing with loose ends? Why the game? Why not just do it? It would be easy. John's a human and is unaware that vampires exist. There is something more, he doesn't want to kill John. He wants to use him against me. The killings are threats, showing that he will do what he must to get what he wants. What is that? That is the real question," Sherlock ranted trying to figure out this vampire.

"That's what we are hoping you will figure out," Lestrade spoke, breaking Sherlock from his stare down with the wall.

"Where is Dr. Watson?" Mycroft's eyes narrowed.

"The pub with friends," Sherlock lied quickly. He did not want to discuss that with his brother. It was none of his business.

"You are obviously lying. What happened? Trouble in paradise?" Mycroft smirked.

"Bugger off Mycroft. I will take the case. Does this vampire have a name?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and he took the file from Lestrade.

"Yes, Victor Trevor, your former college friend," Mycroft said dryly.