John and Sherlock were ushered into Mycroft's office and told to wait. The man was in a meeting of some kind and was just finishing up. This gave John time to study the file more. He mainly tried to understand the reports. Attempting to fill in the redacted words/sentences the best he could. It wasn't helping. It didn't make sense. Who was this, Victor?

The door to Mycroft's office opened and John looked up to see Mycroft and Lestrade enter the room. John was still angry with both of them about not updating him after Sherlock was attacked. He chose to forget it for now and focus on the case. It was a direct threat to him after all.

"Hey John, damn what happened? Did you have a row at the pub or something?" Lestrade asked when he saw John's eye.

"No, um, a patient of mine took a swing at me." John shifted uncomfortably. He really hated that he still had a black eye.

"Dr. Watson, I was not expecting you," Mycroft narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. He completely ignored the exchange between Lestrade and John.

"You gave Sherlock a case, of course I would be with him. Why wouldn't I? It's a threat towards me from Sherlock's ex-friend. If I'm being targeted, I deserve to know," John glared at Mycroft, he still wasn't looking at John, his eyes were fixed on Sherlock. John could see Sherlock smirk from the corner of his eye.

"Yes, of course. Well as you can see the attacks are quite messy. Usually, Victor attacks at random. Men, women, doesn't matter but lately he has been attacking men that share your appearance. We believe he is trying to get Sherlock's attention," Mycroft said as he placed his hands on his desk and turned his attention to Sherlock. As did Lestrade, "Now then, the last known location of Victor was an abandoned house not too far from your flat. Unfortunately, he keeps moving and is difficult to track." He admitted.

"We want you to go to the house, see if you can find any clues," Lestrade added. Speaking to only Sherlock as if John wasn't in the room. This was unusual. John was used to being ignored but when a case was being explained he received eye contact at the very least. He felt himself grow angry. This isn't just about Sherlock. It involved John too. So why were they ignoring him like he didn't matter?

"Okay we will go investigate the house then," John spoke before Sherlock could. Everyone looked at John as if just realizing he was there. Mycroft sighed.

"Dr. Watson, considering the situation, it would be best if you did not get involved. There is no telling what Victor might do if he gets a hold of you." If John didn't know any better, he would say that Mycroft sounded concerned, but he did and he knew that Mycroft was full of shit. "Gregory can give you another case to work on. He will be able to then keep an eye on you. Make sure Victor doesn't get near you," Mycroft offered.

Now John was really angry. Where the hell did Mycroft get off telling John what he should do? And why wasn't Sherlock saying anything? He was just sitting there as Mycroft basically told him that he was useless to the case. Why the hell did Sherlock even bring him?

Sherlock was struggling to control himself. John's blood was roaring again and couldn't help but want to taste it. He knew that he should say something to defend John, but he was too busy fighting the urge to grab the man. He knew he should have fed before leaving the flat.

"Do you hear yourself? I help Sherlock and I am helping him with this. If this man is after me then I should be the one to decide if I want to do this or not. Which I do. I'm not afraid of this psychopath, we've dealt with worse." John yelled. His hands were clenched into fists on the arms of the chair.

"You saw the photos, Dr. Watson, you know what this man is capable of. If he happens to kidnap you, he will most certainly torture you: slowly, painfully. Until you are on the edge of death. Do you really want to risk yourself, when Sherlock can do this on his own?" Mycroft was calm and he was hiding something. Some important information about the case that he was not telling them about. He saw Mycroft glance at Sherlock, "Dr. Watson would you be so kind as to go with Gregory? I need to speak to Sherlock, alone," His voice was tense, but he tried to play it off as casual.

"What are you going on about? I'm not leaving, we aren't done here." John said stubbornly.

"Please John," Sherlock finally said, his voice strained with discomfort. John looked over to the man noticing that his body was tense as if trying to stop himself from getting up. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes were fixed on the floor. What the hell? John thought. "John, please just step outside." He stressed.

"Alright, alright fine," John said slowly and left the office. Without Lestrade.

Once John was out of the room Sherlock visibly relaxed and was thankful for the fact that his brother's office was soundproof. Sherlock was still looking at the floor when he heard his brother opening a drawer. He looked up to see that his brother was handing him a bag of blood. Sherlock grabbed it quickly and drank it without hesitation. It wasn't very satisfying, but it would do.

"Care to explain, dear brother?" Mycroft asked as he raised an eyebrow.

"His blood is hard to ignore. I don't see how you can manage it," Sherlock admitted.

"Dr. Watson's blood?" Mycroft asked, confused.

"Yes, of course who else?" Sherlock glared.

"What does it sound like?" Mycroft asked carefully.

"Can't you hear it?" He snapped.

"Answer the question Sherlock,"

"It depends on his mood," He finally said. He noticed Mycroft glancing at Lestrade, "What?"

"You love him, don't you?" Mycroft asked, sounding disappointed.

"What?! No, what the hell are you talking about?" Sherlock shifted in his seat.

"Sherlock, the only reason that a human's blood does that is because you have deep feelings for him. Maybe not love but it's something close to it. It's so you know how the other is feeling so you can do something if needed. It's normally for mates but I can see how it would be for you and John as well. Hell, even Mycroft says my blood does the same thing," Lestrade shrugged.

"Gregory please don't disclose personal information like that," Mycroft warned, "You will have to work on your control around Dr. Watson, later. For now, you have a case. Gregory, will you please take Dr. Watson with you? I will have one of my people take Sherlock to-."

"No, John is coming with me," Sherlock said firmly, cutting off Mycroft.

"Sherlock, we agreed that Dr. Watson should not be with you in case-."

"And I will protect him if that does happen," Sherlock interrupted again.

"Who's going to protect him from you?" Lestrade asked bluntly. Sherlock just glared at Lestrade.

"Just take us to the house," Sherlock ordered.


John and Sherlock arrived at the house that Victor reportedly stayed at. They did not discuss what happened in Mycroft's office. John figured that Sherlock wouldn't tell him anyway. The man was full of secrets lately. Which was fine, really. John didn't care in the least. If Sherlock wanted to keep things to himself that was fine with John. It was all fine.

The house was a small abandoned one story. A few of the windows and the rails along the stairs to the front door were busted. The white paint-or what used to be white paint now was slightly grey-was chipping off and the garden was infested with weeds and overgrowth. It was not one of those houses you would ever think that someone would stay in. Hell, the house didn't even seem stable.

As they approached the house John had a strange feeling of being watched. He glanced around the area only to find Mycroft's car, parked in front but nothing else. The area they were in was extremely quiet. Almost eerily quiet. John wasn't aware that he was left behind until he turned to see that Sherlock was no longer next to him. Of course, he went without John.

Sighing, John made his way into the house. It was just as small on the inside. The first thing you were met with was the sitting room/kitchen area. There wasn't anything in the room, just some rubbish here and there. John walked in more, causing the floors to creak underneath him. He found that Sherlock was in the only bedroom in the house. He was staring at something on the floor. John walked in and looked down to find a small piece of paper. It only had one word on it: Pirate?

"What the hell does that mean?" John asked as he looked at Sherlock. Sherlock seemed to be lost in thought, what else was new, but he appeared troubled. Whatever this note meant, Sherlock knew.

Sherlock finally looked at John as if just realizing he was there. John was starting to get tired of that. First in Mycroft's office and now on a case, great. John might as well be invisible. He was beginning to regret his argument with Mycroft so he could help Sherlock.

"It's a… safe word," Sherlock mumbled and turned away from John heading out of the room.

"Safe word? You mean like…" John trailed off realizing exactly what it meant.

"Yes, John, do keep up," Sherlock grumbled as he entered the sitting room/kitchen area.

"Right, well it's just surprising, that's all," John admitted, "So other than that there is nothing here," John declared.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that" Sherlock smirked. He stopped in the middle of the sitting room and faced John. The doctor was just entering the sitting room when a loud crack interrupted Sherlock from speaking.

John immediately snapped into soldier mode and charged towards Sherlock. He shoved the man out of the way before the ceiling to the house came down on the detective. Instead, it fell on John. The man collapsed under the heavy debris, but thankfully he wasn't knocked out. He just couldn't move or see.

His left arm was pinned underneath him and his right arm was stretched out in front of him pinned under debris. His torso and legs felt as though they were being weighed down by rocks. John had no room to even move his head around, there was something sharp near his ear and he feared if he moved, he would be cut.

"John!" Sherlock called desperately. He cursed himself for hesitating when he heard the ceiling's protest. If he just reacted when he heard it John wouldn't have had to put himself in danger.

"I'm alright. Just can't move," John announced, coughing when dirt and dust flew around him as he spoke.

"I would imagine so; half of the ceiling fell on you. Are you hurt?" Sherlock asked as he began to remove the debris.

"I don't believe so," John tried to survey himself but was stopped when a sharp metal pole started pressing itself in his left shoulder, "Stop Sherlock, stop!" John ordered. Sherlock froze, he had a large piece of debris in his hands.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Something sharp is stabbing into my shoulder. Whatever you are lifting, drop it," John explained. Sherlock eased the piece of debris down and took a moment to study the pile on top of John. The metal pole eased off John's shoulder and he sighed in relief. He didn't need to be injured there again. "I'm assuming that what you were moving was at the top of the pile, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but I think I can get you out without you being injured." Sherlock assured John.

The detective began to remove pieces from the side of the pile. He was trying to make a hole so he could pull John out. Light could finally be seen where John was. He was sure he would be out in no time. Just as long as the detective was careful. Sherlock moved another piece, and the pile shifted. Causing another loud clutter to break through the silent room. If Sherlock wasn't a vampire, he wouldn't have been able to hear John's groan over the loud clutter of debris.

"John, are you alright?" Sherlock's voice didn't sound like his own. It sounded like a small boy worried that he did something wrong. There was no response from John making the detective worry, "John?" Sherlock called again.

When John didn't answer again Sherlock quickly started to remove what he could of the pile. Making a hole large enough to pull John through. It was a struggle to grab onto John, but Sherlock managed it. He grabbed John's jacket and pulled the man out. John's eyes fluttered open when he noticed the light change. He was struck by rubble when the pile shifted but thankfully didn't knock him out cold. Just stunned him. Sherlock rolled John onto his back to find that the doctor's eyes were open. He sighed in relief but then his senses returned full force.

Before, he was so focused on getting John free he didn't notice the smell. The delightful sound coming from John. The doctor was bleeding from his forehead. Nothing life threatening but enough for Sherlock to want a taste. Now that his blood was free from his body it sang openly. As if a choir was singing in the room they were in. Being aware of this, Sherlock needed to get away from John. Sherlock was on the other side of the house before John even registered that the man left his side.

John struggled to find out where Sherlock was. He was sore and it was difficult to move. He found the detective by the door, looking tense. What was wrong now? John thought as he slowly sat up, causing his head to pulse with pain. He groaned and felt his forehead to find that there was a small cut. Great, just what he needed, more injuries.

"Are you alright, John?" Sherlock's voice was strained. As if trying to hold something back. John looked at him, his eyebrows coming together in confusion.

"Had worse, are you alright?' He countered. The man looked on the verge of running away. What the hell is wrong with him?

"I'm fine, we should get you patched up. I'm sure Mycroft's men have a first aid kit," Sherlock said quickly and left the house.

"Oh, so I'll just get up myself then," John grumbled and slowly got to his feet. He glanced up at the hole in the ceiling and saw a man standing there. He blinked and the man was gone. John could have sworn he saw someone. "I'm going mad," He mumbled and walked out of the house.