Disclaimer: I own nothing in this story save this idea. Sherlock belongs to the BBC and was created by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.

Warning(s): Stupid, silly humor. Terrible attempts at humor. All around a very not serious one-shot. Also, (possibly inappropriate) allusions to the female menstrual cycle and poking fun at it (very briefly).

Sherlock

One-shot

Don't go!

Summary: Sherlock is a consulting detective and vampire. John is an ex-soldier, doctor, and werewolf. Sherlock is about to leave for a favor for Mycroft but John's nose is picking up something from the letter and doesn't want him to leave. Cue protective guard dog and an annoyed vampire.

John was working on the next entry in his blog when he heard Mrs. Hudson's heels on the stairs.

"I say it's the powder blue. She was going to her sister's."

"Fuchsia heels, the one with a scrape along the left sole. Inside of the shoe."

Mrs. Hudson opened the door with her customary 'yoo-hoo', even if she knew her tenants had heard her coming. She was a considerate landlady like that. John glanced down, briefly, to see fuchsia on her feet and gave a slight glare to his flatmate. The vampire gave him a smug smirk.

"Quiet, not all of us are consulting vampires." The look didn't change.

"Now, Sherlock, you know it's not fair when you're more familiar with my wardrobe than he is." Mrs. Hudson admonished. She set down a piece of paper on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

"Not sure who sent this, the return address is smudged, but I thought I'd just leave it here for you." She said, then retreated downstairs to finish getting ready.

Sherlock's pale eyes looked curiously at the letter. He grabbed it before tearing it open. John couldn't help but lean forward in his chair, eager to know what they'd been sent.

"It's from Mycroft," Sherlock said, eyes re-scanning over the letter,"He says there's something he wants me to look over and that he wants me to meet with Lestrade at six." Both occupants looked towards the clock which read thirty minutes till. Sherlock hopped up from his chair and went to his room. John titled his head and went to pick up the letter to read for himself before a strong scent caught his nose. His hand pulled back and he sniffed the air.

Strong, slightly sour. It was not a scent that they ever let into the flat.

John titled his head this way and that, trying to pinpoint it before his eyes fell on the letter again. He leaned in, gave a big whiff, and his nose wrinkled at the smell of garlic.

"No need to accompany me, John," Sherlock said, walking in from his bedroom and into the kitchen. John gave a look to the offending paper, and it's even more offending smell, before shaking.

"Why's that?"

"Just a small matter. Honestly it's more an errand and I wouldn't even be going if he wasn't holding that last case over me."

"The one where he had to track down that fake psychic's files for you?"

"Yes, and ultimately led us to that unregistered coven of undersea witches." John still didn't understand why they called themselves undersea witches, seeing as there were no large bodies of water in London and they were far from capable of breathing underwater as they both found out. He found that case a bit absurd anyway.

Speaking of absurd, he remembered the garlic letter.

"Sherlock, I-"

"Have you seen my phone?" Sherlock asked, coming into the living room and picking up stacks of papers to find his missing mobile.

"Your room, I think," John answered. Sherlock clicked his tongue, remembering why it was there and not with him and turned to retrieve it.

"I don't think you should go." John called out and a second later Sherlock was back around the corner with a raised brow.

"Why ever not? I told you it wasn't dangerous." John fidgeted.

"The letter. It smells like garlic."

"And?"

"And, what if it's not Mycroft?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous John, I know my brother's handwriting. Plus, I already smelled the garlic. Probably just from the postman."

"It doesn't mean it can't be imitated. Why would Mycroft send a letter through the post anyway? He can text you."

"Mycroft's been having problems with his phone and needs it replaced. Apparently even the British Government isn't above all the problems of us mere common folk." John still didn't look convinced. Sherlock sighed.

"Really, John. It's not like anyone's opened the letter before us, no indications for it. Just because it smells like garlic doesn't mean anyone's out to get me."

"What if the postman's a Hunter?" Sherlock paused at that and looked at John as if he were suddenly a hydra. John huffed.

"Honestly, John," Sherlock actually sounded surprised,"Aren't you usually the one with the level-head? He probably just had something with garlic for lunch. It's not like the world is going to band the herb just because a select few are weak to it. Just look at peanut butter."

"But-"

"Enough, already. I'm going to go to get Mycroft off my back and if I need you I'll send you our code word." With that he turned on his heel to get his phone from his room.

John stood in the middle of the flat, not sure what to do. Sherlock could be right. He could be overthinking it. However, that weird feeling in his gut wouldn't go away and when Sherlock came back to retrieve his coat and scarf John was already snatching them off the pegs before he could grab them. Sherlock blinked, then glared.

"Give them back." He demanded. John shook his head and held both articles close to his chest.

"John, I need to leave. It's already close to six, I'm going to be late." However, when Sherlock stepped forward to grab his things John gave a low growl. Sherlock jerked back, surprised. He knew John wouldn't hurt him but one should always be cautious when approaching an agitated werewolf.

"John, you're overreacting," he tried instead,"Your Moon is coming up. Naturally you're feeling agitated and grumpy, I understand that. Really. However, I need you to think. Are you being like this because you really think I'm in danger, or is your Moon making it so you don't like your pack leaving your sight?" John actually had to think about that. He had forgotten his Moon was coming up. All Weres tended to get a little possessive when it was their time of the month.

Whatever the case, Sherlock took advantage and lunged to get his coat and scarf. John didn't have time to move and the vampire collided with him. The two were rolling on the floor then, John giving little growls and nips while Sherlock flashed his fangs and hissed to try and assert his dominance. It was often debated which was stronger, werewolf or vampire. John never cared seeing as he's fought with and against both. However, even a werewolf would have trouble trying to fight off a vampire as determined as Sherlock Holmes, who could have left without his things but was too stubborn to let John have this victory. So when Sherlock's fingers wrapped around an end of the scarf John let his instincts decide his next move.

The vampire gaped as John's mouth clamped down on the other end of the cloth. Suddenly they stilled, both staring, John in challenge and Sherlock in astonished horror. Sherlock, on auto-pilot, gave the scarf a gentle tug and John let out a small rumble. Anger flashed through him then and he bared his sharp fangs at the werewolf.

"John Watson, release my scarf this instant." He gave a sharper tug but John held firm. Soon Sherlock was standing, trying to use leverage to release his poor garment while John stayed low to the floor to use his weight against him. They were at it for several minutes with Sherlock cursing and barely moving John. John was trying to keep back, unintended growls escaping his throat.

Just when Sherlock was contemplating beating John with this morning's newspaper, John tugged and Sherlock lost his balance.

The vampire landed with a thud. He groaned and, looking up, saw that he'd fallen into John's lap. The werewolf was looking down at him. His eyes were curiously brighter, playful and smug, and his human ears had been replaced with his more canine ones. Thumping happily next to them was John's golden tail.

Before Sherlock could begin yelling at him, saying that it wasn't the time for jokes or tug-of-war, there was the sound of shoes pounding up the stairs.

Lestrade burst into the room, scanning for the vampire detective. He found him on the floor and began speaking.

"Alright, Sherlock, look. I'm trying to be nice and save you and you're brother a lot of problems by cooperating with this whole thing but that doesn't mean-" Lestrade froze then, his eyes now taking in the scene before him.

Sherlock on the floor, in John's lap, one wrist wrapped up by his scarf while John had his hands on Sherlock's forearms, partially changed and the scarf hanging from his mouth. The detective's coat laid mere feet away, rumpled suspiciously.

John's mouth opened in shock, the end of the scarf limply falling.

"I can explain-" Lestrade held up a hand.

"Nope. That's alright. What you two get up to is your business. I don't want to know, just," exasperated and all too tired, he gestured to their rather rumpled state,"Just meet me downstairs when your done." Lestrade then strode back down leaving a very embarrassed werewolf and a bemused vampire, mourning his soggy scarf, behind.

Did I just pull up the most cliche supernatural creatures that involve our favorite detective and doctor? Yes. Did I just make John act like a puppy for no reason other than the inaccurate 'wolf = dog traits' humor? Yes. And did I just poke fun at the female's 'time of the month'? Yes, I did. God help me.

There was no other reason to write this besides the fact I was very bored and thought the idea of a daily-life kind of story involving Sherlock and John as supernatural creatures was amusing. Seriously, do not take this seriously at all. It was just something stupid and silly I typed up and decided to share because 'Why not'? This was for pure amusement, including John acting like a dog even though he is a werewolf. I am aware wolves are more volatile than a domesticated dog (I think). I just found the idea of John playing (reluctant) tug-of-war with Sherlock's scarf funny. Also, no, this is not meant to be Johnlock, you would have been warned in the beginning if it was. Sorry, fangirls, but I think I'll let you guys handle that, dears. ;)

Oh, yeah, before I forget, this is not my first fanfiction, but it is my first Sherlock fic I'm posting. Maybe not the brightest idea, but I'd like to get my feet wet a little before plunging in. You guys don't mind right? Tee hee.

As with all my fics, concrit is more than welcome. I hope at least some of you got a chuckle out of this and if not, any ideas on how to improve my humor? I'd love some tips if anyone has any. It's not my best genre anyway, so I'm ready for ya! :D

Sincerely,

Fallen L. Angel

P.S. Sorry for the long note down here. Hopefully they won't all be like this. . .