Setting - dark London street alley, after another damned crime scene that Sherlock has called John to. John is upset and wants to clear something up. John has his back to Sherlock, and of course Sherlock is standing right behind WAY too close, since he has no sense of personal boundaries.

John Watson - You are bizarrely graceful. And strong - stronger than you should be for such a thin bloke. Your skin is... pale white, and pearly. Your eyes change colour, and not like mine do when I change the colour of my jumper. They just... change. I dunno. Sometimes, you speak like - like you're from another time. Another planet.

Sherlock – (Sighs.) Boring. You pulled me into this alley to state the obvious?

John – (Shoulders hunching, continues determinedly.) You wear rich colours like mint or purple a lot. Your fingers are usually stained pink. There are raspberry seeds stuck down the front of your coat sometimes. You toy with your food at Angelo's, but I can never have toast with my brekky because you scarf all the jelly in the flat! You never go into the sunlight - in fact I've never seen you outside anywhere but under overcast skies or at night. And you have a credit card for Fortnum and Mason's. I saw it when you lent me your debit card.

(LONG AWKWARD PAUSE.)

John Watson - How old are you?

Sherlock Holmes - ... Twenty nine.

John - How long have you been twenty nine?

Sherlock - (Putting on the bored bitch face behind John's back.) Is this question really relevant, John? You know what you want to ask.

John - Not ask, mebbe... Just. I know what you are.

Sherlock - We've been flatmates for months, John, and you are just now...? Fine. Go on then. Say it out loud. God, what it must be like to live in such a tiny brain!

John - Jampire.

Sherlock - Well done, you. Are you afraid?

John - (turns to face him.) No. As a matter of fact no.

Sherlock – (Corner of mouth curves up.) Well, you did invade Afghanistan. I'm sure pectin fiends are as nothing to a veteran.

John - (Snorts a laugh.) Yeah, well.

Sherlock - Then ask me the most basic question - what do we eat?

John - Bloody hell. It doesn't take the world's only consulting detective to answer that question, Sherlock! I mean, really - Fortnum and Mason's? No wonder we never have any money! Couldn't you just eat generic brand for once?

Sherlock - (Flashes a grin.) That hardly merits a response.

(Pause. They study each other carefully.)

John - (Small cough.) So. Erm. A Jampire. Which is fine, by the way.

Sherlock - I know it's fine.

John - So, what about Marmite? You like that on toast?

Sherlock - No.

John - Right. Okay. So - you like jam. And jelly. Like me. But I can have Marmite on toast without you getting crazed... You won't hurt me. Fine. That's... good.

Sherlock - (Gaze locking on John's mouth) John, erm. I think you should know, that while I consider myself a preserve-ivore exclusively... I can't help but notice... next to your mouth...

John - Oh. I had some tea and scones with Mrs. Hudson, just before you texted me from across town. Why? Is there something on my face?

(John reaches up to wipe a sticky smear off, but Sherlock catches his wrist with unnatural speed. With his other hand, he touches his gloved thumb to the corner of John's mouth and then licks his thumb. His pupils dilate, the ring of the iris beginning to glow, and he leans in closer. John inhales sharply. Sherlock is close enough that John can detect the scent of his skin, like cloves and the candied fruit you put in cakes.)

John - Wait..what? Sherlock...

(Before he can react, John's back hits the wall behind, he cracks his scalp on the brickwork and Sherlock has clutched John's face between his gloved hands and is licking his mouth with long sweeps of his tongue, eyes closed in ecstasy.)

John - (Gasps.) Sherlock! You...

(But he is cut off by the detective fastening his mouth over John's, tasting. The way Sherlock's tongue curls inside John's mouth, first darting past his teeth, then stroking against John's tongue softly makes John's knees weaken. He leans harder against the wall to brace himself, one hand clutching at the lapel of Sherlock's jammy overcoat, the other sliding up his neck to tangle in the wild curls.)

Sherlock - (Raises his head slowly, cheeks flushed, eyes ardent.) John. You taste of honey and... marmalade.

John - (Blinks a few times, licks his lips.) Yeah. Apricot.

Sherlock - (Quick intake of breath.) Apricot marmalade.

John - Yes.

Sherlock - You like it?

John - Love it.

Sherlock - Eat it often, then? Marmalade? Apricot marmalade?

John - Yes, when I can. It's hard to find. It's a bit of a bother, but I do have my mum's recipe.

(Sherlock's tongue appears briefly at the corner of his mouth. John continues, fascinated. His voice deliberately drops to an intimate tone suitable for making a confession.)

John - I made a batch in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen just tonight, as ours is inexplicably littered with body parts and experiments. Bit not good for... you know, making preserves.

Sherlock - (Presses in closer, the pitch of his voice lowering.) You make jam.

John - And marmalade. And eat it too.

Sherlock - Of course. That's... good. You eating jam. It's all good. Fantastic.

John - Want to taste some more?

Sherlock - Oh, God yes.

The End

Notes: OK yes, I don't even know what I was thinking, except it started this way: My friend and I were texting about Brett/Holmes, I said how cute/weird it was that he stared at Watson when Watson was sleeping, tickling his feet and stuff.
She goes, "Oh, I can totally see BBC Sherlock as a sparkly-vire, doing the same thing! The creepiness! Glitteringly pale! Probably already out there as fanfic too! And something broke in my head. A voice said to me, jam. Is this the voice that Jam-John hears?

I apologize. If anyone has a better title for this mess... credits due to BBC writers of Sherlock, and the writers of 'Twilight' the movie. Really, though, that scene needs MOAR spoofing.