Author's Note: This is an AU story in which Sherlock and John are vampire hunters. There will be blood and possibly some Johnlock, in later chapters. Not recommended for younger readers. Rating it T, for now. Could be changed to M later, but not likely.

Enjoy!

John rounds the corner as fast as his legs will carry him. He always has to work so hard to keep up with Sherlock. Sherlock's coat flares behind him as he sprints even further ahead of John, his shoes clicking on the wet pavement.

He stops at a streetlight, the only source of light in the darkness. Breathing heavy he turns to John.

"Lost him." He kicks angrily at a bush and then runs a hand through his messy, midnight curls.

John comes up beside him, panting like crazy. He catches his breath and then looks up at Sherlock with a cheeky grin.

"I'd like to see how far he gets with that harpoon in his leg."

Sherlock chuckles, "That was a pretty good shot, wasn't it?"

"Best I've seen in a while."

Sherlock snorts and breathes out slowly. He looks up at the dark sky, his icy eyes fixed on the stars that twinkle in the blackness. He sweeps his hand across the heavens, his gloved fingers a shadow over the stars.

"Look at that, John. Beautiful isn't it? So peaceful." He sighs. "If only they knew what was out there." He stomps over to a deserted bench and sits down, hands cradling the empty harpoon gun in his hands.

John looks up at the sky briefly before following suite. He plops down next to Sherlock, easing his bad leg into a comfortable position. He sets his pistol down beside him and turns to Sherlock.

"It's better that they don't know. Keeps them from freaking out and such. A mob of scared, stupid people is the last thing we want. They'd only complicate things more."

"You sound like me," Sherlock says, looking sideways at John.

"You're rubbing off on me. God help me," John says playfully. Sherlock smirks.

They sit for a while in silence. Letting their racing hearts recover from their run. Sherlock takes out his phone, holding it in one hand, while he brings the other up to his mouth. With his teeth he removes his glove so that it dangles out of his mouth by an empty finger. John sighs.

"There's no one here for you to impress. You can take your gloves off like a normal bloke."

Sherlock lets the glove drop into his lap. "You're here. I can impress you." He winks at John and looks at his phone. John rolls his eyes. Sherlock scrolls through the messages on his phone with his thumb. John peers over his shoulder.

Sherlock quickly browses through the texts from Lestrade, and then through the ones from Molly, pausing only to look quickly at an unopened message.

"That's from yesterday," John says, noticing the date on the message.

"So it is. Marvelous observation John."

"But you haven't even opened it yet. It could have been important."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Anything from Molly is hardly important. Although," his eyebrows furrow, "This time it was." He gets up and shoulders the harpoon gun, "She wants us to stop by the morgue. Says she's got something she thinks will help with the hunt. What time is it?"

"Uh, almost three."

"Wonderful. Just enough time to get a cuppa before dawn. Come on John!" He starts down a side street. John tucks his pistol into his coat and trots after him.

Sherlock takes them to a small café nestled at the edge of a dark street. It's open 24/7, which is convenient, because Sherlock and John are usually out at ungodly hours.

Sherlock saunters in, slamming the door behind John and claiming a table near the front. He sits down and motions for John to take the seat across from him. John sits, wincing slightly as his leg throbs painfully.

Sherlock notices and says quietly, "Leg still bothering you?"

John nods. "Damn thing." He glares down at his leg.

"I told you not to go out alone," Sherlock says, browsing the menu.

"How was I supposed to know that one would be armed?"

"One learns to prepare for everything in this line of work."

John looks around before leaning close to Sherlock and whispering, "Well most normal people aren't vampire hunters."

Sherlock turns his gaze upon John. He puts his elbows on the table and laces his fingers together, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"Are you ashamed of what you do, John?" Sherlock asks, his eyes moving over his friend's face.

"Of course not," John replies looking down at his menu, "I just," he pauses as he tries to think what to say, "It's just that I didn't expect to become a killer." He bites his lip.

"You know perfectly well that they are not meant to be on this earth," Sherlock says leaning back, "And besides, if we don't get rid of them, who else will?"

"I know, I know. But that doesn't mean that I like it."

"You think I do?"

"Well, you certainly seem very happy when there's a new vampire in town."

"I just enjoy having something to do. Helps take my mind off of things." He crosses his arms and sits back.

"Right," John says quickly before becoming very interested in his menu.

"John." Sherlock says softly. John looks up ever so slightly, still avoiding Sherlock's piercing gaze.

"John, I told you that if you were to move in with me that this is what you'd be doing. I thought I made it perfectly clear."

"Made what perfectly clear, Sherlock?" John says angrily, slamming his menu shut, "That you'd wake me up in the middle of the night to go chasing after insane, blood sucking murders? That I'd have no peace, because now I know that there are crazy monsters running around the street s of London? That I hardly get a decent night of sleep because I'm either to bloody worried about you, or the fact that I could die tomorrow?"

Sherlock's eyebrows shoot up. "You worry about me?"

John blushes. He speaks to the table, keeping his eyes fixed on the menu.

"Of course I worry about you. You're my friend. And you're stupid."

"Excuse me?"

"You run out without even thinking. I'm surprised you haven't gotten yourself killed yet."

"And what do mean by that?"

John leans forward so that he and Sherlock are almost nose to nose. "You ran off in the middle of the night to track down a pack of vampires Sherlock. A pack. How many were there? Six? And you. Six against one. Now don't you tell me that I can't worry about you, you stupid bloody sod."

He sits back, breathing fast. Keeping his eyes fixed on Sherlock. Sherlock's mouth hangs open slightly. He shuts it and mutters.

"I… I… I didn't realize you cared so much, John."

"Oh really?" John says angrily. He gets up and heads to the door.

"Where are you going, John?" Sherlock asks from his chair.

"Back to the flat, and no, I don't want you to come with me." He slams the door to the café with a bang and Sherlock follows him with his eyes as John limps down the street and out of sight.