John limped down the sidewalk on a bleak London day. The sky was grey, overcast almost as always, the wind a bit strong and cold and the inklings of snow starts to feather down.

He had only just comeback from Legion that week, but the PTSD, shoulder and psychosomatic limp made him a invalid solider; Doctor or not. He was a tainted human now. No vampire family would take him, jobs were scarce as is, and he's never been low enough to just be a donor. Makes him feel like just a human blood bag.

The Vampire's took over a couple of hundred years ago, setting up colonies all over after easily defeating the humans. The werewolves were a bit territorial, but because of their natural nature to obey and be more of a pack in hiding then a flock out in the open.

Now humans had a bit more freedom then when the vampire's first took over, rights being made so both could live together in a more peaceful environment. Humans were given a choice of either getting a normal job, being a donor, or going to Legion. The human army the vampire general's train to fight against other human army's. Much like chess pieces being moved by genius's.

Sherlock huffed as he held onto the skull, glaring at it intently with iris's that glowed an unnatural blue in the grey setting outside. "What's the pattern?" He asked, brows together as human and vampire alike stepped out of his way, giving him only a odd glance but going on about their day.

He sighed and put his arm down, clutching onto the skull. He didn't blame it that it didn't know about the pattern the rouge vampire's are killing innocent humans. He didn't blame himself either. He was far too stubborn for that, just saying there is no pattern.

That is until he froze, lifting his nose to the air. Even being a vampire, Sherlock was far from normal. He had even more heightened senses then his brethren. If you would call them that. He was smarter, faster, and more unorthodox. He wasn't the strongest of course, but he made up with that for his speed and martial arts skills he learned in China 'back in the day' as Mycroft says.

He remembered every scent and who they belonged too, and he knew the faint scent from the murder scenes. He moved at inhuman speeds, stopping without even breathing at the corner of a fairly empty sidewalk. He was half-way across London he surmised.

The scent was protruding now; Feral, looming, and sickening. He's caught scents this strong before, and he was starting to wonder if that were a coincidence when he spotted a limping human turning the corning and limping down the other side of the sidewalk at a slow pace, eyes forward.

Legion solider, just back from war. His brows shot up then as he got an image of the first victim; Solider returned from Iraq within that month.

The pattern return's. He thought as he see's two vampire's now walking around the corner. Their eyes glowed red as what was once white is now black. He didn't have time to question the odd coloring because as he saw that tiny flicker of muscle the one in the hood did, Sherlock was suddenly talking both vampire's mid-air as they lounged for the army man.

A loud crack echoed loudly and John spun around to see three men- vampire's he corrected easily as he looked at the sight with wide eyes. Two vampire's seemed to have been tackled into the brick building, it splitting under the power and force.

Then they were all moving too fast too see before John could see the other vampire who was standing over them. And then John was alone. He swallowed some, a chill running down his spine as he looked around with a stony expression.

And then he was being slammed back against another building. If that didn't take his breath away enough, the vampire had his arm to John's throat, restricting his breathing even more. John stared up with terrified blue eyes only to meet glowing red ones with black all around. He had never seen such a thing before and was slightly fascinated and would have been more so if he wasn't about to die.

Again.

His face changed and became emotionless, making the vampire's brows come together. "Beg for your life pretty boy." He growled, opening his mouth to show his fangs.

"I obey vampires. Not cowards." John said, his anger getting the better of him. John didn't beg. Ever.

The vampire didn't like that one bit. Just as he snarled and tilted his head to take out John's jugular, a tall vampire grabbed the feral vampire by the hair and threw him a yard away.

John stood there in almost awe as he looked up at this new vampire. He had his side profile to him, glaring at the vampire that was just about to kill him who was just laying on the ground. No doubt waiting for his neck to repair.

This vampire was so tall, black, curly hair and even paler skin then normal vampire's. He was lean wearing a dark blue coat with his collar up and from what John could see, glowing blue eyes.

"That was good." He said suddenly, making John blink some and make his brows come together. The vampire looked over and down to John and gave a brief smile. John wasn't gay or a vampire fucker, but the beauty of a vampire was hard to resist and this one was the most beautiful he had ever seen. "What you said." He clarified.

John cleared his throat and looked away, unable to hold the crystallized, intense gaze of blue anymore. "Oh, uh, thanks." He muttered, glancing over to the vampire who was just now starting to twitch back to life. "I really just don't think sometimes when I get angry…."

"Agreed." The vampire said, and it sounded as if he was interested in John for some reason. "Sherlock Holmes."

"What?"

"My name." The vampire offered with a small, baritone chuckle.

The top of John's ears heated some. "Oh, right yes." He said and missed the amused smirked Sherlock casted him. "John Watson." John said lamely and Sherlock nodded before suddenly appearing in front of the vampire who was getting up.

Sherlock pulled out handcuffs and siren's blared then. John looked around, brows coming together as he looked back over to Sherlock who held the vampire with a stoic face, the police cars going over to him.

A vampire who works for the police? John thought, watching as a man with silver hair took the murderer from Sherlock and talked with him briefly. The silver hair man groaned in frustration and John saw the tiny smirk the vampire held. For some reason it made John smile some.

Then glowing blue eyes were on him so sharply he felt paralyzed. John held his cane tighter. Sherlock walked up and soon he was looming over John's shorter frame. "John Watson." He said in that sinful low voice.

"Y-Yes?" He stammered, a brief flash of amusement crossing the vampire's features before they turned back to it's normal stoic expression.

"I have just saved your life." John somehow knew Sherlock heard his heartbeat increase. He's heard stories about this but thought it was just in history. Then again vampire's are made from tradition… "You are mine."