Disclaimer| I do not own any of the characters, all rights go to BBC and their fabulous writers!

A/N| A Vampire AU. I know it's been done, but I had too.

I should be used to it by now.

The nagging hunger in the depths of my core that never truly goes away, regardless of how much cold blood I engorge myself with.

It's a tactless game, between hunger and I, who will give in first.

I stand now in the corner of the morgue, the florescent lights already dulled off.

It is eerily quiet.

The room smells of iodine and metallic bleach, but I have grown used to the smells by now. I'm here every week.

The blood today is colder than usual.

Not as fresh but somehow I manage to swallow it down.

It's thick in my throat, and I feel as though it could choke me at any moment. I drain the bag in seconds, the plastic cool but just a tad bit warmer between my heated grappling fingers. I close my eyes,

steadying my ragged breaths. I was hungrier than I thought. Too used to the feeling of starvation. I feel slightly dizzy but it passes in a heated wave as the frigid unwanted blood rushes like a tickling of

flames through my veins. I can hear my heart, beating louder and steadier. I am not longer woozy. I can stand without the world morphing. Suddenly the details of the room sharpen, they become clear as

crystal again and I am aware of the mousy young woman standing awkwardly in the doorway. The now empty blood bag crinkles unceremoniously between my fingers.

"Molly." I acknowledge her presence with the dark raspy baritone of my awakened voice, my freshly jump started heart. I can bear the flickering of the florescent lights as they stagger on. I couldn't handle

the light before. Now it doesn't bother me in the least.

"I'm sorry this one wasn't as…um, fresh. I was a bit late to the refrigeration and we haven't had any new donors in a while…"

"It's alright. This," I indicate to the plastic crumbled between my nails, "Is perfect. Thank you." It's hard to spot the flush of blood to her cheeks, the red liquid turning up to her face in her surprised

embarrassment. Molly always becomes fluster around me. It's unbearable when I'm starving. Not so now. I can hear her heart though, beating fast beneath her white starch lab coat and thick polyester

sweater. I nod to her and swoosh by, and I can hear her gasp slightly as I brush her arm with the tips of my fingers. I cannot keep the mirth out of my voice.

"Have a wonderful night, Molly." And with that I am gone the shadows claiming my place. The night air is a welcome feel and I stop and let the breeze ruffle the lapels of my coat, the tresses of my chocolate

brunette hair. For a moment I am struck with the force of a memory, one deep and long since buried away. Only, in the past I am not standing alone. I am with someone, holding their hand in mine. And

suddenly I am back again, the image disseminating almost as quickly as it had come. There is the familiar throbbing of my head, the pounding behind my clenched eyes. Dull pains like this always follow a

memory.

Because I'm not supposed to remember, I'm supposed to forget.

I am not to remember my human life although I long for it with every fiber in my being. It's an ache I have, and sometimes it is so strong I physically hurt. I can no longer cry, or at least, I haven't until I…

And the pain is back and persitant so I shut down and slowly make my way down the wet cement sidewalks, the dainty asphalt roads. I am almost turning, have nearly crossed the street when a car pulls up

beside me and I don't wait for it to stop completely. I am inside before the driver has made a coherent thought if I am indeed Sherlock Holmes. The leather is familiar. Smells like a rental car and cigarette

smoke and jelly turnovers and I don't have to check the lightening screen on my phone to know it's Mycroft.

"Where is he tonight?" I drone and the driver looks wearily back. His first night with Mycroft, undoubtedly his last, and he looks young and healthy and oh so fresh and it's all I can do but to quench the

rumbling of my stomach.

"His house sir, 43-"

"I know where it is." My voice sounds rougher than I had intended it to but I can't help it, not with a hollow building its way in my heart and my new growing desire for the rapidly beating heart that is driving

me to my destination. But I have attacked one of Mycroft's snacks before and I had escaped with half an arm and a bit ridden ear. Although I would never find myself admitting this to my brother: It hurt. If I

were he I wouldn't have felt such miniscule pain such as that. But I am not Mycroft, I am not a purebred like our mother and I never will be. So of course those marring wounds had hurt. I can still feel

simplicity. The driver pulled shakily up the gravel and I took no time in exiting the vehicle. The boy's sweat was beginning to smell a little to intoxicating. I walk the rest of the drive up to Mycroft's door. It's

wide and dark mahogany and I rasp on it until my knuckles leave small round dents in the wood. I smirk, a small little flitter. It will just be another one of those pesky annoyances that he can't stand.

I don't hear Mycroft unlock the door, he is very quiet when he wishes to be, and I barely have time to register my brother's actions before I find myself seated across from him in front of a roaring fire. I don't

see the need for the flames. They're warm, yes, but we don't need that much heat. We're supposed to be creatures of the dark, yes? So why must he always insist on such a large fire? I don't fully

understand why this harmless nostalgic accessory annoys me but it does and I cross my legs and arms to show him my obvious distaste. He only raises a brow. My brother has looked the same for years.

Receding hairline, beady eyes, perked nose, daunting aura. Before he speaks he licks his lips.

"You are drawing too much attention to your eccentricities." I raise my brows. Then for good measure look at the large open room around me. The useless couches, overstuffed with feather down, silk drawn

lamps and velvet drawn drapes. Slowly my gaze meets his. I can tell he is slightly ruffled by my silent evaluation.

"How is it, Mycroft," I speak in a low bored drone when he decides to hold quiet, "that you accuse me of drawing attention when you're name is almost in every business tabloid? When you are the whole of

the British government?" Mycroft purses his lips; his eyes narrowing like a parent would when scolding a child. I hate that look.

"You tend to stick out, dear brother." His voice is oozing with snotty contempt. "The others are worried, you cause too much attention to yourself while you're out and about playing detective. Lestrade has

been suspecting you for some time. You are drearily obvious." I scoff, shifting some in the lushness' of the crimson armchair I'm draped across. This whole conversation is utterly pointless. I will end up

deleting this night anyway. I feel the need to inform Mycroft of this. His eyes glint in the light of the fire and for a moment I realize how dark they are. Upon further examination his skin is paler, his lips more

chapped. I lean forward with an arrogant air.

"You must be dying to sink your teeth into that young boy. Why call me over when you're starving? Diets aren't good for you, Mycroft, the weak look doesn't suit you." And with that I stand, stopped by the

clicking of my brother's heel against the wooden leg of his armchair. I stop and turn with a sigh.

"You need a flat mate." For a moment I do nothing but stare. Then give a deep laugh that holds no value or tone of humor. When I can tell he's serious the humor sneaks its way in.

"Are you serious? Are you sincerely proposing I share my flat with someone? Honestly, Mycroft, even you can't be that dense!" The older vampire stood with a flourish, standing before me before I had a

chance to register his movements. I gritted my teeth in desperation. I'm always one step behind.

"I couldn't be more severe on this matter, Sherlock." My name was spat from his tongue as though it was poison. I felt anger pulse through me. But I buried the feeling in an instant.

"Who do you suggest then, Mycroft? Do you think I'll be able to control myself for long? We haven't had a danger night in ages, are you willing to risk one again-?"

"It is decided, Sherlock. Lest you truly value the cause in attracting hunters, I suggest you return to the labs tomorrow. Be there by three." I could feel my eyes widen slightly at his words. I threw what he

said around in my mind for good measure.

"Three?" I echoed, my voice light with giddy disbelief. "You expect me to go out during the day?"

"No, I expect you to go before the sun rises. Sleep on the tables, you've done it before."

"I don't sleep anymore, Mycroft." I spat stepping back and curling my hands into fists at my sides.

"Oh, so you have finally lost all sense of your humanity?" I wanted to smash the mocking vampires mouth in where he stood. Crush his throat and make him choke on his teeth. I felt a gnawing pain in my chest. I could sleep; being half human it wasn't that hard. But the dreams that sleep brought…

…Besides, I didn't need it. Sleeping's boring.

"I'll be at the hospital tomorrow, if you get the fuck off my back." I snapped stomping out of the room in a petulant flurry. The door opened and swung back rhythmically, and I noticed the boy stick his head

out the window as I passed.

"Do you want me to drive you home, Mr. Holmes?" He called and I felt a pang in the pit of my stomach. I didn't reply, just kept walking until the sky turned maroon and I snuck back into the morgue. It

wasn't hard, and I couldn't help passing the bathrooms. Slowly I went in. It was so still in the hospital, especially in this wing, and I couldn't help the clenching of my throat as I turned in the direction of the

mirror. No reflection. I had no one watching me. I was alone.

I hadn't expected to spend the world's waking hours hunched over a microscope and some samples of my blood in the lab. It was all I could do to keep the boredom at bay. It was three fifteen when Mike

walked in, brisk as ever. He smelled of coffee and morning Internet porn, and I couldn't help but wrinkle my nose at his smells. But why was he here? He sent me a knowing look, a knowing smile before

another scent invaded my senses: coffee, fresh shampoo, earth, and something else entirely, something…exotic. I couldn't help snapping my head in the general direction of the smell. And I stopped short. My

hands trembled on the vials. My mind went gloriously blank. I stopped breathing. The man that had just stepped foot into my domain was exquisite. His scent was utterly intoxicating and I stifled the groan I

would surely make at the smell of him. His eyes were deep thoughtful blue, though looked brown at some angles. He stood straight and tall, and metal cane balanced in the middle of his palm. He didn't need

it. He shouldn't be holding it, hiding those strong nimble fingers from me. Calloused, doctors hands, steady. Trained gaze, saluted posture: solider, army doctor. My thoughts are jumbled. For the first time in

my life I am unable to formulate them clearly. He is staring at me now, his head slightly tilted, his fresh rosy lips parted, white teeth peeking through. The color of his plaid shirt was ruffled some near the top;

a button of his had popped loose and oh the exposed skin of his neck made my heart pound. I can hear his heart, beating strong in his chest. His flesh was tanned. Afghanistan. My tongue has gone dry. I

blink furiously, and my breath hitches in my throat as his lips pull up into a sensuous smirk.

"John Watson, nice to me you. I heard you were looking for a new flat mate."

Fuck.

Welp, I have had this idea for a while and I just had to do it. Inspired by the song "I'll be your vampire".

Reviews would make my day. (:

More reviews=me not quitting this story.