Chapter 9:

John looks with pity at his friend. Sherlock's practically weeping. Large tears roll down his cheeks and he splutters out another apology.

"I didn't mean to. I'm… I'm a monster." He leans forward and sobs into John's shoulder.

John watches his shaking form. He's not sure what to do. Sherlock did just seduce him and probably was going to suck his blood.

"I forgive you, Sherlock," John says, "It's okay."

He pulls Sherlock into a hug. Sherlock's thin frame is shaking with sobs. John runs a hand through his curls. He guides Sherlock back to the bed and lies him down upon it. Sherlock moves into a sitting position, lets go of John and sobs into his hands.

"Stop it," John says, taking Sherlock's hands away from his face.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock says again, tears still rolling down his gaunt face.

"It's okay," John says, wiping the tears from Sherlock's cheeks, "It's going to be alright. We'll work this out. Don't worry."

"How are we going to work it out?" Sherlock cries, his voice cracking.

"We will." John looks at the floor, "Somehow."

Sherlock watches John for a moment and then he grabs his hand. He brings it up to his chest and presses John's palm to the left side.

John eyebrows lower and he presses his hand harder against Sherlock's chest. He can't make out a heartbeat. It's just still.

"I'm dead, John." Sherlock's deep voice vibrates through his body, taking away the stillness, but not the fact that John knows that his words are true.

"But you're still here," John says taking Sherlock's hands in his, "And I'm not going to let you go through this on your own."

Sherlock casts his eyes downward. His voice is barely above a whisper. "I don't want you to have to be burdened with me. And I don't want what just happened to happen again."

"Which thing that just happened?" John asked, his mind going back to the passionate kisses that they had exchanged.

"You know what I mean," Sherlock hisses, "I'm not going to put you in danger because of me." He grips John's hands tightly; his eyes lock with John's. "John, if I can't restrain myself, if I hurt anyone, anyone at all, I want you to be the one to do it."

John's eyes widen as he realizes what Sherlock is asking. He says firmly, "No. I can't."

"It's for the best. I won't let myself become a mindless killer. And I would rather go at your hands than at the hands of someone else. Just do me a favor and make sure that it goes in quickly."

John shakes his head. "I won't. Sherlock, you're my best friend and I could never kill you. Ever. So don't even ask. We'll find a way to make this work. We cou-"

Sherlock cuts him off, "Promise me that you'll do it, John. Promise me that if I can't control myself, you'll stop me from hurting anyone. Promise me that you'll end it, end me."

Sherlock's eyes are pleading, his hands tightly around John's. John looks at his partner and he knows that he has to say yes, even if it's a lie, even if he won't be able to kill Sherlock if the time comes. He has to say yes, because Sherlock depends on him, trusts him, even if John can't do it.

"Okay," John says softly, "But you promise me that it's never going to come to that."

Sherlock nods and then says, "Thank you, John."

He scoots closer to John and hugs John tightly. John brings Sherlock close to him, running a hand through his curls.

They rock back and forth for a bit, in each other's arms, and then there's a knock at the door.

Greg Lestrade enters. John starts to let go of Sherlock, but Sherlock tightens his grip around John's torso.

"Oh, am I interrupting something?" Lestrade says, getting a bit red in the face.

"No," John says, "It's fine." He tries to get Sherlock to let go, but Sherlock refuses to.

"Doctors say you're doin good, Sherlock," Lestrade muses.

Sherlock lets go of John, sits up and stares at Lestrade, his blue eyes icy.

"Good?" He hisses.

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Greg?" John says quickly.

Lestrade is eyeing Sherlock, but he says, "Sure."

John leads Lestrade outside of Sherlock's hospital room and shuts the door on the sulking man inside. Then John turns to Lestrade and tells him the truth right out.

"Sherlock's a vampire."

"He's a what?" Lestrade asks, his eyes wide.

"A vampire. He was bitten."

"Oh god." Lestrade runs a hand through his hair nervously, "What the hell are we supposed to do with him?"

"We're going to make it work."

"Make it work? We can't let him out of our sight. He's a god forsaken vampire. How the hell can we just make it work?"

"We will. Because I'm not going to let him go through this alone."

"And how do you plan on keeping him from sucking the blood of innocent people?"

John rubs his eyes tiredly. "I don't know. But I'll figure something out."

"Are you two enjoying speculating about my future?"

John and Lestrade turn to see Sherlock in the doorway of the hospital room. He's leaning against the doorframe, his blue eyes glowing slightly in the dark of the doorway.

"Sherlock, go back to bed," John says commandingly.

"Why?"

"Because you're not well, and you need to rest."

"Oh do I?" Sherlock's voice is a low hiss and his eyes flash scarlet for the briefest of moments.

John sees Lestrade's hand inch toward the gun in his belt, not that it would do anything against an attacking vampire, merely slowing Sherlock down.

John puts a hand on Lestrade's arm. Locking eyes with the detective inspector, John gives his head a small shake, indicating that violence is not the way to deal with Sherlock.

Lestrade crosses his arms and turns to Sherlock. "John's right. Rest. Then figure out what you're going to do bout your… condition."

He gives John a nod and rushes quickly out of the hospital.

John hears a sigh and he looks over to see Sherlock slinking back into the darkened room. John follows Sherlock and then shuts the door softly saying.

"Sherlock, what are we going to do?"

He looks at Sherlock, who is sitting on the bed, knees pulled up to his chest, head resting on his arms.

"I don't know."

Sherlock's voice is soft. He puts his forehead on his arms, face hidden so that John can't see his tears.