Yes, I'm back again :) This is a vampire!Sherlock and werewolf!John story so if you don't like, leave now O.o lol I've read so many stories with Sherlock as a vampire and I love the idea of that and before you even ask, no, he won't sparkle -_- This is Sherlock, not Twilight. No offense to Twilight fans. Anyway, please reveiw and tell me what you think. No flames, they make me sad :/

Enjoy!

Chapter One

Life as a Lycanthrope called for adjustments, no doubt. John had keep an eye on the moon cycles during his tours in Afghanistan and take his medication, but it wasn't anything he hadn't done before. Being born a werewolf and raised as such made arrangements easier to deal with due to the fact that…well, John had already lived with them growing up.

He knew where apartments didn't take kindly to Lycanthrope tenants. He knew where there were hospitals and clinic that didn't allow his kind to work. He knew how to live with his condition in this world. About thirty percent of the world's population had Lycanthropy so there had been medication made to help with some effects, such as memory loss and all that. But John's meds were being rejected by his body and he was going to have to start thinking of buying a frickin' cage made of wrought iron just to keep him from getting to humans.

Chains and such…sounds kinky. He thought to himself, sarcastically.

He expected life back from the war to make things harder, thanks to that lovely anxiety disorder called PTSD. He mentally cursed himself as he limped along through the park, his cane clutched tightly in his right hand. He didn't even know why he bothered going out anymore. Every honk of a taxi or shout of a mother gave him a vision of the past when he was covered in blood and sand, the heat of the desert beating down on his skin almost like it enjoyed frying men with its fiery rays.

He needed the exercise, though. He didn't get enough when he changed and that made him moody and grumpy as hell. He just lazed about on his small bed that was waaaayyyyy too small for his larger frame. Standing at a whooping six foot six inches after his change, his bed was a mere footrest compared to him. Anyway, he needed to stretch his legs.

His eyes scanned the park, much like when he was at war. It had become a habit to do so, scouting out the region with tired blue eyes. Apparently, he didn't look everywhere…

"John?" A voice called from behind him.

He kept walking, his legs moving on their own accord.

"John Watson?"

John finally turned to see a short, well-rounded fellow who was dressed rather nicely and bespectacled. He looked a little familiar, but John wasn't sure. He wasn't sure about a lot of things these days.

The man brought a hand to his chest. "Stamford, Mike Stamford. We were at Bart's together."

Oh, yeah. "Yes, Hello."

"Yeah, I know, I got fat." Mike joked, smirking.

"No, no." John replied. Though it was true. Mike had filled out quite a bit, which wasn't unusual for a human. John wouldn't have to worry about that. Lycanthropy stopped aging at the late 30s to early 40s.

"I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at." Mike said, "What happened?"

John blinked and said, rather obviously, "I got shot."

Mike gave him a sheepish look then asked, or actually, begged John to get coffee and catch up with him. He agreed. Getting on with people would be good for him, so said his therapist. He thought she was kinda full of shit, but he kept his mouth shut. He and Mike talked a little, mostly of the old days at Bart's.

"So you still at Bart's then?" John asked, after taking a gulp of his coffee.

"Yeah, teaching. Young things like we used to be." Mike smiled, "God, I hate them."

They laughed.

"So are you just staying here till you get yourself sorted?"

John shook his head. "I can't afford London on an Army pension."

"And you couldn't bare to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know."

"Yeah, I'm not the John Watson…" John stopped; he didn't want to say something he'd regret. Suddenly, his hand began to shake and he switched hands to relax the other one.

"Well, couldn't Harry help?" Mike asked.

John scoffed. "Oh yeah, like that's gonna happen."

"Well, why not get a flatshare or something?"

"Come on, who'd want me for a flatmate?" John said, almost ashamed.

Mike chuckled.

John looked at him, questioningly. "What?"

"You're the second person to say that to me today?"

"Well…who was the first person?"

Mike smiled at him. "A vampire friend of mine."

John blinked. "A vampire? You're friends with a vampire?"

The man nodded.

"Are you nuts? They're bloody insane!"

Mike began to laugh loudly, his belly shaking from the force of it. John shook his head, a smile finding its way to his face. He couldn't exactly help it; he had missed the sound of laughter. True laughter. There wasn't much to laugh about in the desert.

"Oh, he definitely is insane." Mike replied, his chuckles dying down a bit, but not much.

"So…what? You think he'd be a good flatmate or me or something?"

"Well, he'd definitely be able to hold his own against, if need be." Mike muttered, quietly.

"I heard that." John grumbled.

"Sorry."

"I'm used to it."

"Look, come meet him with me." Mike pleaded.

John sighed.

God, why do I have a feeling I'm going to regret this?

When John walked into the lab, it was quite a bit different from his day and told Mike so. But he wasn't really looking at the lab so much as he was looking at the tall, dark man that was staring intently at him. Bright silver eyes observed him closely, watching his every move like his was an experiment.

And we're in a lab. Should I just get in the cage now or later, Mister Fanghead?

"Mike, mind if I have a drop of blood?" The man asked.

"Oh no, not mine. I hate needles."

John blinked. "You can have a bit of mine, if you need it."

The man looked over at him. "Oh, thank you. May I see your hand?"

"Can I ask what you need my blood for?"

The man didn't reply, just looked pointedly at him. John looked over at Mike and then sighed, stalking over and raising his hand for the gentleman to take. Ice-cold fingers wrapped around his wrist and he had to suppress the shudder it brought forth. The tall stranger had long, large, pale hands that didn't seem like they'd had the ability to kill someone with a mere flick of the wrist; they hide the power of an age-old vampire's strength rather well.

It gave John a few moments to look closer at this beautiful creature. And he was beautiful. Very tall and pale man with dark, soft looking curls that were combed rather neatly. His eyes were like bloody liquid silver but had a bit of blue and green in there too. He was thin and lithe, dressed in a simple black suit and white shirt that suited him quite well, indeed. God, he was gorgeous.

John being bisexual had had many partners over the years. Some, though not many, were his fellow soldiers. A bit of warmth on a cold night in a war zone was hard to find and everyone had to get it where they could. His partners were usually simple looking people with at least a little bit of intelligence. He wanted to have at least one good conversation before they had a go at each other.

But this man or vampire was quite possibly the loveliest thing John had ever seen. Damn Mike and his extremely beautiful friends. Why the hell did I get out of the house again?

The gentleman examined his hand, bright eyes skittering across John's palm with lightening fast speed before he grabbed a needle and took a bit of blood from John.. It seemed like eternity before he spoke again, his deep voice sending a warm feeling through John.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" He asked, looking up at John.

John narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Sorry?"

The stranger tilted his head. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan. How did you know?"

"How do you feel about the violin?"

"Um…what?"

"I play the violin when I think. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. I keep my blood next to the milk and don't even bother with resting in the day or resting in general. Do you think that would bother you? Potential flatmates need to know annoying things about each other, don't you think?"

John sputtered. "Who who said anything about being flatmates?"

"I told Mike today that I doubted anyone would want to share a flat with me and not a few hours later, he comes in with an old friend from his days at Barts. Tell me that's not a coincidence." The man said, smirking slightly.

"So you'd just move in with someone you barely knew? And further more, I don't even know you're name!" John exclaimed, looking quite shocked.

The man sighed, almost annoyed. "I know that you are a werewolf. I know that you were shot in the line of duty in the war. I know you have a brother, but you won't go to him for help. Probably because of you're disappointed in him or mostly likely because he's an alcoholic. And I know that you take medication to help with your condition, but you're body is starting to reject it and you're very afraid that one day you'll be the reason someone will be dead." The man explained lowly, never taking his eyes of John's and never letting go of his hand. "And the name's Sherlock Holmes. Be at 221B Baker Street tomorrow morning."

He dropped John's hand and was out of the room in a flash.

John turned towards Mike, a look of utter disbelief on his tan face.

"Yeah, he's always like that."

Oh, God help me…

Gotta love Sherlock :) REVIEW AND I'LL SEND YOU SHERLOCK VAMPIRE COOKIES :3 They're sexy lol thanks! LOVES YOUS! :D