“Let me draw it from your warm body,” said the voice that wasn’t Sherlock. He pressed his lips together and pushed the demon deep down inside himself. He shook his head. He wouldn’t tell her. He refused. He was so HUNGRY. Just a taste. Just a little bit. “Safer to let me bite you. It won’t hurt, I promise.” It wouldn’t. John had almost seemed aroused by it. He made a choked sound deep in his throat and thrashed away from her so hard he fell to the floor, his arm hung awkwardly above him, still lashed to the headboard. ”S…stay away from me.”
She merely stared at him for a moment, with a sort of fascinated horror at words that weren’t his said in a voice that wasn’t his, yet from his mouth. “Um. Well, ah. I’m just going to ignore—you,” she stammered, gesturing aimlessly with her knife. “And, er. Just pay attention to things that aren’t things you’re saying. Right.” Such a thankful coincidence that she was too caught up in her confusion to have hurried to his side when he fell, otherwise things would’ve come to a close right there and then. As it was, Sexy shook her head and tried to focus. “Shan’t tell me, then? Right. I’ll just, ah. Just wing it, I s’pose.”
There was the slam of the front door and John’s heavy foot-steps on the stairs, in a matter of moments he was stepping through the threshold of their room. He froze for a moment, taking in the sight of Fred standing there with the knife, and Sherlock still cuffed to the headboard but now in an awkward angle on the floor. He took advantage of her confusion by slipping the knife from her fingers, setting it on the dresser before kneeling before Sherlock.
“Peri will be back momentarily. In the meantime I found something to sate the hunger.” He pulled the packs of blood from within his coat, he had then against his body to warm them, three in count. He pulled his pocket knife and cut the stopper from the tube holding it to Sherlock’s lips. “Drink, it’s A negative, I’m not sure if types have different flavour but I assumed if you were hungry to start with one of the same blood-type.”
Peri walked into the room, having slipped into the flat quietly. Gabriel hadn’t been of much help, it seemed as though the only usable information he could give her was that if Sherlock didn’t get blood soon, he was going to go mad. He’d provided her with some (she didn’t ask where he’d gotten it), five bags, to be exact, and she figured that it combined with whatever John grabbed would be more than enough.
“Hello, Sexy,” she said, nodding at woman. She walked over to John and set her purse, full of blood bags, next to him. “I talked to Gabriel, but he just told me the same thing he texted me. Blood or crazyness. We’ve got the blood, though, so we just have to wait this out, don’t we?”