This story is a bit of a departure for me. Don't worry it's still Sherlolly but with some vampire lore thrown in. It's written as a commission for my friend Tracey and I hope she likes it. It's rated M for smut and lots of it (after this chapter).

Currently there are four chapters written and it could end there...or I could write more it all depends on you guys. If you like it then I'll continue it some more after Christmas, so let me know.

It's set after Season 3 and the vampire lore loosely follows that of the Vampire Diaries in terms of how Vampires are made and what they can do but it's not a crossover.

So enough from me on with the story. As ever I own nothing. Here goes nothing!

Chapter 1 - Transition

Sherlock felt awful. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this bad. Getting shot had been more pleasurable than this and that was saying something.

He opened his eyes and hissed in pain, everything seemed too bright even though he was lying on top of his bed in a darkened room. He struggled up onto his elbows and looked round the room trying to recall how he'd got here and what might have made him feel so bad.

There was only one name and memory spinning around in his head and it was Irene Adler. He clung to the thought hoping it would lead him out of his confusion. Irene, had he heard from her, met her. An image came unbidden into his mind and he flinched away from it falling back onto the bed. No no that's not possible. I must have been drugged. I need...I need Molly. Molly can run some tests see what I've been given by that Woman.

He looked around for his phone spying it on his bedside cabinet. He tried to reach for it but his aim was off and he knocked it to the floor instead. He was about to lean over the side of the bed to retrieve it when he heard footsteps coming towards his room. Her footsteps, Irene's.

He tried to sit up to make himself feel less vulnerable. He only half managed it having to use his hands to balance himself so he didn't fall back again.

He watched as the door opened squinting as light seemed to blaze through into his darkened room.

'Oh so your awake. I might have known it wouldn't take quite as long with you. How are you feeling? I'm curious to see what you have deduced so far.' She smiled at him her red lipstick taunting him.

'Irene, what have you given me this time? Must you always drug me woman!'

'Oh this is no drug Sherlock, at least not in any conventional sense. Let's just say that it's a gift someone gave me that I've decided to give to you. No one with your cheekbones and brain should have to wither and die after all.'

His mind was struggling to make sense of what she was saying, it sounded like a riddle. He huffed angrily, 'God, just give me a straight answer. What have you done to me?'

'Fine, fair enough but you won't believe me; at least not straight away. I've turned you into what I am, what I've been for two years now and Sherlock, it's amazing. It won't seem so at first, not yet at least, it takes a couple of days for the effects to fully establish themselves... I've made you into a vampire!' She clapped her hands together smiling gleefully and watching him for his response.

Sherlock looked at her as though she had gone mad. But as he did a flash of memory came back to him, Irene leaning over him pushing her bloodied wrist onto his mouth, the sharp tang of her blood on his tongue. She had been so strong he hadn't been able to move her at all. His hand came up to his mouth as though he could still taste the blood there. He looked at her again this time feeling disoriented.

'I see your memories are starting to come back. There are some juicy ones there, just give it a minute.' She licked her lips slowly, provocatively but it just left him cold. Once he had been attracted to her, to her confidence and intelligence but that had been years ago. Now he just felt contempt.

The next memory made him sob out loud, 'no, no, no...' Irene pushing him backwards onto the bed before climbing on top of him. She was straddling him undoing the buttons on his shirt before pulling her dress off over her head revealing her nakedness. He had wanted her, needed her but that made no sense, why would he have sex with Irene. He closed his eyes at the memory of her impaling herself on his erection it had felt so good then but yet didn't seem real now.

Just as he had climaxed she had changed, he remembered now, her face seemed different she had leant down to his neck and then he had felt it. The sharp prick of her teeth biting his neck. He felt himself growing hard at the mere thought of it. What had she done?

He felt an anger rise within him like he'd never felt before, without remembering how he found he was on his feet his hand around Irene's throat pressing her one handed up against the wall, her face contorted.

He fell back shocked at himself, releasing her, but instead of her being afraid of him she just laughed.

'Oh Mister Holmes, so strong, so powerful. You are going to be magnificent. But come, you need to replenish your strength. I gave you some blood earlier, just enough to complete the transition but not enough to maintain you.'

She walked through to the main body of the flat and Sherlock followed bewilderment tinged with fear. He felt different; his throat was burning with thirst. He made straight for the tap in the kitchen noting how his hand was shaking as he grabbed a glass and filled it with water.

He took a swig but it did nothing to quench his thirst, it just tasted wrong. Irene came over holding a cup of something. He didn't know what it was but it smelt amazing, he could feel his mouth watering as he reached out to take it from her. He took a deep draught of the liquid without even checking what it was and it was only when it was all gone that he looked down into the cup.

His head swam as he dropped the cup backing away. Irene caught it before it smashed, moving with lightning speed and he gasped as his back hit the cupboard behind him, 'nononononono'.

He could hear someone moaning and it took him a moment to realise it was himself, blood, she'd fed him blood and what was worse was he had liked it, craved more in fact. He brushed a hand over his face and stopped. His face was different. He pushed off the cupboard and walked towards the mirror in the front room. Irene just watched him, one hand on her hip and a smirk on her face.

He looked in the mirror and it felt as though all the air had been sucked from his lungs, his mind tried to come up with an explanation but failed, he saw black spots swimming at the edge of his vision and wondered if he was going to pass out, almost wished he could so he didn't have to deal with the nightmare that was unfolding around him.

He looked at himself again trying to be objective, trying to catalogue the changes so he could come up with a reason...anything to explain this. His eyes were red around the pupils, his pupils themselves were dilated, as though with desire. The veins beneath his eyes were black and seemed to be crawling and pulsing. He opened his mouth, tilting his head to see the extended canines viciously sharp, his tongue feeling the tips of them.

He put both hands on the mantelpiece and closed his eyes his head dropping forward. Slowly, using all his years of practice he brought his breathing under control, calmed his mind. When he felt centred again he lifted his head and looked again into the mirror. This time the reflection looking back at him was just him looking as he always did, a bit dishevelled and tired maybe but nothing more. He narrowed his eyes in confusion and anger and saw black lines creep out from below them.

Irene came up behind him sliding her hands round to his chest her body pushed against his back.

'We can go away, travel, whilst you get used to this. You'll thank me eventually.'

He took hold of her hands and pulled them away from his body as he twisted to face her, cold rage filling him, 'I will go nowhere with you...ever. Now get out of my home, get out of my life. I wish to God I had never saved your life in Karachi, I should have let you rot.' He pushed her away from him.

'Fine, let's see how the great Sherlock Holmes copes with this on his own. You'll be begging for me to return within a week I guarantee it.'

She stalked over to the doorway her heels clicking as she went. 'Oh, you might find you need this.'

She threw a ring onto the floor near his feet where he ignored it. 'You're choice but you might find life gets a bit too hot to handle without it.' With that she left the room. Sherlock listened to her footsteps as she went down the stairs, out of the door and down the street. It took him a moment to realise that he was still listening to her even as she turned the corner of Baker St. He leant on the mantelpiece once more, letting out a gasp of despair now that he was alone. What was happening to him?

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

In the end he threw himself on the settee retreating into his mind palace trying to sort out the mess of thoughts and symptoms.

As he lay there the sun started to rise in the sky as morning broke. The curtains to the front room were open and as the sunlight crept over his body he started to feel warm, then hot. As it touched his bare hand he hissed in pain pulling it to him. He sat up quickly and the light hit his face causing blistering pain to rip through his skin. He cried out in pain and fear pushing himself off the settee and moving to the shade in the corner.

Almost immediately the pain receded. He looked at his hand and saw the blisters that had formed there starting to heal themselves. Tentatively he reached his hand out until it hit the sunlight keeping it there for a moment watching, almost fascinated, as blisters formed and the skin started to bubble. He gritted his teethe against the pain but eventually pulled his hand back and watched as it again repaired itself.

He recalled what Irene had said as she'd left and looked at the carpet where the ring she had thrown down now lay in a patch of light. Could it help him, how could it help him? It made no sense, but then not much of this whole experience was making much sense. He weighed up the pain versus the possible benefits and then thought, screw it, he was so far out if his depth he had no idea of the benefits.

He launched himself across the room grabbed the ring and retreated to the shadowy safety of the kitchen. He slid the ring onto his finger noting the Holmes crest and recalling Mycroft owning something similar.

Once it was on he ventured to the edge of the shade. He fisted one hand before extending the other into the sunlight, his body tense ready for the pain, but none came. Slowly he relaxed moving forward into the light until he was fully immersed in it. Nothing. Yes the light felt brighter than normal making his eyes ache slightly but no burning. He sighed with relief.

A thought came back to him from earlier and he nodded his head decisively. Yes...Molly, he needed Molly. Between them they could test his body for drugs and see what that woman had done to him. He grabbed his coat and scarf and set off for Bart's.

Of course he needs his Molly, if only he could see that in the TV show (I nearly said real life then...how sad am I).

As I said if you want more you need to let me know before the end of Chapter 4. These four chapters will all be posted before Christmas.