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Indeed, I can't speak for it myself as the only experience I've got with the matter is my time as a Lich, [he murmurs, already spinning the cup off the thermos before lifting the cap to pour,] But hopefully you can at least tell from a few sips...

[With a smile, Jonathan passes the filled cup over.] Here- do tell me if you need more of this, I just want to make sure it stays warm.

[He takes it, and drinks from it.

You know how sometimes tea smells absolutely incredible, and then it hits your tongue like hot bitter disappointment?

It's like that.]

Ugh, [he says, pulling a face. Then, he rethinks the rudeness of that:] I mean -- thank you.

[He forces more of it down, drawing it in through fangs. At least it's warm, and he seems to be able to stomach it, but it feels so empty. Even water brings a kind of satisfaction when it is drunk, but this is like drinking warm water that's been sitting out on a hot day. Technically, it is rehydrating, but Sherlock literally cannot stop himself from making a face. He is trying.]

If it tastes sub-par you needn't lie for my sake Sherlock- I'll not be insulted, [he scolds somewhat easily, even if it is disappointing.

The demon seems to enter thought however, setting the thermos on the stone rail of the steps beside him, and bringing the hand back to his chin as he stares at the cup.] I suppose it oughtn't be surprising however, given how 'natural' blood drinkers have reacted to my methods...I wonder...

[And then, without any warning, he bites into his own wrist and holds it atop the glass as it bleeds.]

Just a moment, [he casually says, as if he were waiting for a soda dispenser.]

I was not--whoa now!

[He wasn't lying about owing thanks! But the smell of an open vein hits Sherlock with all of the potency of a glass of wine. He grimaces a moment, overcome, turning his face away -- and, beneath the curled lips, his fangs have grown longer, sharper.]

I know what you're doing, [he says tightly, using as little breath as possible. He had done it himself, to tide over Childermass. Would it work for him, too? It smells like it will, but the old blood had, too...]

Indeed yes- and worry not Sherlock, I'm hardly going to bleed to any dangerous point- I can quite easily burn this back over! [He cheerfully insists, even doing so as he passes the cup over.]

But I have been given to understand that fresher might sate with more effectiveness- if so, the hospital's stock ought be at some middling point, but undoubtedly it would make my powders quite unpalatable.

Here- with any luck, this shall do better.

[Words try to come out. He is not even certain which words, only that they get stuck in his throat.

With blind hunger, he reaches for the cup; his fingers scrabble a bit, embarrassingly, as he brings it to his face and gulps at it.

It is a disgusting act, fundamentally. The mild loss of composure feels like a humiliation he cannot bear. But the blood itself is an improvement: not yet dead, fresh from a living vein, given to him, to help him...

It's not perfect. It's like seeing a friend by chance but knowing you only have a few seconds before you go your separate ways. But it's better.

He loves his friends. The vampire part of him loves his friends to death.

When the blood's dissppeared, an inhumanly long tongue comes out -- not all the way, just enough to swipe the inside of the cup. Then, reddened vampire eyes lock onto the open wound of Jonathan's.

He could cauterize that chemically, rather than with fire, Sherlock wants to say. He cannot say it. All that comes out is a vague noise, made in the direction of Jonathan's wrist.

Sherlock wants to lock his jaw onto it. Instinct tells him to. Other instinct tells him he must not. For the moment, he's frozen.]

[Thank god the fire is long burning. Do not bite that, Sherlock. It's unhealthy, and unwise. Strangely at least, the sight of Sherlock like this has broken whatever awkward astonishment he was in before. Instead, watching the other drink eagerly at the glass to the point of licking it clean he asks-]

...So I see my theory was correct then?

It is -- better, [he says, his throat scratchy. Not enough. It isn't enough. But -- for vampires, is it ever enough? They can hold enough blood that one can hardly believe it. No, Sherlock cannot think about this in terms of satiation. He must think in terms of survival.

Dark red spots appear high on his cheeks. He forgot himself, just a bit, in his thirst. Good lord, what shape is his tongue? That is new, and not entirely pleasant.]

I was not lying, before. I am most grateful.

[He's now staring off to the side, at the ground.]

I'm glad to hear it, [he says quite honestly, sighing in clear relief.] Have you any idea of how long this ought last for you at least? Forgive me for being so direct, but it seems quite clear to me that you're not enjoying this state of things in the slightest...

None at all. How could I? This is a monster I have never been -- one I intended never to become. The only data I have is the two points that have just been gathered.

[That Joestar's rehydrated blood is the most disgusting thing in the world, and that Joestar's blood spilled into a vessel is Okay.]

The variety among vampiric specimens is so great that I cannot make any assumptions of safety or satiation based on others of the kind.

[He is not enjoying this at all.]

The two you just now...

[Give him a minute.] ...Oh dear. Is the focus on blood so very intense that it overrides every other thought for the state you might yet have?

[He sounds somewhat alarmed- and for that matter looks at his wrist again.] ...ought I simply drain the flask and refill it myself..?

....

[He takes stock of himself as honestly as he
can.]

...no, it is...not so bad as that, not yet. Do not do anything -- hasty -- regarding your own veins, Joestar. We will test the bagged stuff first and work from there.

Oh! Yes, yes of course, [The demon quickly agrees, nodding firmly.] Well then, if you'll follow me Sherlock- it's not especially far from here, and if need be I'm quite willing to teleport us a few points along the path.

Save your energy, [Sherlock replies, waving a hand in Jonathan's direction.] If it becomes -- dire enough to call for it, you will know.

[It's why he's not suggesting flight as a bat, or the quick-run he can do. It'll burn through Sherlock's reserves faster.]

We will walk.

Very well, [the demon replies, leading the way at a casual pace.] We shall be entering at the rear of the building, I'll tell you now- entering through the front as you might perhaps imagine, oft brings a great deal of shock to those there.

[...Sherlock glances sideways at Joestar.]

Am I correct in assuming you have had tutors all of your life? No significant time spent at boarding school?

[He stops on the spot, blinking.]

...I'm familiar with your deductive capabilities, but just how on earth did my statement lead to that? You are indeed correct of course; my father was quite hesitant to send me away in my youth, and even after my step-sibling was adopted, he held us quite close to the home until the day we enrolled within University. ...But how on earth did that tell you this?

Because a statement like that would have left you mocked mercilessly by the other schoolboys. Do not ask me to explain it; I will refuse.

[He doesn't feel like getting into it. Which also feels like innuendo. Fuck. Help. Is this vampire brain or just because he got into his boyfriend's pants the other week and now he's got to manage an addiction? Neither one is good!]

[Jonathan is left to blink. And blink repeatedly, in fact.] Would it really..? T'was how the doctor himself explained it in his instructions after all...

...Very well then Sherlock, if you so insist, I shan't ask for further detail. Though I do wonder how you would rather it be put in that case.

[He waves a hand.]

It matters little. I understand your meaning, and it provided insight into your history.

You did not miss out on anything important, and indeed were spared a great deal of difficulty.

[He does not remember his school days fondly.]

I shall have to take your word for it I fear, for rather plainly, a good amount of my childhood was not as sunny as I once thought; my step-sibling was quite effective at turning local towns children against me I find, [he mutters, leading his friend onward once again.]

Still, I do extend some apology for whatever hardship you experienced yourself then, as I can only imagine such statements to come from experience itself.

It is hardly your fault, [Sherlock replies, choosing not to argue which horrible childhood experience was worse] but the sympathy is appreciated.

Should you have been sent to school together, your not so sunny childhood would have been a storm without refuge.

I can't find it in me to doubt it, which is quite a fright to imagine... [Hihhhh. Well.] Ah- that ought be the hospital ahead...this way then, the employee's entrance is along the back...

[Dutifully, Sherlock follows. He takes stock of himself again: he is able to consider matters besides blood and heartbeats. He should be safe to go inside the hospital.]

I may be recognized, here.

[His work brings him into contact with hospital staff on occasion, though usually it's the interns who get the bodies from the hospital morgue.]

Might you? [Jonathan asks, making his way to the door.] How likely do you suspect it?

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, JOJO. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 336.66.256.63 * JOJO has joined 336.66.256.63 <JOJO...?>** Technically this message doesn't exist. Jonathan doesn't actually have a laptop. I just needed an Inbox.

wah..

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CW: Self-harm, bleeding

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no I'm fucking doing it

HEH

cw references to crude humor, sex, school bullying

sheds a laughing tear

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