"I'm fine. I'm not... 'spooked', John." Sherlock grumbled, crossing his arms and looking out the window. He knew that he was getting stroppy, but he didn't want to feel weak or worthless or 'spooked'. He was a Vampire, his sire was First Blood, one of the Old Ones. That blood ran in his veins. He wasn't some helpless little thing.

Sherlock was quiet and stroppy the entire ride back to Baker Street, not saying a word until John put down his bag and turned back into his demon self. "You could have scared away the hecklers in that form at your flat." He snapped, though there was really no venom in it at all. He was just in a mood.