Sherlock really wasn't feeling in a very dominant mood right now. He would have much rather been taken care of. But he would never deny John anything that he could readily give him.

So Sherlock rolled over, and gently moved John's head back so he could reach his neck. He licked at his lover's neck a couple of times, tasting him and finding just the right point. ...

Ah. There it is.

He bit down, immediately that wonderful coppery taste of blood hit his tongue, and his eyes glowed red. He drank deep, flicking his tongue around the wounds to keep them from coagulating as he drank his fill, his fangs still stuck the couple of centimeters in the pulse-point of John's skin.

"Mmmm.. Perfect." He murmured.