Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC Sherlock belongs to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat
Sweet little Molly was right where Irene knew to find her, bent over the microscope, gently twisting the fine knob, and holding her tongue between her lips in concentration.
Irene pulled at her heather-grey sweater again, stretching the V as low as it could possibly go. Molly was ripe for taking; she had been from the moment Irene saw her tailing Sherlock, eyes gleaming with adulation. After one too many rebuffs, she had briefly begun seeing Jim, and then he had dropped her once he realized that he could not use her to goad Sherlock. Emotionally shaken; needing physical comfort; needing to prove to herself, somebody, anybody, that others wanted her; that is where Irene stepped in.
After one final adjustment of the pleated skirt, it should be illegal to wear such a skirt so temptingly, Irene sauntered into the classroom.
"Well, now." Molly looked up, startled. "What's keeping you in here on this evening?"
"Uh—Irene! Hello...samples. Um, professor Stamford, after he saw my interest…" As Molly stumbled for a coherent sentence, Irene had seated herself onto the stool next to Molly, almost straddling it. Irene pushed her arms closer together, knowing that it was pushing her breasts out further and that Molly was staring.
"Forget about them for the day." Irene swept her fingers over Molly's hand—the only piece of exposed skin of the nun-like outfits that the other student wore. "Let's go out. Tonight. I know you don't have your plans, and your parents won't object."
Molly had difficulty swallowing.
Irene was one of the three special students that the school had welcomed through an arcane exchange program. When they were introduced in her biology class, she noticed their ethereally pale skin and rich dark hair, which made their eyes even more striking. They had stunning intellect, and almost no sense of politeness. Professors Donovan and Anderson had taken a particularly vitriolic dislike to them, and the principal Lestrade—with whom Molly had always felt an avuncular bond—was both astounded by and guarded with them.
Jim and Sherlock had found friends, or the closest thing they could manage to one, relatively quickly. John Watson, star player of the rugby team who was still recovering from a shoulder injury sustained last season, and one of Professor Donovan's prized students, seemed completely taken by Sherlock Holmes and almost vice versa from the moment Professor Stamford had paired them for an experiment.
Despite others' attempts to warn guileless, sheltered Jim, he had been seen with alarming frequency around Sebastian Moran. Everyone at the school whispered of how manipulative and callous Sebastian was to take advantage of Jim. But, based on the way Molly had caught them last week, Sebastian crushing Jim against the gymnasium wall as Jim ferociously biting and scratching, moaning and growling, nothing gentle but mutually exploitative, she seriously doubted that the Submissive and the Bad Boy were actually who everyone thought they were.
Curiously, Irene was the one who was always alone, despite her flock of admirers who hung onto her every word and were titillated by the opportunity to sit near her. She seemed to have a tepid rapport with another girl, Kate, but they did not even give off a familiarity with each other that Molly always saw with close friendships. Why was Irene so…interested…in her?
"Come on." Irene drew circles around the back of Molly's hand, dipping her thumb into the cuff of Molly's shirt to graze at the pulse point. "I know you want to."