A/N: Once upon a time the very patient kendrapendragon gave me a prompt for some khanlockolly smutty goodness. This first part doesn't have that requirement...but the second part most definitely will! I hope this is what you were looking for, and sorry it took so long! Oh, definite M on this one, with M/M/F smut.
He entered his flat, stripping off the black gloves that covered his hands, then froze, listening to the darkness the surrounded him. The lights hadn't come on, but he preferred to give the command himself rather than let the computers that seemed to run everything in this damned century take that chore upon themselves.
Someone was in his flat. Two someones, to be exact. There was no point in not letting them know he was aware of their presence; if they intended harm they would know exactly where he was since he hadn't moved away from the door. And if they did, indeed, intend him harm, then they'd already lost the element of surprise. "Is there something I can help you with?" he called out in a conversational tone. "I so rarely receive visitors, so I presume this isn't merely a social call."
He deliberately removed his coat, hanging it on the brushed nickel hook by the door, then crossed the room, still keeping the lights off. He knew this entire flat like the back of his hand; better than that, his night vision was sharper than that of so-called 'normal' humans, as well as his other senses. Unless they chose to attack him from a distance and were wearing night-vision goggles of some sort, he retained the advantage in the darkness.
Instead of an attack of some sort, the light nearest his sofa was flicked on, revealing the two someones – a rather attractive young woman in Starfleet medical blues, and a man in nondescript civilian clothing who, aside from the head of dark curls and fidgety hands, could have been his own twin. "A clone or surgical enhancement?" he asked as he stepped down into the seating area, taking a seat opposite the other two.
"Genetic descendent, here's the DNA analysis for whenever you want to review it," was the terse reply as the man flipped a data disk at Khan. He caught it automatically, far more interested in what these visitors had to say than what might be on the disk; data could be manufactured, he knew that better than anyone. "Sherlock Holmes. And this is my wife, Molly Hooper-Holmes."
Khan studied them both, eyes flicking over their forms as made rapid assessments based on the evidence presented before him. "Married less than five years, no children, you live here in London and although Dr. Hooper-Holmes – pathologist, if I'm not mistaken? – is wearing a Starfleet uniform indicating she works on a starship rather than here on Earth, that's a new assignment, and one she's not very happy about."
Dr. Hooper-Holmes – Molly – gaped at Khan, then over at her husband. "He sounds just like you!" she exclaimed, and Khan smirked, knowing it wasn't just his voice that she was talking about. Good to know that his descendent had gained something besides just his good looks from his Augmented genes.
"Shall I deduce you as well, Mr. Holmes, or would you care to waive the formalities and simply get to the point of this little visit? Assuming," he added with a sardonic smile, "that it wasn't for a family reunion."
"Actually we're both descended from your particular genome," Sherlock corrected him, pulling Molly closer and gliding his fingers up and down her arm in a possessive manner. "Too far distant for genetics to come into play should we ever decide to have children, of course, but nevertheless we are both flesh of your flesh, blood of your blood." His lips lifted in a sardonic manner, as if he could see Khan's carefully controlled reactions, his surprise at both the revelation and Sherlock's use of an archaic quote from a long-abandoned religious tome. "But no, a reunion wasn't quite the reason for our visit. Khan," he added deliberately, tilting his chin in challenging manner.
"And that reason is…?" Khan asked, tilting his head and continuing to hold the other man's gaze – identical to his own even to the shape and heterochromatic coloration of the eyes.
"Section 31 – specifically, Admiral Marcus – intends to have us eliminated." It wasn't Sherlock who responded, but Molly, and Khan flicked his gaze over her assessingly.
"And how exactly did you acquire this information?" Khan wasn't surprised by what she'd told him – especially considering how closely Sherlock resembled him – but he was interested in learning how the two of them had discovered it.
Molly shrugged. "One of our fellow agents, Tom Whitmore, fancied me. He knew about my 'special talents' and wanted to impress me enough to let him shag me."
Khan's eyebrow raised; another archaic expression, this one far more earthy than the one Sherlock had used. "Special talents?" he repeated with a smirk. To let her know that he understood what she meant but wanted to hear her spell it out more clearly.
"I'm damned good in bed," Molly replied frankly, with no hesitation, no blushing or stammering or ridiculous shows of girlish embarrassment. No, of course not, why should she react in such a manner? The women of his own time had been far more sexually liberated than their ancestors, so it stood to reason that a product of this century would even less inclined to be coy about sex. Not that he'd taken the time to find out, consumed as he'd been by doing Marcus' bidding and waiting – futilely, as he'd recently discovered – for his crew to be awoken and returned to him.
"It's how we met, actually," Sherlock put in, further raising Khan's interest in his two descendants. "She was my contact at a sex club on a case we were both assisting the Met in solving. Two days after she'd helped me bring down the illegal slaving ring, I went to the St. Bart's morgue to examine a body, only to find that 'Madcap Molly' was also the Dr. M. Hooper I was to meet up with." The two of them shared a fond smile before returning their attention to Khan. Whose opinion of – and quite frankly, fascination with – the pair of them only continued to rise.
Molly took up the narrative. "He was a bit shocked that I was actually elbows deep in a corpse, lecturing to a group of green-faced medical students about the value of the hands-on experience in autopsying; not shocked that I was doing it, mind you, but shocked that anyone else shared his opinions on the subject. Virtual autopsies are all well and good, but there's nothing like actually holding a corpse's heart in your hand to help you get a real understanding of how the body works."
As they shared another fond smile, Khan decided that once these two had helped him as they said they could – and as he well believed they could – that the three of them would get to know one another much, much better.
He especially looked forward to a demonstration of Molly's 'special skills' – and to exploring the body of the man who bore such a striking resemblance to himself.
Two weeks later, when the three of them were on board the hijacked Starfleet vessel Vengeance, having purloined the seventy-two augments that made up the remaining members of his former crew from beneath Marcus' nose, he made certain to grant his own wish.