This is a follow-up to "The Vampire's Vice"

First and foremost I have to thank Mellovesall for the beautiful artwork (that can be found on AO3 and my tumblr blog) she made for this fic. She's brilliant and one of the sweetest people I have the privilege of knowing. Secondly, thanks go to Mizjoely for her amazing beta work. Without her input, I would be lost. And lastly, to MrsMCrieff for her Brit-picking and general awesomeness!

I love you ladies.

I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~

Chapter 1 - Vacillation - (vacillation: a state of indecision or irresolution)

It had been a year!

The infuriating man - vampire - had made her wait a whole year. After six months, when Molly had given him her decision just like he'd asked, he had made her think about it for another six long damn months.

"...I am respecting your decision, Molly. Now you need to respect mine. We've only lived together for a short time. You've only seen my life - up close and personal - for three months. You need this, we need this and on Halloween if you still want it I'll do it. I'll Turn you."

Angry, Molly spun away from him, not wanting him to see the betrayal in her eyes. "Or will you make me wait another year, or two, or twenty?"

She felt his hands on her shoulders and immediately relaxed in his embrace. "No, my love. No more waiting. If you decide that this is what you truly want, I will give it to you. And I will never doubt my decision."

"Six more months, Sherlock," she said with a sigh.

Today marked their 'anniversary'.

It was surprisingly not odd to date a vampire, Molly found. Adjusting to his habits took no time at all. She had spent quite some time with him and his new abilities prior to the start of their relationship and was quite used to his stealthy movements and unending need for her blood.

Neither failed to turn her on.

She had managed to stay in her own flat for nearly three months before Sherlock's whinging and periodic (but not so stealthy) transfer of her belongings to 221B made her give up the ghost, so to speak. There was no point in denying him; it was where she wanted to be.

Sherlock had always kept odd hours, requiring less sleep than the average human, but since being Turned he could stay awake for days at a time with no real repercussions. He did eat, of course, but only for pleasure. For nourishment he needed blood, usually Molly's but he was very careful not to take too much and he almost always fed during sex.

Everyone in his life (the important people) knew about his transformation. He had quite the support staff. Mrs. Hudson was a rock, nothing fazed that woman! Her only real complaint was that, due to Sherlock's overly sensitive hearing, she could no longer blast her music as loud as she wanted. Molly loved that ornery old broad.

John and Mary acted, as they had from the beginning, like nothing had changed. Though in that first month after the incident, Molly knew that John had spent several sleepless nights sobbing in his wife's arms for what his best friend was going through and what lay ahead.

Their friendship humbled her. Molly had had close friends, but nothing like what John Watson and Sherlock Holmes shared. It was a beautiful thing to behold.

From day one, Mycroft had treated the whole situation like a project, throwing himself into the Vampire Unit as if it was suddenly the single most important item on his agenda. He wasn't fooling Molly though; vampires weren't important. His baby brother was.

Greg just shrugged when he found out, saying that the existence of vampires explained a lot. Outwardly he seemed unaffected, but he had confided in her that he was worried for his friend. After she had moved in with Sherlock, he stopped by the lab one day. They had kept their relationship mostly to themselves up to that point.

"So," he said, hands in his pockets, awkwardly shuffling his feet. "You and Sherlock?"

"Ahh, yeah. How'd you..?"

"I had to ask him about a case this morning. I've never seen lady's undergarments at Baker Street before," he said shyly, his cheeks turning a bit pink. "He proudly proclaimed that they belonged to you and that you belonged to him." Shaking his head, he added, "Almost like he was threatened by me or somethin'."

Damn. "Yes, well... "

Looking down at the floor, he asked, "Are you happy, Molly? Is this what you want? Even with him…"

"Yes, Greg. I'm very happy," she answered definitively.

He heaved a great sigh, seemingly relieved. "Good. That's… that's great. He needs someone, you know. He…" Lunging forward, he enveloped her in a tight hug. "I'm happy for you… both."

"Oh, Greg," she said, rubbing his back to comfort the man.

"I was worried about him," he said into her neck.

She pulled back, smiling at this wonderful man who cared so much for her Sherlock. "I was too. But he will be fine, I think."

"How could he not, Molls? He's got an amazing woman."

She blushed and went back to her microscope.

All that being said, there were difficulties, ones she had never foreseen. Small things like the time Sherlock picked up a poker to stoke the fire and immediately dropped it, cursing like it was the devil himself. Evidently, it was an antique and made of pure iron. Note to self: don't touch iron, Molly thought as she hid a smile watching the detective kick the innocent implement across the room.

And, of course, Sherlock felt more compelled to take on vampire-related cases. Who better? he had argued. He was right; however, it didn't make Molly sleep any easier knowing that he was out there fighting the one thing who knew all his weaknesses.

Molly had made her decision on the night they had first made love but in the intervening months, she had come to understand his reluctance. The most difficult part to adjust to was his hunger. When he was hungry… he was very hungry and cranky- no, he was utterly unbearable. He was like a forty year old toddler in the midst of some kind of supercharged low-sugar induced tantrum. Nothing but blood could satisfy him, of course, and he would pout and storm around until he got what he needed. Though he was never violent with her, there were times that Molly genuinely feared that he was very close to taking what he needed, no matter how depleted she was.

He had only truly frightened her once, but the display had shaken her to the core. It had also very nearly broken them...

Since she'd moved in Sherlock had been much better about keeping her informed as to his well-being. A case had kept him away for nearly two weeks and Molly hadn't heard from him in four days. At three am she received a frantic phone call from John warning her of Sherlock's impending arrival. The doctor also warned her to be careful; it was incredibly foreboding.

Molly instantly checked the fridge, making sure that there was an ample supply of blood (Mycroft was usually quite good at keeping them supplied now that he was working even more closely with the Vampire Unit of MI6). Three bags, damn. She would have liked to have had more, but it would have to do. He could have those and then, when his hunger had abated, he could feed from her to replenish him from the apparent days of neglect he'd put his system through. Bloody-minded idiot, Molly cursed as she absently wiped off the already clean kitchen table.

Five minutes later, the detective came charging through the door of the flat; the kitchen door, not the front room door as usual. One look at his appearance and she froze, not running to him and throwing her arms around him as was her instinct.

"Sherlock," she said, taking a step back until her hips hit the counter. "Are… are you okay?"

He didn't speak but she watched as his eyes changed from blue to a shocking violet. Usually the sight turned Molly into a wet, trembling mess. This time, however, the accompanying look he gave her made her shiver with fear, not arousal.

"We have three bags. Do you want me to heat them up?" she asked, gesturing to the fridge.

The vampire, because that's all he was at that moment- it was clear as day- just shook his head.

"Are you not hungry? John said…"

"I am hungry, Molly dear, but this time cold blood simply won't do," his voice was gruff and desperate.

"Ah, of c-course. Bedroom?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady; the stammering certainly didn't help. She knew he would never deliberately harm her, but in this state… God, she'd never seen him so out of control. He'd barely moved but he was radiating power and need.

It was just as John had explained; Sherlock was starved. He had been so focused on the case that he'd foregone feeding, even against John's repeated reminders. Apparently, the detective had had no more than six bags in the entire twelve days they'd been working.

Molly could admit that she was terrified.

"I'm afraid I don't have time for seduction, love," he growled. "I need you now."

She never even saw him move. Suddenly he was on her, pressing her hard against the edge of the counter. Her jumper and tee shirt were gone in seconds, ripped to shreds, pieces of fabric littering the room. He had never done it before, but this time in his frantic attempt to rid her of her garments, he had managed to leave several small scratches and a few deeper gashes on her torso and arms.

Molly repeatedly called out to him, trying to get his attention - to reach Sherlock, not the vampire - but it was useless. She fought against his unnatural strength pointlessly as she tried to escape his attack.

"Oh yes, Molly." He inhaled deeply. "It's been so long since I could smell your fear. It's intoxicating, my love," he drawled, cupping both of her breasts in his hands as he lowered his mouth to her throat. At that moment she tried her best to relax, not wanting him to further injure her while he bit. There was nothing she could do to stop it and fighting would only make it worse.

Sinking his elongated cuspids into her carotid artery, he drew her blood up through the hollows within the teeth at alarming speed. His hands tightened on her breasts, then pinched her nipples painfully as he fed from her.

He usually took his time, starting and stopping leaving her begging him to finish her- to make her come. But he was right, this was no slow seduction. He was simply taking what he wanted, what he needed.

There was no slow build of orgasmic tension this time, only pain and loss. Within minutes Molly felt herself growing weak. Then came a strange tingling sensation, as if paresthesia was setting in across her entire body at once. Light-headedness soon followed and she knew he was taking too much.

"Sherlock… please," she managed weakly. "You have to… too much..." Feebly bringing her hand up to his shoulder, she gripped him as tightly as possible. "You're... hurting… me…too much…"

Thankfully, her pleas and possibly the feeding finally worked. The vampire relented, pulling away and looking into her eyes. "M-Molly?" he asked, sounding much more like her Sherlock than before. "Oh, God! Molly!" His voice bellowed so loudly it made her head pound with pain. "What have I done?"

She felt her body being lowered to the floor and saw the blurry image of her lover's face contorted with fear. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his eyes moving over her body.

"'Sokay, I'm fine," she said, or tried to at least. She wasn't sure if the words ever really left her mouth.

The last thing she remembered before losing consciousness was Sherlock wrapping her up in a his coat and then the weightless feeling of flight.

She woke up in an unfamiliar hospital room. A stoic woman dressed in an antiquated nurses uniform complete with old-fashioned cap was hanging a bag of blood from an IV pole. Molly was covered in several heavy blankets, the bottom one was clearly heated, and found that she was tucked in not unlike her mum used to do when she was sick with the flu.

"How long have I been here?" Molly asked, her voice rough and scratchy.

"Ten hours and eleven minutes," the nurse answered without looking at down.

"Is Sherlock here?"

"Young Mr. Holmes is meeting with his brother. They've been gone a while."

"Can I have something to drink?"

"I'll get you a pitcher of water and see about some juice. It would certainly help things if you can manage to keep it down." And with that, the emotionless woman swept out of the room.

The juice was helpful, even more so than the water. Molly drank three glasses. About an hour later Mycroft came in looking solemn and even more serious than usual.

"Good afternoon, Molly. Are you feeling more like yourself?" he asked as he took a seat next to her bed.

"Yes. But I'd like to know what the hell's going on."

"I assumed as much," he said, adjusting his waistcoat as he crossed his legs. "It seems that Sherlock had gone far too long without feeding and arrived at Barker Street early this morning in a… well, the experts call it blood lust. Barbaric term, but apt nevertheless."

"He fed from me," Molly said as she started remembering the events prior to losing consciousness. "Too much. He took too much blood."

"Indeed. Far too much, I'm afraid. You were nearly gone by the time he delivered you to the emergency workers here at the VU. They've given you four units so far and it seems you will need at least two more." Pausing, he leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Sherlock asked to be admitted. He wants to stay here as one of the permanent residents."

Molly gasped. She was aware that some of the vampires chose to live at the facility rather than integrate into society. Some weren't given a choice at all. The government provided everything they needed: housing, blood, education, entertainment. And of course they were allowed visitation from their family and friends. It was a prison; a very elaborate, very expensive prison.

"Why would he ask that, Mycroft?"

"Because he thinks he is a threat," the older man explained. "To your safety."

"He didn't mean it," she argued.

"I know. But he is adamant."

"I need to see him."

"That's not going to happen, Molly. I'm sorry. Also, he's requested for you to stay in the flat. It's yours now. He says he will no longer be a part of your life but he wants you to have a place to live. He was very clear on that point."

"Bugger the flat and bugger his point! I want to see him!" She tossed the heavy blankets off of her and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Mycroft took her hands gently in his. "Molly, he won't be swayed. John, Mary and I have tried for several hours. He's… I am sorry."

She was released two days later without having seen Sherlock once. No matter how many fits she threw, no matter how much she begged or raged, she was refused. John offered to pick her up, but she wanted to be alone. Arriving at their flat was even more heartbreaking than she had imagined. Baker Street was part of him. He was infused into the walls, the floorboards, the very air she breathed.

By the end of the first week, Molly thought that she was going to go mad. She had gone back to work two days prior but even her beloved morgue offered no comfort. St. Barts was just as much a part of them as their home.

Before leaving the VU she had discovered that he had changed his mobile number and no one would give her his new one. She had taken to leaving desperate messages on his blog and sending long rambling emails, begging him to come home.

Finally, nearly a fortnight after she'd started back to work, Molly received a late night text message from an unknown number.

Are you okay? it read.

Her hands were trembling as she typed her reply. Sherlock?

I just want to know if you're all right, Molly. They won't tell me, came the return message.

God, Sherlock! Come home, please. I'm fine. Perfectly fine.

Good. I was worried.

She gripped her phone as she considered her next message. Finally she typed, I lied.

What?

I lied. I'm not okay. I'm not fine.

What is it? What's wrong?

My heart is broken, Molly typed. It's broken and empty and I've never felt so alone.

There was a long pause and she was afraid that she'd lost her one shot at communicating. But then…

I don't know if I have a heart anymore, Molly. But if I do, mine's broken as well.

A sob escaped her as she curled up in their bed, cradling the device like it was Sherlock himself. Finally, she got herself together and typed, Come home to me, Sherlock. I need you.

How can you ever forgive me?

There's nothing to forgive, she replied. You weren't yourself and you will never do it again.

After another interminably long pause, his message came through. I am afraid of hurting you. I can't bear the thought of it.

And I can't bear the thought of never seeing you again, of never touching you. I need you so much it hurts. I miss talking to you, Sherlock. I miss kissing you and holding you. I miss making love and, even though it scares you and you probably don't believe me, I miss feeding you my blood. I think I might die if I can't give myself to you ever again.

Seconds later her mobile rang, scaring the shit out of her. "Sherlock?" she answered.

He didn't speak for nearly a minute, but Molly gave him the time he needed. "I… I'm afraid that I'll do it again."

"You won't. You'd never hurt me!"

"I did!" he said in a desperate growl.

She drew a deep breath, not wanting to push him too far, he was clearly having a hard time dealing with his actions that night and she needed to find the right words to bring him home. Finally, after a minute or so, she said, "Sherlock? Do you remember our first night together?"

"Of course I do."

"You were so shocked that I wasn't afraid of you. You thought that I no longer trusted you because of your change. But that wasn't true. I trusted you, I've always trusted you, Sherlock. I just was scared for you to know that I was sexually affected. I was… afraid that you'd think less of me. I was embarrassed and ashamed because I didn't think you felt the same. I thought that you only wanted my blood, not me…"

"That's not true, Molly…"

"I know. And when you told me that all of my fears melted away. All I could do was give myself to you… completely."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that we had to get through that awful discussion to get to the beautiful love making afterwards. Loving isn't always easy or painless. Sometimes, oftentimes, it hurts. Sometimes, maybe, you have to nearly kill the person you love most to learn that you have to feed everyday…."

"That seems very specific to our circumstances, Molly."

She allowed herself a tiny laugh. "This isn't a normal relationship, Sherlock, and we can't treat it like it is. You made a mistake. You forgot to eat and lost control, but I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I know you will never put us in that situation ever again."

It was silent for several minutes; she kept checking her screen to make sure he hadn't hung up. But he never did. "Your lips were blue," his said in a small voice.

She didn't respond.

"I hesitated, you know. I almost opened my wrist and fed you. But I couldn't take that choice away from you, not like…"

"It's what I want, Sherlock. You know that."

"Not yet. Not after what I did."

"Are you saying it's no longer an option?" she asked, afraid of his answer.

"Halloween, Molly. You can tell me on our anniversary."

Tears of joy filled her eyes. "Does that mean you're coming home?"

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," he said. "But you must understand something, this is very important. Even though you have forgiven me, I've yet to forgive myself."

"Okay, fine. I can live with anything as long as you come home."

"Molly…"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

It took weeks for things to go back to normal, but they did… eventually. To the rest of the world Sherlock Holmes might have seemed like an over-confident detective with a clever mind and an impressive swagger, but Molly knew better. He had so many doubts and insecurities. No one saw his vulnerability the way she did.

He treated her with kid gloves for three weeks, barely touching her and never feeding from her directly. Worst of all, they had yet to make love since his return. Finally, after days of distance and painful silence he crawled into bed one night, his eyes showing just a hint of fear, his hands trembling as he reached for her.

"Molly," he said as he gently gripped her hip, pulling her to face him. "I need you." The desperation in his voice made her heart ache and her stomach flip. "If you're not ready, however…"

"Sherlock. I've been ready."

Her words seemed to be exactly what he needed to hear. He took her that night with unbridled passion like she'd never experienced. Bringing her to the height of ecstasy over and over again before he ever entered her with either his cock or his teeth.

She lost count of her orgasms as he devoured her like a starving man whose hunger could only be quelled by the juice of her quim. He whispered filthy, loving praise about her body and her taste, about her tightness and her wetness.

Molly was completely lost in the dreamlike haze of hormones and endorphins when he finally rose up above her. Faintly, she heard him asking if she was ready for him. Ready? she thought, there's more? unable to focus on the fact that they hadn't actually made love yet. Then he entered her and her world narrowed down further, tunneling to a single point where only the two of them existed. He was in her, on her, surrounding her. His cock, his body, his mouth, his scent. His love. She heard the distant sound of someone begging for something, asking for more. Oh, that's me. It seemed like a selfish request; he was already giving her everything. He is everything. What more could she want?

And then she knew... When she felt his teeth pierce her throat slow and steady, she knew what she'd been asking for.

It was utter perfection.

He drank until they both reached their final glorious completions, calling out to one another, screaming until their throats were raw and there were no words left.

Sherlock collapsed on top of her, actually a bit sweaty (which was a feat, the vampire didn't often sweat these days, another new discovery), and Molly was vaguely aware that he was whispering something against her chest.

"What… what are you saying? I can't hear you."

At length, Sherlock rose up and brushed Molly's damp hair off of her face. "I said… I was afraid that I'd ruined everything."

"Sherlock…" Molly started as she stroked his back.

"But you were right, of course. I will never lose control again. I promise."

"I know you won't."

"At least not in an unpleasant way," he said with an absolutely sinful smile on his face.

Molly had taken the day off; she wanted to be prepared for their evening. The flat was immaculate; never had 221B ever looked so good. She had taken a long bath and shaved… everything. It wouldn't be permanent, even after she Turned. Her hair would continue to grow, as would her nails. Sherlock's did. In fact occasionally he would let a bit of a beard grow in. It looked terribly handsome on him and it felt divine on her when he buried his face between her thighs.

Not all the lore surrounding vampires was true, as it turned out. Some of course, but not all. Sherlock could go out during the day, he was just more sensitive to sunlight than he had been in the past. He could see himself just fine in a mirror and had no problem with either salt or garlic. Christian crosses were of no consequence to him. He had no special love of them, of course, but never had before so that wasn't surprising. He did have to be invited into private homes, however, something Molly found endlessly amusing and had used to her advantage after one particularly bad fight just before she'd moved into Baker Street.

After the bath, she coated her body in her favourite oil. A gift from Sherlock, he'd made it himself and often enjoyed rubbing her down from head to toe in the fragrant mixture of Egyptian Sandalwood and Bergamot.

As she had prepared herself, anointing her body in his gift, she concentrated on presenting herself in a pleasing way for her lover and kept her focus off of the concept of her upcoming death. Surprisingly, it wasn't that frightening. She had made peace with her decision. Her place was at Sherlock's side; she'd never been more certain about anything in her life.

That morning, when he'd left their bed, he had kissed her gently then said, "I have a few things to take care of today, but I will be home by six." He looked solemn, his voice was thick with apprehension. Molly wasn't at all used to this version of Sherlock.

Nodding in return, she kissed him again. "I love you."

"And I you," he replied before turning to leave.

Now, lying atop of the duvet in nothing but a silver dressing gown, she waited. He'd be home any minute. Her Sherlock wouldn't keep her waiting on today of all days.

I'd love to hear your thoughts. Please review and make my day! ~Lil~