This is written as a gift to Lilsherlockian1975 who three years ago became one of my closest friends. A while back we celebrated by promoting each other and this year Lil suggested we take one of each other's fics and give it a rewrite or a new spin.
I spent sometime rereading some of her earlier work and finally decided on her fic 'Don't Mess With His Pathologist' which I can thoroughly recommend particularly as a lead up to this fic though it can be read as a stand alone.
Anyway, Lil. Thank you so much for the last two years, it's been an absolute blast and I can't wait for what will come next. You endlessly boost my confidence, listen to my woes and make me laugh. I love having you as part of my life xxx
Chapter 1
Sherlock Holmes had a secret. This was something he never discussed outside of his family; he had never revealed it to John, never even considered it, but slowly but surely he was realising that he might have to reveal it to Molly Hooper, his pathologist.
He had spent the first couple of years of knowing her ignoring his feelings for her; and the past twelve months contemplating whether he should act on them but it looked as though events were conspiring to force his hand.
He was currently making his way through the darkened streets towards the home of Molly's unfortunate boss. Unfortunate because that man had no idea who he was really going up against when he had messed with Sherlock's pathologist.
That man and his allies had tried to undermine her standing as a pathologist, had intimidated her and had her suspended from work, but worse than that they had upset her...made her, his strong, competent Molly, cry.
Sherlock's mind went back to how he had felt when he had heard that Molly was upset. It had felt like a knife piercing through him. He had been so concerned about her that for once he had let his defences slip and he had used his extra 'skills' to find her; using her scent. He should have been more careful, John had picked up on it and he was dangerously close to exposing himself as being something...more.
He had always been something more; something not quite human...better, enhanced. Mycroft used the term immortals but it wasn't entirely right. Humans called them vampires but most of their assumptions were wildly off. He could walk in daylight, eat garlic, see his reflection in a mirror and he had been born this way not turned. He just had some extra skills and unusual cravings.
Some of those skills he was open about; his observational skills and his intelligence, and some he was less open about; his longevity, he was over three hundred years old, and how hard it was to actually kill him. Be hurt; yes and dammit falling off the roof at Barts had bloody hurt but kill him; no. He had just had to temporarily suppress his heart rate and he had been home free. Molly had been under the impression that Mycroft had set up an elaborate plan but there had really been no need.
And so here he was making his way to Islington to exact revenge on Molly's soon to be ex boss. He had initially thought he would leave Mycroft to do the dirty work but he'd rung him back fifteen minutes ago to say he'd deal with Campbell personally. His encounter with Molly had adrenaline racing through his system and handling this man's punishment personally might just help to alleviate his current cravings. It was either that or go back to Baker St and perhaps do something he, or more likely Molly, might regret.
Molly...his Molly! She had no idea of the dark forces that she was playing with. She was all lightness and joy, everything that was good with this world. Sherlock felt as though he was her complete opposite and he hated to bring his dark bleakness into her life but for some reason she craved him, almost as much as he craved her. He always had.
The trouble was there was only one thing that could shorten the life of an immortal and it was love, the taking of a soul mate. As Mycroft frequently reminded him caring was not an advantage.
If he took Molly he would extend her life, just as his mother had extended the life of his oh so mortal father, but equally his own life would be shortened, they might have a couple of hundred years together, maybe as many as five hundred but eventually they would both wither and die. If the concept was scary to a human it was almost incomprehensible to someone such as himself. Plus he could see his own parents ageing and withering before his very eyes. They had maybe fifty years left, no more. Not that his mother seemed to have any regrets...and the longer he had withheld himself from Molly the more he pondered how pointless endless life would be if she wasn't part of it.
He turned into Campbell's street and within seconds he was stood outside the man's front door waiting for him to answer. It didn't take long but as soon as the coward saw Sherlock he tried to shut the door on him.
Unfortunately for Campbell he wasn't quite fast enough and Sherlock slammed his hand against the door forcing it open and forcing the man behind it to stagger backwards.
Sherlock strode in without invite, happy that yet another rule about vampires was just a myth.
Campbell backed up against the hallway wall holding up his hands defensively. 'You can't come in here, this is my home. I...I'll call the police.'
Sherlock was in his face, crowding him. 'Fine, if you can make it to a phone you can call them.'
Campbell narrowed his eyes and glanced to the room on his right where Sherlock surmised the nearest phone was but he seemed to realise the move would be futile.
'W..why are you even here?'
'You know why I'm here...you know exactly why I am here.'
'Listen...M..Molly Hooper is none of your business. She's a member of my staff and I can treat her how I like.'
'Wrong! She is my pathologist and you will treat her with respect, that is if you ever even see her again...I'm having you fired as we speak.'
Campbell seemed to muster some anger at that which overcame his cowardice and he stood more upright, his hands balling into fists. 'You...you can't do that!'
'I can and I will and what's more I'm going to teach you a lesson. Are you ready for it?'
'Who the fuck do you...'
At that moment Sherlock bared his teeth and let his incisors visibly extend. The effect was instantaneous with Campbell's eyes widening as he cowered back against the wall.
'What the hell are you?'
'So many titles for us...Immortals, vampires, Bantu, Apotamkin...do I need to go on or shall we just cut to the chase; I'm hungry.
In the space of a heart beat Sherlock stepped forwards and held the man in an iron grip with one hand roughly tilting his head to the side to expose the deep artery in his neck but before he could even bite him there was a foul pungent smell as Campbell's bladder let go in terror.
Sherlock's nostrils flared in disgust and he quickly let his victim go, watching as he slid down the wall with a sob.
'Ugh, suddenly I'm not hungry. You have given me an idea though.'
He knelt down to the other man's eye level and forced him to look at him; then he stared him in the eye to control him.
'You've just extended your employment for a month but next time you try to humiliate someone or bully them you will do as you did here and wet yourself. It will happen each and every time. Maybe you'll end up being a nicer person for it. Now forget what happened here today.'
He released him and stood, chuckling a little as he closed the front door behind him.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
When Sherlock arrived back in Baker St he hung up his coat and chucked his jacket onto John's old chair, then he kicked off his shoes and socks before throwing himself down onto his settee. He felt the cool leather against his overheated skin and he tried to calm his heart rate; a feat he could normally easily achieve but which seemed impossible tonight.
He should have fed from Campbell, or anyone, before coming back to his flat. He recognised that now but when he had left that man's house his only thought had been to get back to Molly, except now that he was here her scent was all around him; teasing him and luring him in.
He had always wanted her but now it was tied in with his craving and his need for blood. That want was becoming a need.
Without even consciously thinking about it he found himself making his way into his bedroom. He told himself he needed to check on her; to make sure her breathing was still strong and that the sedative he had laced in her tea earlier had not had any adverse effects.
The room was semi-dark, lit only by the moon shining through the uncurtained windows; he must have forgotten to close them.
Molly was half in and half out of the covers with one leg flung over his sheets. He could see the full line of her body clad only in his pyjamas. It seemed to bring out a primal, possessive desire within him and he felt his body starting to react to her.
He knew he should turn around and leave; to put himself as far away from her as possible but instead his feet drew him forwards, silently bringing the dangers he inherently carried closer to the woman that he now acknowledged that he loved. It felt almost magnetic in its nature. All the emotions of the last few hours bringing him to this moment of crisis and he couldn't turn away.
Like the predator that he was he crawled onto the bed, up and over her sleeping body, barely moving the covers or dipping the mattress. He promised himself one smell of her carotid artery...just one and then he would leave.
He held his body away from hers, resting on his hands and knees as he lowered his face to the long, white skinned column of her neck and as he took a breath he closed his eyes and used his every sense to drink her in. His mouth watered and he could feel himself hardening and growing in the tight confines of his trousers.
He was about to move away when Molly let out a breathy moan and another scent assailed his senses. It was arousal, her arousal, and he had to bite his lip to repress his own reciprocal groan. She was killing him and she didn't even know it. His hips ached with the base need to rut against her, to slake his desire both physical and sexual. His head felt slow and foggy, his normally sharp senses dulled by pure, physical want.
He had a sudden image of himself turning Molly onto her front as he took her from behind; his hand on her clit as he plunged his cock into her tight, welcome heat; his teeth buried in her neck pulling her blood into him.
His whole body shuddered with a desperate craving and it was then that he heard her intake of breath. When he opened his eyes he was staring into the bottomless depths of her warm, chocolate brown gaze.
'Sh..Sherlock...'
The sound of her breathily saying his name broke whatever resolve remained within him and he couldn't stop himself from bending his head so his lips pressed against hers. He felt her stiffen under him momentarily before her hands slid up his body to his neck and then she pulled him against her as her mouth opened to him.
Could there possibly be sexy times ahead for our erstwhile lovers? Please let me know what you think so far. Lil, I so hope that you approve and that you're enjoying it.
