Devil In My Head: "Kitten has claws." Irene mused petting the delicate hairs on Sherlock's chest. "Come to save him?" Molly snarled feeling her human teeth extend into the more purpose driven wolf fangs. "Kitten has fangs. And he's mine." There was no thought as she lounged. Werewolf AU Sherlolly
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. Moffat. Gatiss. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. They got these characters.
A/N: Clearly I'm an idiot. *sigh* I have way too many ideas popping into my head. My main inspiration for this sort of came off of Ambur's lovely werewolf fic, Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf. It's absolutely fantastic! I loved this idea way to much to keep it to myself. So here we are. Hopefully you guys will enjoy it as much.
Chapter One
Just one bite. It'd be worth it.
Molly Hooper was constantly telling herself that. She glanced over the man on her table that evening. He had a blast to the chest. His wife had taken his hunting rifle and shot him right in the chest without mercy. Case closed. The hole was right above his ribcage below the heart. The pathologist could see all the red and dark purplish bits that came with the territory of inspecting the chest of a shot gun blast.
Mr. Donahue was dead already. He wouldn't know. Certainly his wife wasn't in a caring mood. He didn't have children. His parents were long dead. Colleagues he did have wouldn't be holding an open casket viewing, so why not take a little nibble? Her stomach churned with a murmur. She closed her eyes in a wince. A larger noise grumbled. She held her stomach hoping to silence it.
"Yes I know." She was glad no one was around to hear her painful hunger sounds.
The night shifts always tended to be the hardest on other people, but Molly Hooper was quite used to the nights. Excluding those nights in which the moon was at its fullest. On those nights Molly would find some excuse to ignore her frequent night shifts. She'd have to embrace her true nature in those nights in order to stop from going out of her mind.
One of those nights was closing in very soon. It made Molly's true wolf nature bubble to the surface. Dead flesh was not as appetizing as fresh meat, but she had not eaten fresh in so long that she didn't seem to mind the difference. She dipped her nose slowly into the open wound. She sniffed feeling a chill of regret and longing wash over her. She peered around her before continuing down the dark road.
She took a bite. The blood felt sticky around her gums, but the skin felt good, tender. The force of the blast had kneaded the meat into a healthy appetizing texture. She tore at it unintentionally feeling her claws begin to extend, blackened and curved. Molly stopped herself from enjoying more of Mr. Donahue when her ears noted the sound of heels. Her face and body became alert. She managed to tear herself away from the dead the man in front of her to stand up right and attentive. She wiped a sleeve across her mouth. If anyone asked she had a bloody very dead body in front of her to prove her innocence of blood on her sleeve.
"Oh hell." Her nose wrinkled at the scent of heavy perfume and cockiness that sauntered through the door.
"Isn't this lovely?" Irene Adler stood tall and unassuming in the entrance of the mortuary.
Her body was the same curvy version Molly Hooper had envisioned on her when they were young. She had her hair up in an almost hornlike design. It suited her, though her white clothing did not. Molly always knew Irene liked to make her skin look deathly pale. It made everyone around her think she was innocent when in fact she was more demon like then anyone else on the planet. Her soft blue eyes could have fooled anyone into thinking she was merely curious of an old friend's work space. Molly let a sorrowful grumble escape her throat. She knew Irene's presence was one of intimidation.
"What are you doing in London?" Molly demanded. "Aren't you supposed to be in Bulgaria?" Irene's eyes waited to fall on Molly as if her presence was far from important. She walked over slowly to the young woman taking her time and making each step hit the floor with precision.
"Old friends usually greet each other with warm regards." Irene smiled so sickly it made Molly want to retch her recently devoured meal.
"They do. And it would happen if we were friends." Molly had never truly cared for the Adler woman.
She was a wolf as well, but not a kind wolf. She was a cunningly seductive individual who used her power for all the wrong reasons. Though her family, like Molly's, was part of a powerful reign of wolves and therefore their parents had forced their company. Molly had never liked Irene's cruel tricks, especially on the poor boys she tortured. Irene stopped a few inches from the woman giving her a little twist of a smile. Her own eyes landed on Molly's lips. Molly looked at Irene with slight confusion as Irene wiped a finger over the younger woman's lower lip. The finger was blood red.
"Dear me, Miss Hooper." Her tongue ticked the roof of her mouth. She showed Molly her bloody finger. "Have we been snacking at work?" Her dark eyebrows rose with fake alarm. She suckled on the finger. "Mmm, not as good as fresh." She popped her finger from her lips with complete desire. Extended claws played with the inners of Molly's corpse on the table. Irene fiddled.
"You keep your hands to yourself in my place of business, Adler." Molly's teeth were clenched in anger. Irene, though amused by the reaction, pulled her fingers away from the corpse. She licked each finger in front of the pathologist before abruptly turning on her heels arms folded.
"I was in the area and thought I should pay a visit to my oldest friend." The dark haired woman swung her hips turning her head only slightly to regard the other wolf.
"Friend?" She questioned letting wrinkles cross her brow. "Since when?" Molly shook her head taking her hands to the sheet in order to cover Mr. Donahue from her own temptation. "I thought your father told you not to come back here after –"
"My father doesn't control me." Irene stated with a beautifully confidant tone. That was the one thing about Irene Adler that Molly truly had to admire. Irene believed every word that came out of her mouth whether it was the truth or a lie. She said it with pure confidence. "And what happened to Jim wasn't my fault." She began to fiddle with some of the medicines on the shelves in an open closest. "You know there's no controlling a fresh faced wolf. Especially one as brilliantly lethal as Mr. Moriarty."
"You shouldn't have turned him." Molly wanted to scold Irene.
The last time this woman had been in London she had made a mess of the human's government with scandal, tore apart the city with murders and manipulation, and created a lethal wolf simply because she found him "utterly wicked". She had done all this in the name of boredom. That had been three years ago, when Molly had first graduated from med school. Before she had started work at St. Bart's. Before Sherlock had come into her life. Before she recognized her purpose in life was to help others and not harm them. Before all that Molly could be just as cruel and violent as Irene, but now she chose not to continue down that dark path.
She didn't need to.
"But that would've been so very boring." Her eyes rolled as she snapped up a bottle of pills. She teetered it in her grasp. Molly quickly sighed looking around, away from Irene. She could hear the footsteps coming. "Life's more interesting with a consulting criminal who has some bite to him. Isn't Molly, dear?" The pathologist crossed the room with a purpose, showing off how fast she could make it to Irene's side. She snatched the bottle from Irene's hand. The woman seemed delighted when their eyes met. Molly's had a new found sternness.
"That's not for playing." She stated. Molly gave a low gruff whisper next. "Nothing in my town is." She placed the pill bottle back on the shelf hearing his footsteps.
Irene was the first to turn. Molly could already smell him. It was hard not to. She had spent three years tipping toeing around his beautiful scent. Cinnamon aftershave. Blazing confidence. Streaks of masculine sweat perspired in the name of brain work. Not to mention the occasion droplets of formaldehyde.
"It appears Mrs. Donahue might be innocent after all." Of course she was. And Molly had just eaten up some of the evidence and here Sherlock Holmes was ready to inspect her almost meal.
"Hello." Irene let out a girlish little wave and noise. Molly turned to see Sherlock's brow crease. He was in the same coat he always wore collar flared out, navy scarf wrapped around his pale neck. She saw his eyes dart with a bit of confusion. He had a manila file in hand. Molly moved pass Irene ignoring her stance that spoke volumes she didn't want to read as of yet. Beside the way she twirled her finger in her hair was enough of a tell.
"Why do you say that?" Molly let her eyes settle onto his, though he was peering at Irene, still confused.
She begged for the consulting detective to look her way. While she was a wolf she didn't hold power over anyone's mind. He still looked to Irene, beautiful and cruel. Of course he would look at her. Three years in her presence and not once had Sherlock Holmes looked to her with anything, but mock interest. Irene was getting more interest from him then Molly had gotten in her whole time knowing the detective.
"Sherlock." She squeaked the name with zero confidence. Molly decided to take the file from him looking over it. None of it was good.
"Oh well," He finally broke contact with the cunning wolf woman. "It appears that Mrs. Donahue has a condition in which she couldn't have fired the weapon. I tried to come sooner." He passed Molly abruptly looking to the slab. "How long has he been on the table?" He unsheeted Mr. Donahue causing Molly to wince.
"Dear me," Irene said looking to the strange man. "Do you let all men defile your lab, Molly?" Sherlock looked over at the woman. Molly could see his mind working, deducing things about Irene Adler fairly quickly. He only gave a small smile.
"Spoiled rich Daddy's girl." Molly could have hugged the Holmes boy. She gave a muffled laugh. Sherlock checked on the body using the instruments the only certified person in the room had been.
"Sorry, what?" Irene sounded offended. Irene bloody Adler was offended. Molly paraded toward the body setting the file down on one of the many other tables. She stood on the other side across from Sherlock.
"This was close range." He poked the insides stretching out the flesh of poor Mr. Donahue. "There's barely any lungs to speak of." The metal tools fiddled with what was left of the blown apart lungs.
"Sorry, but did you just call me –"
"Spoiled, yes." He worked and ignored her as she crossed her arms and moved forward.
"Why do you think Mrs. Donahue couldn't have done this?" Molly blinked trying not to look at the little teeth marks she had made. "You said she had a condition."
"Yes, crippling arthritis. Doesn't know it. Came as soon as I discovered it." Sherlock looked over the body judging every little bit and piece.
Molly bit her lip trying to control her breathing. Of course Sherlock had to barge into her lab all by his lonesome when she had snacked on a body. Whenever he was with John and discovered something strange the doctor would state it was an impossibility that a bite could be on a corpse.
"Hang on." Irene sauntered in her way.
"Are you wondering how I knew you were spoiled and there by rich?" Sherlock asked not looking from his work. He turned suddenly glancing. Then he started to point. "Shoes, clothes, hair, earrings. All designer. All expensive." Irene fiddled with her earrings. "The earrings were a gift from your father. There're new, but they weren't for a special occasion. You keep fiddling with them, proud. Your father cut you off, but you managed to get those out of him. Maybe a reward for something. Maybe they were a promise, an oath, but you manipulated him into giving them to you. You're going against him. Being bad. You fiddle. You tease. You think you've won." Molly's brows rose as Irene looked nearly shocked by the statements. She moved toward him with a pleasant human speed facing only inches from a proud Sherlock Holmes.
"Oh I like you." She grinned with glee. "You think you have me all pegged."
"Am I wrong?" He wasn't. Molly knew it. Sherlock was rarely ever wrong. She knew the story from his words.
Irene had always been a daddy's girl despite what she said. She always wanted to please him. It reflexed in her choices of men, all older, all rich. Her father being a wolf had managed to gain power being an alpha in his pack and start a very successful investing group then owning a slew of banks throughout Europe. After Irene's mother had died when she was nearly six she had been all her father had. It had been Irene's job to be the best daughter until her teenage years when she got bad, defying him in every way possible. Turning a criminal like James Moriarty had been the last straw. Her father had cut her off leaving Irene to work as a dominatrix throughout Europe until she could once again gain her daddy's trust. The earrings were proof that she had. Proof that she had conned him like all the other men in her life.
"Oh no." Irene shook her head running long painted black nails down his high prominent cheekbones. "You aren't wrong." Molly saw the way her lips curled so close to Sherlock. It made the younger woman squirm. She felt a heat of anger run across her skin making her flush. Irene caught her distress from the corner of her eye. "But I don't think I've won." She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, knowing all the while that Molly could hear. "I know I have." She leaned back comfortable. Molly closed her eyes for a moment seeing how the man was looking at this woman now. She didn't want him to be attracted to Irene.
Sherlock was hers. He was in her town and therefore he was her property if she saw fit to take him, though Molly hated declaring people. Buildings, streets, food, forests, yes, but people were a wholly different thing. They were delicate and unable to be controlled. People had minds. They had decisions to make. Molly liked people. She liked their minds. She liked having to win their trust sometimes. With wolves it was a matter of where people were born. What families they were born into. Because Molly had been born into a prominent family she had to be friends with Irene. With people there were no obligations. People chose freely who they wanted to be with, no biology or purpose. Molly would never force anything onto Sherlock Holmes. Despite how he made her feel with his scent and his intelligence, she could never bring herself to make him do anything he didn't wish.
Her mind was starting to change when she saw Irene looking at him that way.
"It appears," Sherlock started looking to Irene. "That Mr. Donahue has some interesting markings on him." Irene grinned like a delighted little princess. "Bite marks."
"Oh really." Sherlock was looking at the body as Irene spoke. The two women caught each other in a stare. Molly's was hard and unforgiving. The other woman had a delighted smirk. "How deliciously exciting."
"Animal bites." The brown eyed woman let out a breath at the incorrect deduction. "The couple had two small little white dogs."
"Bichon Frises." Molly and Irene said together. The smell was heavy on the body.
"These markings are from a much bigger creature." Sherlock decided still fiddling around with his inners.
"A big ugly dog I suppose." Irene moved her hips folding her arms as she hovered to watch Sherlock at work.
"No creature is too ugly." Molly put in letting her eyes see the markings she had made with her wolf fangs. Four bites from her canines were horribly indented in the unbloody flesh.
"Oh Molly," The dark haired woman laughed peering up from under her heavily massacred lashes. "You are such a kind little thing, but surely any creature that eats a human is quite ugly inside and out." She batted her lashes cocking a grin.
"Perhaps the creature was hungry. Dissatisfied with the hunt." Her eyes narrowed.
"Maybe the creature was lame. Couldn't hunt properly if its life depended on it." The mocking was starting to build into annoyance in Molly's chest.
"Should I leave?" Sherlock peered up looking between the two. "Are you having some sort of female spat?" Molly turned to Sherlock shaking her head.
"No, I just –"
"Tired are we Molly dear?" Irene wondered tiltly her head to the side. "Your night shift is slowly coming to a close is it not?" Molly peered at the clock. She hated to admit Irene was right.
"I apologize, Sherlock." She almost laughed at her own words. Apologizing to Sherlock Holmes was quite a funny way to end the night. "But Irene here was simply paying me a visit."
"Old childhood friends." The dark haired woman mused.
"Friends?" One eyebrow of Sherlock's roses though his curly brown hair hid that brow. Molly muffled a laugh.
"Enemies?" Irene looked to Molly letting her red lips turn up.
"Molly Hooper, enemies?" This time Sherlock was chuckling, baritone and beautiful. She saw Irene shutter at the nose. The low qualities in his voice could have made any wolf woman want to pounce. It was so soothing. "I thought I'd never see the day."
"I do have a life outside of this hospital." Molly stated.
"So you keep telling me." Sherlock mused. He went around the table to retrieve the file. "I will have to continue this case tomorrow." He approached Molly slowly looking under her eyes. "You seem in need of a good rest. And I wouldn't want you to miss the fun." With that Sherlock left, without even saying goodbye. He only nodded when Irene wished him well.
When the door closed Irene watched it moving forward slightly. Her index finger was stroking her jawline. Molly knew that look. Words didn't need to escape her lips for any wolf to know that Irene Adler was far too interested in Sherlock Holmes.
"He certainly smells divine." She mused guiding her index finger over her lips. "I think I'll have him."
"No you won't." Molly stated letting a low rumble admit from her throat.
"Oh," She turned to face Molly squarely. "Did you not smell him? You haven't declared him for yourself so I figured you weren't interested. But why wouldn't you be interested in such an interesting –"
"Everything in London is under my control Irene." She snarled. "I took it when you left, when I chased Jim north." It had taken her ages to fight off the criminal.
Sherlock had helped quite a bit with taking Jim Moriarty out, but he had merely solved puzzles. Molly had physically scarred him, giving him a warning not to enter her territory under penalty of death. Of course Sherlock had thought he had finally beaten him.
"Chase out two wolves and you think you're the bloody wolf queen of England." Irene ticked the tongue to the roof of her mouth. "You know I always get what I want, Molly."
"Not this Irene. Not him." She shook her head letting her ponytail swing back and forth. Irene approached her with such confidence and cunning it caused Molly to take a step back. The dark haired wolf's nose sniffed forward. Her teeth shone in that moment.
"Oh, dear, you like him." She wiggled her hips excitedly. "Little Molly Hooper is attracted to the cocky detective. I can smell the desire on you, Molls." Molly snapped at the woman when she was inches from her face. Irene leaned back laughing. She twirled a bit. "Oh you're so turned on by him it makes me want him even more. You can barely control yourself when you're around him. What must be like for you that time of the year?" She rubbed her thighs together. "Deep in heat and you got Sherlock sauntering around your lab like he owns it. Like he owns you." She seemed glad to say this.
"Nobody owns me." Molly insisted, though her throat squeaked with a lack of confidence.
"Oh of course not." Irene mocked. "It's very clear by your scent that you have never been owned." She was close to the door, close to leaving. Molly would have once been glad to see Irene leave, though she knew where the woman was going once she left the lab. To get Sherlock Holmes. "It's funny isn't it, Molly? How much he smells just like you." She cooed. "Two virgins stuck together not knowing what to do. I think I'll teach him a thing or two tonight." She smiled softly before disappearing out the door.
It took all of Molly's strength to cover Mr. Donahue.
Despite being a wolf and despite knowing she had to save Sherlock from the fate of ending up one of Irene's many playthings, she had to do her job.
She had to take care of the dead.