Revisiting- Part 2a- Lestrade

Lestrade's breath hitched in his throat as he saw the familiar crumpled coat lying in a heap in the blood drenched pavement. Dropping his torch in shock, he ran over to the heap, hovering over it and daring himself to turn the object and reveal what he was sure to be a horrible sight. The coat wriggled and stuttered as he watched.

He turned it over, revealing a naked young woman, blood pouring from the inch long wound in her neck, the jagged edges of it stretching from ear to ear. She whimpered as he stood over her, tears pouring down her bloodless face.

"Don't- don't wait... Run... RUN!" she screamed with her dying breath. Her body became motionless and Lestrade remained frozen to his spot in the darkened alleyway.

"Do I know you?" a voice came from behind him. Lestrade turned, as a gloved hand slammed his head into the wall beside him. His blood thundered to his head, dripping freshly from the wound that appeared in the back of his head. In the fuzzy daze of his head wound he felt a hand snake up his scalp, probing the wound. The fingers left and a sucking noise followed by a soft moan. A dark figure, moved into his eye line, bending over him before stopping. The creature breathed in for a moment, before dropping his grip on Greg's body.

"I do know you..." it half- questioned. He was in no fit state to make a reply, but a tiny flicker of recognition flared up at the man's voice. The last thing he felt was arms scooping him upwards and something sweeping over the wound in his head. The pain subsided and once more the flicker of recognition flared.

Underneath the heady, metallic stench of fresh and stale blood, there was a familiar smell to his attacker. Something extremely familiar and yet so long forgotten. His head was pounding but his skin appeared to be stitching closed. He fell into darkness as the pain consumed him.

Lestrade's eyes flickered half open but stopped as he saw the shadowed figure, carefully unlocking his top window. The man stopped as he caught his reflection in the mirror on the wall near the window.

Lestrade's heart puttered. The man was tall, his hair was curly and there his long trench coat fanned out around him. Sherlock. It was Sherlock. No sooner had Lestrade opened his mouth to speak to his long lost friend when he sight of the mirror.

The man who used to be his friend, carefully unwrapped the scarf that he always tied around his neck. Lestrade's heart virtually stopped as the scar fell away in his hand and revealed two tiny scars on the man otherwise unblemished neck. The man brushed his ice white fingers against the scars, feeling them dip inwards into his vein that no longer carried his own blood. He growled at his own lack of reflection, knowing that he should be seeing the action that he had just partook reflected back at him.

"I'm a monster" he whispered, not knowing that Lestrade was watching the whole thing unfurl. Before Lestrade could offer any type of comfort, the man shrieked a heart freezing shriek and jumped from the window. Greg jumped upwards, hanging unseen out of the window. Sherlock dropped to the floor, his coat fanning around him like wings as he landed like a cat would on both feet. Without breaking his momentum he walked off into the blackness, leaving am awestruck man behind him.

Hunger, such hunger! Should have taken the man, SUCH Pain, burning, thirst, so thirsty... only just fed, why am I so hungry? Who was the man? John? No not John... who is John? I remember a John an- and... Baker Street. Go to visit him...No can't endanger John, why can't I endanger John...can't endanger anyone, not a killer, not an animal... Warmth, body heat... Man on his own. Hungry. Animal.

Part 2b

MYCROFT

Thunder crashed as Mycroft looked up from the papers on his desk. He sighed, removing his glasses from the bridge of his nose, pinching the skin where they had just been. His eyes flickered down to the scowling face of his younger brother peering up at him from the missing posters.

A single tear rolled down his face splashing onto the picture. Mycroft wiped the wet track away mentally chastising himself for his sudden display of emotion.

"A prey crying before I attack... how original" a deep, growling but very familiar voice muttered from behind him. Mycroft span, turning to face the man who was perched on his window sill perfectly still bar the cold breeze from the open window rustling his hair. The being seemed to be confused, his brow furrowed as he tried to understand why he'd said what he did.

"Sher- Sherlock?" he started, his eyes widening at the sight of his long lost brother. The creature remained silent, breathing heavily through his mouth, a pained expression etched onto his face as he struggled to control the shake of his hands.

"Sherlock? That was my name?" The creature, who looked somewhat like Sherlock said, curving his lips into the not quite smile that Mycroft had always associated with his brother.

"Yes... your Sherlock Holmes. The Great Consulting Detective. My Brother. " Mycroft whispered surveying him.

The crea- Sherlock looked wild. Wilder than he had ever been. His normally messy hair, had transformed into a bush of jet black curls that hung over his shoulders, dripping water silently onto his thick blue coat. His normally angular features had morphed into sharp pointed line, not a single curve appeared anywhere upon his body, but his eyes, his eyes where the most startling change. His eyes had transformed more than Mycroft could have dared to believe, even before he'd gone missing they were emotionless and dangerous, but now they looked downright cold. There was no warmth radiating from them and that same lack of warmth was echoed in that now suddenly not so familiar smile. Mycroft gasped as he saw the lightly pointed fangs, daring to poke out from beneath his brother's lips.

"What happened to you?" Mycroft began, walking towards Sherlock. Suddenly Sherlock seemed to return for a moment.

"No- don't come any closer!" he yelped holding a hand over his nostril. Mycroft ignored his brother's request moving closer to him, holding a hand out to his brother.

"It's me, Sherlock. It's Mycroft" he whispered gently.

Sherlock snapped pointed teeth at him, before recoiling in horror at himself. Mycroft continued to move closer until he was virtually nose to nose with the man who was somewhat like his brother.

"Sherlock" he said firmly. The creature whimpered, hiding his face in his coat sleeve. He repeated his brother's name again more firmly, grasping the man's face and forcing him to face him. They're eyes met and Mycroft bit back a shudder as he saw the red rings around his irises and the tiny pin-pricks of pupils.

"Yes... Mycroft" he growled back, exhaling as he let go of the breath he had been holding. Mycroft looked into his brother's face, that weary and torn face that he hadn't seen in two months and bit his lip.

"It would help things if you did not do that" Sherlock moaned, watching his brother's teeth graze over his lip. Mycroft froze, before doing something he hadn't done since his father's funeral. He enveloped his brother in his arms and hugged.

The reaction was just as violent as the one at the funeral, although instead of pushing his brother away as he did at the funeral, the Sherlock-like creature sunk his teeth deep into his neck. Mycroft shrieked trying to push himself from his brother's grip.

"Sher-lock... please!" he gasped, feeling his brothers teeth puncture even further into his skin. Sherlock yelped, pushing his brother backwards and forcing himself to release his mouth from his neck. Mycroft fell to the floor in a shaking pile, screaming in pain as blood began to seep into his soft caret covered floor.

Sherlock jumped to the floor, his eyes glowing red in the darkness, hovering his face over his brother slumped figure.

"You won't remember this Mycroft" Sherlock whispered, the colour in his eyes being engulfed by a hypnotising silvery sheen much like the colour of Sherlock's original irises. Mycroft shuddered, his body going limp, the shadow of Sherlock bending over his body towards his neck a mere shadow behind his closed eyelids. He felt fangs penetrate his neck once more.

Mycroft screamed, his eyes flying open and nearly falling from his chair in alarm. Sherlock's missing posters fell into a pile on the floor beside him. His chest rose and fell, sharply as his dark eyes flew around his darkened office. His hand absentmindedly brushed against his whole neck, touching the points where he could still feel Sherlock's fangs in his neck.

He bent down, picking the scattered paper from the floor, freezing as something caught his eye, something that you wouldn't see from any other angle. A shudder went down his spine as he saw the tiny spatters of water leading to the window and he fought back a sob as he saw the thunder flash outside and heard the thunder rumble.

Rain. It's raining! Warm rain, or cold and feels warm against my skin. Everything feels warm against my skin, the rain, the wind, the fresh blood dripping down my chin. Your own blood, not your own blood but close, doesn't feel right in stomach.

Still- still...

Part 2c- Molly

Molly knew it was a dream from the moment it began. For one she had never been to Paris let alone stood on a hotel balcony with a view of the Eiffel Tower, and for two, she most certainly would not have the guts to wear that dress in real life. Wine red, sparkling and ridiculously low cut and tight... yes this was blatantly a dream.

She lent delicately on the balcony, allowing the cool European breeze to ruffle her hair. She sighed arching her back, and stretching her neck out to allow as much of the breeze to reach it as possible.

"Bonjour Molly... mon cherie" a voice said in a heavy French accent from beside her. Molly jumped, placing her hand delicately over her now pounding heart. A shadowed face appeared on the balcony beside her, a face that somewhere in the back of her mind sparked a memory. Intelligent blue eyes sparkled, mesmerising her from inside the shadows.

"Who are you... what do you want?" she stared, not taking her eyes off of his. A smirk appeared in his eyes.

"My dearest Molly... you shouldn't go to sleep thinking about people, you never know if they'll slip into your dream. Do you often think of me before bed Molly?" The man purred walking into the light. Molly heart began to pound harder.

"Sherlock!" she whispered. With that she enveloped the man with a hug, no longer caring that she was wearing possibly the most revealing dress she'd ever worn and the fact that he was staring at her with a hungry look in his eyes. His nose buried into the nape of her neck and he licked the point where her pulse was closest to her skin. Suddenly Molly pushed him away, her face flustered and blushing.

"No- this isn't you. Your missing... presumed dead. You're not really here and I can't lead myself to believe this" she said quickly. Sherlock stalked forwards smiling.

"Not is all it seems Molly. Only tonight, I was with Lestrade and my own brother and I had no clue that I was. But I'm coming back Molly, the more people I visit from my past the more I know about myself, the more I can control him" he said dangerously. Molly took another step backwards.

"But you Molly, how did I miss you before. You were- are so... mouth-watering" he purred. Molly stood her ground as he closed the distance, looking down on her tiny frame from his great height.

"What- what do you want? Even in my own dream you want something from me" she said sarcastically. He smirked at her again.

"You" he said simply, that same smile etched on his lips. That was all Molly could take and soon she found herself arched against the fangs in his mouth as they clung to her collar bone. She moaned as the bite send pulse waves around her body and his hands traipsed over her body, pulling lightly at her clothes.

His lips crashed into hers, the taste of him mixing with her own blood in his mouth. He growled moving at the speed of light, pressing his hands against the skin of her legs and removing her dress as he went, and soon she found herself manoeuvred so that she was pressed beneath the bed and his body. Sherlock smirked up at her as he moved down her body.

Molly groaned as her eyes flashed open revealing the darkness of her own bedroom. The fantasy was fading fast and she looked begrudgingly at the missing poster that remained at her bedside, the last thing that she had seen before she'd gone to bed. She huffed, pressing her body into her pillow and allowing the darkness to enclose her once more. She didn't see the figure peering at her through her closed bedroom window.

In fact Molly thought nothing more of the dream until next day in the lab when she collapsed during an autopsy. Molly had paled and gaped as she was ordered to go see a doctor by a concerned colleague. His preliminary diagnosis. Extensive blood loss.