Geez, that again was a little tough. Interactions between those two characters are hard, but the ones with John and Sherlock weren't nearly as difficult. There was a lot of opening the document and just staring at it - before closing it with a "I tried" feeling. But it's finally done! I hope you guys like it. Oh! Also, just a heads up: all my chapters are unedited, meaning I basically just wrote it - no editing or reading over - and submitted it.
Big thanks to Winter Character and TheSandFromTheEmbers, you both are so sweet and very encouraging.
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"Flectere si nequeo superos, acheronta movebo."
"If I can't bend the Heavens above, then I shall move Hell."
Above in the skies, a storm was forming.
…
In an ornate throne room, far away from any life, a dark shadow of a man appeared with a slip of a girl in his arms. The man was entirely unruffled by the sudden arrival - hair, clothes, everything in place - while the girl seemed to be unconscious, her head and body limp against Sherlock's chest.
"Christ, Sherlock, what have you done?" A man, less severe looking than the other, leapt up from his spot, where he had evidently been waiting for his return.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I am aware you were a persecuted Christian during your mortal lifetime, but I'm here, you've seen me, I exist, so please desist." He deposited the girl into a servant's arms, commanding that she be taken to his chambers, and dropped into his throne with a nonchalant air.
"Well, if you're the god I have to look forward to for the rest of my existence, I'd rather stay in denial, thank you very - ," he broke off, abruptly remembering the uncommon situation in front of him. "Tell me you haven't taken Demeter's daughter, Sherlock, please," John groaned.
"Well, obviously not," Sherlock drawled. He steepled his hands under his chin, staring out of the window into the gloomy Fields of Punishment. "I wanted her, John, and Mycroft kindly pointed out that she would never come willingly, so I took the necessary steps to bring her back to my domain."
His shocked companion gaped at him, wondering how such a brilliant, powerful god could be so blind. He sputtered out sarcastically, "Oh, and I'm sure that kidnapping is the best way to earn her trust, no?"
"Precisely." Sherlock grinned. "I'm glad you've caught up, John, you can be frightfully slow sometimes."
He swiftly exited the room, casting gloomy shadows on the walls, as John put his head in his hands and groaned.
…
Sherlock entered his room, and his eyes latched onto the girl already standing in the corner. Molly was tense, prepared to run - to where, he wondered - but her gaze was every bit as intense as his. The fear and uncertainty was still present, but Sherlock was rather impressed by the effort she managed to put in, even in her admittedly frazzled emotional state.
"My mother will raise hell and earth to get me back," she whispered, the ire strong in her voice. But with her fists curled to her sides, Molly felt like a foolish lamb standing up to a powerful lion. In this situation, Molly was very much the prey.
His eyes alight, he chuckled before enunciating slowly, "I'm afraid that's not quite within her power, little goddess. Rather, hell is mine." He stepped closer, almost breathing the same air as her. He took dark pleasure in seeing her breath hitch and her eyes flickering to his before darting back down. Anxiety, terror, false bravado, elevated rate of breathing, and -
He blew his breath out slowly, relishing his next words. "Why do you smell of desire, little goddess?" Sherlock's eyes roamed over her face, again searching for her delicious reactions.
Her hand whipped out to try and crack across his face, but his own hand shot out, catching her small wrist in an iron grasp. His eyes still steady on hers, a wicked grin formed on his face, causing shivers to run up and down Molly's spine. Her breath came out in harsh pants, and sudden adrenaline pumped through her veins.
"How - how...how dare you - ," she gasped out.
Sherlock cut her off, dragging her wrist down to the side of her body and pulling her into him, straight and hard against his chest. He bent his neck and laid a scorching kiss on her mouth - and for a moment, the world trembled. Blazing lips moving in unison, two bodies moving closer and harder against each other -
Molly laid her hands on his chest and pushed him away, staggering back against the bed. She lifted a shaky hand to her lips, the pale skin against the bruised, startling red. Her breath violently pushed out of her parted lips as she hesitantly lifted her dark eyes from the floor to stare at Sherlock.
He was a statue. Unmoving, unrelenting, his own eyes piercing hers for a moment before he turned on his heel and swept out of the room.
…
Up above in a field, a flower shivered.