svartalfhild said: #that vampire boyfriend you met at uni who wakes you up at 3am because he wants to show you how beautiful the city is at night aesthetic

welovesherlolly replied:now I kind of need to read this fic XD Molly of course being the one dragged out… slightly grumpy because she likes her sleep :3

And thus this ficlet was born. Rated T. Enjoy, and thanks to everyone for their lovely reviews of the previous chapters! Also, be sure to check out svartalfhild's take on the same idea, entitled "The Daywalker and Her Night Creature" on AO3 and tumblr!

"Come on, Molly, you'll miss it."

She groaned and rolled over, hiking the covers over her head and burying her face in the pillow. "Piss off, Sherlock, do you know what time it is?"

"Three AM," he said brightly. "Perfect time to see the sights."

Molly lifted her face from the pillow to stare groggily at her boyfriend. The one she'd only discovered was a vampire when she'd been mugged on her way from the library to her dorm one night, only to have Sherlock literally materialize out of the darkness and mentally overpower the would-be attacker, showing Molly a flash of ivory fang and red-tinted eyes as he sent the bastard running to the nearest police station to turn himself in.

"Sorry, didn't mean for you to find out this way." He looked…abashed, there was no other word for it, eyes (back to their normal blue-green gorgeousness) lowered as he studied his feet.

It was the shock – both at discovering what he was and at nearly having her wallet stolen – that made her snap out, "You mean there's a GOOD way for a girl to find out her boyfriend is a vampire?"

"Yes, well…" He ruffled his hair and shuffled his feet, looking absurdly like a little boy instead of a dreaded Creature of the Night. "I suppose you'll want me to, um, go now. I mean, after I escort you back to your dorm, of course." He finally looked up at her, and she could see how desperate he was for her to believe him, even in the shadowy alley. "I promise, Molly you're in no danger from…"

She'd cut him off by taking a step towards him and lacing her fingers with his. Even though her heart was pounding, it wasn't with fear, it wasn't even leftover adrenaline from the near-miss with the mugger. No, it was excitement, pure and simple, and she saw his eyes widen as she grinned up at him. "Leave? God, no! I want to get a closer look at your fangs and check your vitals – you do have vitals, right?" she interrupted herself to ask. But instead of waiting for an answer, she'd plunged on with more questions. "And what about sex, can you have sex or…"

The silence that followed had been from a very satisfying snog, followed by Sherlock whispering huskily, "Oh yes, I can have sex. Any time you like." And her responding breathlessly, "My dorm-mate's away for the weekend."

That had been a little over a month ago. And now here he was, staring at her with a hopeful expression on his face. "Did you used to do this to Victor?" she grumbled as she began the arduous process of shifting out from under her nice warm blankets and into the cold air of her bedroom. Getting up was a foregone conclusion, but she didn't have to be happy about it. Even if she rarely regretted doing anything Sherlock suggested – well, that motorbike ride on the moors hadn't been the best idea, but at least they'd caught the escaped prisoner and got him to the local police before he caught up with his ex-girlfriend and made good on his threats to murder her!

"Victor," Sherlock sniffed as he suddenly appeared by her side, moving too fast for her eyes to follow, "was very much up for anything. You'd have liked him," he added wistfully, his blue-green eyes going a bit distant as he focused on some unseen memory. Molly listened raptly; all she knew was that Victor had been Sherlock's first love, and the fact that Sherlock was opening up like this was a gift she couldn't refuse. "Tall, blonde, well-built – friendly and outgoing, too. A cricket player and captain of the polo team. Graduated top of his class as well," he added, proud as a parent gushing over a particularly talented child. "Cambridge, class of '08."

The fact that he meant 1808 was not lost on his current girlfriend, who had finally managed (with Sherlock's eager assistance) to attain upright status and was currently being further assisted into her jeans and favorite jumper, the white one with the oversized cherry pattern. "Yeah, well, soon enough you'll be telling everyone about Molly, class of '15," she said lightly, instantly regretting both the words and the tone as Sherlock's expression rapidly dialed down from eager to melancholy to shuttered. Damn, she'd done it again; when would she learn? She touched his arm in mute apology, knowing that further words would only make things worse.

"He was a good man," Sherlock said, his voice rough. Molly rubbed his arm soothingly, and he stilled it by clasping it in his. She could see the falseness in the smile he gave her as he tugged her over to the window, and wished desperately for the right words to ease his mood.

As if reading her thoughts, the false smile turned real as he scooped her into his arms. "So, Molly Hooper, class of '15, ready for an adventure"

"Sherlock, my shoes!" she said with a half-laugh as she squirmed in his arms. Apology accepted, then; good.

"Those hideous monstrosities of socks will keep your feet warm enough," he said in his most imperious voice – the voice of a man who had been born when the United States was little more than a collection of ragged colonies stitched together by mutual dislike of their mother country, and who looked no older than his late twenties more than 250 years later.

Molly wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled her head on his shoulder. "All right, Batman," she said, using her favorite nickname for him as he shifted her into one arm in order to throw up the sash of her window. "Show me London like I've never seen it."

With a sparkle in his eyes and a spring in his step, he proceeded to do just that.