Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine. Thanks for their reviews go to Moonunit, LadyK1138, DanaanB, ZoeyLamoureaux, Aphraelsan, Katya Jade, buttercup59, likingthistoomuch, shazzykins, Bekah1218 and my guest. Apologies for the delay in updating- RL is a little tough right now. But enjoy! And happy Thanksgiving to my American readers...


~ THE PRICKING OF THUMBS ~


They come through the mirror in Molly's bedroom that night.

Bright, shining. Orbs of light with delicate, firefly wings and sharp teeth.

Bright, shining. Orbs of feeling and magic, more force than intelligent being, their attention set on what their Queen's Champion has sent them to do.

They are the swarmfae and they haven't touched human flesh in oh so long.

They murmur it to themselves as they lay their hands on Molly. On Sherlock. Everything they touch, they infuse with magic. Everything they touch, they gift with their Queen's will. They breathe in the strength of the mortal's and the immortal's affection for one another and it's an ambrosia more potent than any in their own realm. They grow drunk on it. They grow giddy.

Not even the taste of iron on the air can change that.

One by one they sample the darkling's flesh and her lover's; It's a gift for their Lady, a homage.

Their woundings leave no mark behind but then they never do.

When they're done they troupe back through the mirror. Report what they've tasted and what they've left to their Queen's consort, the one their Lady calls the Thrice-Born.

He seems pleased with them, gives them a still-beating heart to play with.

Their arms wrapped around each other, innocent, helpless, Sherlock and Molly sleep soundly and see not a thing.


Molly wakes the next morning in Sherlock's embrace, his back against hers, his hand at her breast.

When she looks at him she sees he's still asleep, his face careless and innocent in rest. His body slack, heavy, where he lies against her.

The sight makes her smile.

He shifts in his sleep as she does so, almost as if he can feel her pleasure in looking at him and as Molly thinks this he opens his eyes, turned his sleep-hooded gaze upon her.

"Good morning," he says quietly and she smiles. Reaches down for him.

She kisses him and she has the pleasure of seeing his pupils dilate. Hearing his heartbeat accelerating, even when she pulls away.

She may not like what she has become but her new senses do have their benefits.

Maybe Sherlock thinks the same for he twines his fingers in hers, pulls her hand to his lips and presses a small kiss to her fingers. Then another, to her wrist. Then another, to the delicate skin at the crook of her arm.

He grins at her as he does it and she feels her near-silent heart thudding with delight at the thought.

Taking his cue Molly reaches down, sliding her nose along the edge of his jaw before pressing a kiss to his earlobe. The cords of his neck. She snakes further down his body, straddling him, her lips and tongue darting out to lick his Adam's apple and as she does so she feels his hands go to her hair, holding her head in place.

His hips rock up into her in an unmistakeable rhythm.

Heat curls in her belly, wetness between her legs. He shifts his body, canting his head to the side and bearing his throat, the action causing the hand he has in her hair to tug, ever to slightly, at her scalp and Molly can't help it. She moans. Sensation lights up her body, arousal and heat sliding more firmly through her and she can't help it, her teeth elongate.

She feels the thing within her, the creature, rouse itself.

She feels it prepare itself to have its fill.

Sherlock moans against her mouth, his body going lax and bliss filtering into his expression…

Alarmed at what she's doing to him Molly tries to pull away but he doesn't want to let her. His eyes flicker open, gaze going to hers, and the hands at her hair gentle, though they do not leave. She realises with a start that they're both breathing rather heavily. She can see him trying to work through the haze of what she's done to him to focus on her, to make sure she's alright. Molly flinches at the thought, well aware that she doesn't deserve such carefulness, not when she's showing her teeth, pressing them against his throat-

"No," he says softly as she looks away. "No, don't be sad. Don't be sad, Molly-"

There's a lump in her throat.

"I'm quite near to hurting you, Sherlock."

She says the words through gritted teeth, trying to turn her head away. The scent of him, it's getting a little more than she can handle. "It's… It's not safe, alright? I can't guarantee-"

"I don't want a guarantee."

And quicker than might have guessed he shifts them both so that they're face to face. Eye to eye. Though her gaze is downcast Molly can feel his breath fan her face as he brings one hand up to push the hair from her brow. She sighs at the sensation and he lets his fingers slide down her cheekbone. Her jaw. He presses a kiss to her forehead, one arm tightening around her waist.

Molly sighs at the sensation, the pleasure in it, opens her eyes and makes to look at him-

And as she does he shifts the hand at her cheek, brings his thumb to stroke her lip. Their eyes lock, brown to blue, and he takes his thumb, brings it to her lengthening teeth.

The incisor breaks skin but he doesn't hiss or swear, oh no.

The room suddenly gets very, very quiet and very, very still.

A single bubble of glistening, ruby-red blood rushes to the surface of his thumb and as Molly watches Sherlock presses the bleeding digit into her mouth. Murmurs to her to suck.

"I want you to be able to taste me," he says.

The heat of his words scorch through her, more incendiary than she thinks even he knows.

She wants to make him see that it's impossible but even as she opens her mouth to do so he presses his thumb in, bloody pad down against her tongue.

Taste explodes in her mouth, pleasure too, and before she really knows what she's doing she's presses him onto his back, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks so hard she hears him hiss, body arching beneath her. The want of pleasure and the will to protect war in her, fear and arousal twining together.

Her body's clamouring for him now, the memory of the first night she bit him- the first night she fed- making her head swim and her hunger lash out: For a moment she feels the knife-edge, the uncertainty of her predicament and then, with a sharp, harsh sigh she pulls away from him. Lets him go.

She tells herself she has to let him go.

She curls in on herself, back to him as she tries to regain her control and as she does so she feels the bed shift. Feels his arms lock around her.

She wants to lash out at him, to tell him to leave her alone but she's afraid of what her greater strength will do to him so she controls herself.

Something tells her she's always going to have to control herself with him.

For a beat the silence stretches out, heavy with unspoken things. Accusations and worry and irritation vie for dominance in her mind. She can't believe he tried to do that to her, tried to endanger himself like that.

Eventually he sighs though, tucks his head onto her shoulder. "Sorry," he says. "I was trying to help."

She stiffens.

"Well don't," she snaps and she feels him shake his head to himself.

Not for the first time in their acquaintance she's not sure whether she wants to kiss him or deck him.

"I thought it would make things easier," he says quietly. "I thought we might… we might experiment. Get you more comfortable with what you want. What you need."

Molly can't believe what she's hearing. "You thought you could make me comfortable?" she asks incredulously. "You do know what I am now, don't you?"

She feels him shrug against her shoulder. "I know you're scared," he says quietly. "I am too. I know you're still Molly, and I'm so grateful for that, more grateful than I can say. But I-"

He sighs. His arm snakes more tightly around her waist and this time she brings her hand up to rest upon it.

"I can take you being scared of the world," he says. "Or me. Or Mycroft. Or anything else in the long list of potential nemeses which have made themselves felt these last few days."

Despite herself, she gives a slight snort of amusement at that.

"But I can't live with you being scared of yourself, Molly," he murmurs and she feels him press a slight, gentle little kiss behind her ear.

It feels rather more soothing than it should do.

"Your losing your mortality doesn't have to be a loss," he says quietly. "But your losing your faith in yourself would be." Another kiss, this one presses to the underside of her jaw. "I don't want that to happen, not if there's anything I can do to stop it."

And he shifts, about to move away. She stops him.

"You've thought about this," she says. She should have guessed as much.

He nods. "I have. And I want you to know that you can be safe with me. That your appetites- all your appetites- are not things to be ashamed of or your masters in life."

She turns in his embrace. Looks at him. She can hear the whisper of other memories, other insights, in his voice.

This is a man who knows all about being ruled by appetites.

"You chose your thumb because you knew I probably couldn't drain you with it," she says.

Again he nods. "You know the human body better than I do, Doctor Hooper," he points out. "You're well aware of the location of all the major arteries-"

She sees it. "-And all the minor ones too." She licks her lips. He meets her eyes and his are nervous. Aroused. They match hers. "I could- I could choose a spot," she says, "far from anywhere which could cause damage…"

"Exactly."

He brings his thumb to her mouth, slides it along her lip- It's already healed- about to demonstrate his theory-

Before he can touch her more thoroughly though his body jerks, eyes darkening.

He takes in a sharp, hissing breath and his body begins to spasm and shake.