A/N: So sorry this took so long, but I know where I'm going with this story now so the next chapter shouldn't be so long in coming. As a quick recap: Molly was Marked by Sherlock and was feverish and ill for a week. Dr. John Watson and DI Lestrade are now allies in Sherlock's covert attempts to help humans improve their lot, and John has shown interest in Mary Morstan (although that isn't addressed in this chapter, it will be in later chapters). Oh, and here be smut and biting of a less traumatic kind than being Marked.


Molly examined her reflection in the bathroom mirror for about the dozenth time in as many minutes, stretching her neck and craning her head this way and that in order to try and see all the intricate details in her new Mark. She wasn't admiring it, not precisely, but had to admit that the elaborate whorls and curlicues that made up the initials SVH were not entirely repugnant to look at. What they represented, of course, was an entirely different matter.

She'd been fully recovered from her fever for over a week now, and the scars left behind by Sherlock's fangs had finally settled into their final form. The only truly mystical aspect of Vampirism was how these monograms formed; lots of theories had been put forth, but as far as Molly – and Sherlock, once she found the courage to ask him – knew, none had ever been proven.

She'd awoken from her fever to not only find her neck well on the way to healing, but that some other changes had occurred while she'd been delirious, almost all of them what she would cautiously label as 'good'. For one, Sherlock had somehow gained the confidence of the police coroner, Dr. John Watson, who was in touch with members of a particular resistance movement that Sherlock was keen to aid.

That had another change; she'd been brought into his confidence as well, even though he could easily have kept such a secret from her. The only reason he could possibly have for doing so was that, incredibly, he trusted her, in a manner that couldn't entirely be explained away by the fact that she literally belonged to him now, body and soul.

The change she was least enthusiastic about, of course, was the fact that Mycroft Holmes had ordered her birth control implant removed while she'd been battling infection and fever, and that Dr. Morstan had done as he commanded. Sherlock had informed of that fact immediately after she'd awoken, the morning her fever broke. He'd neither bitten nor fucked her since her recovery, but she knew both were inevitably in her future, and found herself less conflicted over it, even knowing about her birth control implant's removal, than she thought she would be.

It was partially the connection she'd felt to Sherlock even before he'd Marked her, but it was also the trust he'd placed in her when he'd told her about his attempts to aid the underground movement John Watson belonged to. If Sherlock wanted to be able to live this dangerous double life of his, then the best camouflage he could manufacture was a show of compliance with his brother's wishes. He'd seemed surprised, however, when Molly had wholeheartedly agreed with him.

They'd been lying in bed together during the early evening hours; she'd attempted to shift her schedule to a more nocturnal one to accommodate him, which had proven to be both easier and more difficult than she'd expected; easier because her shifts at the morgue were often overnighters, more difficult because the fever had drained her resources and she still needed more sleep than usual. Since she was still technically in recovery from that ordeal, Mycroft wasn't pressuring Sherlock much as of yet, but they both knew it was only a matter of time. "He's at least pleased that I Marked you," Sherlock had commented as he lay next to her, one hand idly tracing the silvery scars on her throat in the dimly lit bedroom.

She'd shivered at his touch, but not from pain or even unease; every time he came near her it was as if her entire body went on high alert. She'd heard of people aching for another's touch, but had never understood exactly what that meant until now. "He's pleased but won't be satisfied that you're knuckling under to him until you get me up the duff," Molly had replied, earning a frown of distaste from Sherlock at her crudity. She'd shrugged. "We both know it's true, there's no point in trying to pretty things up, Sherlock."

That was when he'd told her about John Watson and DI Lestrade and their efforts to create a different world, to bring some balance back. Yes, if they thought they could overthrow the Vampires entirely he knew they would, but they were practical men; now that Vampires no longer existed in the shadows, there was no way to go back to an entirely Human-ruled world. Any such attempts would lead to more wars, more death, and an even grimmer future for the Humans than the one they currently faced.

"So you getting me pregnant will be a good way to throw your brother off the track," Molly had concluded when Sherlock fell silent. "To make him think you're doing what he wants." She'd taken a deep breath and looked him squarely in those brilliant, sapphire-blue eyes. "All right. We should do it, then. Everything he wants you to do – parade me around, show me off, and get me pregnant as quickly as possible. Anything I can do to help."

He'd kissed her, cradling her head in his large, elegant hands, and held her close to his body until she'd finally drifted off to sleep. That had been three days ago.

"Molly?"

She started at the sound of his voice calling her from the bedroom, glancing automatically at the window as she did so. Yes, the sun was down, and Sherlock was awake. She'd meant to be there when he woke up, but had been so caught up in her thoughts that she'd lost track of time. She shut off the bathroom light and walked to the bedroom, opening the door to find him standing in front of the newly-opened windows, the blackout shutters thrown back and the cool night air breezing in.

"Sorry, I was just…" Molly fell silent, indicating her neck as he turned to face her. His hands were tucked behind his back, clenched together; even in the dimness she could see his knuckles showing more whitely than usual, and wondered uneasily what was wrong.

Before she could ask he'd stepped over to her, pulling her into his arms for a heated kiss, the first kiss they'd shared since he'd Marked her. His lips were cool against hers but only for the first few seconds; they warmed quickly as he demanded entry to her mouth with his tongue, entry she quickly granted as she ran her hands up his back and clutched him tightly to her.

She shouldn't want this, to feel his hands on her body, his mouth against hers, the coolness of his flesh compared to her own as arousal heated her skin, but she did. Many would condemn her for melting into his embrace, for baring her neck to him and moaning as he sunk his fangs into her tender flesh, just as they would condemn her for bearing his Mark in the first place, for agreeing to bear a half-Vampire child, but she couldn't bring herself to care what the faceless masses might think of her. Certainly not when Sherlock was so carefully peeling away her dressing gown and the satiny nightgown she wore beneath it, when his fingers were gliding the matching knickers she wore down her legs, letting them drop to her ankles so she could step out of them.

His own clothing soon was quickly removed as he guided her back to the bed they shared; his kisses became urgent, his hands a bit rougher, but Molly found herself willingly submitting to whatever he wanted – needed – from her.

What he needed most, apparently, was to taste every inch of her exposed flesh, ending with his mouth on her cunt, somehow managing to suck her clit into his mouth without once piercing her flesh with his fangs. She held as still as she could, but once she felt his tongue thrusting deep inside she couldn't help herself; she clutched the bedclothes and arched her back, moaning and panting as he worked her with lips and tongue.

She was close, so very close, when he pulled his mouth away, turning to press a kiss to the top of her thigh while slipping two fingers inside her, curling them as he thrust into her while his thumb circled her clit. He seemed to remain fully in control of himself until Molly unthinkingly reached down and buried her fingers in his hair; with a growl he lunged for her femoral artery, sinking his fangs deep into her flesh and wrenching a cataclysmic orgasm out of her.

While she was still shuddering through the aftershocks, barely aware of the world around her, Sherlock had raised himself above her; she cried out as she felt him penetrating her, curling her arms around his shoulders and digging her heels into the mattress in order to brace herself against his powerful thrusts, feeling the wet warmth of the blood from her thigh smearing itself on his flesh with every move.

When he captured her mouth for a bruising kiss, she tasted herself, blood and pussy mixed together, a heady infusion that helped bring her to the brink of a second orgasm. As if he sensed her imminent explosion, Sherlock slowed his movements, easing out of her and back in again until she wanted to scream and claw him, demand that he stop tormenting her – and when she opened her eyes to meet his in the semi-darkness of the bedroom, to see the half-smile on his face as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, she gave into those dark desires. Her nails were too blunt to draw blood but she knew she was leaving red marks along the pale flesh of his back, marks that would swiftly fade and vanish, but to which he reacted with a gratifying grunt of surprise. And as she growled out his name, demanded that he give her what she needed, she was further gratified to feel him speeding his movements again, until he was pistoning against her, the naked slap of flesh on flesh filling her ears until she threw her head back and virtually howled in triumph as her release flooded over her.

Afterwards, as she lay half-asleep and full sated, Sherlock lying on his side next to her, she smiled and allowed her fingers to drift over his rapidly-cooling flesh, only to be jolted from her post-coital bliss by Sherlock's bluntly spoken words. "Mycroft wants to see your Mark. He texted me," he added, indicating the mobile lying on the bedside table.

"All right, fine, I'll get dressed, I assume he's coming by tonight?" Molly asked, trying not to panic at the thought of seeing Sherlock's terrifying older brother once again.

Sherlock started to say something, hesitated, then abruptly rose to his feet, running his fingers through his hair the way he did when something was troubling him. "It's not just that he wants to see it for himself," he finally said, pacing the room's short length as best he could. "He has spies, they could verify its presence. No, it's…there's something else he wants us to do. To prove that I've not only Marked you, but that we're engaging in sexual relations."

Molly sat up, hugging the sheet and comforter to her breast as she regarded him anxiously. "I already told you…I mean, I thought we agreed that me getting pregnant was the best way to do that, to keep him from suspecting anything?"

Sherlock stopped in mid-pace, returning to the side of the bed and dropping to one knee, reaching out to take Molly's hands in his. "Molly, have you ever heard of a Viewing?"

She jerked her hands free, or tried to, shock and distress pulling the blood from her face and extremities so that she felt as cold as any Vampire. "He—he wants us to do, to do that?" she whispered, utterly horrified by the idea. "Oh, Sherlock, do we have to? Can't you tell him no?"

She knew the answer even before he shook his head. "I can't, Molly, you know I can't. Not unless I want to jeopardize everything I've worked so hard to build. Oh, Lestrade and Watson would be fine, I doubt my brother would drag them into it, but I'd be under even more surveillance than I already am if I refuse. And much as I would prefer not to put you through such an ordeal, I'm afraid we have very little choice." He released his tight grip on her hands in order to brush his fingers through the tangles of her hair. "But I will, if you ask me to. I'll refuse, and I know he won't ask again. But I also know he'll find a way to make our existence a living hell if I do."

She knew he wasn't simply dumping this onto her shoulders, but it felt that way to Molly's panicky mind. But then, if he simply made the decision without consulting her, she would be just as unhappy. It was a no-win situation for both of them, and she knew it.

With that in mind, she gave a short nod. "All right, let's do it. As soon as possible," she added, giving him her fiercest look. "I want to get it over with."

Sherlock kissed her knuckles, then drew her close and kissed her lips as well. "I promise I'll make it as quick and painless as possible, Molly. But you know I can't hypnotize or drug you, or they'll cry foul and say it doesn't count; my brethren love a spectacle and won't appreciate it if I cheat them of a single reaction on your part."

Molly shivered, and Sherlock rose to join her on the bed, taking her into his arms although they both knew nothing would really soothe her until this was over with. "I understand," she whispered, then closed her eyes and tried to ease her suddenly-ragged breathing. Only the feel of Sherlock's hands on her back, stroking her as if she were a child in need of comfort, kept her in place as she tried to reconcile herself to this new, unwelcome reality.

She wanted Sherlock to succeed, to find a way to work with Humans so that the current imbalance in power could be corrected, and if this was part of the price she had to pay to help him achieve that goal, then she would do it.

A Viewing. She repressed another shudder at the thought. She and Sherlock would be expected to get dressed up, to meet Mycroft and whatever cronies he'd invited along with him at some Vampire club; to have a few drinks, and then…

Molly shuddered and took a series of deep, calming breaths, still feeling Sherlock's soothing touch on her back, the slow, almost imperceptible beat of his heart beneath her cheek. After the drinks and perhaps some dancing, the two of them would be expected to have sex right there in front of everyone. Well, everyone who cared to watch, at any rate, which would certainly be Mycroft and very likely Anthea and their other guests. Probably no one else, Sherlock tried to assure her, but since Molly was Sherlock's first – and so far, only – Marked Human, she had the feeling there would be a lot more interest in watching the two of them.

Public sex to show that Sherlock owned her, to proclaim her his mistress, and to demonstrate his willingness to father a child with her. It was like something out of a bad movie or pornographic novel, but it was something she was going to have to allow if she wanted to keep Mycroft from suspecting his brother's duplicity.