Not a long chapter this one but that's just how it works out sometimes. Trigger warning for flashbacks to rape scenes and they are very much rape scenes, if you want to avoid them they are italicised.

Chapter 25 - Rememberance

He sat bolt upright vaguely aware that his own heart was hammering in his chest. She had been dead, absolutely dead. He had never been so sure of anything in his life but as he sat up and looked down at her she was just opening her eyes and staring around the room in bewilderment.

She glanced up at him and her face creased in confusion, 'Sherlock?'

There was only one explanation that made any sense. Molly, his Molly was transitioning. Somehow she must have ingested some vampire blood but he knew absolutely it wasn't his own. They had discussed it when she had first become pregnant and they both agreed that given how little they knew about the effects of vampire blood she would not drink any of his blood whilst pregnant so as to not affect the baby.

She must have received it whilst she was with Moriarty but from his conversation with him it was clear that Jim knew nothing about it. So how?

As he grappled with his shock she struggled to sit up reaching for him. He put his questions to the back of his mind, she needed him. He knew how frightening this would be for her, he remembered it vividly and he wouldn't let her down...not again.

He put his hands on either side of her face, feeling her warmth once more, and he felt himself smiling for the first time in what felt like years but must only have been hours. 'Molly, it's OK. You're OK, I'm here. How do you feel?'

She kept her eyes locked on him, her hands coming up to cover his as she returned his smile, albeit tentatively. ' I feel weird, a little sick and my head...it feels like the worst kind of hangover. What happened?'

'What do you remember?'

'I was at work, then I remember going to the taxi...oh'.

He saw it in her eyes; the exact moment that she remembered. Her hand left his reaching automatically for her stomach.

He sat back a little, giving her space, his hands falling away to his lap.

She looked down at her hand in her now flat stomach and then back up at him and he hated how happy she looked knowing he was going to have to take it away. 'You saved us. I knew you would. Where is he? Where is our son?'

For the first time in his life Sherlock found himself unable to speak. It was as though the words were stuck in his throat. His mouth felt dry and unusable. He couldn't bring himself to make eye contact with her, knowing just how much he had let her down.

'Sherlock...Sherlock...where is he? Please...' Her hand was on his arm and he could hear the panic starting to rise in her voice. He had to say something, anything to reassure her.

'He's fine, please don't worry.'

'But where is he?'

Finally he looked her in the eye and she must have seen from his expression because her own fell. He saw the tears gathering and threatening to spill over.

'I'll get him back Molly. I promise...I promise.'

Her next words were little more than a whisper...a breath, 'he has him.'

Sherlock nodded his head, 'Mycroft already has some leads. We can follow up with the airlines and ports, make sure he doesn't leave the country...'

But Molly wasn't listening. She was undoing her dressing gown and staring down at her flat, unscarred stomach before picking up one of the now redundant staples that scattered onto the bed.

'I died.'

She held the staple up towards Sherlock her forehead creasing in anger, 'I died Sherlock...I died. He...oh God, he let them cut the baby out of me.' Her breath was coming short and fast as the horror of those last few moments came rushing back to her, 'I felt everything...God, the pain, Sherlock, the pain. It was...'

He pulled her too him. Wanting to comfort her, to help her, to do something but she pummelled her fists against his chest, 'you weren't there. Why weren't you there?'

'I'm sorry...I didn't know. I tried to find you. How did you…I mean, where did you get the blood?'

She knew immediately what he meant, how had she turned. Her reply came in a monotone; Molly felt as though all her emotions were dying, 'I bit one of the nurses. It wasn't much and I didn't even know if she was a vampire but it was all I could think of to do. It was obviously enough.'

There was a silence that stretched out between them. A gulf starting to open up that Sherlock had no idea how to breach. Instead he fell back on practicalities.

'Molly, you haven't fully transitioned yet. You need to drink some blood to complete the transition.'

She didn't speak so he stood and went through to the kitchen to prepare some for her. As he waited for it to warm in the microwave he washed his face and hands brushing his curls out of his eyes before staring at the wall above the sink trying to take in everything that had happened.

First things first; Molly, his Molly was here with him and alive, of sorts. For that he was more grateful than he could say. He needed to help her through her transition and then he could concentrate on their son. His mind was already starting to whirl with all the possible permutations of where Moriarty could be. He started to feel his positivity and energy returning. Molly gave him a strength that he hadn't really noticed until it was taken away.

He walked back into the darkened bedroom with the cup, noticing how she winced and turned away from the light in the kitchen. He remembered that sensitivity and how confused and...yes, frightened he had felt. She was sat up with her hands linked around her knees, still silent.

He sat down on the side of the bed and held the cup out towards her but she just ignored him.

'Molly you have to drink.'

She just turned her head and looked at him for a moment, a cold, hard look devoid of any emotion, before turning away again. For the first time he felt a spasm of panic. If she didn't drink she wouldn't complete the transition and she would die. He knew with every fibre of his being that he couldn't...wouldn't let that happen. He would not go through that pain again.

He took her arm and forcefully pulled her around to face him.

'Molly. You HAVE to drink. You will die if you don't.'

'So!'

'I need you, Molly.'

He saw her face crease in anger, her lips flattening, 'I needed you. But you weren't there for me.'

He had to take a deep breath before he replied. He had to get through to her and he knew just what he had to say. 'Molly, I WILL find our son and when I do he WILL need his mother. Now drink!'

Mutinously she took the cup from his hand and for a moment he thought she might fling it across the room but instead she took a deep draught, shoved it back into his hands and then lay down on the bed facing away from him.

He closed his eyes and sagged with relief. Whatever happened now she wouldn't die, at least not easily. They could cope with everything else now they had time.

'I'll leave you to rest. If you need me I'll be in the front room.'

There was no response and so he stood up and left her to it.

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

Molly lay silently in the dark wondering if she would somehow feel the changes that drinking the blood would make to her body but she just felt an overwhelming tiredness. He'd won, Jim had won. Not only had he taken her baby, he'd jammed a wedge between her and Sherlock that she wasn't sure she'd ever get past.

She closed her eyes in the darkness and tried to ignore the pain in her chest, the ache to hold her son which hadn't left her since the moment she had first awoken. But it seemed Jim hadn't finished with her yet.

As she thought back over those last few minutes before she had died, wondering if there was anything more that she could have done to save herself other images started to surface, leaving her gasping with shock and curled up in a ball hugging herself.

Kneeling on the floor of her bedroom, in her old flat, giving Jim a blow job. His hands twisted painfully in her hair as he fucked her mouth until she felt as though she were chocking and unable to get a breath whilst he just laughed.

Lying face down on her bed, her face being pushed into the pillow as he took her from behind, his hips and cock relentlessly pumping into her as she begged him to stop, feeling her tears wet on her face, her throat hoarse and painful.

Listening as he told her over and over how little Sherlock thought of her, how he would never notice her let alone love her, how he would never fuck her like Jim would.

All those evening she'd thought they'd spent watching television had all been a lie and she'd been wrong when she said she wanted to know what had been done to her. Now she knew she would give anything to be able to forget. She wanted to forget it all, Jim, Sherlock, the pain of dying and most of all the pain of losing her baby.

She didn't know how she was ever going to find the strength to keep going. She just had to focus on the next breath, the next minute, no further than that. Just get through one second after another. She couldn't cope with anything more than that, not Sherlock, not this nightmare of being a vampire, just the next breath, the next heartbeat. Her anger would have to keep her going, fuelling her and forcing her to live.

Sorry it's still quite bleak; I'm not being nice to you guys at all at the moment. I would love to hear what you think though. I've never written angst and bleakness like this before so it's all a learning curve.