A/N: WARNING FOR GORE AND SEXUAL VIOLENCE.

Molly once again found herself struggling toward consciousness, faintly surprised at even waking up at all considering the ferocity of Moriarty's attack. The memory of that attack brought a shudder to her weakened frame and one hand to her throat. Shockingly, the ragged wounds Jim Moriarty had torn open were now partially healed, the pain dulled, and she wondered how long it had been since he'd drunk from her veins.

Another, more violent shudder shook her slender form as a series of visceral memories flashed through her mind: the feel of his sharpened incisors (fangs) digging into her flesh; the sound and sensation of his slurping lips and lapping tongue against her skin; the rich, coppery scent of blood - her blood - filling her nostrils; the sound of his laughter echoing through the room as she screamed and screamed and screamed…

With another shudder she banished the memories to some dark corner of her mind, knowing they were only waiting to pounce as soon as she lowered her guard, but right now she had other priorities. She opened her eyes, blinking at the sight of the ceiling above her, and rolled slowly, painfully onto her side. She tried to sit up only to be overcome with dizziness; panting, head hanging, shoulders hunched, she finally managed it after several slow, painful attempts.

She shook her hands and legs, grateful that the painful pins and needles were gone, and looked around to see if - yes, there he was. She felt a huge wave of relief at the sight of Sherlock, lying where he'd been dropped, the relief intensifying as she realized they were alone.

Jim was gone…no, Jim the vampire was gone.

James Moriarty, criminal genius and vampire. She still couldn't quite wrap her mind around the new reality she'd been presented with today, nor did she want to.

Because if Jim – Moriarty – really was a vampire, and this whole bizarre encounter wasn't just some twisted hallucination, then the puncture marks she saw on Sherlock's neck when she crawled closer to him meant that he'd been bitten as well. She placed a shaking hand on his throat opposite those two bloody wounds, and felt no pulse; when she lowered her ear to his half-open mouth, she felt no breath stirring the hairs that had come loose from her ponytail. His eyes were closed, and she considered prying one of them open, but had no desire to see those beautiful orbs clouded with death.

The door opened and Moriarty strolled back in, now dressed in a meticulous black suit over a plain white shirt and narrow black tie with no signs of the blood that had splattered over him when he'd attacked her. His shoes were black and shiny and obviously expensive and his skin looked freshly scrubbed, the complete opposite of the feral creature she'd last seen. One hand went involuntarily to her throat, where she felt the drying, congealed blood beneath her fingers and felt her throat constrict with renewed terror.

With a cold smile that never reached his eyes, Moriarty tossed something to her; she fumbled and grabbed for it and cried out in pain as her hands closed around the item: a knife, and of course she'd caught it blade-first and cut herself on the left palm. A narrow wound, but a deep one. "Good, that'll save some time," Jim said, nodding with satisfaction at the hand she was cradling to her chest, fist closing automatically in an attempt to staunch the bleeding while the knife clattered to the floor. He pointed to Sherlock's body. "Drip some of that over his lips, Molly. He should be ready for you now."

She stared at him uncomprehendingly, long enough that he made a disgusted noise and moved to stand over her kneeling form, this time traveling at normal human speed. He dropped to his haunches, snatched her by the wrist and held her bleeding hand palm-down over Sherlock's mouth. They watched - her in horror, him avidly - as the stream of blood pooled on those pale, perfect Cupid's-bow lips and dripped down the side of his mouth, staining his cheeks and chin.

Molly gasped and started as Sherlock took a sudden, shuddering breath, tongue darting out to draw more of the life-giving fluid between his lips. Groping blindly, eyes still tightly closed, he reached for her hand, holding it closer to his mouth as Moriarty released her. She tried to pull away but his grip was just as impossible to break.

"Beautiful, isn't it," Moriarty's voice murmured in her ear as he leaned over to watch while Sherlock continued to suck greedily at the wound in her hand. "Watching him Become, it's a bit like a symphony." His cruel laughter rang in her ears as he added, "And this is only Part One."

Only Part One, what did that even mean? How much blood, Molly wondered dizzily, despairingly, could she lose before death overcame her? How much had Moriarty taken from her, how much would he allow Sherlock to take? Was that the point, to have Sherlock drain her dry and leave her corpse behind while the new vampire took up whatever horrible un-life Moriarty had in mind for him?

Sherlock's eyes suddenly snapped open, the pupils mere pinpricks in irises turned a deep, sapphirine blue. The blue turned to purple, then deepest red; she heard Moriarty humming the overture to The Phantom of the Opera and then...and then...

She's lying on the floor, with Sherlock's naked form atop hers, his canines erupting into elongated fangs that sink themselves deep into her throat on the side opposite her other wound.

"That's right, Sherlock, drink your fill," Moriarty croons in the background. "Drink your fill and then she's yours for the taking; fuck her and finish the ritual, bind her to you for eternity and you'll be one of us, with your own private blood source forever connected to you."

He laughs, a high-pitched giggle that would set Molly's nerves on edge if she wasn't in the process of greying out – not from pain this time, but pleasure. A searing, soul-deep physical pleasure spreads like wildfire through her body, and is literally like nothing she's ever experienced before. No orgasm was ever like this, and she finds herself clutching Sherlock's arms, then sliding her hands up to his shoulders and pulling him closer to her, unmindful of the blood from her still-bleeding palm smearing a trail along his body wherever she touches him. She winds one leg around his waist and feels the heat of his growing erection against her hip as he continues to drink in her blood.

When he pulls his mouth away she whimpers, tries to drag his head back to her throat, but instead he kisses her, thrusting his tongue between her lips so that she's tasting her own blood, but she barely notices, lost in a haze of lust as she returns the kiss with equal ferocity. His hand moves to her hip, then her thigh, tugging her leg away from his body and she whimpers again, but then he's between her legs and he thrusts into her and she's wet and ready and oh GOD he's inside her, he's fucking her, and the pleasure she felt before when he bit her explodes into ecstasy that only increases with every thrust of his hips.

She's screaming his name, no longer capable of noticing anything but him, feeling his body on and in hers, seeing his face contorting with pleasure above hers, hearing his panting breaths, smelling sweat and blood and sex as he gives one last, desperate thrust and comes, holding her hips hard enough to bruise and she doesn't care because it's all so much better than she'd ever imagined sex with Sherlock Holmes would ever be.

She came crashing down from that orgasmic high within seconds of him removing himself from her body. She stared as he collapsed to the floor, his eyes fluttering closed, and once again it appeared he was no longer breathing. She scrambled to her knees but Moriarty was there – she'd completely forgotten about him – and he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her away from Sherlock's sweat-drenched, bloodstained form. "Shh," he whispered in her ear. "It's all part of the process, Molly. He'll be like this – dead, for all intents and purposes – for the next twenty-four hours. After that he'll need to feed again, and if the ritual was successful, you'll have regenerated more than enough blood for him to do so."

None of this made any sense; Molly's head was reeling as she tried to process everything that had just happened, to take it all in - but one thing she does understand. Without turning to face Moriarty, she asked: "And if it wasn't successful?"

Moriarty released her with a chortle of laughter. "Then you'll die, because next time I won't be restraining him, allowing him to only drink as much of your blood as his body requires, rather than as much as he wants. And a new-made vampire is a very, very thirsty creature, all feral needs and primitive lusts, as you've just discovered for yourself." He reached down between her legs and stroked her labia, then licked the combination of her juices and Sherlock's cum off his fingers. "Mmm, quite tasty, I might have a go at him myself once he's regained his strength."

This time Molly couldn't stop the nausea, although she managed to turn her head and scramble away from Sherlock before heaving up her stomach's contents. Moriarty 'tsked' reprovingly when she finished, then hauled her up by one arm. She stumbled and nearly collapsed but he held her easily in place. She slipped a bit on the blood dripping from her palm to the floor, and he scowled, snapping his fingers at one of the guards, who immediately stepped forward.

"Get this taken care of," he ordered, shoving Molly toward the other man, a hulking brute who looked as if he's about to burst out of his ill-fitting navy suit. "Then get her cleaned up and bring her to my suite."

He glanced down at Sherlock's still form, and the scowl transformed into a hideous smile, fangs bared and a sort of crazed delight in his eyes. "And when Sherlock's finished Transforming, do the same for him."

Then he turned and strolled out the door, vanishing from view just as Molly finally fainted from blood loss.

End note: Still here? I know that was intense but I have a thing for sexual assault where the assailant is just as much a victim as the person being attacked. Hopefully you'll continue on with this journey as new chapters unfold. Thank you to everyone who's already commented on this dark little drama!