Molly sighs as she opens her refrigerator, dozens of hospital blood bags staring back at her. She absolutely despised the fact that she had to sneak a couple every few days to keep her stock up. Though it is a literal life or death situation...well, a life or /demise/ situation. Death had already claimed her, whether she felt dead or not; if your heart isn't beating, you're clinically dead.

It's been about a year and a half since she was turned, and though she has gotten significantly better at controlling herself around the general public and disguising the fact that she's no longer human, it still bothers her that she is no longer living, so to speak.

Sherlock has been an amazing support through everything, he was even close to tracking down who he believes turned her. He was adamant that she face him in order to get closure. She has been carrying his anger inside of her for the person who did this to her without permission, and she may soon be able to look them in the eye while they tell her why they targeted her. If they are a civilized vampire like her; if not, Sherlock could just be putting himself in danger unnecessarily. However, he doesn't believe it was a rogue vampire attack, he thinks that it must be someone who lives close that loses control from time to time, going by how there is no pattern of attacks in the immediate area, but many people have reported a pattern of muggings with mysterious marks on them.

Grabbing a blood bag, she drinks as she ponders. Gee, wasn't she the lucky one for being targeted when they were desperate and most likely near desiccated. Curling up on her sofa, Toby takes a seat next to her, having slowly warmed up to her again after seeing her as a threat for months. Molly pulls a blanket over herself (purely for comfort, as she can't get cold) and nuzzles into it as she watches some TV and sips on the blood bag.

She is surprised by a knock on her door an hour into her binging session. She sniffs the air for a moment and can tell that it's Sherlock, both from his scent and from the beats of his heart. "Come in Sherlock!", she shouts.

Sherlock walks in and smiles softly at her, closing the door and settling next to her after tossing his Belstaff over her coatrack. "It's a bit odd that I'm used to you drinking from a blood bag. You know you could just cut it and put it in a glass. Would look more like wine."

Molly gapes and looks at the bag. "I never thought of that!"

"It will still be weird, but not /as/ weird? A bag labeled O neg is a bit odd."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Honestly, I just thought of it too. It'll still smell like blood unfortunately for me, but it would present better."

Toby crawls over Molly's lap to settle in Sherlock's, purring. Molly pouts sadly. "He enjoys you better because you're warm and...living."

Sherlock presses a kiss to Molly's cheek. "You're still bothered?"

"Of course I'm bothered, Sherlock. I'm dead. Like dead, dead. As in everything I wanted for my life was ripped away from me in one night and I'll never be able to do the things I wanted."

He takes her hand gently, his warmth soothing to her contrasted cool fingers. "I'm sorry it makes you sad. I wish there were something I could do to make you happier. You're at your most beautiful when you're happy, Molly."

She sighs and cuddles against his side. "I don't want this for you. I really don't..."

"Molls, we talked about this..."

"I know, but can you really imagine living /forever/? I'd think at one point, you would you're your death to leave a mark on the world. You'd be known as the great Sherlock Holmes. You've pretty much cemented your legacy. But you can't have a legacy if your death is never recorded. You'd fade out instead. You work so so hard, and I don't want that for you."

"I've discovered something more valuable than infamy."

"Since when? You've always wanted the fame, in a certain way, with all the difficult cases. What exactly could be better than that to you?"

Sherlock looks her in the eye and softly caresses her cheek. "You."

Tearing up, she hugs him close and shakes her head.

"Yes, Molly. You've shown me how truly important and great love can be. I don't care what you are, you're still my Molly Hooper. My sweet and caring and hilariously morbid little pathologist. You're still you, to me."

Molly sniffles and lies her head on his chest as he weaves his finger through her auburn brown locks. It turns out that drinking blood as your primary source of sustenance tinged her hair a bit red, making it a beautiful shade of medium auburn-chestnut. It's done almost the same thing to her irises. Luckily, they aren't flecked red enough for anyone to question it. He doubts she would enjoy having to wear contacts after a year and a half without them.

"I hate that you realized this after I died...", she chokes out. "I...I wanted so many things I can never have going forward."

His eyes slip closed in sympathy as he kisses the top of her head sweetly. "You mean children...". he whispers quietly.

She nods weakly and tears drip down her face. "Yeah...I-I knew my biological clock was running down but I had options y'know, at least I had options. And then I didn't, and it hurts because I always wanted a family, always. It makes me feel like I have this huge empty part of me that will never be filled. It sucks."

Sherlock lifts her chin and kisses her tenderly, cupping her face and softly playing with her tongue as she kisses back slowly and lovingly. When they pull away Sherlock looks at her, sadness on his face. "I am sorry that I can't...fix it."

"Me too", she begins to weep. "This may be insinuating a lot, but I would have loved to have a family with you. Little curly-haired geniuses like you, or book shy brunettes like me…", she cries into his chest, clutching his shirt in despair. Sherlock swallows hard and tears well up in his eyes for the first time in a long time, realizing he would have enjoyed that with her too, as the man he is now.

"Oh Molly", he croons softly. "I'm so sorry. I know that can't happen for us as you are, but I promise you that you won't lose me too. You won't lose me. I'll hold you to your promise of turning me when the time comes. I haven't changed my mind, and I won't. Infamy means nothing if I don't have you to share it with. I'd rather be with you. We'd have our own secret. Our own infamy in immortality."

Molly looks up at him sadly. "How can I do that to you? How can I kill you? H-How can I ruin you like that? I can't, Sherlock. Please don't make me hurt you", she cries.

"Shhhh, Molls. We have plenty of time. Plenty. No need to worry about it now, hm? I'm here..."

"It hurts too much to think, it hurts too much to be like this", she sobs.

Molly has been so strong all year, going about her business but he can always see the sadness peeking through her eyes every time he looked at her. She, of course, had moments of happiness but they were usually short-lived when reality came crashing down on her again. He wishes more than anything that he could take her sadness away, but he feels utterly helpless.

That's one thing Sherlock Holmes has rarely been. Helpless. Watching her melancholy moods and having no solutions haunts him, and he decides right here and right now that he's going to hunt down the monster responsible for taking her happiness. He will push through all the obstacles and find them and stake them. Whatever it takes.