CHAPTER FIVE

AN: WARNING FOR ATTEMPTED SUICIDE AND MENTIONS OF SELF ABUSE and EXTREME SEXUAL CONTENT!

The meeting with Captain John Watson had gone better than Sherlock had expected. He had been quietly following the man's career for some time, extremely impressed with his war record.

Sherlock first took note of him when the Captain dispatched the rogue SH after it had gone on a killing spree five years ago. Since then, Sherlock would make periodical check ups on the man.

So when Captain John Watson had applied for a transfer and retirement Sherlock immediately jumped at the chance to meet him.

Sherlock would never admit out loud that he admired certain people. It just wasn't done, not for him anyway. Giving out compliments was not something he readily did and thankfully he worked with Irene who never needed to hear such acclimations.

But there was something different about this Captain Watson. He was different from any other soldier or spy Sherlock had ever met.

Captain Watson was very... human. He was emotional, had a personality, he joked and had a dark sense of humor. Sherlock liked him, of course he would never admit that out loud either.

When the case landed on his desk that morning that four Watchers had been murdered in a short period of time and marrying that with Captain John Watson applying for transfer, Sherlock couldn't resist. Why he felt so compelled to enlist the man was beyond him. Perhaps because John was everything Sherlock wanted to be but wasn't allowed to be.

Emotional, funny... loved.

Irene dropped Sherlock off at Baker St. Mrs. Hudson greeted him at the door with a sad look on her face.

"Mrs. Hudson?" He inquired but she only shook her head, tears filling her eyes, and she pointed to the staircase. Instantly Sherlock knew what was the cause of his housekeeper's tears.

Sherlock ran up the stairs and to Janine's room- their room- and found her surrounded by a couple of doctors and two nurses. She was pale and sleeping but murmuring gibberish. He noticed the bandages on her wrists they had so terribly tried to hide. He felt his blood run cold.

No one called me?

"Everyone out." He ordered. They all stood around, staring at him like stupid rats.

"I said OUT!" He shouted, his voice bouncing off the cold walls and causing everyone to jump. They hurried away, Mrs. Hudson shooing them out and when Sherlock was alone with his wife she moved to close the door.

"Mrs. Hudson," he said without looking at her. The elderly woman paused. "Please, I want you to care for her. She needs," Sherlock felt a sob threatening to tear through his esophagus. He cleared his throat. "She needs... mothering. Will you do this for?"

Sherlock felt Mrs. Hudson approach and noticed he had taken Janine's cold hand delicately in his own. His thumb brushing back and forth across her knuckles.

"Don't blame yourself." Mrs. Hudson said kindly, gripping his shoulder. He chuckled sadly, the sob growing stronger.

"Who else is there to blame? I can't give her what she needs, what she wants most in all the world. And you know something, Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock finally turned his head to look at the dear old woman, the woman who had been more a mother to him than his own.

Mrs. Hudson looked upon him like he were a broken toy. Not a broken man, a useless toy. It was... pity, in the way she looked at him.

"What Sherlock?" She asked when he said nothing.

"I," he cleared his throat once more but a tear fell anyway. "I don't... want to give her what she wants." He finally confessed.

Mrs. Hudson brought her hand up to his face and pulled him into her and he rested his head against her side while he held Janine's hand and this miracle of a woman soothed him.

"Lay with your wife, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson told him. He sighed and nodded his head.

"I promise to look after her. But tonight, you must hold your wife, young man."

After Mrs. Hudson took her leave Sherlock changed his clothes and went about changing Janine's bandages.

Committing suicide was not a crime but it was a punishable offense if you were someone like Janine.

Janine was a daughter of the Maiden Citidel; their purpose was to continue the human race. If say a person like Molly or Mrs. Hudson decided to kill themselves Cardinal Law wouldn't really care because they were infertile females with someone waiting in the wings to take their place of servitude.

But Janine was considered valuable. Her womb, her organs, her blood, everything on her had a price tag and she was a very expensive.

And this was not the first time Janine had hurt herself. During the second year of their marriage when Janine had still not become pregnant she had gone into a rage in the middle of the night, waking the whole household. She threatened Sherlock that if he did not give her a baby she would kill herself.

Sherlock had managed to talk her down and from then on made sure she was kept under watchful surveillance. She hadn't had an outburst in months but Sherlock should have seen it coming. The pouting, the temper tantrums. The strange way she just seemed to stare at him, as if she were seeing through him. As if he weren't a person at all, just a meat suit she wanted to cut into.

Sherlock didn't know how to help his wife. She would have to pay a fine for trying to kill herself and return to therapy. He knew this would only depress her even more.

After changing her bandages he got into bed with her and stroked her hair behind her ears. Her eyes fluttered open. At first she smiled weakly at him then realization came back to her. Shame quickly followed and she pressed her hands to her face and began to cry. Sherlock pulled her to him and held her as she cried.

"Why didn't you call me?" He demanded, holding her as her body shook.

"Because you don't care." Janine whimpered through her tears. He sighed deeply and pulled the covers over them.

"I do, Janine, I promise I do." He was only half lying.

"Then why won't you give me a baby?" She asked weakly. He rubbed her hand gently, not knowing what to say.

"When you're better we'll try again. I promise." Janine looked up at him through her glassy eyes. A tear dripped off her eyelash and onto her cheek and it rolled onto Sherlock's palm.

"Stop promising me, Sherlock," Janine said sadly. "Stop promising and promising. Please, just go away." She turned away from him. "Send Mrs. Hudson in now, I'm sure you're dying to leave."

"No, Janine-"

"Please, go away. I'm nothing, I'm useless. I-I... please, let me be. What kind of a woman am I?"

Sherlock sat up and was ready to press the button that would call Mrs. Hudson in. His hand hovered over it before he laid back and wrapped an arm around Janine's waist, startling them both.

"No. I'm staying. I'm your husband. I'm staying." He said to her assuredly. She didn't question or fight him. He was after all the man of the house, the leader of their duo. She could not refuse anything he asked or commanded.

Sherlock held her all night. Sometimes he would wake up from a fog and feel her crying and he would soothe her back to sleep. And selfishly, he hated himself for thinking it, but all he wanted was Molly.

Here he was, holding his wife who only hours ago had tried to kill herself, and he was thinking of that precious little maid on the other side of the house.

My god, I really am the Devil, he thought bitterly.

In the morning, he showered and dressed without waking Janine. He knew she still needed rest. He asked Mrs. Hudson to stay with her and prepare new sheets and a light breakfast.

"Make sure you get her out of the house, the gardens perhaps. But don't leave the grounds, I don't want people gossiping about her." Sherlock had ordered his housekeeper.

Their marriage might not have been perfect and far from domestic bliss, but Sherlock was very protective of his wife.

When Sherlock entered the breakfast room Molly was preparing his meal. She didn't hear him enter. He glanced briefly at the cameras in the corners of the room. He cleared his throat, announcing his presence to her. Which of course, startled her.

Molly turned around quickly and after a moment of hesitation bowed to him. He didn't want her to bow. He was no one who should be bowed to.

"Good morning, Hooper." He said placidly and took his seat. He forced himself to eat something, but he barely had an appetite. Molly stood near him, as she always had done, waiting for him to be finished.

Sherlock's tablet chimed and he swiped to unlock it.

Message from Irene: Another Watcher found dead this morning, same MO. No murder weapon. Possible witness. Shall I intervene?

Sherlock replied and ordered her to have the witnessed locked up and held with no interaction from anyone until he and Captain Watson arrived. Irene had her... methods which usually ended with someone dead. Hence the dead man yesterday. Irene was still learning that humans were quite breakable even if at times they could be durable. But no one bounces back from getting their throat ripped out.

When it happened, Sherlock had tried to stop her but before he could it was too late and the man was dead and Irene's hand was covered in thick, wet blood. He had tried to scold Irene, he screamed at her and pointed a gun at her head. She had blinked at him, almost confused, almost... childlike. She had looked afraid, even.

"Why did you do that!" Sherlock shouted at the damned android. She looked from the dead man on the floor to her blood covered hand. Irene shrugged.

"He stopped being useful."

It had terrified Sherlock to hear her speak in such a candid way. Would he one day seem useless to her?

"I'm finished, Hooper." Sherlock announced. Molly cleared his place and exited the room into the kitchen. He waited for her to return. When she did he gestured with his head to the other room. She didn't immediately follow him. When he was out of sight of the cameras and she remained he held up a crooked finger at her and motioned for her to yes, indeed, follow him.

Molly nervously licked her lips and soon found herself in an unused closet off the sitting room in a hallway that didn't get hardly any traffic. Sherlock didn't turn on a light, he didn't want to rouse suspicion from anyone who might be walking by that someone was inside.

Though the closet and this area of the house were rarely used, Sherlock was on edge. Keenly aware of everything happening around him.

Their eyes adjusted to the darkness. Her arms were at her sides as she gazed up at him, he reached out and cupped her face and he felt her breath hitch in her throat.

"Sir," she whispered in the darkness.

Sherlock sighed; ah, there it was. He liked it- no he reveled in it- when she called him "sir". It hardened him instantly, made his heart bang against his ribcage. Made him want to debauch her again.

Molly felt herself being pressed back against the wall of the closet and her breathing increased.

Here? Now? Sher thought quickly.

As if reading her mind, Sherlock nodded in the darkness. He could just make out her face, the sweet pale flesh that seemed to almost glow in the dark. He could see her so clearly. He didn't need light to know her scent, her laugh. He could be blind and no every trace of her skin.

"Molly." He whispered before pressing his lips hotly against hers. She whimpered but didn't struggle. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Yes, there it is, he thought darkly. He had feared once he had Molly the first time he wouldn't want her again. But he was wrong. Thank god he had been wrong. But that was the rub, now he couldn't get enough of her.

Sherlock pressed her harder into the wall of the closet, thrusting a thigh between her legs and practically hoisting her off the ground. Her little blue dress falling up her thighs and her stockings leaving little to the imagination.

"God I want you." He whispered against her lips and then proceeded to unbutton her collar and attack her neck. Molly moaned quietly and had to stifle a cry when he suddenly lifted her up and wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Oh, please, sir, please." She moaned. She was afraid, she was wet, she was wanting... god, she was so wanting in his ability to conduct such illicit feelings from her.

Sherlock pushed her dress up as far as it would go and tore her panties so hard they ripped. She gasped and he placed a hand over her mouth; once more her eyes widened in fear but he shook his head and assured her she had nothing to fear.

"Shall I take away the pain?" He whispered deeply to her and after a moment of her eyes searching his she nodded slowly. He removed his hand from her mouth, leaving a finger against her lips to insure her silence.

Then, when he was sure she wouldn't cry out again, he slipped his hand between her legs while the other remained at her hip.

Molly bit her lip as she felt him gently rubbing. Her head rolled against the wooden wall of the closet, a clear sheen of sweat formed at her hairline and her skin was red.

Sherlock pressed his mouth to hers once more, lazily rolling his tongue over hers and pulling it into his mouth. She had still much to learn and he was determined to be her only teacher.

Molly's hands flattened on his chest and dug hard into the material of his shirt as he thrust his fingers in and out of her sopping cunt, his thumb playing with her clit. It seemed as if his hands and only his hands, were made to do these things to her. These terrible, sinful, disgusting things.

But Molly couldn't find it in herself to stop him. She wanted him to defile her, she wanted him to make her beg again and again.

Yes, shame me, shame me, shame me...

Sherlock's thrusting grew more intense, more earnest and she pressed her face into the column of his neck and for some strange reason she could not understand, she bit him.

Sherlock was obviously startled by her action but it wasn't necessarily painful, it had reminded him when he gently nipped at her neck days ago in his study.

She's learning, he thought lustfully.

Yes, she bit him but not hard enough to draw blood, but she applied just the right amount of pleasure for Sherlock to feel his cock flex and jerk, nearly coming in his trousers. Her felt her little tongue trace the bit, suck on it and kiss it gently.

When he felt her legs tighten around his waist and her toes curl and her mouth dropped open in a quiet "ahh" he knew she had reached her climax. He felt it seep onto his fingers and he lifted them to his mouth and she watched he licked them clean.

It was so... deplorable in its intensity. So outrageous and scandalous.

Utterly... vulgar.

Sherlock gave her a minute to recover from her orgasm until he and his cock could bare it no longer, so he bared himself.

He scooted her a little more firmly against the wall and reached down before pausing. She gazed at him with a confused look on her face.

Sherlock then took her small hand in his and placed it around his cock. She was alarmed at first, though it hadn't been the first time she touched that part of him.

"Take me into you." Sherlock said hotly into her ear as he licked and kissed her neck and earlobe.

"I... I don't know if I can, Sir." Molly whispered against his lips. He smiled and kissed her again. She cupped his face with her free hand and stroked him with her other. He moaned into her mouth and pressed his cock more firmly against her quim. She shuddered in anticipation.

"Yes, yes you can. Please, Molly." He said desperately. She licked her lips and took a deep breath. She held tight to his hips with her thighs and directed his manhood to her wet opening.

Sherlock never let his eyes leave her face, but her own pretty little orbs rolled back, her mouth parting and her head lolling to the side as she took him into her. She gave up a little and he took over from there, thrusting gently the rest of the way into her. She held tightly to his shoulders as he pressed the length of his body completely against her own.

Sherlock moaned hard in his chest at the feeling of her hot sheath swallowing him. He could smell their sex filling the small space. He pulled out a little and shoved himself back into her and she cried out and slapped a hand over her mouth, like she had done time and again before.

Sherlock longed for the day when Molly wouldn't have to stifle her moans of pleasure. When he could listen as he rudely made her scream because of his cock or his mouth or his fingers. He panted heavily, the room filling with the sounds of their sexes moving against one another, the small pace becoming humid with their fervor and sexual greediness.

"Oh, fuck, Molly," Sherlock groaned through clenched teeth and he pressed his forehead against her own, their lips and mouths dragging across one another; not really kissing but touching and licking.

Molly's mouth finally fell open in a silent moan, she didn't know what noises to make anymore or what to say. It was all so overwhelming. Her body was on fire, there was little to no pain, just the constant meaty stabbing of his manhood filling her. Filling her to the brim when she had felt so utterly empty before. Never realizing something so terrible and violent could feel so astounding.

"Sir- sir... it's... I-" She whimpered weakly against his lips and Sherlock knew she was nearing closer to the edge of coming. He was fast approaching his own end.

"Come for me, Molly..." He said darkly and thrust harder and harder into her, once more beating the air out of her lungs. The force and brutality of his desire shocking, frightening and thrilling her. And the thrill was the most dangerous of all.

Captivated by the spellbinding motions of his thrusts, coupled with the overwhelming need to satisfy not only himself but her as well sent him over the edge and he brought Molly with him.

Tumbling over the edge and into the dark abyss, where lustful obsidian hands grasped them both; binding them in their dark, mutual secret.

When it was over and Sherlock had come back to himself, he attended to Molly differently than he had before. He was tender, his normally cold mannerisms had been swept away for the moment. He was sure they would return to him eventually.

Molly was sweaty, panting and taken aback by his sweet caresses. He held her near and cradled the back of her head to his shoulder, running a soothing, caring hand up and down her back.

"It's alright, dear girl, it's alright." He said attentively.

Rationally, he knew none of what they had done was alright. It was illegal, it was insipid.

It was... electrifying.

Never had Sherlock ever felt so alive before. Never had he felt so close to being human than when he was in the utmost debased throws of passion with Molly.

Molly leaned back, daring to look at him. Her womanhood twitched and ached. She was warm and cold all at the same time. She was sore and yet had never felt more healthy in her entire life. The ways in which he made her feel... nearly indescribable.

"Am I not to tell again?" She whispered to him, almost sounding fearful. He nodded and brushed his thumbs over her cheeks, noting her tears.

Molly was instantly embarrassed.

Had I been crying? What must he think-

Sherlock kissed her tenderly.

"I must go." He said solemnly. She nodded, understandingly. Yet it didn't deflate her disappointment.

Stay with me, Sir, stay with me forever...

Sherlock and Molly fixed themselves up and made themselves presentable once more.

For some strange reason Sherlock found himself wanting to give her something. But not just anything. Something from himself. Something personal, something of him she could carry with her privately.

A cufflink? An old family heirloom of some sort? A letter...

NO! Control... he thought.

Sherlock dispatched the idea. It was too dangerous. Someone could find it. Someone would most certainly find it. And then everything would change.

Focus on the case. You could be next, remember?

After bidding a mournful goodbye to Molly he began his commute to Station 4 where no doubt Captain John Watson would be waiting.

Then the full investigation could begin. He sent a message to Irene telling her to remain at the office in case they had need of her.

She needs a bit of alone time after yesterday, he thought.

Sherlock drove himself through the various sectors. Some ablaze, some shut down, some under repair, some affluent. All different sorts, separated by walls and barbed wire. Separated by blood and status.

What would it be like to break down such walls? He thought. Of course he didn't tell anyone of these thoughts. Such thoughts were treasonous.

The Cardinals and Elders knew of his intelligence. They did not discourage it, they did however, warn him of the dangers of such higher thinking.

It was a dangerous thing for a man to realize he did not need masters to live.

Sherlock reflected on the night before, on Janine. And then on his own terrible and callous behavior with Molly.

Oh, shame and guilt did wonders to a man's soul.

I should have been there when she woke, he thought sadly to himself.

But the case needed solving or he wouldn't be good to anyone, especially Janine. She would be well taken care of. Mrs. Hudson would see to that and Molly-

Christ, Molly... what have I done? Dragging her into this like a coward...

Sherlock steeled himself to the thought of both women. They weren't important now. His base, carnal needs were meaningless. It was the case that needed his attention, it was the case that needed doing.

It was Captain John Watson who would help him solve it.

Yes, the war hero Captain, he'll steer me right, Sherlock thought, strangely, optimistic.