WARNING: sexual content ahead!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Noise of Thunder...
System diagnostic... checking, updates ready: authorization required. Waiting... waiting... waiting... shutdown reboot will commence without authorization...
Ian Westwood was a new technician to the Lundquist and Solomon Robotics and Engineering Institute. He had been recruited straight out of the academy and placed under the direct surveillance and mentorship of Mr. Lundquist, Solomon and mercurial Holmes.
Ian had never met Mr. Holmes himself, he had only heard stories about him.
Whispers here and there from other frightened interns; the young fellows didn't even really know what they were doing there or who exactly they were dealing with.
The tall and elusive Doctor Holmes would stay for hours shut away in his lab, giving out different orders to different interns and employees, no one ever knew what the other was doing and very few had direct contact with him.
The employees and interns were given instructions on the tasks they were meant to perform and he would have one his of precious android's keep a close watch.
It was all very, very hush-hush.
Any leak of any information was to be immediately reported and there would be a semi-bloodless interrogation followed by an equally quick execution.
On more than one occasion Ian had himself seen the whistleblowers being taken away by Watchers and Spooks, human and and synthetic alike, to be shot outside in full view of whoever had the stomach to watch.
Ian had made himself watch only one execution. He had excused himself and emptied his stomach, depositing his lunch in the courtyard where his colleague was killed.
And gazing down at him like some god of the old days was Mr. Holmes, hands in his pockets, motionless, not even his eyes moved as he looked down from his ivory tower at Ian.
It wasn't so much the violence of the execution, in fact it had been very quick and the man died instantly, it was the very truth of the moment; that Ian was witnessing a life fading from all existence, snuffed out never to be lighted again.
It was the bizarre and obscene way in which the Watchers did it so effortlessly, so carelessly, so very at ease with themselves. Taking a life had never seemed so easy.
The cold steel eyes of the General Watcher, those eyes following the man's body to the ground and disbanding before the body of Ian's colleague was even cold.
And since that terrible day, Ian had kept his head down and kept to himself. He didn't make friends. He didn't tell secrets. He did his job and went home. He didn't try to bother anyone, he rarely asked questions.
However, on this particular day, Ian was very hungover. He was young after all and after another night of nightmares he had set out to a small pub for a drink.
And one drink turned to eight and before he knew it his alarm was screeching it's unholy call at him.
Ian had nearly been late; he had arrived disheveled and unshaven, he would surely get a write up for his appearance. But at least he wasn't late!
His morning shift started promptly at 4:00 AM.
Sadly though he was exhausted and by 5:13 AM he was beginning to nod out. His eyelids had become heavier, his limbs falling to his sides, his lips dropping open and a bit of drool falling from the corner of his mouth.
The bright computer screens in front of him putting him to sleep rather than keeping him awake.
The data rushing in and out and across the screen was not enough to keep him vigilant and he was was equally unaware of it's importance.
And even more unfortunate for Ian Westwood, though he did not know it at the time, he was the sole caretaker of Lundquist and Solomon's greatest achievement.
Man had laughed in the face of God, they had stolen the gift and miracle of life.
And that life... needed an update. An update Ian Westwood was too hungover to notice...
X
Burn the heart out of her...
Sherlock felt semi nauseous when he woke but not entirely ill.
It was still dusk, the horizon was beginning to bloom pink and yellow but the cold gray and blue sky lingered ever still. He felt Molly shift against him. Her little frame was curled against his side, her hand lifted sleepily to touch the side of his neck, her thumb ghosting over his lips.
Sherlock smiled tiredly and rolled over towards her, while she turned her back against him, letting him coil his long arms around her like a shield.
"Stay with me." She mumbled, he kissed along her neck, her body warm and inviting.
They were both still naked from the night before.
"I want to." He told her and he knew she was smiling and his heart filled with joy. He ran his hand over her breasts, feeling her nipples harden at his touch, her breath catching and her hips pressing back against him.
Molly ran her hands over his muscular arms, feeling the ridges of his scars but not asking where or how he got them. Her father had scars like that too...
"Let's escape," she whispered as he hotly kissed the back of her neck, knowing how it tickled and made her squirm, delighting in the feel of her growing wetness rubbing a delicious friction against his cock. "We'll run away- ah, please..."
Sherlock cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face towards him, gazing into those sunny, trusting eyes, his mouth hovering just above her own.
"That's treasonous talk, Miss. Hooper." Sherlock said in a warning tone.
Molly's tummy fluttered when his voice dropped into that dangerous baritone. He sounded so commanding and lurid.
A devil in disguise, a demon waiting in the shadows, beckoning her closer to his dark lair and she wanted to fall into it and never come back.
She wanted him to possess her for eternity.
"Are you going to arrest me, Watcher Holmes?" She asked him, trying to lean up to kiss him but failing to at the angle they were at. Sherlock held back a smirk.
You're only making things harder for yourself, he thought.
"I don't think that will be necessary," he said, with the same dark tone, "I think you just need to be punished."
Molly licked her lips and he gripped her little wrists but she continued to face him, though he now had her practically on her stomach but still slightly turned.
"Will you?" She whispered innocently.
Molly moaned softly when she felt the head of his cock rubbing against her. He began pressing himself into her without little warning or preparation, not that she needed it at this point.
His voice undid her, it unmade her and only his ability to elicit such rapture from her seemed to put her back together again.
Sherlock maintained the blissful, sinful and infectious eye contact with her. Groaning softly against her red cheek, delighting always as her lips parted and her sheath welcomed him.
The little clear beads of sweat poured from her forehead, his lips finally met hers in short, sweet kisses; tongues mingling softly as he gripped her tighter to him, bonding them together as one being, one entity, one mind... one soul.
I swear our hearts beat as one, he thought desperately.
Molly reached back and gripped his cheek, holding him closer, moulding him to her.
Time could have stopped, the world could end, she didn't care.
All that mattered were the moments they shared. Nothing else mattered. She couldn't live without him. He was part of her; he had taken something from her no other man ever could. She had cut out half her heart and eagerly handed it to him.
"Molly," he said sharply and his movements became... dull, slow...
"Molly..." he said this time almost painfully.
Molly turned and he pulled himself from her and fell to his back. He began jerking, like he couldn't breathe.
"No, no, no," was all she could think to say. "Sir, sir," she shook him and his eyes seemed to glaze... they would roll back and then appear again.
His movements were jerky, awkward, inhuman...
Molly put a hand over his heart. She opened her mouth, looking to the door when he grabbed her hand with a strength that nearly made her cry out in pain.
"Don't- don't call... anyone." He ordered through clenched teeth.
Sherlock knew he wasn't having a seizure, he wouldn't still be conscious. Something else was wrong... his brain was on fire, he couldn't breathe right. It felt like something was inside him, pulling him apart. He released his hold on Molly and all she could do was hold him.
"I don't know what to do... what's happening?" Molly asked him as she cried. He tried to offer some sort of comfort but couldn't.
The pain was overwhelming. He felt hot suddenly, right in his chest, his core was on fire. He tried to keep his moans of pain under control but couldn't.
It was too painful and he yelled.
It was a horrid scream that cut through the dark and the first thing Sherlock thought of was that damn stray cat from months ago howling into the dusk air, crying in pain, crying in anger... crying, crying...
The door opened almost immediately and in came Mrs. Hudson, unashamed by the nakedness she saw.
"Molly, dress." Mrs. Hudson ordered and she took a seat near Sherlock, he looked to her as if she were an angel. Molly pulled on a robe and could only watch as Mrs. Hudson covered Sherlock in a blanket.
"I'm-" Sherlock tried to say but Mrs. Hudson put a gentle hand over his mouth.
Molly watched the housekeeper reach under his head as if arranging his pillow.
"It's alright, dear, I'm here." Mrs. Hudson whispered atttentively.
Molly watched as Sherlock's eyes seemed to just... close. But it wasn't natural, it was... sudden, fast, dead.
"Molly, he's passed out. I need you to get dressed and move to another room while I make a call for help."
"But I-"
"Molly," Mrs. Hudson said sternly. "You've had a shock. The Master is ill. Now dress and speak of this to no one, not even our Lady."
Molly's tears weren't even dry. She glanced briefly at Mr. Holmes, his chest wasn't moving-
"Now!" Mrs. Hudson shouted and Molly set about doing what she was told.
When the little maid left, Mrs. Hudson called Mycroft.
"You idiot, he's malfunctioned." She hissed over the phone.
X
Mycroft stood over the computer screens reviewing the data. His brother missed his latest upgrade.
Mr. Lundquist and Mr. Solomon hovered nearby, calm but ready for whatever Mycroft Holmes was about to chuck at them.
"Who was the cause of this?" Mycroft asked calmly.
"Intern, new recruit. He's been dealt with accordingly." Solomon replied assuredly.
"Shot this morning." Lundquist added.
"What kind of damage are we talking about?" Mycroft asked, swiping his finger across the touch screen.
"We'll need to Emergancy-Install. Otherwise we could lose a lot of data."
"How much is a lot?"
Solomon looked to his business partner.
"The last six months." Lundquist replied.
Mycroft groaned.
"I suppose that's not the worst thing." The elder Holmes said.
"Yes but, you can't reset the clock of the whole world for your brother, Mycroft." Solomon said and Mycroft knew he was right. That would mean Magnusson would know the truth.
"What do we do?" Mycroft asked, finally turning to face the two men.
"We've got our best man on it." Lundquist said proudly. Mycroft scoffed at the two men of industry.
"Sherlock would be most... vexed if he knew I had allowed his baby brother to mend him." Mycroft said and he walked towards a viewing screen that looked down into an operating theater where a man in a navy blue medical uniform began dismantling parts of Sherlock Holmes; piece by piece.
The doctor handed a leg to an android nurse.
"Half brother, of course." Solomon reminded Mycroft, as if he didn't know it was his brother below working hard at taking Sherlock apart.
"Half brother, blood brother, it doesn't matter. He's the proof of my father's stupidity and I'm afraid history seems to repeat itself." Mycroft said, distastefully.
Rayburn Holmes ordered his nurses to make sure Sherlock was very comfortable in his Dream Status.
The fall had been a bad one. Sherlock had tried killing himself, nearly did, had modern medicine not intervened. Had medicine and science not been sped up just for him to save his life he would be in the family plot.
But instead, their bastard half brother, Rayburn, had succeeded in saving Sherlock's life. He and Sherlock were a blood match and he regularly gave donations when Sherlock needed it.
Sherlock had needed a lot of saving, it was called a miracle he was still breathing when he was rushed to his brother's lab; he had needed dozens of surgeries and transplants.
His heart was real but not his own, it was a given by donor as well as his lungs and a kidney. His legs couldn't be saved and neither could his left arm and his right hand had needed replacing.
All together Sherlock was a very expensive piece of hardware. Half man half synthetic. Some called them cyborgs, but they didn't exist yet, at least not to the general public.
Rayburn's department had been heading it, he was responsible for the new and improved SH's and had personally overseen the design of the Irene Adler models.
Cyborgs were just the next logical step in the evolution of synthetics. And because of Sherlock's little jump all of Rayburn's research was now put to the test. He just hadn't thought it would involve his elder half brother.
"What are his chances, Ray?" Mycroft asked through a speaker.
Rayburn sighed and he opened the back of Sherlock's head...
The brain had been another matter. It was nearly useless when they got him on an operating table. What they could save was a mixed bag of synthetic and metal and some human tissue.
All of Sherlock's memories had been virtually reprogrammed. They weren't lies, but some were missing. He had needed to learn to speak again and when he had succeeded his memory of it was erased.
"Five years, no incidents and now this," Ray said practically ignoring Mycroft. "He's lucky. The crash could have been much worse. What was he doing at the time?"
"You saw how he was when he came in, take a wild guess." Mycroft said dryly, crossing his arms in irritation.
Rayburn raised his eyebrows before returning to his work.
"I have to manually update the system." Rayburn said and Mycroft held his breath, though neither man near him saw it.
Rayburn was handed a long, thin metal tool with small teeth at the end. He inserted it into Sherlock's brain and basically hit a restart button. Slowly he removed the tool and handed it back to the synthetic nurse.
The table was repositioned so that Sherlock was now in a lying down position and Rayburn stood over him, staring at his nearly armless and completely legless brother.
Rayburn never thought he would see his elder brother in such a state ever again.
However this was far less bloody than before.
"He wasn't alone," Rayburn easily deduced, glancing up at Mycroft through the viewing screen. "Who saw him?"
"My contact says a maid." Mycroft replied simply.
"And?"
"And she's been given a story."
"Stories change depending on who's telling them." Rayburn said warningly.
"She's no threat." Mycroft promised but Rayburn wasn't so easily convinced however he dropped it as he could not contend with his half brother's power.
Rayburn turned his attention back to Sherlock, the restart was working as he glanced at Sherlock's vitals on a monitor.
"He'll be groggy and out for a while," Rayburn said removing his mask, the resemblance between Sherlock and himself nearly uncanny, always unnerving Mycroft. "But the damage won't be detrimental."
"What kind of damage?" Mr. Solomon asked.
"Minor memory loss, fatigue," Rayburn paused when he noticed a younger, blonde man being ushered into the room where Mycroft, Solomon and Lundquist stood. He didn't recognize him and he didn't continue speaking.
"Captain Watson," Rayburn heard Mycroft say, his brother holding out his and shaking the new man's.
Mycroft was about to speak again but pressed a button muting and cutting Rayburn out entirely. The half Holmes gritted his teeth and turned his attention back to Sherlock.
X
"Thank you for coming on such short notice." Mycroft continued when he was sure the communication between himself and Rayburn had been cut off.
"You said it was urgent- Jesus, is that Sherlock?" John said worriedly and he rushed to the viewing screen.
At first he remained stunned, then relieved, then astonished and then his brain caught up with his eyes.
The back of Sherlock's head open, parts of his body missing... the back of his fucking head was open-
"What... what am I seeing?" John asked quietly, almost to himself, he couldn't seem to raise his voice. It was gone, left him alone to wonder what kind of monstrous place had he wandered into.
"Captain Watson I am involving you in this matter because I owe you a great debt and I felt compelled to bring into the inner sanctum." Mycroft said.
John found his voice.
"That's all very poetic but what the fuck am I seeing?!" John shouted.
The three other men looked to one another, Solomon and Lundquist left leaving John once again alone with Mycroft.
"Five years ago when Sherlock went off the deep end he tried killing himself. He practically succeeded. Doctor Rayburn is the leading scientist and engineer in robotics and synthetic humanoids in this institute and saved his life." Mycroft explained.
John felt his legs beginning to give out and he stumbled into a chair. He felt his eyes watering for some reason.
"You... you turned him into that... thing?" John asked incredulously.
Mycroft's whole body stiffened and his fist clenched.
"That thing is my brother and I went to hell and back saving his life. I would appreciate some respect, Captain." Mycroft said resolutely.
John wasn't ready to give any and he felt himself becoming increasingly angry but he still couldn't stand, his legs seemed to forget how to work.
"The men who just left, the women in that room, who I might add are synthetic themselves and will have their memories wiped after this, ourselves and a contact of mine are the only ones who know the truth. I needed you to know the truth, Captain Watson. I needed you to understand that I care very much for my brother and I would do and have done everything to save him."
John sighed deeply and clenched and unclenched his hands as if he were trying to relieve the tension he was feeling.
"Does Sherlock know?" John asked already knowing the answer but wanting Mycroft to say it.
"No. I have planned on telling him-"
John laughed.
"Five years ago would have been a good start." John said standing and walking to the viewing screen once more. He had seen men in worse conditions than Sherlock on the battlefield, even in his own burrow growing up.
But there was something more hollow about Sherlock now.
Sherlock was barely a man and he didn't know it.
"Who's the doctor?" John asked, "He looks familiar."
"He's our half brother, Doctor Rayburn Holmes." Mycroft replied.
John groaned and rubbed his face.
"Christ, there's three of you?"
"Is that an insult?"
"Take it as you like."
X
Rayburn privately went through Sherlock's recent memories on a tablet, facing away from Mycroft and the man he had called Captain.
The maid, she showed up quite often, the girl Sherlock had crashed in front of.
Rayburn felt quite voyeuristic watching his brother's private and intimate moments but he resolved it was for science. He didn't exactly need to know what his brother was doing right before he crashed but he wanted to see her again, see her give in again...
History does repeat itself, brother mine, Rayburn thought blandly. The girl's name was Molly Hooper, she had been the daughter of Anton Hooper, Sherlock's Watcher mentor.
And as far as Rayburn could tell the girl had no idea that Sherlock had murdered her father.
Molly Hooper was a sweet looking little thing, all flushed cheeks and virginal skin.
Not so virginal anymore, he chuckled to himself, glancing at Sherlock for a moment.
"So, you like blondes," he said mockingly to Sherlock's unconscious form, as if he were afraid Sherlock would suddenly wake up but he knew that was impossible. He had designed the Dream Status program himself.
Rayburn turned his attention back to the tablet.
In a queer way when this little Molly Hooper thing would glance up at Sherlock with those sweet pretty eyes he felt his stomach flutter, like he was Sherlock. Like this sweet cherub was begging him to fuck her.
Subtly, Rayburn bit his bottom lip and found his body slowly reacting to the intimacy Sherlock and Molly shared.
Intimacy is one word to call it, he thought to himself.
Rayburn and Sherlock had had an on again and off again type of relationship. They could stay up for hours talking and agreeing and then the next moment they wouldn't speak for days after a disagreement. They were like fire and ice met a volcano.
When Rayburn was conceived his mother was a housemaid swept away in a whimsical romance with his father and his mother's employer.
History is just one big circle, isn't it, Sherlock? Rayburn thought.
What was it with the Holmes men and maids?
Mrs. Holmes tried and failed to have the maid removed from the home to be sent to a factory where she would surely meet an untimely death.
But Mr. Holmes had put his foot down and said he would take responsibility for his transgression.
The maid was allowed to stay in the home and raise her child but she was to keep her distance from Mrs. Holmes, lest the worse happen.
Mr. Holmes also kept his distance from both mother and child having very little contact with the boy. This had all taken place after the Fall of sectors 15-20.
But children will be children and when the pureblood Holmes boys met the halfbreed Holmes they naturally became friends.
Mrs. Holmes didn't keep the truth from her own children and often called Rayburn "bastard boy" instead of the name given to him by his father.
That was also a blow to Mrs. Holmes, another humiliation that she bore in silence. The name Rayburn was an old family name, it had been Mr. Holmes' father's name and it stung Mrs. Holmes greatly because her husband had refused to give either of their sons his father's name.
The marriage between Sherlock and Mycroft's parents lasted until Mrs. Holmes died of a heart attack, Mr. Holmes followed within two years of cancer.
The inheritance had been split rather unevenly but Rayburn hadn't been expecting much. But Mycroft had looked after him, sending him to school and getting him a good job.
All the half Holmes wanted was for his mother to be well taken care of.
Rayburn loved his mother dearly and knew how much Sherlock and Mycroft appreciated her. To hide the fact she had had a child with a married man Mycroft had given her a new name and identity.
Mrs. Hudson, she was called now...
No one really suspected Mrs. Hudson of ever having a child because she had been labeled as an Infertile. But due to a less than common mistake on her paperwork it turned out the woman had been very fertile.
But Mrs. Hudson lived out her life as a maid and housekeeper, never complaining and remaining faithful to Holmes Sr. and his children.
Rayburn detested that Mycroft used his mother as a spy for him but his mother saw it as her duty. She saw all the boys as her children as she had been more a mother to all of them than Mrs. Holmes.
Sherlock groaned on the table, sweeping Rayburn from his thoughts. He closed the memories on the tablet and placed it on a nearby desk. He scooted forward on his rolling stool and sat at eye level with Sherlock. His half brother wasn't awake yet, just mumbling nonsense.
Rayburn concluded Sherlock would be like this for some time.
"Oh brother mine, what a bother it is to keep you operational." Rayburn said placidly. He had always been seen as the less emotional brother. He felt something akin to brotherhood towards Sherlock and Mycroft but he couldn't call it brotherly love.
X
"Molly Hooper may be a problem," Mycroft said as he and John spoke. The Captain had calmed some but the rage was burning below the surface, John might have been a great spy but even Mycroft could see it.
The telltale twitch in his right eye spoke volumes.
"The maid?" John asked frowning.
Molly Hooper, that name... it's still bugging me, he thought to himself.
"Yes. She was present when Sherlock had his... episode." Mycroft said, brushing an index finger over his brow.
"Present? In what context?" John asked and Mycroft cleared his throat.
"A very delicate context, Captain Watson."
And there it was. Sherlock's behavior became as plain as fucking day. Sherlock was fucking- sleeping with Molly Hooper. John didn't want to use the word "fucking" when thinking of Molly, it seemed very wrong and indelicate.
John's face relaxed, dropped and he sighed deeply.
Lolly Looper, he thought, feeling quite like the idiot.
"I'll talk to her." John said decidedly. Mycroft's eyebrows raised.
"Really?"
"Yeah, sure, why not? She's probably terrified."
"Vulnerable too, I'm sure." Mycroft said with a telling smirk. John detested that face, because that was now the farthest thing from his mind.
No it's not, it's what you turn to when all else fails, a familiar voice reminded him.
"Yeah, I'm also sure she thinks the worst has happened. I'd like to reassure her everything's fine and maybe prevent an innocent young woman from dying."
Mycroft shrugged.
"If you like." Mycroft said and he stood, coming around to look out the viewing screen once more.
John followed him.
"Why not just let him die, Mycroft?" John asked sadly, looking at Sherlock laid out like that. His hand missing, parts of him on other tables being examined.
It wasn't right, it wasn't normal. There was so much about this that was macabre and brutal.
They were all mad scientists in John's eyes. Hacking apart men to make them into their electronic horrors.
Sewing together makeshift walking computers.
The abominations of man would never be outnumbered by any other species, he thought gloomily.
"You best take your leave, Captain." Mycroft said and he leaned forward, both hands against the ledge near the viewing screen, revealing his exhaustion.
Rayburn produced another medical tool, it looked like a saw, ready to cut into something with a result quite gruesome.
John felt his stomach squirm. He didn't want to leave Sherlock, not in this terrible place.
The same savior reflex he felt when looking for the Watcher in the NLD returned.
Tear them apart, take him away, save him!
But the instinct to save, to rescue, had to be pushed aside. There was another who needed him now.
X
John requested to meet Molly at a little cafe during her free time that evening. She had been terribly frightened and had to ask special permission from both Mrs. Hudson and Lady Holmes if she could go, as Sherlock was indisposed and could not give personal permission.
Molly confided in him that Lady Holmes was told by Mycroft himself that her husband was simply away at the hospital and would return shortly. And she believed it. She was supposed to, what else could she do? Why would Mycroft lie to her after all?
Lady Holmes saw nothing wrong with the maid meeting the Captain, telling Molly that Captain Watson was a nice man and meant her no harm.
Mrs. Hudson had been weary but also agreed.
Molly sat beside John in a crowded cafe, speaking low and leaning in close to be able to hear one another as everyone around them seemed to erupt in laughter or some kind of obnoxious noise all at once.
John hated crowds.
"I don't know why you'd want to talk to me about Mr. Holmes." Molly said, avoiding eye contact.
Instead her eyes shot about the room and she would turn her whole body to look at the door as if she were followed. John had appropriately sat facing the door, an old habit and a safe one.
John reached out and pulled Molly's chair closer and she gasped as it shifted beneath her.
"You know why, don't lie," John said stonely. Molly's eyes filled with tears and he regretted his tone. He sighed deeply. "Molly, dangerous people know you were there. They won't harm you though. They know that... that Mr. Holmes would be very upset."
"I-I don't know what I saw..."
Molly held back her tears and John couldn't help but smile weakly.
"I know, but you must promise me, that even though you don't understand what happened, you won't speak of it to anyone."
Molly took a breath and her eyes began to clear and she nodded.
She's stronger than she thinks, he thought.
Molly shifted and their knees brushed against one another and he felt an electric current run up his leg, landing in the pit of his stomach. She didn't move away, though she definitely felt it too because that was the moment she chose to look him in the eye.
"I'm afraid." She said honestly. John reached down and touched her hand and she immediately gripped it tightly.
"I know. Would it make you feel better if I told I was too?" He asked her gently. She giggled and sniffled.
"I wouldn't believe you." She said sweetly. He smiled wider.
"Why?"
"Men like you don't get scared. Men like you and Mr. Holmes."
John looked away, feeling mildly stung by her words but knowing she didn't know they were two very different men. If only Molly knew how frightened he had been before. How scared he had been on the night he lost the one person he promised he would always keep safe.
John returned his eyes to her, she was still holding his hand under the table. He wanted to kiss her in that moment. He wanted to fight for her love where he knew Sherlock couldn't. He wanted to be the brave man for her.
Let me touch you, he thought staring into her eyes. He tested the waters, those tepid waters that could grow hot at any moment.
John caressed her knee with his own a little more firmly, he watched her eyes dilate and she didn't move away.
"Molly, come home with me," he whispered and she sighed, seeming to come back to herself, averting her eyes and taking her hand from his.
The warmth of her knee disappeared and he found himself missing it dearly.
"I cannot. I..."
"You promised yourself to him." John said dejectedly, almost accusingly. His ego was bruised as well as his manhood. But more than that and he was ashamed to admit it, he was outdone by a fucking robot.
John kept trying to remind himself he couldn't be mad at Sherlock, this wasn't the Watcher's fault. But damn it he needed someone to blame. If it hadn't been for Sherlock-fucking-Holmes he wouldn't be in this mess.
Molly raised her chin and her back straightened, her eyes flashed with anger for the first time in his presence.
"I am promised to no man." She said firmly before rising and leaving the cafe.
"Shit." John muttered and he chased after her. He caught up to Molly, the night was still young, the air was cold and he followed the angry puffs of her breath as they left her body.
"Hooper!" He called after her. She turned but only for a moment before walking on after people seemed to begin staring.
John finally grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her down a small sidestreet.
"Unhand me." She hissed at him and he did, raising his hands, showing her he didn't want to hurt her.
"Molly, you shouldn't walk alone. It's dangerous." He said to her, his tone apologetic and she seemed to agree.
There was tension boiling, everything the other was feeling beginning to take firm hold of them like tormenting hands.
"I... I don't want to give him up. My heart is breaking." She said suddenly, her voice cracking. He couldn't watch her cry, it tore apart so many pieces of him.
"Don't, please, don't do that." He begged but it seemed to only make matters worse and she buried her face in her hands.
John felt himself being taken back to that night... the night he lost all he held dear to him. Her eyes so like Molly's and yet completely different; but it wasn't the color or the shape... it was the look.
Her voice had been broken too, her makeup smeared with her tears, blood coating his hands as he rocked her body back and forth.
And worst of all, that body he had loved that contained the soul of the most sacred woman he ever knew, had to be left behind.
John had left her body in that alley where she bled out, where he failed to save her. Where he stayed, physically returning, but his soul had stayed to lay and die beside her.
You still can't say my name, can you my love? He heard her voice whisper to him.
Molly licked her lips and wiped her eyes and John felt something take hold of him.
With heavy steps he reached for Molly, gripping the side of her waist securely and pressing his mouth to hers while pressing her back against a wall. She didn't fight but she didn't return his kiss either. Not until, with his free hand, he cupped her cheek and ran his thumb across her cheekbone and she shivered and closed her eyes even tighter.
Molly's lips parted and he thrust his tongue passionately into her mouth and she moaned quietly in the back of her throat as she allowed his wet assault on her mouth.
Eventually both of his hands found her waist and he pulled her body closer to his.
Molly wrapped her arms around his neck as they kissed in a seedy side street, unaware they were being watched.
John pulled away a little, their breath scorching against the lips of the other.
"I'm sorry-" John tried to say before she pulled him in for another kiss.
This time there was no question or hesitation in her kiss.
John pressed her more firmly into the wall, hoisting her up and wrapping her legs around his waist. She stroked the nape of his neck sweetly, lovingly...
Is she thinking of him? He wondered sadly and jealously.
God, it was so wrong... the heat of the moment, the vulnerability, the loss, the sadness... it was all soul crushing.
It was heartbreaking. He broke for Molly and with her all at once. He wanted to take her pain away and drown his own.
They were a catalyst for the other, a conduit into which they could drench their grief in.
Molly felt his hands pawing at her body, forcing her dress up her waist and she gripped him tighter with her thighs forcing him to groan hard against her.
I am no one's, no man owns me, she thought.
But was it true? She bent so easily to two men already and really, how well did she know both of them?
Molly had once felt liberated in the arms of Mr. Holmes, loved even. But with John it was only to satisfy a need, an itch she couldn't scratch herself. A warm body to remind her of someone else... someone to love her, to take the pain away, to forget...
Molly tilted her face away from his as he kissed her neck and he paused.
John stared at the lovebite just below her ear. He felt himself harden, he felt himself grow cold, he felt a needy and queer compulsion to compete.
He's been here, John thought strangely.
The moment didn't last long before he put his mouth over the lovebite and she moaned warmly against him and when he bit down hard she clenched her eyes shut, but the tears still trickled out.
Mine, mine for tonight, he thought. He felt like an animal. He felt desperate to leave his own mark on her, even if she would never be his.
John reached further under her and pushed her underwear aside.
Molly could hardly focus on anything except the throbbing between her legs and the sharp pain in her neck.
But she did hear the clank of John hurriedly undoing his belt and pulling his zipper down. He picked her up a little higher and before she could open her mouth she felt him lowering her onto his cock.
She gripped him closer, her fists beating into his shoulders. She gasped and moaned sharply, for he gave her no time at all and began battering her with his cock.
John hit deep and hard inside her, so much so she thought she would come in seconds.
Molly fell back against the cold wall, it was raining a little, barely drizzling. The humidity making it hard to breathe. They panted and groaned like wild animals in a feeding frenzy.
Above their heads she saw a transport taking off for Mars or Astrid 1 or one of the other colonies and she imagined herself for a moment of being there with Sherlock...
John could hardly control himself, undone and outmanned by a fucking robot! He couldn't keep up with his brain, he wanted to show her what a real man felt like. That she needn't pine so kindly after Sherlock.
Leaning in close, he felt compelled to whisper to her,
"I could be good to you," he looked her in the eyes. He thrust slower but deeply, punctuating certain words with his thrusts. He saw tears forming at the corners of her eyes again. "I could take care of you." It sounded like a vow, a pledge to her and only her.
But Molly only shook her head, no...
John choked back a sob and Molly saw his revenge in his eyes as he picked up his speed again and fucked her brutally into the wall, planting a hand beside her head like a prison. She cried out into his neck, it wasn't painful, it was glorious.
It was real flesh, blood, rain, sweat, desire and there was no going back.
And all the while, they were still unaware they were being watched.
The drone not far away, recording them.
Losing the battle within himself not to come too soon John felt himself nearing his end. He felt his stomach clench and he began erratically thrusting into her. She tried to remain as quiet she could but both were failing.
"Fuck, fuck," he moaned. He lifted both her legs up a little higher and with each thrust she seemed to sit up a little straighter. He hated Sherlock in that moment. He betrayed his friend, he took his woman, he brutally had his way with her against a wall where anyone could see them, and he didn't care.
John knew his retribution in that moment, it was barbaric and primal. But he wanted to, he wanted to so badly. He leaned in close to Molly. He felt her cunt clenching around him, fuck she was so wet it was amazing.
"I'm gonna come inside you," he told her giving her no choice, he was shaking all over.
Molly didn't seem to understand at first and then she did and then the realization she couldn't stop him dawned on her.
Pushing her hands against his chest and stomach and then his shoulders to stop him but her attempts were in vain. He was stronger than her. And though her instincts told her to fight, something else inside her sparked brightly at the prospect of him coming inside her.
Molly remembered what the doctor had told her about sleeping with men without a condom and realized they hadn't used one. She felt like an idiot. Like a tramp.
But she wanted the Captain, she had wanted him so badly. And yet he didn't make her forget Sherlock, if anything, it made her yearn for him more.
"Please," she whimpered and he kissed her chastely.
"Ask me to, please ask me to." He begged sharply.
"Please... come inside me."
"Aw, fuck, fuck." He rutted harder into her and she hung onto his shoulders as he fucked her to her bliss and he followed moments after.
Pumping his come inside her little pussy, fully marking her, branding her.
John's legs nearly gave out on him. He breathed hard against her and she released him, letting her arms fall numbly at her sides. He gently placed her back on her feet, tucking himself back into his jeans, buckling his belt.
Molly leaned against the wall of the building for support and straightened her clothing, fixing her underwear which immediately dampened against her womanhood.
"I- I'm sorry." John said and she began to walk away from him. The rain became heavier. She didn't turn back to look at him but she stopped a few feet away.
"I'm a whore, aren't I? I love him and I let you... I let you-" She stopped herself, keeping her back to him. John didn't try going after her this time.
"You're not a whore, Molly." John said to her, the rain continued to pour, becoming burdensome.
"Goodbye... John." She said before walking down the sidestreet. Little did she know that John followed her home anyway, making sure she got there safely.
X
Rayburn was thoroughly surprised by what he saw. He had to stop himself from laughing.
"She gets around, Sherlock," he joked to his sleeping half brother. He had a drone follow the Captain and learned his name was John Watson and after a little surveillance found out he was Sherlock's partner.
"My, my, you really know how to pick them, brother mine." Rayburn said placing the tablet at his side. He stood up and went to check Sherlock's vitals once more. He heard a groan but thought nothing of it.
Sherlock's limbs had been updated and had been returned to his body. He still wouldn't be conscious for another ten hours, maybe more.
Rayburn took a sip from his coffee cup and tapped a few commands at the monitors.
"I mean, she just melted into him. He's your friend right? Some guy, really looks out for his friends," Rayburn continued laughing, completely unaware that his brother's eyes were flickering open and closed.
"If she spreads it that easily for you and your friend maybe I should give it a try. Then Mycroft!"
Sherlock was once again unsure of where exactly he was but he recognized Rayburn's voice.
"Here let's superimpose it shall we? We're all alone, got plenty of time to kill." Rayburn said and he plugged the tablet into the computer monitor, it blew up five times it size.
Sherlock blinked as he tried to focus on what exactly he was seeing. He quickly deduced that Rayburn thought he was unconscious hence his queer way of talking.
When his eyes finally did focus it was only on one thing.
John Watson and Molly... his Molly! Together, it was dark, it was... it was going to make him sick.
Sherlock felt his fists clenched.
"Shit, Captain has got great stamina. Mycroft shouldn't keep things from me, I like knowing. And seeing, seeing is always better. Look at him just fuck the living daylights out of her-"
And that was the time Sherlock punched his brother in the face, knocking his glasses off and nearly breaking his jaw.
"Shut up." He rasped. Sherlock glanced around the room at the different screens, the different x-rays. He glared at the recording of John and Molly fucking like animals in an alley somewhere. He paused it and deleted it. There would time to question that later.
The shock was still very much real.
There was a video that was listed as Procedure 10, Sherlock Holmes. He would always regret pressing play.
AN: Hey guys! I'm back from vacation, I watched Doctor Strange (again, saw it in theaters) loved it of course! I hope you're enjoying the story still! And to all those who hoped Molly would get pregnant, well, sorry to squash your hopes. I really don't think Sherlock can conceive babies anymore but I also hope it answers one question why someone isn't. I hope to hear from you guys soon! Thank you so much for your support. Love you tons! 3