So this is a slightly darker more angsty chapter and there are trigger warnings for non-consensual sex. I wanted to make it clear though that there won't be a lot of this throughout the story and all references in this chapter are in flashback.

By the way, thank you for all your reviews and comments and follows and favourites, glad you're enjoying it so far.

Chapter 7

Molly woke up the next day feeling hellishly groggy and hung over. The sun shining through the curtains seemed to burn into her eyes and she groaned as she flung her arm over her face. Weird snippets of her dreams came back to her adding to her discomfort. Not for the first time she'd dreamt of Sherlock but this was just downright odd, not her normal sort of dream. She'd been shackled to a bed in some kind of underground cave, no doubt inspired by their trip round the burial mounds the day before.

They hadn't been alone, surrounding them had been half a dozen people wearing cloaks and masks watching and chanting. Molly felt embarrassed just thinking about it, she was obviously getting too invested in this case for it to seep into her sub-conscious like this. She'd been naked as had Sherlock and she had been lying on the bed, holding onto the chains at her wrist whilst squirming with desire, trying to rub her legs together to gain some kind of friction. He'd looked just as turned on, his erection jutting out in front of him as he was held by two of the onlookers.

When they'd let him go he'd come straight to her, if she closed her eyes she could almost feel him climbing on top of her and roughly pushing her knees apart before he'd just thrust straight into her without any kind of foreplay or preamble. Not that she'd minded, she'd wanted it, wanted him and she hadn't cared, in her dream, who was watching. All that mattered was that he was fucking her and helping her reach her release.

She threw the covers off herself and padded into the en suite. She needed a shower, she'd made herself feel a bit grubby. She'd never had quite such a kinky imagination before.

She had to admit she felt much better after her shower. She left her hair down, to dry naturally and went in search of some coffee and maybe an aspirin or two. At least the extra drinks had done the trick of stopping her feeling scared at night, though maybe she could have done with one or two less, she couldn't even remember going to bed that clearly.

For once, it appeared she'd beaten Sherlock to breakfast. It gave her a chance to eat more leisurely and read a paper whilst she sipped at her tea. He appeared just as she was finishing her second cup and she was surprised by how dishevelled he looked, 'hi, didn't you sleep well, you look...umm..rough?'

He sat down opposite her and scanned her face, she could tell he was trying to deduce her, 'what's up?'

'How did you sleep Molly? Any bad dreams at all?'

Molly blushed remembering her sex fantasies of him; he wouldn't be able to tell that...would he?

'Not bad, just...weird, strange. Why?'

He suddenly reached for her hand and pulled it towards him whilst she frowned and watched, wondering what he was up too. He turned her wrist over and his thumb grazed across a slight red mark that Molly hadn't spotted before. Then he reached up and moved her hair away from her neck and tugged on the collar of her t-shirt to pull it down slightly. Whatever he saw made him push the chair back so harshly it fell over. He seemed to stagger backwards before turning and almost running out of the door to the garden at the back of the pub.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Sherlock felt as if all the air in his lungs had been removed. He stopped on the path outside of the pub and leant over with his hands on his knees trying to breathe but his head swam and he thought for a moment that he might even be sick.

He hadn't wanted to believe it was true but deep down, from the moment he'd awoken, he'd known it was. He had been a drug addict for long enough to know the after effects.

His mind swam with images, Molly lying on a makeshift bed, chains at her wrists pulling on them and staring at him with eyes so full of lust. He could remember how painfully hard he had been, it had been overwhelming. Whatever he...no they had been given had been mind-altering as well as acting as some kind of powerful aphrodisiac. He remembered the aching, desperate need that he had felt for her. He hadn't wanted to be kept away and felt euphoric when those holding him had let him go. Immediately he had gone to her; feeling her under him, how good it had felt to thrust into her as she held onto her chains urging him on.

Even in the midst of it all though he must have had some doubt in his mind that it might not be the dream that it seemed to be. He'd bent his head to her neck and at the same time as he fucked her he had marked her, sucking on her skin until it was red and bruised.

He had hoped beyond hope when he came down to breakfast that that mark wouldn't be there...but it had been.

'Sherlock...are you OK? What's the matter?'

He felt her hands on his back and shoulders guiding him back until he could sit on the edge of one of the benches dotted around the beer garden at the back of the pub. Molly perched herself next to him and he could barely look at her, how could he tell her that he had effectively raped her?

'Please, Sherlock, I've never seen you like this. Please tell me what's wrong?'

She put her hand to his cheek trying to turn his face towards her but he leant back, pulling himself out of her grasp. He needed to get control of himself, this wasn't helping anyone.

He took a couple of shuddering breaths and when he felt his heart rate starting to lower he spoke, 'it wasn't a dream Molly, none of it. We must have been drugged, I have a few ideas what it was but we'll need to take blood tests to be sure.'

He finally glanced at her to find her looking at him in complete confusion, 'what wasn't a dream?' But she spoke quietly as though she didn't really want to hear his answer.

He pursed his lips, before forcing himself to go on, 'you, me, last night. We...I...I raped you. God, Molly I am so sorry. I should have done something; I should have realised...or tried harder...'

She pulled away from him and sat there, with her hands suddenly useless in her lap and he saw the blood actually drain from her horrified face as she stared at the ground trying to take in what he had just said.

'Please say something Molly. Do you understand what I'm telling you?'

She shook her head slowly from side to side, 'no...no..you're wrong. I'd know...I...' She caught sight of the red mark across her wrists and held her hands up turning them over and back again. Then she put her hand to her neck, to the site of his mark. 'What's on my neck?' Her voice was barely a whisper.

'I did it, I think I was trying to prove to myself that it wasn't real but I ended up proving that it was.'

Molly was reeling. Her emotions felt almost numb as though she couldn't take in what her brain knew to be true. She'd had sex with Sherlock, but in the most horrific and humiliating circumstances. The trouble was all she could remember clearly was how good it had felt, how much she'd wanted him...what did that say about her? She should be feeling disgusted...and she was but not with him, with the people who had done this to them.

She suddenly became aware that he was sat with his head in his hands; he'd said that he'd raped her but that wasn't true.

She reached for his hand pulling it from his face and holding it in her own much smaller one. 'It's OK Sherlock...this...' She gulped trying to find the words, '...this is not your fault. You are just as much of a victim in this as I am. You are not to blame.'

Now it was his turn to shake his head, 'but I was unrestrained, I obviously knew something wasn't right which was why I gave you that love bite, I should have done more, I should have fought them.'

'No, you can't think like that. We need to use this, we need to get the people who did this to us, who could do this to Lily. This is evidence, you can use it. I...um...I remember the ceiling, it was rough...stone...like some kind of underground cavern...' She swallowed heavily and Sherlock could see how much effort this was costing her, 'they had brown robes, heavy wool. I'm sure one of them was a woman, I saw long hair...blond.'

Her determination gave him the strength to do the same, he listened to her recounting any bits of information she could remember and he added to it his own recollections. He felt sure that with a geological map they would be able to narrow down where this cavern could potentially be. He also wanted to confirm his suspicions regarding the drugs they'd had used on them. Action and control made him feel better than any apology or sentiment.

'We need to report this to Lestrade.' He ploughed on when he saw Molly blanch and shake her head, 'Molly, it's a crime, we have to. He'll be discreet, no one else need know. He'll be able to link us up with a facility to help us take blood samples.' He took out his phone and started dialling. Molly stood quickly.

'I...I just need a moment before we leave.'

He stood with her, his phone forgotten momentarily. He put up his hand towards her but stopped before he touched her letting it fall back down again, 'are you OK? Is there anything I can do?'

She tried to smile to reassure him but it felt and looked forced, 'I just need to go back to my room. I'll be back down soon. You talk to Greg but I don't want to hear it.'

She turned and walked away leaving Sherlock staring helplessly after her.

Back in her room she sat on the edge of the bed and closed her eyes. All the same images and feelings came roaring back. She could taste him; feel his skin sliding against hers but underlying it all now was a sense of utter humiliation. Who had been there watching them? Who had drugged them? They must have took her from this very room. She looked around nervously as though she might find them still there.

A single choked sob escaped her and she bit the back of her hand willing herself not to give it to her feelings. She needed to stay strong, to help Sherlock solve it. She needed to feel anger rather than despair. It just seemed like the worst kind of trick that the one thing she had wanted so desperately had been granted to her but in such horrific circumstances.

In the end she washed her face in the small sink in the en suite and looked herself square in the eye in the mirror before making her way back downstairs.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

They ended up taking a cab just over twenty miles to the nearest hospital, one which supported the local police, where Lestrade had called ahead to help gain them access to any equipment they required. It felt good to be back in a lab.

As they waited for a toxicology report on their bloods Sherlock decided to raise something with Molly that he was sure would not be well received, 'Molly I think you should go back to London.'

Her head swung round in shock, 'what, no!'

'Yes...Molly it's clearly not safe for you. I don't need you here. You'll just be a distraction to me.'

Really interested to know what you think of this development...and what do you reckon, should Molly go home?