Molly gave a soft groan as she tried to turn her head, only to be stopped by someone's hand pressing her back against the pillow she rested on. Her mind was fuzzy, as if she'd gone out drinking and taken too much, but she knew better than that, hadn't done such a foolish thing since her first year at uni. Drinking in public was tantamount to asking for a Vampire to bite you.
A Vampire. Biting. Her neck…Molly's eyes flew open as memory came rushing back in a flood. Her neck hurt, a throbbing ache like nothing she'd ever experienced in her life, and she lifted her hand (shaking, paler than normal) in an automatic gesture of exploration. Another hand, paler even than her own, stopped the movement, gently tugging her fingers away from the wound.
"It's bandaged, but if you touch it you'll cause yourself more pain to no good purpose," Sherlock said, his voice remote, as if he held no personal interest in what he was telling her. "It's all part of the process," he continued, while Molly fought to read the expression on his face in the continued darkness of the room. "In order for the Mark to fully take no medication can be allowed, either externally on the wound itself or taken internally for the pain. I'm…sorry."
With those last two words, finally, a hint of emotion – more than a hint. Regret, Molly thought. Sincere regret. And he seemed genuinely concerned about the pain she was feeling, both emotions she never would have expected a Vampire to express. It seemed the longer she knew Sherlock – had it really been less than a day? – the more he managed to surprise her. "It's all right," she found herself saying wincing a bit at the pain on the side of her neck.
Sherlock obviously saw the wince, the fleeting expression of pain on her face; even in the continuing darkness of the room his reaction was clear; a flinch away from her, then that preternatural stillness all Vampires managed so effortlessly. As clearly as if he'd announced it, she could tell he intended to flee, and did the only thing she could think of to stop him, knowing it for nothing more than a gesture but one she felt compelled to make.
She reached out and took his hand in hers. Gripped it as tightly as she could, squeezing it reassuringly before raising it to her lips and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. He'd hurt her, yes, but he'd done it to save her life, and she would never forget that, no matter what sort of life she found herself living now.
His hand remained very still within her grasp, the slight chill in his flesh slowly dissipating the longer she held him. Finally he moved, rubbing his thumb over hers before gently disentangling his hand from hers and clearing his throat in a very human manner. "I've brought you some juice from Mrs. Hudson's flat, and a straw," he said, gesturing toward the nightstand. Molly carefully turned her head, squinting in the darkness, groping with one hand for the offered drink. Sherlock's hand was there ahead of hers, bringing the cup to her lips and helping her sit up enough to drink it. She was touched by the way he seemed to hover so helplessly around her, as if he thought he should be doing more for her.
"Would it be all right...I mean, would you mind if we had a light in here?" Molly asked, hesitant to ask favors even knowing this Vampire – who now owned her in the eyes of law, as her aching throat reminded her – was unlike any other she'd ever met. Especially his brother, the one who'd delighted in placing her in this exact situation. She shivered, hoping she wouldn't have to ever meet him again.
As if reading her mind, Sherlock said, "Mycroft rarely visits here. And when he does, I do my best to ensure that those visits are kept as brief as possible. Your presence here and his own role in forcing the issue between us will ensure that I am even more vigilant in keeping him out of my life."
Then he rose to his feet, vanishing from her side as if teleported, leaving her holding the cup in her trembling hands. He returned moments later, carrying something bulky which turned out to be a lamp with a rather alarming pink, fringed shade over the bulb. "Nicked it from Mrs. Hudson's flat," he announced proudly as he placed on the bed-side table and plugged it in. After flicking it on he settled on the edge of the bed and once again turned his gorgeous blue-green eyes her way.
"Won't she miss it?" Molly tried to protest, but Sherlock waved her concerns away.
"I'll buy her a new one. Or buy you a different one. Well, I suppose I'll let you do the buying since Vampires aren't supposed to concern themselves with such trivial matters." That last was spoken with an unmistakable air of contempt for his own kind, which Molly easily deduced – and which further eased her concerns regarding her future. "And you'll have to make sure to only make purchases at places Mrs. Hudson recommends," he added, peering closely at her. She subconsciously moved back; not far, not with the pillows and headboard behind her, but enough for him to notice and frown. "Contrary to popular belief, not all Vampires are oblivious to the fact that the Humans they Mark are treated differently by other Humans. I don't want this...situation...to put you out any more than it has to."
He was still showing what appeared to be genuine concern for her, and she still didn't quite understand it. It was confusing; bad enough her entire world had been turned upside down by this man's brother; didn't he realize how disorienting it was for him to treat her like he actually cared about her, about the pain and emotional distress she was in?
Then again, there was something to be said for being fussed over like this; she hadn't had anyone looking out for her since her parents had died. And for someone who was technically the enemy, she felt incredibly comfortable with Sherlock, and not just the sexual pull she'd felt the moment she laid eyes on him.
"Normally I'm perfectly indifferent to how others perceive me, Molly, but I just wanted to say that….I hope you don't hate me for this," he said, the last words coming out in a rush.
"You saved my life," she said simply. "Or would your brother not have killed me like he said he would?"
"Oh, he would have done it, absolutely," Sherlock replied, with no hesitation. "Or had Anthea do it for him. So yes, I suppose if you want to look at it that way, you could say I…"
She silenced him by pressing her fingers to his lips, an act of daring she'd never have predicted herself capable of making. "Thank you for saving my life. I don't hate you. But I am a bit knackered; do you mind…would it be all right if I tried to get some sleep now?"
He nodded and rose to his feet. God, he was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him, and Molly wondered if she was letting her attraction to him cloud her judgement. Then she thought of Mycroft's cold blue eyes, the equally cold gaze of his PA, and told herself to stop fretting over it. She belonged to this Vampire now, and whether there was some actual connection between them, the way she thought there was, or whether it was purely sexual, didn't matter.
Her last thought before slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep, was to wonder what fate had in store for her next.
