Molly turned and stretched a bit, then froze as she felt a foreign presence by her side. Who…how…
Oh. Right. Sherlock Holmes. The Vampire she now belonged to, the one who'd Marked her, as the pain in her throat reminded her. She turned carefully to look at him in the dim light of the lamp he'd left burning, wondering how long she'd slept, but knowing it had to be morning if he was asleep.
The sound of ticking caught her attention, and she reluctantly removed her eyes from Sherlock's unconscious form to see that at some point he'd added an old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock on the nightstand next to the lamp. He'd probably appropriated that from his housekeeper as well, but Molly found it extremely telling that he'd thought to provide it in the first place, no matter where he'd gotten it from. After all, Vampires had no need for alarm clocks, since their bodies were uniquely synched to the rising and setting of the sun.
One of the few absolutely proven facts about Vampires that they hadn't been able to keep Humans from knowing was how vulnerable they were in the daylight. The movies had got that part absolutely right; Vampires went up in flames when directly touched by sunlight, burning like torches until nothing but ash was left. Not only that, but the sun seemed to have a strong soporific effect on them as well, based on how long it had been since they'd been Turned. The younger the Vampire, the stronger the effect.
These two facts made them incredibly vulnerable, of course; all it would take for Molly to kill Sherlock, for example, would be for her to tear down the blackout curtains, wrench open the shutters on his bedroom window, and let the daylight stream into the room. He would smolder and sizzle and eventually burst into flames, especially if she removed the covers from his body so there was nothing between him and the sunlight but whatever clothing he was currently wearing.
"Don't even think about it, sweetheart."
Gasping, Molly turned her head – flinching and gritting her teeth at the second explosion of pain from her wounded throat – to see who had spoken.
There was a man leaning against the doorframe to the bedroom, one Molly had never seen before, clad all in black and picking his nails with the tip of a very sharp-looking dagger. Tall, gangly-looking, with a scraggly beard and rather tired eyes. "Who, who are you?" she asked, flinching a bit as Sherlock mumbled something in his sleep and shifted slightly. Just enough to press his forehead up against her shoulder. "And don't even think about what?" Molly continued with a bit of false bravado when the stranger remained silent.
He nodded at Sherlock, then glanced at the windows. "Openin' the windows up and letttin' 'im burn," he said, flashing her a smile that revealed just enough fang to make her flinch. No vampire could be that conscious during the daytime, so he had to be one of the half-breeds – Bloods, they called themselves, she remembered, although no Humans called them that. "Mr. 'Olmes mayn't be your cup o' tea, sweetheart, but he's a good man and killin' him would be a mistake." His smile became decidedly unfriendly and his fangs more visible as he added, "Oh, and they call me the Wig…"
An unexpected sound from Sherlock interrupted them, a derisive snort of what Molly cautiously decided was laughter. "No they don't," he mumbled.
Molly stared at him; his eyes were still closed, his breathing still virtually undetectable, yet he was clearly awake enough to understand the bizarre conversation. She tucked that fact carefully away in her mind; Sherlock Holmes had been a Vampire long enough that he didn't turn into a virtual corpse during the daytime. Important or not, it was one more fact than she'd had before.
"Yeah, well, they call me Wiggy," the stranger tried again, seeming a bit disconcerted as well, although he kept his gaze firmly fixed on Molly.
"Nope," Sherlock, mumbled, clearly popping the 'p' at the end of the word. Molly bit back the urge to giggle at the byplay; she had the feeling that her extreme emotional swings this morning were something she was going to be suffering for a while.
'The Wig' or 'Wiggy' or whoever the hell he was huffed impatiently. "Yeah, right, Billy Wiggins then, but no matter what they call me, if you offed Mr. 'Olmes, I'd still 'ave to kill you, to avenge him and all. I mean, yeah, I'd get all his stuff if he died…"
"No you wouldn't," Sherlock mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. Molly glanced down and saw that his eyes were only barely open now, the lids drooping back down as she watched. His hold on her tightened– when had he moved his hand so that it pressed against her abdomen? – and he nuzzled her shoulder a bit before slurring out, "Get Miss Hooper some breakfast, Billy, and make sure someone looks at her neck." Then he apparently passed out again, leaving Molly feeling a bit dizzy…and not entirely from all the blood she'd lost the previous night.
VV VV VV VV VV VV VV
An hour later Molly found herself being fussed over by Sherlock's Human housekeeper while Wiggins – who was apparently Sherlock's daytime bodyguard, which made sense and was something she would have anticipated if her head wasn't still spinning from the sudden turnaround in her life – hovered in the background as if unsure if it was safe to leave the two Humans alone together.
Mrs. Hudson, it would seem, had her own opinions on the matter; she turned on him after settling Molly (clad only in her underwear and one of Sherlock's many dressing-gowns since her own clothing was currently in the wash) on the sofa with a breakfast tray, and snapped: "You know you're supposed to be downstairs, Billy; Mr. Holmes knows he can trust me and obviously he's Marked Miss Hooper, so she's no danger to him, either. Now, shoo! You'll need to let the doctor in when she gets here!"
Ducking his head and shuffling his feet a bit, Wiggins mumbled something about Humans not knowing their place that sounded very weak even to Molly's ears, then ambled his way out of the flat and down the stairs, whistling an off-key rendition of a popular love song.
Once they were alone, Mrs. Hudson settled herself on one of the flat's two chairs and gave Molly a motherly smile. "Well, now that we've some privacy, my dear, why don't you tell me how you came to find yourself in this situation? Because I know Sherlock, and he once made a very serious vow never to do such a thing to anyone."
Molly had no idea if she could trust this woman – who refused to answer any questions about herself "until I've gotten to know you a bit better, my dear" – but was of an age that meant she must have been allowed to live because of some specific usefulness to the Vampires. Molly's own grandparents had thankfully passed away before the purges, and it was so rare to see a Human over the age of 50 that she couldn't stop staring at the other woman, who only smiled tolerantly and indicated that Molly should start speaking.
After a moment's hesitation, Molly did just that. After all, she had nothing to hide and no reason to hide it. So she explained the entire sordid affair, skimming over the night's activities but seeing a knowing smile on Mrs. Hudson's lips when she mumbled out that Sherlock had agreed to Mark her to save her life – and stressing that she didn't blame him or hate him for doing so.
She wasn't even sure why she told Mrs. Hudson that part of it; what did it matter how Molly felt about the Vampire to whom she was now tied for the rest of her life? Or rather, how she didn't feel, since she still wasn't entirely sure how she felt about him other than the fact that she didn't hate him.
"He's a good man."
Molly blinked and gave Mrs. Hudson a quizzical look. "Sorry?" she said, realizing she'd been somewhat lost in her thoughts and might have missed something the other woman had said.
"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson clarified, nodding toward the bedroom door, which was now closed and locked, with blackout curtains pulled tight over it as well even though the windows in the parlor were also shuttered and covered with blackout curtains. "He's a good man."
A good man. The very same words Wiggins had used to describe him – and not words Molly had expected to hear even once, let alone twice. The repetition caused her to pay even closer attention to Mrs. Hudson's words than she would have otherwise. "He saved my life as well, once upon a time." She sighed as if at the memory, while a fond smile played across her lips. "My husband had been Turned, you see, and he was determined to rid himself entirely of any reminders of his Human life – meaning me," she added drily. "Sherlock stopped him, shipped him off to America, and had his people keep an eye on him. Ultimately he ran afoul of the local Vampires and ended up with his throat torn out, but that was bound to happen to him sooner or later." She leaned forward and said in a confidential whisper, "He really wasn't a very nice man even when he was Human."
"Oh," was all Molly could say to that surprising bit of information. Groping for something to add to that, she tried, "So, um, you must be very fond of him, Sherlock, I mean. Like a sort of son to you, is he?"
Mrs. Hudson snickered a bit at that. "Oh, yes, well, I suppose so now that I'm so much older, but at the time?" She shook her head and winked. "I was only twenty, Miss Hooper, and quite a looker if I do say so myself. Sherlock and I had a much more, hmm, how should I put it? Physical relationship back then."
"Oh," Molly said weakly, hating that she was repeating herself, hating how inarticulate she was, but honestly, what else was there to say?
A sudden fear gripped her; was this woman jealous of her, was she planning to get rid of a romantic rival? It wasn't unheard of, for the vassals loyal to a Vampire to quietly get rid of any Humans they felt to be a threat!
Mrs. Hudson apparently read Molly's fear, because she leaned forward again, this time patting Molly's hand consolingly. "Not to worry, dear; those feelings faded a long time ago, and honestly? It was really just sex between us. And gratitude on my part, of course, which I've never lost." Her voice and expression hardened, and her grip on Molly's hand tightened. "Which is why I'm going to tell you this, right now, so you know exactly where you stand: if you ever do anything to hurt Sherlock, even if he forbids us to harm you, which I'm sure he will when he wakes up this evening, Billy and I will make sure you pay. He saved Billy's life as well, when he'd fallen into drug use and his Vampire father abandoned him. We're both quite fiercely loyal, you see."
Molly snatched her hand away as Mrs. Hudson released her and once again relaxed in her chair with a friendly smile on her face. "I'm perfectly willing to believe you won't do any such thing, of course, but you understand why I have to be cautious in this day and age." She sighed, her smile vanishing into a melancholy frown. "I miss those days of blissful ignorance, really I do, but this is the world we live in now and all we can do is make the best of things. As long as you don't betray Sherlock, you and I should get along quite well."
As Molly continued to stare at her, Mrs. Hudson tutted and nodded at the breakfast tray still resting on Molly's lap. "Eat up, my dear; you'll need your strength while you recover from being Marked. Not everyone survives the process, you know."
Those words, so casually spoken, sent a chill down Molly's spine, and she nearly spilled the contents of the tray on her lap as she shuddered. "What, what do you mean?" she asked when she could finally speak, staring at the older woman in consternation. The threats she understood, of course she did; if Sherlock had saved Mrs. Hudson's life and been her lover, then of course the other woman would be protective of him. But Molly had never heard about people not surviving the Marking process before; was Sherlock's housekeeper-slash-guardian just trying to scare her?
Apparently not. "Oh, it's true enough," Mrs. Hudson said, sounding and looking sympathetic again, although Molly wasn't sure if it was real or not. The older woman had made so many emotional turnarounds in the short time Molly had known her that it was impossible to tell how much of it was real and how much of it an act calculated to keep Molly exactly where she was: entirely off-balance and unsure of herself. "Dr. Morstan will tell you, just as soon as she gets here." She nodded at the tray again, a bit more sharply this time. "I know you've been given quite a lot of information in a very short period of time and had your life entirely upset by Mycroft and Sherlock, but I insist that you eat every bite. You can't be transfused until the Mark is healed."
With that, she rose to her feet and headed for the kitchen, where Molly heard her fussing with the kettle and presumably getting herself a fresh cuppa to replace the one she'd let go cold while alternately comforting and scaring the shit out of 221B's newest resident.
Ten minutes later Molly had managed to choke down her toast and eggs and a few bites of the sausage. Whatever else she was, Mrs. Hudson was an excellent cook, and Molly had always had a strong stomach even when her emotions were in as much upheaval as they currently were. She was sipping her second cup of tea – liberally laced with sugar and heavy cream at Mrs. Hudson's insistence – when the sound of footsteps on the stairs alerted the two women to the arrival of a visitor.
"Oh, good, that'll be Mary, she's a dear, she'll give you a good lookover and make sure you don't suffer too much during the process!"
Molly just shook her head as Mrs. Hudson rose to her feet and opened the door to the flat, calling "Hoo hoo, Mary! So nice to see you again!" down the stairs.
"Well, Alice, you're well and truly down the rabbit hole, nothing to do but hold on and hope for the best," she mumbled to herself before taking another sip and placing the cup back on the tray, mentally bracing herself for whatever happened next. Learning that being Marked wasn't always successful – that she could actually die from the process! – was disturbing and frightening, to say the least, but she shoved her worries way, way down so she could concentrate on leaning whatever she could from this new visitor.
The woman who accompanied Mrs. Hudson into the flat was a petite blonde who didn't look much taller than Molly, and was possibly five years older than her, which would place her solidly in her middle thirties. Her hair was cut in a flattering bob and her blue eyes were warm and friendly. "Hullo, I'm Dr. Morstan, but you can call me Mary, please do, actually, it's what I prefer, yeah?"
The friendly chatter helped relieve Molly's nerves a bit, and she smiled tentatively at the doctor as she pulled out a stethoscope and sat on the edge of the low table. Molly had been about to set her tray there, and bit her lip uncertainly as she tried to figure out what to do with it. Mrs. Hudson, however, swooped in and took it up. "I'll just clear this away for you and leave you to it. Give a shout if you need me, I'll just be downstairs, Mary, dear, do stop by for a cuppa and a nice gossip before you go!" she added cheerfully, then vanished, closing the door behind her.
As soon as the older woman was gone Mary's smile turned wry. "She can be a bit much, our Mrs. Hudson, but she means well. I'm sorry, I can tell she's already frightened you, hasn't she? Told you that Marking doesn't always work out, did she?"
Molly started to nod, winced at the pain in her throat and croaked out a "Yeah" instead.
Dr. Morstan – Mary – put the stethoscope's ear pieces in and indicated that Molly should sit up straight so she could listen to her heart and lungs. "It's true, unfortunately," she murmured in between directions to 'turn this way' and 'raise your arms' and 'hmms' which were all so reassuringly normal, exactly what Molly was used to hearing from a doctor, that she felt herself relaxing a bit more in spite of the disturbing reason for the examination in the first place. "About, oh, I'd say one in every hundred develops an infection that kills them if it isn't treated in time. The unfortunate thing is, by the time we figure out it isn't just the normal infections that develop when you leave a gash in a person's neck untreated for several weeks, it's usually too late to do anything about it."
Her expression darkened a bit as she sat back and removed the earpieces, allowing the stethoscope to return to its place around her neck. "And of course our Lords and Masters don't want any unsuccessful attempts advertised, so even if the infection were treated successfully, the victim usually doesn't survive anyway, if you know what I mean," she added darkly.
Molly shuddered. Oh yes, the doctor's meaning was quite clear; dead men – and women – told no tales. "Then why work for them? Why not find a way to, to, I dunno, slip this information to a resistance group?" Molly blurted in astonishment. It wasn't surprising to hear the bitterness in the other woman's voice, but it was surprising that she expressed it so bluntly – while making a house call in a Vampire's home to boot!
Mary smiled again, a rueful grin this time, and she shrugged. "I'm a bit too fond of my own skin to risk it, to be honest," she replied. "As for why I work for them, well, that part's easy; the money is excellent, and who better to look after the Humans in a Vampire's household than another Human? The world is the way it is, Miss Hooper, and there isn't much one person can do to change things."
It was a cynical attitude, but one Molly completely understood. She herself was in no position to judge, considering she'd lived her life up until yesterday just trying to get by and keep herself from being noticed by either side of the ongoing struggle between Human rebels and the Vampires who quite literally ruled the world. She found herself liking the other woman, and since she doubted she'd be allowed to spend much time in the company of her few friends from her old life, she found herself hoping that the two of them might become friendly, if not friends. "Call me Molly," she said, and Mary flashed her another one of her sunny smiles as she agreed to do so.
After examining the wound on Molly's neck and rebandaging it, Mary advised Molly to follow Mrs. Hudson's advice and eat well, keep her strength up, "and just try to live your life as best you can, under the circumstances," was her concluding comment as she packed up her bag and got ready to leave. "I'll be back every couple of days to check on you. But you can expect to develop a fever and I'm afraid the pain will get progressively worse as well. The only good news I can offer is that it'll be all over one way or another in about three weeks."
The reminder that her life could be at risk was a sobering one, but since there was literally nothing she could do about it – Mrs. Hudson had already informed her that there were no painkillers or antibiotic creams in the flat – she was able to put it aside and concentrate on more immediate concerns, after thanking Mary for her services. "Mrs. Hudson…is she…should I be…"
"Worried about her being jealous?" Mary asked with a wry grin. Molly felt like an idiot for even asking; after all, she knew the doctor about as well as she knew the housekeeper, but something about Mary seemed so honest and forthright she couldn't help but trust her. "Nah, Hudders is fine with Sherlock taking up with other women, even if it's been a long time since he has, at least according to her." She gave Molly a sly wink. "Don't worry, she won't try to knife you in your sleep…unless you do something against her precious Sherlock, of course. Then, all bets are off." She hesitated, clearly wanting to ask something, and Molly spared her the trouble.
"It wasn't our choice, this," she said, raising her hand to indicate the wound in her throat. "His brother, he forced us both into it." She gave Mary the abbreviated version of the previous night, again trying to skim over the incredibly good sex she and Sherlock had shared, but the doctor's knowing looks said she knew exactly what had happened besides the bloodletting. "But I'm not…well, I can't say I'm happy," she concluded with an uncomfortable laugh, "but I'm not…entirely unhappy, either, which is strange, considering." Mary remained silent while Molly struggled to find the right words to describe her confused feelings for the Vampire who had marked her. "He's a bit…different, isn't he, Sherlock? Not like any Vampire I've ever heard of, anyway." She was partly fishing for information, but Mary had been so forthcoming she wasn't surprised when the other woman nodded her agreement.
"Yeah, he's different. If you had to get Marked and forced into a life as a Vampire's consort – and yeah, I know that's exactly the role Mycroft's got in mind for you, don't be embarrassed – then you're lucky it was Sherlock Holmes you got stuck with."
"More like he's stuck with me," Molly murmured before she could stop the words. She blushed, seeing Mary's raised eyebrow and knowing smirk. "Yeah, it's crazy, but there's…something about him. Something between us I don't quite understand…but I want to. When I never wanted anything to do with Vampires ever, before yesterday, now I just…" She gave a helpless shrug. "I think I trust him," she said slowly. "But I don't trust myself, if that makes any sense."
Mary's grin vanished, and her expression turned serious as she nodded. "It does, actually. Look, even though I work for them, I'm no Vamp apologist. Mycroft is a complete and utter ass, and most of them are wankers as well, but Sherlock is a good guy. And by that, of course, I mean he's also a complete ass, but not in a 'I'm so superior to you lowly Humans' kind of way." A dimple appeared in her cheek as she added, "Actually, he thinks he's superior to everyone, Vamp or Human, but only because he's genius-level smart, not because he lives on blood and is super strong and all that rot. The fact that he actually Marked you is huge, but I'm sure Mrs. Hudson already told you that, right?" Molly nodded, and Mary continued, "And he did it to save your life – what Vampire you've ever heard of would do anything to save a Human's life? Even one of their own? If Sherlock threatened to kill one of Mycroft's pets, you can bet your ass he wouldn't lift a finger to help them. And some of them have been in his fucking harem for years!"
Molly couldn't think of anything to say to that, just thanked Mary for looking after her and for taking the time to talk to her. "I know you must be busy, I'm sure I've kept you long enough," she started to say, but Mary just laughed and shook her head.
"No worries, Molly. Yeah, I do have some appointments to keep this afternoon so I can't stay that long – and Mrs. Hudson will have my head if I don't pop down for tea and gossip – but next time I come I'll see if I can do it around lunchtime, yeah? You like Indian?"
As if they were simply two mates hanging out, Mary gave her a quick hug after they'd determined that they both liked chicken tikka and curry, but not too spicy. Molly smiled and waved as Mary left the flat, but her smile faltered and she shivered a bit, burrowing deeper into the oversized dressing-gown as she was left alone with her thoughts.
And oh, did she have an entire shipload of things to think about.
