A/N: Thank you everyone for your patience. The bulk of this chapter's been written for a while but I wasn't quite sure how to get from Point A to Point B, as it were. Warnings for coerced sex and biting. Thanks as always for your reading, favoriting and reviewing of this dark tale!
Only Sherlock's fingers laced through her own kept Molly from bolting in panic as soon as they passed through the double doors leading into the exclusive Vampire club. Her breathing was labored, her heart pounding in her chest loudly enough for a normal Human to hear, let alone the dozens of Vampires that now surrounded her. She broke out in a sweat as every head swiveled to take in the sight of the two of them, and as knowing, feral grins showing hints of fang appeared on seemingly every face.
She felt faint, dizzy, but managed to remain on her feet as Sherlock guided her to the private room at the back where Mycroft and an unknown amount of others awaited their arrival. They were a half-hour late, but Sherlock had insisted that he needed to put on this show of reluctance and rebelliousness in order to keep his brother from suspecting anything.
"Breathe, Molly." Sherlock's voice was low and calm and his advice was legitimate; she'd been holding her breath, not realizing she was doing so until she felt his hand at the back of her neck and heard him speak. He'd lowered his head to speak to her, but as she felt his lips brush her earlobe she understood that he was also reminding her of the show they had to put on. No one would expect her to be excited at the prospect of having public sex with her Vampire 'master' given her personal history, but she was still supposed to put on a brave face, difficult though that was proving to do.
Her life had been so calm and orderly not too long ago, hadn't it? Not perfect, of course, but quiet. Organized. A bit lonely, yes, but safe. As safe as any Human's life could be in this day and age.
Boring, she said silently as she allowed Sherlock to take her hand and lead her to his brother's small group. Admit it, Molly, that's the word you're looking for. Boring. And not just 'a bit' lonely, either; it was damned lonely, just you and Toby and the telly and work.
But it was what she'd thought she wanted, until she'd met Sherlock Holmes. Discovering that there actually was one Vampire in the world who'd somehow managed to hold onto his humanity after being Turned made her see things in an entirely different light; she'd been existing rather than living, and even if things ended poorly for the two of them – even if Mycroft Holmes discovered that his brother was a secret force for change and working with Humans, sharing long-kept Vampiric secrets with them – she realized she wouldn't change her fate for the world.
Not if it meant being separated from a man she suspected she was falling in love with.
"Ah, Sherlock, how nice of you to finally decide to join us."
Mycroft's dry tones jolted her back to reality, and Molly swiftly lowered her eyes and bobbed her head. "Master Holmes," she said by way of greeting. She felt Sherlock's hand tighten on hers and didn't need to see his expression to know he was annoyed. But there was no point to this charade if she failed to show the proper deference to the man who still held her life in his hands; at any point Mycroft could change his mind and decide to kill her for the 'crime' of being disrespectful to him in front of a witness. Even though she now technically belonged to his brother, that wouldn't stop him if he truly wanted to see her punished.
"Miss Hooper," he said in falsely pleasant tones. "You may dispense with the usual kowtowing this evening; it will be much more enjoyable for all of us if you are allowed to look wherever you choose."
"How kind," Sherlock retorted drily. He guided Molly to a seat and pulled it out for her before taking the chair next to hers. He leaned his arm casually over the back and draped his fingers across her bare shoulder, toying with the ends of her hair as he turned his gaze on his brother. They were both dressed for clubbing, Molly in a cheery yellow halter dress that barely reached her thighs, and Sherlock in a pair of tight blue jeans and a dark blue button-down that set off the long, pale column of his throat to perfection. "We're here as ordered, Mycroft. Can we please get this over with so Molly and I can go back home?"
"He's a mouthy one, isn't he?" the woman seated next to Mycroft murmured with a small, humorless smile. It wasn't Mycroft's assistant, Anthea, but another beautiful brunette, this one with a slight Irish accent and a look of calculated boredom in her perfectly made-up eyes. Molly spared a moment to sigh wistfully; she never could manage the 'winged eyeliner' look. She wore a sleek red faux-leather sleeveless dress and matching fingerless gloves. Even her lipstick and long, dangerous-looking nails were the same shade of crimson. A bit over the top, in Molly's opinion, but then, this was a Vampire, and they seemed to have no concept of 'over the top'.
Or modesty. She shivered a bit and turned her face away from the other woman, studying Mycroft as he spoke instead. He was dressed the same as always, in a conservative grey suit including waistcoat, although he'd draped his dress coat over the back of his chair and rolled up the sleeves to his white shirt in some concession to the casual nature of their current venue.
"My dear brother never has learned when best to keep it shut," he said in response to Sherlock's snarky comment, bestowing a tight smile on the other woman. "Janine, allow me to introduce Sherlock and his new pet, Molly. Who will soon be providing the family with a new member, am I right?"
"Eventually, Mycroft," Sherlock replied smoothly as Molly tensed, floundering for the proper response. "Even Vampires can't magically impregnate women, brother dear." There was a definite sneer in his voice on that last word, and Molly hoped he wouldn't get so caught up in his ongoing feud that he forgot himself.
But no, there was too much at stake; with a glowering look, Sherlock subsided sulkily, apparently ignoring the other introductions that were made, although Molly knew he was actually taking careful note. There was a newspaperman named Magnussen, who was Janine's employer and dressed nearly as formally as Mycroft, and another Irish Vampire, this one called Rich Brook, whose cold, dark eyes gave Molly the shivers. He was clad head to foot in black – jeans, motorcycle boots, and t-shirt, all carefully designed to look like afterthoughts and all clearly costing at least a month's salary if she were to purchase them.
She accepted the glass of wine a blank-faced Human waitress handed her with a murmured thanks she doubted the other woman even heard. Her neck was Marked in a manner similar to Molly's, although the elaborate swirls and whorls made the letters MVH rather than SVH. With a flash of understanding, Molly realized that this club was owned and staffed by Mycroft Holmes; not that she'd expected there to be any allies to be found if things went pear shaped, but knowing they were surrounded by those loyal to Sherlock's brother sent a prickle of fear down Molly's spine.
Sherlock tugged lightly on her hair, drawing her attention back to him. She managed a small smile as he held her gaze.
"How absolutely adorable, Mycroft; I think the girl actually has feelings for your brother!"
Molly felt her cheeks glowing red at Janine's mocking words, but Sherlock's hand on her chin kept her from ducking her head. "Is there something wrong with that, Janine?" he asked, keeping his voice even, almost bored. "Isn't that what we want, after all? Their adoration as well as their fear? After all, if they love us, won't they be even easier to control?"
A burst of hilarity greeted his words; even Mycroft gave a polite chuckle, as if his brother were making a joke instead of being ironic. "Well, it's obvious she's smitten with you," Magnussen drawled, lifting Janine's unresisting hand in his. He brought it up to his lips, but instead of kissing it, he licked it from wrist to fingertip.
Molly tried not to show her revulsion, but the Vampire's smirk told her he noticed. Janine gave no outward signs that it affected her one way or another, but when Molly met her gaze, there was something there, some small flicker of resignation that told her the Vampire was as much a thrall to Magnusson as any Human. She filed that away for future discussion with Sherlock; even if Janine wasn't sympathetic to Humans, her potential disgruntlement with Magnussen might still prove useful someday. Sherlock had told her to be extra observant at this meeting, and not just for her own protection. He valued her judgement, her opinions of others, and she wouldn't let him down just because she was terrified of what was to come – and what might happen to her and to Sherlock both if things didn't go according to plan, if Mycroft or one of his minions copped to the true reason for their cooperation in this insanity.
"Yes, well, Molly being smitten with me is very much the point of you foisting her on me, isn't it, Mycroft?" Sherlock continued to sound bored, and if Molly hadn't been very carefully coached on how he planned to act this evening, she might have begun to panic a bit and wonder if everything he'd ever said to her had been a lie, part of some great game he was playing with his brother. But no, she'd witnessed enough to know that this was the lie. That although a game was being played and she was one of the pieces, Sherlock wasn't simply using her. It would be best all around if Mycroft believed that, however, and so Molly gave Sherlock a wounded look and pulled very slightly away from him.
He gave her one of his most insincere smiles, showing a great deal of fang as he reached out and lightly traced his fingers along the Mark on her throat. She shivered at the light brush of flesh on flesh; the sheer desire she felt whenever he touched her hadn't faded, not the slightest bit, and she wondered if it was as permanent as the elaborate monogram his fingers were continuing to stroke.
Mycroft raised an eyebrow and quirked his lips in one of his cold smiles. "You seem to have not only resigned yourself to having a personal slave, Sherlock, but if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were actually enjoying it!"
"I prefer the term consort, Mycroft," Sherlock corrected him sharply. "And yes, it has turned out to be far less of a nuisance than I expected. Having a trained pathologist to help me with my work with the police, someone to bounce ideas off of…"
"And of course, there's the sex." That was Rich Brook – Master Brook, Molly mentally corrected herself. She would have to be careful to call them all by their titles even in her own mind and not let the easy familiarity between herself and Sherlock trip her up, or the consequences could be literally fatal. His deep brown eyes crinkled with a sort of dark amusement as he took out and lit a cigarette. "Can't wait to have a look at the pair of you naked. Is she a screamer or a moaner? I'd say a moaner," he added with a leer, and Molly flushed bright red in a mixture of humiliation and anger.
"Either way, Brook, do get your fill tonight, as it is the only time you'll ever be allowed this close to either of us," Sherlock growled, pulling Molly tightly to his side and glaring at the other man. His sapphire-blue eyes flashed dangerously as he allowed his fangs to show in a rare display of aggression.
"Sherlock, please stop antagonizing my guests, it's bad for business," Mycroft chided him.
"I fail to see how any of this is bad for the government, which is the only 'business' to which you could possibly be referring," Sherlock snapped. "My taking of a mate and Marking her, subjecting her to this barbaric display which you insisted upon…"
"Which is a tradition amongst our kind," Mycroft corrected him coldly. "And one that, in your case, brother dear, is absolutely necessary." He glanced over at Molly. "Yes, it's quite obvious you've Marked her, but there are other parts of our agreement that require equal proof."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, fine, lovely, you want to make sure I've fucked her and won't simply take my word – or hers – for it. Shall we get it over with, then?" He stood up abruptly, yanking Molly by one arm so that she was forced to rise with him. She stared as he began to unbutton his shirt, frozen in place until he pinned her with his gaze. "No sense in trying for modesty, Molly, not when everyone is panting to see where else I've bitten you. To watch me stick my cock into your cunt and suck on your tits and…"
"Sherlock! That is quite enough!" Mycroft sounded furious, and Molly cringed away from him, not needing to fake her sudden terror. Sherlock's arm went around her protectively, and she heard him hiss a warning at his brother – a warning and a threat.
"Come on, Molly." Sherlock pulled her away from the table, his unbuttoned shirt hanging loosely on his lean form.
"And just where do you think you're going?" Mycroft demanded coldly.
Sherlock glared back at him. "You insisted we do this, brother dear," he sneered. "So I'm taking Molly out to the dance floor, and we'll get it over with in the traditional manner." His contemptuous gaze raked the impassive faces of the others. "Not back here, in a private room for your cronies to salivate over, but in front of everyone in the club."
A flicker of some emotion crossed, Mycroft's face, swiftly vanished beneath the cold veneer Molly had always seen before. She wasn't sure which would be worse; having sex with Sherlock bent over this table or up against one of the velvet-covered walls while his brother and the others watched, or out in front of the Humans and Vampires dancing and drinking in the more public part of the club. Then her gaze accidentally met that of Rich Brook, and she shivered as she hurriedly looked down and away. No, she decided, she would much rather put on a show for everyone in the world than be locked in a room containing that particular Vampire. Mycroft held the literal power of life and death over her, but Rich Brook terrified her at a visceral level, for reasons she couldn't articulate even inside her own head.
She could feel the controlled fury radiating off of Sherlock as he pulled her relentlessly after him to the center of the dance floor. He didn't need to push anyone aside; everyone seemed to melt away as the two of them reached their destination, but Molly could feel the eyes watching them as the music pulsed and throbbed through her body. It was louder than she'd remembered, testimony to the soundproofing on the private room they'd just left, and she wondered just what Sherlock had in mind now that he'd brought her out here.
She wasn't left to wonder long, as her Vampire lover began gyrating to the pounding rhythm of the dance music, his hands on her waist lowering to her hips as he tugged and guided her into joining him. Under other circumstances she would be impressed by his skills on the dance floor, but right now all she could do was worry about what was going to happen next.
Until she heard his voice, a low, seductive murmur in her ear and somehow – impossibly – in her mind as he pulled her closer and ground against her. "Molly, you don't know what you do to me, do you. How you make me want you whether you're wearing those ridiculous oversized jumpers and khakis you prefer, or dressed like this, wearing something just made to be torn from your body." His hands slid down her hips to the tops of her thighs, then back up again, dragging the material with him until her bottom was exposed. She was wearing only a black satin thong beneath her dress and no stockings or bra; as she met Sherlock's gaze she saw the red flooding his eyes, turning his iris that electric purple she'd grown to associate with raw desire, and gave into the mad impulse to pull him closer and press her lips to his.
With a flick of his wrist Sherlock undid the clasp holding the top of her halter dress around her neck, and the silky material slithered down to join the skirt bunched up around her waist. Molly's naked breasts pressed against his equally naked chest, the crisp, gingery chest hairs teasing her nipples into full erectness even as he deepened the kiss. His tongue was in her mouth, his voice was in her mind, and Molly lost herself in the sensations he was so expertly evoking. The noise of the music and the crowd faded away, until it was as if only the two of them were in the club.
She could feel his erection through his jeans, and reached down to undo the snap and zip, sliding her fingers beneath his pants and tugging the turgid flesh free from its restraints. She vaguely realized Sherlock had snapped her thong and removed it as she pulled his jeans and pants down to the tops of his thighs. Then he was sliding those long, clever fingers of his deep inside her, teasing her cleft, eliciting moan after moan from her throat as he brought her closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. Then his fingers were gone, and her moans became groans of frustration, quickly swallowed by kiss after kiss as he suddenly lifted her off her feet.
Molly wrapped her legs around Sherlock's waist, balancing herself automatically, her hands tangled in his luscious curls as he eased her down onto his heated shaft. When he entered her she cried out, her near-screams swallowed by his feverish kisses as her clawed fingers dug into his scalp. She heard him give a hiss of pleasure-pain, felt him fully seated so deep inside her, balancing her easily with his supernatural strength, thrusting upward to meet her own enthusiastic downwards motions, their mingled groans and cries growing in volume with every eager slap of skin on skin. He filled her beautifully, his hands on her ass kneading the flesh as he twisted his hips and wrenched a near-scream of ecstasy from her as she finally cascaded down, down over the blissful edge to which he'd brought her. She felt him pulsing inside her moments later, and dropped her head to his shoulder, breathing hard as he stopped his urgent movements and simply held her, pressing soft kisses to her face and neck.
Suddenly she felt the sweet thrill of his fangs piercing her flesh, and cried out in renewed pleasure as a second orgasm swelled and crested with every pull of his fangs and lips on her throat. After he'd drunk his fill, Sherlock slowly eased her to her feet. She wobbled a bit, then found herself swept into his arms. "Cover yourself, Molly, the show's over," he ordered her, and she looked up, dazed and uncomprehending, until she saw the frown forming on his face. She fumbled with the halter top but finally managed to pull it up, although she couldn't seem to manage the clasp and simply held it in place instead.
Sherlock had done up his jeans at some point and tugged her skirt down so she bore some semblance of modesty as he swung her around so that he faced the open doorway of the private room his brother currently occupied. Molly saw that Mycroft's guests had joined the crowd of cheering, hooting Vampires that stood respectfully back from Sherlock, and felt a blush spreading across her cheeks as her dazed mind finally came back into focus. Had they really done all that, shared such a heated, intimate moment, in front of the gathered crowd?
"Well done, brother." Mycroft's voice cut through the noise even though he didn't bother to raise his voice. "Do be sure to send word once conception has been confirmed." Then he turned and reentered the private room, while Sherlock carried Molly out of the club and into a waiting cab.
The last thing Molly saw before the club's doors swung shut behind them was the watching, smiling face of Rich Brook…and the haze of red that had flooded his shark-like eyes. Shuddering, Molly buried her face in Sherlock's shoulder and tried not to weep.
