Previously:

...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...

...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...

...She was pregnant. Her earlier panic had faded, and she felt a growing sense of acceptance of the situation. She was pregnant, and Sherlock was letting her know, in his roundabout fashion, that he had no idea how he was reading her thoughts.

Warnings for sex and biting.


"Everything looks good, very encouraging. You'll need to up your iron intake, two pills a day instead of one and as many leafy greens and liver as you can stand to make up for the anaemia, but otherwise you and the baby are in excellent shape."

It was Molly's first scan; she was nearly three months pregnant, and her body was still adjusting to the additional stress a half-vampire foetus caused in a human mother. She'd already increased her iron intake once on Mary's advice, and now the obstetrician was telling her to up the dosage yet again. Ugh; so much for ever being able to take a normal sh…

"Master Holmes? Shall I give you a print-out of the scan?"

Molly's temporary slide into self-pity ended with the doctor's words; she perked up and nodded before her lover could answer. "Oh yes, please!" she exclaimed happily. Sherlock simply smiled indulgently at her as he helped her sit up. Not that she needed any help, with her barely-rounded abdomen, but it was nice to have him acting like any normal father-to-be.

Even though neither parent had planned for this pregnancy, had in fact both been coerced into it, Molly had managed to move beyond her worries and was actually excited about the baby growing inside her. Sherlock even seemed bashfully pleased, and was keeping meticulous notes as the pregnancy progressed. Some of the things he asked her about made her roll her eyes - did he really need an estimate of the amount of food she barfed up every morning? - but it was rather endearing. And not at all what she'd expected from him.

Her excitement dimmed a bit as she remembered the visit they'd been paid by Sherlock's brother hours after he'd been texted with the news that Molly was pregnant. As expected, he'd insisted that she be thoroughly examined by his own medical professionals, but once her condition had been confirmed, he'd agree to let Sherlock take the lead again. "After all, it's your child she's carrying," Mycroft had said, as if conferring a great honour on them.

Sherlock had remained expressionless until his brother left; once they were alone in the flat, he'd swept her into his arms, carried her to their bedroom and made passionate, furious love to her until the sun's rays forced him into slumber. Exhausted, sated, and spent, Molly had tumbled into sleep right along with him, although she'd woken up shortly after noon, famished.

Luckily her morning sickness seemed to be passing, leaving her only other symptoms: an irresistible need for frequent naps and an appetite that could put an elephant to shame. Luckily her body seemed to be converting all the extra calories into nutrients for the baby, and the only weight gain she showed was in a fullness to her breasts that hadn't been there before, and the slight bulge of her belly.

When they left the clinic she was clutching the print-out of the scan in both hands, unwilling to put it into her handbag, too busy drinking in the sight of their unborn child to pay attention to anything else. But when she heard Sherlock chuckling, she finally tore her eyes away and looked up at him. "You can hardly make out any real details at this point, Molly."

"I can make out enough," she retorted with an answering grin. But she reluctantly put the scan away while they climbed into the cab he'd summoned, and allowed him to pull her close to his side as it drove them back to Baker Street. "I know I'm being silly," she murmured as she stroked her hand across her stomach, "but this just makes it...that much more real, you know? Like it's actually happening."

"Mm." Sherlock's response wasn't what she was expecting; he seemed suddenly distracted, but by what?

"Sherlock? Is something wrong?"

He was quick to stretch a smile across his lips, but she could read him so well now that she didn't even need to see his eyes in the semi-darkness to know it didn't reach them. Nor was there any conviction in his voice as he replied, "Of course not, what could be wrong? We're having a baby, my brother is finally going to leave us alone for a while, and your morning sickness is at an end. Everything's fine."

She laid a hand on his, feeling the cool flesh warming beneath her touch, but said nothing more on the subject until they reached Baker Street. Once inside, however, she asked him again. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, you're back, how did the scan go? Did you get a print out? Can I have a peek?" Mrs. Hudson came bustling out of her flat, and while Molly was busy showing her the baby's scan, Sherlock vanished up the stairs. The strains of his violin came floating down, and Mrs. Hudson gave a sigh. "Oh dear, perhaps you should stay down and have a cup of tea, my dear, let him work out whatever it is that's got him in a strop, hmm?"

Reluctantly, Molly followed the older woman into her flat, glancing up toward the haunting music Sherlock was playing. She had no idea what was bothering him; it was as if a switch had been flipped, turning him from bashfully happy father-to-be to brooding creature of the night in the space of a single heartbeat.

VV VV VV VV VV VV VV

Sherlock heard the Molly and Mrs. Hudson's footsteps moving down the hall, then the door shutting behind them. Good. He needed time, time to think, time to plan.

Time to deal with the fact that Rich Brook had been watching them as they left the clinic after the scan. Molly hadn't seen him, not only because of the darkness, but because the other Vampire had made damn sure to be visible only to another of their kind. No, she hadn't seen him...but he'd been staring at her with the same hungry look in his eyes as he'd worn in the club the night they first met. He'd deliberately kept his attention on Molly even after he must have known Sherlock had spotted him. And when he did finally look the other Vampire in the eye, it had been with a cocky insolence that raised the hackles on the back of Sherlock's neck. Brook had grinned, tilted his head and raised his hand in a mocking salute before fading away, but the message was clear: he was watching them.

Especially Molly.

Sherlock continued to play even after she came up the stairs, doing his best to ignore when she implored him once again to tell her what was wrong, even though he could feel her concern for him through whatever improbable emotional bond had formed between them. He needed to focus, to concentrate on the new problem that had just presented itself. In doing what he needed in order to placate his brother, had he simply exposed himself to another enemy...one that seemed entirely too interested in Molly?

Hours later he put the violin down, blinking a bit as he came back to himself and the world around him. The flat was silent and dark, and as he listened he could hear Molly's breathing coming from their bedroom. She was asleep, not faking it, as he could tell both by the pattern of her breathing and by the unfocused quality of her mind when he concentrated on reading her thoughts.

His first impulse was to go to her, to take her in his arms and reassure her that it had nothing to do with her, but then what would he tell her? What good would it do to add to her stress and anxiety by telling her they were being watched by a Vampire he suspected of being even more dangerous than Mycroft?

None, it would do no good at all. She was safe enough from Brook in the daytime, and he would just have to make sure she wasn't left alone for any length of time at night, especially outside the flat. He'd put Wiggins and Mrs. Hudson on the alert, as well as his homeless network, both mortal and immortal, and send out feelers to see if Brook was acting on his brother's behalf or hatching some scheme of his own.

Either way, Molly was once again in danger, and this time he'd been the one to put her there. Oh, Mycroft could shoulder his fair share of the blame, true, but the bulk of it was Sherlock's. He'd clearly given away something of his true affection for her; not an entirely bad thing as far as his brother was concerned, but a potentially deadly weapon in the hands of someone even less scrupulous, and with no family tie to keep him in check should he opt to move against them.

Mycroft was right; caring wasn't an advantage, but it was far too late for Sherlock to stop.

No, he'd well and truly fallen in love with his mortal consort, and would never forgive himself if that love put her in harm's way. Her, or the new life currently growing inside her. His fists clenched as he thought of any harm coming to their child, and he silently cursed his brother for forcing yet another hostage to fate on him.

His mind worked feverishly as he paced the sitting room, having automatically put his violin and bow back into their case and stowed them under his desk. Much as he wished to whisk Molly off someplace relatively safe and out of the way - then ancestral pile came to mind - there simply weren't enough people he trusted to keep an eye on her. Not without raising his brother's suspicions and threatening the still-fragile relationship he was fostering with the rebel group to which Lestrade and John Watson belonged.

That thought gave him pause; would he ever give them up to his brother in exchange for Molly's safety? The possibility had to be considered...but not now. He refused to add another layer of worry to his already-considerable load.

Not for the first time in his life he cursed his conscience; why hadn't he become like almost every other Vampire and simply ceased to care about the bulk of humanity once he was Turned? What about him made him different? It probably wasn't genetic, unless it was something his mother had passed to him but not Mycroft. It wasn't his massive intelligence - again, Mycroft was evidence that intellect and conscience didn't automatically go hand in hand.

Whatever it was, he was unwilling to spend the rest of the night struggling with it. Suddenly all he wanted to do was be with Molly, to hold her in his arms and make love to her, to sink his fangs into her throat and drink his fill of her, to taste any new changes in her blood since he'd last bitten her a month ago.

She'd been unhappy with his insistence on taking his sustenance from other Humans, but he'd been adamant that he not take more blood from her than the barest minimum. "You'll need your strength during this pregnancy, and I promise, it's just blood when I take it from anyone else. Nothing sexual about it."

Those words hadn't been nearly as comforting as he'd meant them to be, judging by her reaction, but she'd eventually seen reason. And the fact that he was actually compensating anyone he fed from mollified her even more, knowing he wasn't simply pulling some random stranger off the street as so many of his kind did.

But it didn't mean she liked it, any more than he did. No one else's blood tasted quite like hers, and his thirst for it was raging right now, fed by his uneasiness over Richard Brook.

He entered the bedroom as quietly as always, but Molly's breathing altered before he'd even reached for the first button on his shirt, and he heard her stirring. "Sherlock?" she mumbled, leaning up on her elbows, her hair a tangled, glorious mess hanging over her shoulders as she rubbed her eyes.

"Yes," he said simply, then sped up his movements until Human eyes would perceive him as nothing but a blur, causing Molly to gasp as he suddenly appeared by her side. He covered her body with his own, impatiently pulling the oversized t-shirt she was wearing up and off her body, careful not to tear it. It had belonged to her father, and she wore it only when she was feeling most vulnerable.

Like tonight.

No. He refused to think about the evening's unpleasantness. Molly needed him, and if he couldn't comfort her with the truth - small comfort though it would be - then he would comfort her the only other way he knew how.

With that in mind, he kissed her, reaching down with one hand to pull at her knickers, this time uncaring if he damaged the flimsy garment. Molly gasped as he brushed her slit with two cool fingers, then gasped again as he sat up, pulling her against his body. He yanked her head back, holding tightly to her hair, baring her throat to him.

She responded exactly as he knew she would, by holding tightly to his upper arms and moaning. He couldn't hear her thoughts, but he could feel the desire flooding through her, feeding his own; with a snarl he bent his head, fangs fully extended, and took what was so willingly offered.

VV VV VV VV VV VV VV

Molly could tell that something was still troubling Sherlock, but right now it felt too good to have his mouth moving against her throat, his fangs embedded in her carotid artery as he drank her blood, for her to worry about it. Whatever it was could keep until he was ready to tell her...or until she could convince him to tell her about it.

She moaned as he pulled her more snugly onto his lap, his body warming against hers, his cock thick and hard against her sex. She was already wet for him, could feel the sticky dampness between her legs as he continued to suck hard at her throat. She drew his head closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, her nipples pebbling as they rubbed against his chest. He groaned, one hand sliding down her back to come to rest on her hip, then suddenly pulled his mouth away, much to her disappointment.

Before she could express that disappointment, he darted his head down, kissing her, smearing her own blood against her lips. It should be repulsive, disgusting, but instead she felt a flush of desire sheeting over her body like wildfire. She returned the kiss with equal passion, reaching down to grasp his cock in one hand. He retaliated by roughly palming one nipple, then pushing her back so she toppled onto the bed. He was on her like lightning, thrusting his leg between hers, his head darting down and mouth landing on her chest. She cried out softly as he suckled her nipples between his lips, taking turns with each breast until she throbbed with need. "God, Sherlock, please fuck me," she begged, but he had other ideas in mind.

Ideas she wholeheartedly approved of as he made his way down her body, leaving tiny gashes and red spots as he worked her with his mouth and fangs, marking her, teasing her to the very edge of delirium as he finally reached his destination. She opened her legs for him, wordlessly inviting him to do whatever he wanted to her, and as always, he didn't disappoint. His mouth was still cooler than Human normal, a shiver-inducing contrast against the wet heat of her sex. He dipped his tongue between her folds, working her into a moaning mess as he slowly licked his way from top to bottom and back again. She felt the graze of his fangs against her clit and bucked beneath him, part of her wanting him to do more than tease her, part of her uneasy at the thought of him biting her in such a sensitive part of the body.

Then he slid his tongue over that oversensitized nub and pressed two fingers deep inside her, and she came with a strangled shout, her fingers in his hair and her feet digging into the bed as she raised her hips. He worked her until she collapsed back to the mattress, then crawled up her body, reaching between his legs to take himself in hand. She nodded her readiness even though she was still gasping and shuddering through the aftershocks of her orgasm, confident that he would take her to that giddy height yet again - and rewarded for the confidence within minutes of his first determined thrusts.

When he reached his own completion, she heard him gasp out her name, and held him close to her body until he'd stilled. She waited while he pulled out of her, but instead of going to the bathroom like he usually did, he simply rolled onto his back, pulling her close to his side. "Sleep," he murmured, and she obediently closed her eyes, quickly lulled into the most restful sleep she'd had since before the Viewing at Mycroft's club.