Warning for threats of physical and sexual violence.


Previously:

Sherlock heard 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.

Two Weeks Later

Molly leaned her forehead against the window with a sigh, gazing unseeingly down at the night-darkened street. Sherlock had been acting so strangely since the days after her first scan, and she was worried. Worried that he was bored with her now that she was pregnant - they hadn't made love since that last, frenzied night two weeks ago - and worried that he would push her aside now that they'd done what Mycroft wanted them to do.

Worries she knew were foolish, or tried to convince herself were foolish. There was no reason for him to have faked his feelings for her, or his happiness at the pregnancy even under the awful circumstances surrounding it. Why bother? It certainly wasn't for Mycroft's benefit; all he'd demanded of his brother was to knock her up, she reminded herself, going for cynicism to try to cover up for her current state of emotional vulnerability. A vulnerability Sherlock was bound to sense even if he was too far to actually hear her thoughts at the moment.

Which, she decided, was all to the good; either he'd scoff at her for being ridiculous or worse yet, confirm her fears by just admitting the truth of them. A truth she didn't really want to hear, no matter how much pain it might spare her going forward.

A truth, she reminded herself sternly, that existed (so far) only in her own stupid head.

"He cares for me, I know he does," she muttered to herself, rubbing a hand across her stomach and starting to turn away from the window.

"Does he now? How...quaint."

She froze, a chill of primal terror shivering down her spine at the sound of that unexpected voice. Even lost in her thoughts as she'd been, she should have heard him coming up the stairs, or heard the door open...but no, why should she? He was a Vampire, a dangerous one, and the only reason she knew he was there now was because he'd chosen to alert her to his presence by speaking.

"M-master Brook," she managed, despising herself for the stutter but unable to help it; he frightened her even more than Mycroft Holmes, and the fact that he was here, in the flat she shared with Sherlock while her lover was assisting Greg Lestrade and John Watson with a murder investigation, was a nightmare come to life.

She darted her eyes toward the door, wondering where Wiggins or Mrs. Hudson were, why they'd let him into the flat. Why was he here, where he had no business, and why was he smiling at her like that? "Sher...Master Holmes is out, b-but I expect him home soon if you want to wait," she said, not bothering to hide her fear, knowing that the Vampire could smell it on her, could read the micro-expressions on her face as easily as any large-print book. The only thing she wished she hadn't done was forget to use Sherlock's title in front of Brook; would he see that as a weakness to use against her lover? A weapon of some kind?

Brook shook his head dismissively, still smiling, hands in his pockets as he sauntered across the sitting room to join her by the window. He peered out disinterestedly, then leaned one shoulder against the sill, standing far too close for comfort. When she started to move away, however, he pulled one hand from his pocket at full Vampire speed, grasping her upper arm tightly enough to make her wince. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out in pain, but his smile only deepened as he said, "Going somewhere, little Molly? Why? Do I make you nervous?"

"Yes," she replied, even knowing it was a rhetorical question. "Very." She tried to pluck his fingers from her arm but he merely tightened his grip and moved even closer, invading her space, stopping only when his face was inches from her own.

"Good," he said approvingly. "You should be." With his free hand he traced the silvery-white scars that formed Sherlock's monogram on her throat; she shuddered in revulsion at both the sensation of his hands on her skin and the rising tide of red flooding his irises. "You should know that this doesn't mean you're safe from other Vampires, no matter what lies you've been told." He bared his fangs and moved his head down so that his mouth hovered over her racing pulse. "If one of our kind sees something they want, they take it."

He widened his mouth, clearly about to sink his fangs into her throat; she pushed ineffectually at him and was about to scream when a new voice, a welcome and familiar voice, interrupted them. "Really, Brook? In my own flat? Rude."

"Sherlock," Molly breathed out, but then furrowed her brow in confusion when he didn't immediately order the invader to let her go. Indeed, the look he flashed her was one of irritation, and she felt a rush of mortification as she realized she'd forgotten herself again. "I, I'm sorry Master Holmes, forgive me. I was a bit, um, distraught."

He gave her a cool nod before visibly dismissing her as he tossed his coat onto its hook and headed for the sofa.

"Sorry, Sherlock, what can I say," Brook said with a smirk, his grip on her arm not easing the slightest bit. "I simply couldn't help myself, your…consort, was it, you called her?...is simply too delicious to resist." He leaned down and deliberately licked at her throat, although opposite the scars this time.

Sherlock looked bored as he flopped down onto the sofa and picked up his violin from where it rested on the floor. "Then drink your fill and get it over with," he said in his most indifferent voice as he tucked the instrument under his chin and raised the bow. "If that's all you came for, you can show yourself out after."

Molly's eyes were wide and she felt as if she'd been run over by a lorry. In the club Sherlock had treated Brook as a potential rival, had been protective of her and threatening toward him; why would he be essentially offering her up to him now? If this was part of his plan to keep Mycroft from discovering where his true sympathies lay, it wasn't one he'd shared with her.

Brook's fingers moved on her neck, but he'd turned his head to give Sherlock a contemplative look. "And what if I want more than just her blood? She looked like a good fuck at the club, Sherlock, mind if I have a go at her now?"

Sherlock waved the bow airily and shrugged. "If you like," he said. "But we both know that's not what you came here for, so why not just cut to the chase and leave my pet out of it?" He grinned his most insincere grin as he added, "Besides, I'd rather not have to go through the tedium of another public display if anything were to happen to the baby. You know how Mycroft gets when some upsets his plans."

Brook looked entirely uncaring of whatever Mycroft might think, but he did finally release his hold on Molly, tucking his hands back into the trouser pockets of his expensive designer suit and strolling over to stand closer to Sherlock.

"Mycroft's why I'm here," he said easily as Sherlock continued to rosin his violin bow. "And to have some fun with your little pet; I wasn't lying when I said she was delicious. So quiet and deferential until you got her out on the dance floor, and then suddenly the mouse became quite the tiger! Can't blame you for wanting to keep her for yourself. You were awfully protective of her there," he added musingly. "So why the change of heart?"

Sherlock shrugged, his attention apparently fully on his violin; he plucked a few strings, frowned, and began fussing with the tension of the strings. "I put on a show for my brother, let him see what he wanted to see, believe what I wanted him to believe - that he has a real hold over me because of Molly - so he'll more or less leave me alone. I've no objection to you either biting or fucking my slave unless doing so serves one of his agendas. Then all bets are off." He gave his most insincere smile, the one that was little more than a baring of his fangs.

Molly's heart plummeted into her shoes; no matter how many times she told herself this was all for show, she couldn't convince herself it was true. She'd heard Sherlock refer to Brook as a new challenge; could it be that he found the idea of a new adversary more appealing than playing at domesticity? Worse, what if he was bored with helping Greg and John with their cause, what if it had been nothing but a, a...great game to him all this time?

"Tsk," Brook said in mock dismay, "what a way to talk about your sweet little pet! Aren't you worried she'll go running to Mycroft, tell him everything in hopes that he'll set her free?"

"Molly," Sherlock said, enunciating every word quite clearly, "knows who she belongs to - and that I'm the only thing keeping my dear brother from ripping her throat out. None of which has anything to do with your presence in my flat this evening. So. Why are you here, again?"

Brook's air of faint amusement vanished as he stared at Sherlock. The short hairs on the back of Molly's neck bristled at the air of menace he exuded, as if it had somehow intensified into an almost-visible dark cloud hanging around him. "You need allies, Sherlock. Everyone knows you and your brother barely tolerate one another. Tie your fortunes to mine, and I guarantee he won't be the brother left standing."

Sherlock laughed, not the reaction Molly had been expecting. Nor Brook, judging by the the confused look on his face. One he quickly masked under an exaggerated pout. "What, you think this is a joke?"

Sherlock shook his head, all signs of mirth banished as he glowered at Brook. Molly had never seen him look so threatening, and took a hasty step back, one hand groping for the window sash as she felt the sudden need for support. "No, I know you're serious, Brook. And if I were interested in bringing my brother down, I might even consider your offer."

Sherlock moved so fast that Molly only saw a blur; suddenly he was towering over Brook, who merely blinked and stared up at him with a lazy smile. "However, Mr. Brook, I'm afraid I'm not interested in ruling the world. Taking down my brother would mean I'd have to take his place and if there's one thing I can't stand, it's government work."

He gave an exaggerated shudder to punctuate his point before stepping around the other man. Towards Molly. "Now. If you're finished making offers I find all too easy to refuse - and if you're sure you don't want a taste?" He tilted his head toward Molly and raised an eyebrow, reaching out to curl his fingers around her neck while she tried to remember how to breathe. "No? Then please excuse me, my actions at the club notwithstanding, I really do prefer not to feed - or fuck - in front of an audience."

"What a pity," Brook pronounced before shrugging lightly and strolling toward the front door. "Do let me know if you change your mind - about that or about taking out your brother. You wouldn't necessarily have to take over his duties as head of the Holmes Clan if you officially joined another one. But of course, you know that."

"I'll be sure give your proposal all the consideration it deserves," Sherlock replied, matching Brook stare for stare. Just when Molly thought it would devolve into physical violence between them, Brook laughed and turned his back on them, pulling the door shut behind him.

Molly's knees nearly gave out in relief, and her body shuddered in reaction. Sherlock enfolded her in his arms, but said nothing, merely held her until the violent shivers stopped.

The sound of running feet pounding up the stairs a few minutes later made her start, but he kept her firmly in his hold as he turned his gaze on the door. Wiggins appeared, panting and out of breath, panic in his eyes as he took in the scene before him. "Wot 'appened, Mr. 'Olmes?" he gasped out, his Cockney accent noticeably thicker than usual. "I was...I was watchin' out front like I'm s'posed ta, then I was down by the bloody Thames! I got 'ere fast I could…"

"Not your fault, Wiggins," Sherlock said, cutting him off coolly. "Molly's fine, I'm fine, and I'm sure Mrs. Hudson is fine, but do go and check on her as I suspect she'll just be awakening from an enforced nap."

Wiggins' fangs flashed in a snarl. "So it were an attack, I knew it! Them barstards ain't got no…"

"Yes, yes," Sherlock cut him off impatiently. "They've no idea who they're messing with, that's absolutely true. Now." His voice grew even colder. "Check on Mrs. Hudson, and have someone look in on Dr. Morstan, Lestrade and John Watson. I want a full report on everyone's status before another hour's passed, or someone will pay."

Wiggins vanished almost as quickly as he'd appeared, and far more silently. Sherlock pulled away from Molly, bracing his hands on her shoulders and looking her up and down. "All right?" he asked.

She nodded, but before she could ask any of the thousand or so questions that flooded her mind, he released her and headed for the sofa. Picking up his discarded violin, he tucked it under his chin and began playing, a mournful dirge that did nothing for her frazzled nerves.

It was pointless to try to talk to him now, and it was obvious he had no words of comfort to offer her. She sat quietly in the rocking chair he'd had Billy Wiggins provide for her, listening to him play, until finally his mobile rang. "Yes?" he snapped out, then paused briefly to listen to the answer. "Good. Keep an eye on them, only people you trust implicitly." Another pause, then an impatient, "Yes, yes, she's fine. Your job right now is to make sure John, Mary and Lestrade remain safe till morning."

He snapped the mobile shut and tossed it onto the coffee table. Molly gazed at him expectantly, but he avoided her by immediately retrieving his violin and bow and launching into a veritable frenzy of discordant playing.

With a heavy heart, she rose and made her quiet way to their bedroom to try and sleep - all the time knowing how likely it was that she would fail.


A/N: Thanks to lilsherlockian1975 for looking this chapter over for me and giving it a thumb's up. Also thank you to everyone as always for sticking with it and taking the time to leave reviews, which mean the world to us poor scribblers!