A/N: I just had to include my favorite running gag from "Black Butler."

The next morning, Molly woke up to find herself lying on her side with a man's arm wrapped around her waist. It took her a moment to remember how that could be possible. Sherlock. I had a nightmare and Sherlock came in and comforted me. And in a moment of weakness, I asked him to stay. I asked an incubus to spend the night with me. I must be out of my mind. It's a good thing he's a gentleman. Er, gentledemon? Whatever, he didn't try to get into my knickers.

"I know you're awake," he murmured in her ear, his arm squeezing her lightly. "You're thinking about last night and you want to avoid any lingering awkwardness between us."

"Something like that," she admitted. She slowly turned to face him. Okay, not fair. No one should look that good first thing in the morning.

He smiled at her fondly and it took every fiber of her being to not kiss him. "Good morning, Molly."

"Good morning, Sherlock." She decided to give in to a less-dangerous impulse and hugged him gently. "Thank you…"

"You don't need to thank me." Sherlock held her close for a moment.

Molly enjoyed feeling the heat of his body seep into her. If I stay in bed any longer, I'm going to do something I know I'll regret later. Giving in to one last impulse, she softly kissed his cheek then got out of bed.

Sherlock leaned back on his elbows as he watched her, murmuring, "You're very beautiful first thing in the morning, you know."

She paused halfway through unbraiding her hair to look at him, annoyed. "Stop it, Sherlock. You were being so nice, don't ruin it with another go at seducing me. You said you wouldn't."

He sat up fully, his eyes locked on hers. "I wasn't trying to seduce you, I was just stating a fact. You were open, vulnerable, and soft. Innocent, like the horrors of life haven't touched you."

He's seducing me without even trying. She sighed quietly. "Enough." She finished unbraiding her hair. "I'm going to take a shower." So help me, if he even suggests joining me…

"I'll make breakfast." He got out of bed and stood in front of her, watching her for a moment, then he said softly, "We are going to be together for the rest of your life, Molly. You know just as well as I do that at some point, we will be lovers." Sherlock raised a hand to lightly stroke her jawline. "Why fight the inevitable?"

Molly successfully suppressed the shiver his warm fingers on her skin evoked. "We could just as likely be friends," she offered and smiled a bit. "I know platonic relationships between men and women are a foreign concept to an incubus, but they do happen. My closest male friends are the brothers I never had."

Sherlock chuckled. "Believe me, Molly, I have no desire to be your brother. If you wish for us to be friends, I suppose I could give it a go, if only for the novelty of having a female friend." He smiled a bit. "I can't say I won't flirt with you, but I promise I'll stop trying to seduce you." He offered her his hand.

"Fair enough," Molly said, then shook his hand. He held hers longer than was strictly necessary, the heat from his skin flowing into her until she abruptly let go. She could feel her cheeks flushing.

Sherlock smirked. "Right, breakfast." He left the room, whistling innocently.

Molly leaned against the doorway, her knees suddenly weak. God, why can't I just give in? I'm sure it would be the best sex I've ever had. Oh, right – because once it's over, he'll just find another conquest, contract or no. I haven't known Sherlock long, but the thought of him with another woman is unbearable. Part of me really wishes he would just leave me in peace, but I know if he did, I would miss him terribly.

After showering and dressing, Molly was in the middle of eating the fluffiest pancakes she'd ever had when her mobile chirped. She read the text then groaned quietly.

"Not the kind of groan I like to hear," Sherlock said, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. "What's wrong?"

"My friend Mary reminded me that all of us had planned to go to the pub tonight. She's been trying to get me to be more social lately."

"And you don't want to go out?"

"My friends are great, I just don't feel like getting hit on by a bunch of drunk idiots." She smiled at him slightly. "If I wanted to be hit on, I have a sober incubus right here at home."

He chuckled. "What if the sober incubus went with you and kept the drunk idiots at bay?"

She blinked at him. "You'd do that?" I thought he'd maybe want a night off.

"I said I'd protect you," Sherlock smiled a bit, "even against inebriated morons."

Molly smiled at him gratefully then sent off a text.

9:16a I'll be there, I'm bringing a friend. Molly

9:20a Great! Who's your friend? MW

9:21a His name's Sherlock. You're not going to believe this, but he's my butler. Molly

9:23a You're right, I don't believe it. How'd you get a butler? MW

9:25a I won his services for a year at a charity fundraiser I went to last weekend. Molly

9:27a And exactly what services is he providing? ;) MW

9:30a *eyeroll* He's a gentleman, Mary. He cooks, he cleans, he plays the violin for me. Molly

9:32a A musically-talented man who cooks AND cleans? Definitely better than sex. MW

Molly felt herself blushing. Well, I wouldn't say that…

9:35a Do you think you can keep Greg and John from interrogating him all night? Molly

9:37a John's easy – I'll just threaten to make him sleep on the couch. That won't work on Greg. MW

9:39a True. I'll just have to hope he remembers Sherlock is a friend, not a suspect. Molly

She looked up at Sherlock, who was pretending to be interested in his breakfast. Molly smiled a bit. "You have to promise to be on your best behavior. No flirting, no innuendo, no turning anyone into a newt."

He smirked at her. "When have you seen me turn someone into a newt?"

"So, you're not denying that you can." She grinned. "Good to know for the future, but you can't do that tonight. And please, try not to get into any fights. The last thing I need is to come up with bail money because Greg threw you in jail."

"I promise I'll behave," he said solemnly, but there was a definite twinkle in his eye.

Devilish, Molly thought. There's no other word for it.

That evening, she watched telly while she waited for Sherlock to finish getting ready. And here I thought women took longer. She was about to yell for him to hurry up when she heard him come into the room. "It's about time." Molly looked up and stared.

Sherlock was wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. His still-damp curls were quickly drying into their usual artful disarray. He held up his aubergine dress shirt that Molly loved and a nearly identical teal blue one. She was taking in every detail of his sculpted chest when she heard him chuckle and she dragged her eyes up to his, her face flaming.

"As much as I like having you admire my physique," he drawled, smirking, "I do need your help. Which one?"

"Oh, um…" The aubergine one goes best with his coloring, but the teal one brings out the blue in his eyes. Either one will have women drooling over him. "Is there a third option?"

"What's wrong with these two?"

"Too formal, it's just the neighborhood pub." She indicated her own knee-length denim skirt and oversized rose-print blouse.

"I don't own anything casual."

Molly couldn't help staring at him, again. "You don't even own a pair of jeans?"

"No, should I?"

Yes, if only because that arse will look fantastic in tight denim. She mentally shook herself. "They're a staple. You can get away with a dress shirt if you wear jeans with it."

He nodded then smiled a bit. "Then we're back to my original question." Sherlock held up both shirts again.

Molly could swear the towel slid lower on his hips. "Um, the teal one."

"Thank you." He left the room.

She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd held. Oh God, he's going to be the death of me, no matter what he swore.

In the cab on the way to the pub, Molly couldn't help glancing at Sherlock several times. She didn't know where he got the indigo jeans at the last minute, but they fit him perfectly and complemented his teal shirt. The first two buttons were undone but the rest were straining, as usual. Molly wondered if he should buy larger shirts but decided that if someone was going to advise him that, it certainly wasn't going to be her. He also wore his Belstaff and black oxfords.

"I'm glad my outfit meets with your approval," he murmured when he caught her looking at him yet again.

Molly wanted to wipe the smirk off his face but she knew he was right. "You know you're good-looking, you don't need to be so smug."

He just laughed.

As soon as they walked in the pub, Molly could feel every eye in the room looking at them. The other women were openly ogling Sherlock, though he seemed not to notice. She deliberately ignored how that made her feel then she found John, Mary, and Greg at a table in the back. "C'mon." She took Sherlock's hand, mentally telling herself it was necessary, then led him to the table.

Her three friends stood up when they approached. Molly smiled happily. "Guys, this is Sherlock. Sherlock, these are my friends John, his wife Mary, and Greg."

Sherlock shook their hands then held out a chair for Molly. When they were all seated, it was less than a second before the questions started.

"So, Sherlock," Mary said, grinning, "you're Molly's butler for a year?"

He nodded. "Longer, if she'll have me."

Molly shot him a warning look. "Let's call this a probationary period."

"What, exactly, does a Twenty-first Century butler do?" Greg asked. "It's not like Molly owns a manor."

"When it comes to serving, I'm a jack-of-all-trades," Sherlock replied, smiling a bit. "I cook, I clean, I entertain. I'm simply one hell of a butler." He grinned when Molly snickered.

John looked dubious. "Entertain how?"

Sherlock was saved from answering for the moment by the waitress. He ordered pints for himself and Molly then turned to John when the waitress left again. "I play the violin for her."

"He's very good," Molly said. "And you should taste his cooking, especially his desserts. I think I've gained three pounds already."

"Two and a half," Sherlock said. He ignored Mary's smirk and John's warning look.

Molly just rolled her eyes. "Either way, I'm eating better than I have in ages. I didn't see a point in actually making dinner when it was just me – I ate mostly frozen dinners and take-away."

Sherlock smiled a bit. "I'm happy to ensure you get what you need."

John and Greg both choked on their beers. Mary laughed at all three of them.

"Have you always been a butler, Sherlock?" she asked.

He smiled a bit at Molly before turning to Mary. "I've had other positions, but they've all involved service. You could say it's a family affair – my older brother Mycroft still serves our first employer."

"Where do you live?" John asked. "I've never seen you around here."

"I'm currently living with Molly."

Greg turned to her, incredulous. "Molly, you've just met this man! You barely know him! Did you at least do a background check first?"

"He's been checked, Greg," she replied, trying hard to keep her patience. "I trust him." She ignored the surprised look Sherlock gave her.

Mary smiled at Sherlock. "You'll have to excuse John and Greg, Sherlock. Molly's like a sister to them."

"Yes," John added. "We don't want to see her get hurt."

"That's understandable," Sherlock said. "I don't want to see her hurt either."

Greg was scowling and Molly knew the subject of Sherlock's worthiness would come up again. She decided what they needed was a change in topic. "So, who's playing tonight?"

When it was time to leave, Sherlock and Molly couldn't find a cab so they decided to walk. Molly was lost in her own thoughts, barely noticing the incubus next to her. Greg was in such a bad mood tonight. I know he wants to protect me but he should realize I'd never do anything stupid. Well, except sell my soul to a demon, but nothing else! And when you consider how nice Sherlock has been, I can't really say that selling my soul to him was all that bad of an idea.

She jumped slightly as she felt Sherlock's Belstaff settle on her shoulders. Molly looked at him, confused.

"You were shivering," he said simply.

I was? "Oh, thank you," she murmured. "I didn't notice." She slid her arms into the sleeves of the warm coat and took a deep breath, smelling Sherlock's citrus and sandalwood cologne and the slightest hint of smoke. Like someone lit a match then blew it out. "Do all demons smell like matches?"

He chuckled. "Only the ones that haven't been to Hell in a while. Demons who live there smell like bonfires." He offered her his arm.

Molly took it. "When was the last time you were in Hell?"

"Over a millennium and a half ago. Since I deal directly with humanity, I only need to go to Hell when I screw up royally."

"What happened fifteen hundred years ago?"

Sherlock was silent so long that Molly wondered if he heard the question. "I don't want to talk about it," he said flatly.

She gently squeezed his arm. "That's fine, Sherlock. I don't like talking about my past screw-ups either."

Once they got back to her place, she took off the Belstaff and hung it up then turned to him, smiling a bit. "Despite the fact that my male friends don't trust you at all, I had a pleasant evening."

He chuckled softly. "So did I. And you're right, they don't trust me. But they have good reason not to."

Molly playfully rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, you're a big, bad demon and deep down, they can sense there's something off about you. But really, they probably think you're just an ordinary bloke who's looking to get into my knickers."

Sherlock smirked. "And we both know how I feel about your knickers."

She groaned quietly. "Goodnight, Sherlock."

He just smiled at her. "Goodnight, Molly."

That night, Sherlock was once again tossing and turning. Molly's words echoed in his head. "I trust him." Was she just saying that to get Greg off my back? Or does she actually trust me? If she does, she shouldn't. I'll do nothing but break her heart, I don't need Mycroft to tell me that. He sighed quietly. I need to get laid. That will ease this non-stop tension. And if the woman I seduce has brown hair and big brown eyes like Molly, well, who's going to know but me? An image of Molly's face after she found out he'd slept with another woman flashed in his mind. Molly, don't look at me like that. You know you're the only one I… Oh, fuck… Sherlock buried his face in the pillow, groaning in frustration.

Deciding a drink was in order, he left the guestroom and quietly walked down the hall to the kitchen. Pouring himself a glass of her special-occasion Scotch, Sherlock held up the glass. "To you, Molly, and the poor bastard who loves you."

"It's sweet of you to want to toast Tom and me," Molly said softly from the doorway, "but I wouldn't call Tom a bastard – his parents were married." Sherlock laughed weakly as she approached him. "Are you alright, Sherlock? You don't normally drink in the middle of the night. Is this about your screw-up?"

Oh, it's about my screw-up alright, just not the one you're thinking of. "I don't want to talk about it." He drained the glass in one go.

Molly gave him a sympathetic look. "Alright." She took another shot glass out of the cabinet. At his questioning look, she said, "No one should drink alone." She poured herself a shot then took a small sip. "Do you get drunk like a human?"

"It would take a lot more than this to get me drunk. I simply picked up the human habit of a drink or two when I'm stressed." He poured himself another shot.

Molly watched him for a moment then said gently, "Why don't you want to talk about it?"

"I'm an incubus, not a masochist."

She rolled her eyes. "You said you live alone, so I'm guessing you don't have anyone you can confide in. You can confide in me, Sherlock."

He watched her for a moment then said quietly, "Alright, but not here. The place for heartfelt confessions is the bedroom." He left the room, relieved when he heard her following him. He considered going to the guestroom but decided they would both be more comfortable in her room. He sat down on her bed, his back against the padded headboard.

Molly sat at the foot of the bed and said gently, "Go on, Sherlock."

"An incubus' main role is to seduce the innocent," he said in the quietest, most neutral tone he could manage, his eyes avoiding hers. "Sometimes, it ends in the victim's death. Other times, the victim becomes pregnant. The offspring of an incubus or a succubus and a human is called a campion. Normally, they become demons themselves."

"Normally?" Molly asked. She sounded both fascinated and repulsed by his story.

"It's possible for a campion to be claimed by the other side. I was ordered to sire a campion on a virtuous Welsh noblewoman. The seduction went as planned. However, when my son was born, I wasn't there to claim him like I should have been. Instead, his mother had him baptized right after birth."

"Did you ever see him?"

"No, I was punished for losing a powerful campion to the light with a century of torment in Hell. By the time I came back, my son had vanished." His voice was full of regret.

Molly moved closer and gently took his hand. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. What was his name?"

"Myrddin Emrys."

She stared at him like he had grown another head. "You mean to tell me that you're the incubus who fathered Merlin?"

"Yes."

She shook her head a bit. "I wish my father could have met you, he was an amateur Arthurian scholar."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's all you have to say on the matter?"

She gently squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry you lost your son." After a moment's hesitation, she hugged him briefly. "I have a ton of questions but they can wait for another time." He nodded and she was glad to let the subject of his son drop for now. "Do you always impregnate or kill every woman you sleep with?"

"No, only those of interest to my superiors."

"Have you ever disobeyed them?"

"Not yet." If they told me I have to harm you in any way, I'd do a lot more than disobey them.

"Do you feel better now that you've told someone?" she asked gently.

"A little," he admitted.

She watched him for a moment. "Have you ever been in love, Sherlock?"

You mean other than right now? "No. I'm not capable of it. No demon is."

"Nonsense," she said firmly, surprising him. "You were an angel once, weren't you?" At his nod, she went on. "Angels can love, can't they?"

"Well, most of them," he said, thinking of his brother.

"I doubt the Fall robbed you of your ability to love."

He smiled faintly. "If this ends with you saying I just need to find the right woman…"

Molly rolled her eyes. "No, I was going to end with a different cliché – you need to keep your heart open."

"You're right, that is a cliché."

"I have faith in you, Sherlock. You're a good man, despite not being human." She leaned forward to softly kiss his cheek. "If you behave, you can stay here tonight."

He blinked at her then nodded. Sherlock went back to the guestroom to change. By the time he came back to Molly's bedroom, she had changed into her pajamas and was in bed with a book, reading.

This could be my future, he thought, then mentally shook himself. No, this will never be my future. Molly will find someone else and I will spend my days looking after her and her husband, then their children too. He felt a pain in his chest at the thought of Molly starting a family with another man.

Molly looked up as he approached the bed. The smile she gave him was genuinely happy, even fond, and Sherlock felt himself smiling back despite the pain.

Maybe I am a masochist after all.

A/N: Yeah, I couldn't resist making Sherlock the only specific incubus I've heard of, the one who fathered Merlin. I hope no one objects. The Merlin connection will be pivotal to the sequel to this story.