Here's chapter one of my Halloween story. Big thanks to MizJoely for all her help (and unwavering honesty). Mel-loves-all did a wonderful photomanip for this fic and it's posted with the story on AO3 and my tumblr blog (same name). Chapter two will be up by the end of Halloween at 221B A Sherlolly Celebration (also, it's a lot longer… and might be sexier ; )

It's a vampire story, my lovelies, there be blood talk and perhaps biting (perhaps, she says…)

I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~

-Chapter One- Trying in Vain-

Molly knew he was there. Of course she knew. Even though he had more or less just appeared, completely silent and, she assumed, motionless as she could hear not a sound, she felt his presence like a dark spector behind her and slightly to her left. She ignored him, attempting to concentrate on the cells under her microscope. She knew what he wanted and wasn't about to change her mind. But suddenly his breath, though negligible (and unnecessary, so that meant he was doing it deliberately, the git!), teased her neck and she had no choice but to respond.

"Damnit Sherlock! I said no and I meant it!" she huffed, flicking a hand over her shoulder like she was shooing away a fly.

"Molly," his deep baritone purred.

She tried not to let it affect her. His new-found instinct to use seduction, not simple flirtation, to achieve a goal was nothing more than a tactic used by his kind. She had to be strong, she owed it to herself. Without turning around she said, "Don't start."

"Molly…"

"I'm not in the mood for your tricks."

"But I'm hungry," he whined, clearly giving up on the use of his sexuality to get what he needed.

"That's not my problem. Mycroft is keeping you supplied, so…"

"It's not the same as… yours. And besides, it's cold."

"That's what microwaves are for," she snapped.

The detective growled, grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her towards him to face him. "I hate having to do this, Molly…"

"Then don't," she pleaded, with a quick glance to his mouth.

Their eyes locked and she felt a shiver of fear mixed with arousal knowing he was considering compelling her to allow him to have his way. He had only attempted it once before, but had not followed through in the end, thankfully.

Sherlock licked his lips, then Molly saw his teeth, which had been extended - ready to feed - retract to 'normal' (or not normal, depending on how you look at it). "You never used to be this difficult."

She shrugged his hands off and straightened her lab coat. "And you never used to be a vampire."

"Once was a time you were happy to help me, with anything."

"Go home, Sherlock." She hated the defeated sound of her voice. "You're clearly mad with hunger."

With a flourish, he turned and stalked out of the lab.

Molly was leaning on against a wall outside a pub, talking on her mobile. John and Mary were happily eating starters and having drinks inside while she'd been stuck in the alley for fifteen minutes trying to talk Meena down from a complete freak out. The poor woman was in the middle of a fight with her current beau. Suddenly she felt herself moving forward, her feet sliding, not walking, until she was several feet away from the wall. "Mother fu- Meena, I'll have to call you back. This alley has bats." She stowed her phone in her pocket and turned just in time to see Sherlock grinning at her like an idiot.

"I can hardly sneak up on you if your back's against the wall all bloody night."

"So your solution is to drag me around like a rag doll? In public no less!" she added through gritted teeth, looking around for bystanders.

"You're being rude to your dinner companions," he said as he brushed a lock of hair over her shoulder.

"Not as rude as you. Showing up almost an hour late then stalking me rather than joining your friends for dinner."

"I'd love to join my friend for dinner…"

"Oh shut it, Sherlock!" She pushed on his chest. "Have you already gone through the blood I gave you?"

"Ah, yes."

Molly wasn't sure why, but she didn't really believe him. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I am. You're still continuing this ridiculous notion that I can't feed directly from you then?"

She sighed. Even after going to Mycroft's creepy government lab and letting some strange looking woman in an old fashioned nurse's uniform draw her blood twice, Sherlock was still on this 'feeding' business. She had wanted to just draw the blood herself, but no, Mycroft insisted he have access to it first. For testing, he'd said. Sherlock later explained that his brother was desperately looking for a cure (though she had her doubts about that, more likely he was using this as an excuse to experiment on his own family) and for some reason her blood was important. Not that she minded providing nourishment for her friend; she didn't. If giving blood every once in awhile was something she needed to do, she'd happily contribute. On her own terms, however.

"You have my blood, Sherlock, why do you keep…"

He stepped back and ruffled his hair. "Our friends are waiting, Molly." Offering her his elbow, he said, "Shall we?"

Maddening! she thought as she allowed him to escort her back inside the pub.

Well, it hadn't been the worst date of her life, but very nearly. Now she was walking home on a cold October evening and wishing she'd taken the Tube. Thankfully she was almost at her building, though she'd managed to half-freeze herself in an attempt to 'walk off her frustration'.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, she felt an arm around her shoulder. "I'll not offer much warmth, but some is better than none. It's not as if you can't be choosy at this point," the voice attached to the arm explained.

Stopping and holding a hand to her pounding chest Molly said, "Shit! That's a good way to get yourself killed, Sherlock!"

"What makes you think you could harm me, Miss Hooper?" he replied with a smirk.

"Advanced pilates!"

He chuckled. "I believe you've forgotten an important factor: I'm already dead. Hard to kill something that has no life." He pulled her closer and even though he wasn't nearly as warm as a normal human, he did offer some warmth. If nothing else, he shielded her from the chilly breeze.

"Don't say things like that, please?"

"Sorry." He squeezed her shoulder. "Let's get you in out of the cold."

They continued on, his arm around her holding her close. The irony wasn't lost on her. Sherlock Holmes had touched Molly a grand total of four times during their entire acquaintance, excluding pushing her out of the way to get to the microscope or bumping into her on his way to see a corpse. But since he'd been Turned he couldn't keep his hands off of her. She was no fool; the touches were just tactics to get what he wanted. Unfortunately for him, what he wanted she wasn't prepared to give.

"Here we are," he announced as they arrived in front of Molly's building. "Safe and sound."

She fished her keys out of her bag and unlocked the door. As she started into the flat she noticed that Sherlock wasn't following. "You want some tea?" she asked.

He looked around nervously.

With a roll of her eyes she said, "Won't you please come inside my home and have some tea, Sherlock?"

"That'd be lovely, thank you." He walked across the threshold. "It's been nearly four months, Molly, you'd think you'd remember by now."

Toby made himself scarce as soon as the pair walked into the flat just as he had since Sherlock's change. Her two favourite males had come to a sort of truce in recent years, but now it seemed he was terrified of her friend. The first few meetings between human and cat Toby hadn't seemed to like the idea of another masculine presence in her life (if more than one pair of ruined shoes was anything to go by). But he must have eventually realised that the detective wasn't going anywhere and simply ignored Sherlock's protests when the feline would rub against his leg or, God forbid, take a nap on the Belstaff. Oddly he never seemed to have an opinion of Tom, appearing completely indifferent to her onetime fiance. Though he did express his dislike for Tom's dog, often and painfully.

She settled into her kitchen and started preparing the tea. Sherlock hovered right behind her, making her more than a little nervous. As she waited for the kettle to boil she decided to change clothes. Turning to leave the room she found him blocking her path.

"Can I get through? I'd like to put on my pj's."

"Why won't you let me?" he asked, not looking in her eyes. He was focused, as per usual, on her throat. "You let me once before."

"Sherlock…"

"Was it painful? I- I don't want to hurt you, but…"

"No, Sherlock, it didn't really hurt."

"They why?"

"It's hard to explain."

"Try."

"I don't want to." The kettle whistled and Sherlock took it off the heat then turned back to her, never giving her an escape route.

She backed up against the counter, Sherlock's body nearly touching hers. Molly stared into his eyes. His pupils were slightly dilated and his irises had turned an interesting shade of purple. Molly had theorized the last time it had happened that it was blood mixing with the existing blue. If it had happened during his initial transformation, she hadn't noticed having had her eyes tightly shut while he fed.

Staring at her neck he repeatedly licked his lips. "Please, Molly. Why will you not let me have you?" he whispered.

God, does he not even hear himself? Her body was reacting and she was hopeless to stop it. "I don't think you'd understand, Sherlock. Even if I explained it."

His hands came up to hold her in place, one on her bicep and the other on hip. "Molly…"

She had to stop him… and her, for that matter. She was seconds away from giving in. "Fine! I'll tell you. If you move back and give me space, I'll tell you."

He gave her a look that said he wasn't sure he wanted to give up his position, but moved nevertheless.

"You were out of it when I found you. Nearly… well I thought you were dead. But then my phone rang. It was your brother."

"I know what happened, Molly. I've seen the rep…"

"Let me speak!" She took a deep breath. "He said he had eyes on you - on us - and explained what I needed to do - that I needed to feed you or you'd not survive. So I cut my wrist and allowed you to drink from me." Molly paced away and tried to calm down her racing heart before proceeding. "You woke up suddenly, a-and when you did… you weren't yourself."

"What?"

"You tackled me to the floor and… bit my neck." Her hand immediately went to the spot where he'd latched on, and she rubbed it self-consciously.

His eyes were unfocused; he was clearly trying to pull up the memory.

"Mycroft told me later that you didn't remember much of that night."

"I don't. Not really. I do remember your blood, how it tasted, but not much else."

"So you continued to feed. And, oh God…" She rubbed her hands over her reddening face. This was the hard part, the part that was both humiliating and thrilling.

"What Molly, what happened? Tell me, I need to know!" he demanded.

"I had an orgasm, okay!" she shouted, not really meaning to. "I enjoyed it… a lot. And, I'm sorry, Sherlock, I just… look, this is so fucking uncomfortable, can we please just drop it?" She hated begging him, hated sounding so weak. But he'd pushed and pushed...

He took one step toward her and she put up her hands to stop him. "Molly…"

"It's late, so… I'm just going to go to bed. Have your tea if you want. Good night, Sherlock." She locked herself in her bedroom and cried herself to sleep.

Molly wouldn't hear from Sherlock for nearly two weeks and when she did it was, of course, in the most dramatic way.

St. Barts was hosting a Halloween party for the staff and Molly had decided to attend. Okay, she'd been talked into it by Mary Watson. Neither Mary or John worked at the hospital, but had been invited by Mike Stamford as John was a sort of fixture along with his crime solving best friend.

So she managed to put together a costume (a rather clever one if she did say so herself) and pulled herself out of the funk that had overtaken her since her last encounter with Sherlock.

Mary Watson up dressed like something straight out of a Bond film. "Having fun?" she asked.

"Sure," Molly answered then pointed to Mary's dress "You're…"

"Mrs. Smith." She motioned to her husband, who was talking to the head of the Oncology department and looking very smart in his three-piece suit. "And he's Mr. Smith," she added with a wink.

Molly laughed, then an odd silence settled over the pair. After a few minutes Mary spoke again. "He's fine, you know. We saw him just yesterday."

She loved the vivacious blonde, but having a female version of Sherlock around to read her mind as if she had the depth of a petri dish was more than a little disconcerting. "That's good. We had a bit of a row."

Mary put her hand on Molly's arm. "Try to have fun tonight. Let go a little. The last four months have been terribly difficult for you."

"And for you and John and…"

"But not like you. It's been even harder on you, luv," she said with a knowing look then turned and grabbed a drink from a passing waiter and handed it to Molly. "Drink this and relax," she urged before wandering off to find her husband.

Easy for her to say, Molly thought as she sipped the… eww, what the hell is this?

"I've finally figured out your costume," a voice came from behind her, causing her to shiver.

She turned around to see Sherlock dressed as an authentic looking vampire (at least by Hollywood's standards, she knew a little better now). His black, high-collared cloak almost seemed to be made of the same material as his Belstaff, which was ridiculous. Belstaff didn't make cloaks… did they? But it was eerily similar. She couldn't really make out the rest of his costume, though the cloak, plus his unsheathed fangs, were all it really took to pull off the look.

"At least I didn't come dressed as myself," she said, refocusing her attention on the crowd.

He flicked at the plastic knife sticking out of the box attached to her chest. "Good choice, though. If I was going to murder cereal it would definitely be Weetabix."

"It's clever, no?" She proudly looked down at her homemade costume. When she looked back up she found him smiling fondly at her.

"It's just so perfectly you, Molly." His voice was almost wistful and so soft that she barely heard it above the music. "If you've had enough of this… gathering," he said looking around the room for a split second. "I'd like to speak to you somewhere more private."

She panicked, her mind pulling in two different directions. Half of her wanted to refuse, to tell him she'd said all there was to say. But the other half, the one that had always cared deeply for the maddening genius and always felt the pull to give him what he needed, refused to give up.

"Okay. Where?" she asked.

Holding out his hand to her he asked, "Do you trust me?"

As she up into his eyes she realised that no matter what he'd never hurt her - never taken advantage, at least not recently nor maliciously, she believed. And he certainly could have. At any point over the last four months he could have simply taken what he wanted, but he always stopped just short.

"I've always trusted you, Sherlock," she answered, holding up her hand to take his.

He didn't speak, just led her from the room. They walked down the back hallway, taking so many turns that Molly was soon lost. Finally they reached a service exit. Once there he carefully removed her deceased cereal box. It was easy as she'd simply attached it with a bit of string like an overly large and unattractive necklace.

"I assume you have no attachment to your costume?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the word costume.

Okay, it was a stretch to call it that, but at least she had tried (and she still thought it was quite clever). Other than the box she was dressed much like she'd normally dress: a pair of jeans and a warm jumper. Molly shook her head and Sherlock tossed the box and fake knife in a nearby bin.

They then stepped out into the chilly October night. He turned to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, his billowing cloak enveloping her, and she instantly felt infused with warmth. "Hold onto me as tight as you can, Molly. And whatever you do, don't let go."

Thanks for reading my first Vamp!Lock. Please let me know how I'm doing. One more chapter to go. ~Lil~