A/N: Yes, another new story. Thank you to the lovely asteraeceaeblue for her help with the fight scene and overall cheerleading and betaing! This is a bit dark, folks, including some semi-graphic violence in this chapter.

From a tumblr post:

an au where angels are terrifying

an au where angels walk the streets and passers-by cower in fear at the sight of them

an au where angels mark scripture into their skin in languages only they can read or even comprehend

an au where angels spill blood daily for the sake of 'divine justice' and human law enforcement are powerless to stop it

an au where angels are the monsters you warn your children about before bed

His wings were black, edged with silver that glowed faintly even in the brightest sunlight, matching the silver sigils etched into his skin, the scripture he'd elected to carve into his flesh in one of his few concessions to the traditions of his kind. Most angels chose to match their hair and eyes to their wings when taking human form, but not him; he chose eyes of a changeable blue-green and left his hair its natural dark brown tumble of curls, vain of the reddish highlights it showed when the sun caught it just right. His skin was as pale as marble, a striking contrast, he knew, to his wings and the dark clothing he elected to wear when walking amongst humankind.

His brethren deemed him an eccentric at best for what they believed to be his attempts to somehow blend in with the masses of humanity, but the truth was he was just as vain about his appearance as any other angel, and the human clothing seemed tailor-made to make him stand out more than he already did. Black denim, black button-down shirt (manifested around his wings, a trivial use of his powers but no more trivial than the angels who conjured up gem-encrusted harnesses and gold-soled sandals when visiting Earth), black shoes, and his invisible-to-human-eyes sword in its sheath slung low at his hip.

He was unlike his angelic brethren in other ways; for example, his mission today wasn't to seek out a particular soul for divine retribution, nor was he randomly trolling through the humans' minds to find any with such filth staining their soul that they no longer deserved to remain among the living. No, his mind was carefully closed to the surface thoughts of the millions of souls in this particular city – London, he believed it was called – even as his temporarily humanized senses took in every detail. It was a test of sorts; to see how well he could function without resorting to his angelic abilities. To see the world as humans saw it, or as close as he could manage without entirely transforming into one of them.

He'd even chosen a human name to use: Sherlock, a variation on his true name, but one that a human tongue could pronounce without too much difficulty, should he ever choose to share it with one of them. Oh, how his brethren would shake their heads at the sheer folly of one of their kind lowering themselves to speak to a human, to converse or even share information with them – personal information, even if it was a self-given name!

As he passed by the entrance to a narrow alley, he heard the sounds of an altercation, muffled but clear. He very nearly continued on his way, but a woman's voice, shrill with what sounded more like outrage than fear, caught his attention.

He might not be searching for souls to punish, but he wasn't going to avoid meting out divine justice if such souls happened across his path, either. There were some things an angel couldn't ignore no matter how willfully mind-blind. He felt the familiar tug that told him he was needed, and allowed himself to be guided toward the sins being committed…or about to be committed.

Opening up his angelic senses, he found exactly what he expected from the perpetrators…and raised an eyebrow as he also felt the victim's emotions.

Like her angry voice, her emotions were a mixture of outrage and something so entirely unexpected that he couldn't have resisted learning more about the situation if he tried.

oOo

"C'mon, luv, just 'and it over an' you can go on your merry way."

"Fuck off," Molly Hooper, specialist registrar at St. Bart's hospital and current attempted-mugging victim, said in a desperate snarl as she hugged her handbag to her chest. She knew she should just hand it over and report it to the police afterwards, but something about the trio of wild-eyed men standing in a loose half-circle in front of her raised her hackles even more than when they'd so roughly grabbed her and dragged her to the far end of the alley from which they'd emerged. She'd tried to call for help, but one large hand had smacked itself over her mouth, and struggle though she might, she couldn't break free of the three of them.

One of them – the grubby, unshaven ginger with the acne scars and crooked teeth – made a grab for her bag, but it was only a feint; as Molly whipped it behind her back the other two closed in, and she found herself pinned to the brick wall at the end of the small interior courtyard at the end of the alley, her hands twisted behind her back but her handbag stubbornly clutched tightly in her fingers. The knife-wielding thug to the left of her grabbed it, hard, and she was forced to yield, angry tears stinging her eyes. "Fine, you've got what you wanted, now just…go," she spat out.

An ugly laugh sounded from the leader of the threesome, and he thrust his face close to hers, leering as he grabbed the back of her head, knotting his fingers in her hair and bringing more tears to her eyes, this time of pain. "Nah, we ain't got what we wanted, not all of it, luv," he sneered. Before she could react, he dove close and shoved his mouth against hers, worming his tongue between her lips as she gasped and fought to free herself with grim determination. She bit down, hard, and was rewarded by a screech of pain as he pulled away from her.

Her moment of triumph was short-lived; with an ugly snarl, he backhanded her, knocking her head into the brick wall hard enough for her to see stars. "Stupid cunt, coulda made this easy on yourself," he growled, yanking her head back again while his two mates started to drag her away from the wall. He grabbed the front of her blouse and yanked; buttons flew everywhere and Molly cried out in fury and terror…and then gasped again as a new voice spoke from the alley's entrance.

"If sinners entice you, do not consent."

Molly and her attackers all turned automatically to see who it was – a rescuer, or more trouble? The three men seemed just as uncertain as she was, the leader releasing his grip on her hair and the tallest of the three shoving her closer to the one holding her wrists so tightly in his large, calloused hands.

Molly's eyes widened as the figure emerged from the darkness: it was…no, it couldn't possibly be…but it was. An angel. There was an angel stalking toward them, wings as black as a sinner's heart, but edged with silver feathers that glowed with an inner light. The scripture carved into the angel's exposed forearms also glowed silver as he continued speaking, holding a sword loosely in one hand as he approached. "If they say, 'come with us, let us lie in wait for blood, let us ambush the innocent without cause; let us swallow them alive like Sheol…" He fell silent as Molly's attackers gave him their fullest attention, muttering warily but pulling out additional knives and even a gun to threaten the newcomer with.

Molly almost laughed, but any such sound would only lead to hysteria, and so she bit it back. Really? These idiots thought to frighten an angel into retreat? How high were they? She'd noted the tell-tale signs of drug use – her training might be in pathology, her 'patients' already dead when she saw them on her autopsy table, but she still had a physician's trained eye – but hadn't thought anyone could be that delusional. Not unless they were literally raving.

The angel – the most beautiful being Molly had ever seen, hands down – cocked his head to one side and lowered his brow in what she could only assume was feigned confusion. "No? Proverbs 1:10-15 too cerebral for you? How about this then – thou shalt not steal. Exodus 20:15," he added, almost as an afterthought. He tapped the incomprehensible silver symbols on his left forearm. "It says so right here. But clearly none of you have ever taken those words to heart." His eyes darkened, his grip on his sword tightening as the blade suddenly burst into silver-tinged flame. "Nor, I believe, have any of you remembered the far more important words of our Lord from Exodus 20:13: thou shalt not kill."

Molly went cold at those words. Angels had the power to read a human's intentions, and if what he was saying was true, then her attackers hadn't planned on stopping after robbing and raping her. Whether she'd resisted or given in quietly, they would have made sure she never left this alley alive. And even though she'd never believed that human prayers had anything to do with the presence of vengeance-seeking angels on Earth, this one time she was willing to put her skepticism aside and simply send her thanks winging heavenward as she watched the scene unfolding before her.

With a swiftness and elegance that only enhanced the deadly skill that this angel possessed, he shifted the handle of the sword, his fingers deftly manipulating the weapon, and let the blade spin through the air once in a perfect circle. His feet spread apart on the pavement, the muscles in his legs visibly taut beneath the dark fabric of his black jeans. The magnificence of the sight had her mesmerized, and clearly she wasn't the only one – her would-be attackers were frozen for several moments before seeming to remember that they wanted to take down this new threat.

The first to move was the one holding the gun – she would bet money that he thought he had the upper hand, a gun versus a sword, just as she'd be willing to bet he was the sort of idiot who didn't believe the stories others had told about angels, or thought they were exaggerated. More fool he. He took a menacing step forward and unloaded the weapon, filling the alley with the blast of firing bullets, one right after the other. With one smooth movement, the angel raised his hand and held it out in front of his chest, flicking the bullets away as though he were swatting flies. Molly watched his face carefully, taking in the expression of enjoyment, his blue eyes narrowed and his mouth turned up in a condescending half-grin as he deflected the shots.

When the gun blasts stopped and the weapon only clicked emptily, the man looked panicked for a second before tossing the gun aside and yanking a knife from his belt. He looked to his companions and they shifted on their feet, hesitating, their confidence clearly plummeting.

"I really don't have all day," the angel said, sounding utterly bored. But when he spoke again, his deep baritone boomed and echoed off the walls of the alley. "Do you plan to challenge me or surrender to your clearly well-deserved fates?"

The shortest of the trio found his courage (or stupidity) and lowered his head as he charged forward, knife gripped firmly in hand. The angel quickly lowered his sword, gripped it with both hands, and brought it up again, striking the tiny blade of the knife and sending it flying into the air and far down the alley, out of sight. Before the short man had a chance to react, the angel struck him with the back of his hand, knocking him to the ground. The other two men looked at each other, angry at the assault on their comrade, and hurtled forward, one aiming for the angel's midsection and the other bringing his sizeable knife up with the clear intention of plunging it into the angel's chest.

The angel completely ignored the man who tried to tackle him, focusing his attention on the one with the knife, and Molly soon realized why. The instant the first man made contact with the angel, his arms encircling his waist in his attempt to bring him down, a bright light emanated from beneath his limbs and body, and smoke began to materialize. Seconds later, the man screamed and flung himself away, revealing burns to his hands and the side of his face.

Unfortunately for his friend, the warning came too late. As the second man tried to bring the knife down for a fatal blow, the angel caught his wrist, twisting hard. Molly heard bone snap and the knife clattered on the pavement. She watched through wide eyes as he was lifted from the ground by his now broken wrist, the angel dangling him in the air with one hand. It took her a moment to realize how he was accomplishing the feat, being the same height as his attacker – the angel himself was hovering above the ground, some five feet in the air.

Showing no signs of effort, he flung the now-unconscious form away from him, an expression of utter contempt on his beautiful, terrible face. The sigils on his forearms glowed even brighter as he alit back to the broken pavement, and Molly fancied she could see an answering glow coming from beneath the open collar of his shirt, as if his chest were similarly decorated.

Although it was wildly inappropriate, she found herself wondering how he would look with his chest bared to her sight, how his skin would feel beneath her fingers; would any human burn at his touch, or only those he sought to bring to justice? Her cheeks blazed as she fought to control her feverish thoughts. Yes, many people had fantasies about angels, not matter how deadly, but no one had ever given solid evidence that they were even remotely interested in having sex with humans. She needed to just foc…

Molly's thoughts froze as the angel spared one final, contemptuous glance at the three moaning forms huddled at his feet, then looked directly at her, his gaze meeting hers and pinning her in place.

She couldn't take her eyes away from his as he moved toward her, casually tucking his sword back into the black sheath that hung from his left hip. Because of that she missed how it vanished from sight, once again invisible to human senses. All she could see was the beauty of his ocean-blue eyes, in spite the savagery of what she'd just witnessed, at being so close to an angel in all his fierce, implacable glory.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she wondered if he'd read her thoughts, delved into her soul the way he had her attackers. And if he had, what did he think of what he'd found there?

He stopped mere inches from her body, staring down at her with what looked very much like curiosity. "You're not afraid of me," he finally said, that glorious baritone sending shivers down her spine – but no, not shivers of fear.

She shook her head, slowly at first, then with more certainty. "N-no," she breathed, barely able to speak. And she wasn't, why should she fear him? The angels walked amongst men meting out divine justice, it was true, but she was confident of her own innocence, at least of any sins large enough to capture an angel's attention. Even if he'd read her thoughts…impure thoughts were something one confessed to a priest, not something God would send an angel to mete out punishment for!

One of the fallen men moaned – the one who'd been burnt, Molly noted, unable to turn off the clinical part of her brain as her eyes automatically sought out the source of the sound. He'd need to have those injuries seen to, and soon. All of them would, actually. She tensed as she saw him attempt to raise himself to his feet, then cried out as her angelic savior whirled in a blinding blur of motion, a molten, silvery burst of angel fire exploding from his hand and engulfing the man in a blazing pyre. His screams of agony and the heat of the otherworldly blaze threatened to overwhelm Molly, and she only realized she was screaming as well when she felt a large, cool hand cover her mouth.

"Hush," the angel crooned, his voice sounding in both her ears and her mind. She shivered violently, but once again, not from fear or even outrage – she'd known what fate was in store for those three men even if she hadn't wanted to admit it; her screams had been more of shock and dismay. No, she shivered from the slow burn of pure desire his touch evoked. His body was pressed against hers so that she faced forward, and with a flash Molly understood that he wanted her to witness the deaths of the other two sinners who'd condemned themselves by their own actions.

Molly watched, eyes wide and breathing rapid, as the two unconscious men met the same fate as their partner in crime, until there was nothing left but three smoldering heaps of ash on the dirty pavement. Even their knives had been melted down to puddles of molten steel, cooling rapidly into forms as unrecognizable as the bodies of their former wielders. She continued to watch as the gun was lifted from where it had been flung and dropped onto one of the piles of ash – the leader was reunited with his weapon in silent condemnation for his crimes.

When it was over, the angel didn't release her, not entirely; his hand moved from her mouth down to her shoulder, to her arm, gripping tightly as he spun her so that her back was once against to the grimy brick wall. He loomed over her, his blue-green eyes dissecting, picking her apart, seeming to gaze deep into her very soul…and when his lips curled in a dark, knowing smile, Molly knew that he very much liked what he'd seen.

She felt his hand moving up her arm, until he was gripping her by the back of her neck, tendrils of her hair caught in his grasp as he tugged her head back so that she was looking up, up at him, brown human eyes staring into unearthly blue-green. Then his head descended, lightning-swift, and his lips covered hers in a passionate, demanding kiss.