I've always wanted to write a Sherlolly vampire story. Written for the 2017 Sherlolly Halloween fest.

In the Blood

Part One

Normally Molly didn't mind covering the night shift in the morgue. She didn't have to do it very often now that she had some seniority in the department; but "With great power comes great responsibility" and sometimes that meant taking one for the team and agreeing to cover Halloween night so Geoff and Samuel could each take their significant others to a couple of fancy dress parties.

Unfortunately, she'd forgotten to pack anything to eat when she'd left her home that afternoon, and the vending machines in the break room were disappointedly empty. She spent a few minutes debating whether or not to chance the ham and swiss sandwich that had definitely seen better days and a bag of crisps, or heading back to the lab where she'd left her laptop and seeing if the good curry place up the road was still willing to deliver this close to midnight. Odds were not in her favour, but the ham sandwich wasn't likely to go anywhere while she double checked.

Her steps slowed as she approached the lab. The door was ajar. She was almost certain she'd closed and locked it when she went to find food. Hardly anyone came down to the basement this late at night unless there was an emergency or they were looking for something to steal. She shoved her hand into the pocket of her lab coat in search of her phone, and then cursed under her breath when she realized she'd left it next to her laptop.

Molly cautiously pulled the door open, and quickly scanned the room for any sign of an intruder. Everything appeared to be in place and the room was empty.

She'd just begun to relax, telling herself that she must have forgotten to shut the door, when she heard a faint sound coming from the direction of the large walk in cooler in the back of the room. Something that sounded almost . . . like a growl?

Her first thought was how could a dog have found its way down there?

Her second was to hurry across the room to snatch up her mobile. The smart thing to do would be to call security and wait in the hall until someone who was absolutely not her could deal with it.

But if there's nothing in there, if it was just the late night and hunger playing tricks on me, I'm going to feel like an idiot. Right, a quick peek then.

She curled her fingers around the handle of the refrigerator unit, and eased the door open a fraction. When nothing slammed into it or growled a warning, she opened it even further and peeked into the crack.

He was lucky she would recognize that coat and those curls anywhere, otherwise Molly might have called the wrath of Barts security down upon his head. She pulled the door the rest of the way open and took a step inside. "Sherlock? You know you're not supposed to be in here unsupervised."

His frame tensed at the sound of her voice, and she heard that growling noise again. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

"Sherlock?"

"Go away."

Molly jerked and nearly backed out of the cooler before she caught herself. "No, you know I can't do that."

He sighed and slowly turned toward her. Molly gasped at the sight. His skin was far too pale, his eyes shadowed and sunken. His blue shirt was covered a dark stain that she would have recognized even without the metallic scent that overwhelmed the small space.

"Oh God, are you okay?"

"What are you doing here?" His voice seemed deeper than usual.

"I could ask you the same thing. Are you hurt? Is that your blood?" Her concern for him had her closing the small distance between them to help.

He snarled "Keep back!" as he held up a hand to hold her at arm's length. That's when she realized his palm was covered in blood as well.

"You are hurt. Let me help." She tried to move closer again, and he bumped into a shelf trying to back away from her. Several bags of blood that were being stored for haematology research slipped free and landed on the floor.

"Damn it, Molly. You aren't supposed to be here. You're supposed to be eating lunch."

"Sherlock." She made her voice as close to steel as she could, growing more worried with every passing second.

The hand he was holding out to her began to tremble, his nostrils flared, and the last small hint of colour leached away from his skin.

"How much blood have you lost? Don't make me wait until you've passed out, let me help you!"

He tried to shift away again, but his heel caught on a blood bag and he had to reach out to steady himself. Molly took advantage of the opening to dart forward. Her hands slid across his chest until she found the source of the blood. The wound was deep, she could tell without even seeing it.

Not a bullet wound. Knife? Something with a large point. Need to figure out if it's still in the wound.

She started to yank his shirt buttons open, intent on getting a better look at the wound. Sherlock grabbed her wrists and held her still. His hands were strong, but so cold.

Blood loss. Probably shock.

Molly lifted her head, intent on reassuring him that she was going to get him stabilized and then call for help, but her words froze in her throat. Somehow his eyes had changed, the familiar pale colour had shifted into the most beautiful ice blue she had ever seen.

She suddenly felt light headed.

"I'm sorry, Molly," Sherlock growled. He slid one arm around her waist and yanked her close until she practically fell into him. She wanted to ask what he was doing, but her mouth was too dry to manage more than a croak that could have been his name. He wrapped his free hand in her hair and pulled her head back to expose her neck. She felt his lips against her throat, a quick swipe of his tongue, and then his cool breath against her damp skin.

Cool? That's not right. None of this is right. What is happening to me?

Then her thoughts were overwhelmed by a barrage of sensations. She couldn't see anything but starbursts of colour, couldn't hear anything but the pounding rush of blood in her ears, couldn't smell anything but tangy iron, couldn't feel anything but a flash of white-hot pain at her throat.

He'd bitten her, hard enough to break the skin.

As she realized he was sucking at the wound, swallowing mouthfuls of her blood, the pain receded and arousal took its place.

Even in the face of her fear, Molly could feel her body react. Her nipples pebbled and she grew wet. She moaned his name, and thought she heard him groan in response.

She had no idea how long it was before the world began to grow dim. Molly tried to push him away, but he was solid and immovable beneath her weakened hands. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she gathered up the last of her strength to beg, "Please, please stop."

Finally, she felt his tongue glide across her skin, as if he were searching for every last drop of blood he might have missed.

Her arms fell limp at her sides and her knees buckled. The only thing that kept her from crumbling to the floor was Sherlock's impossibly strong arms. He lifted his head and his eyes were still that hypnotically beautiful colour, but now they were filled with remorse and fear.

"I'm sorry, Molly. So very sorry." His lips and teeth were stained red.

She tried to reach up, unsure if she wanted to push him away or pull him close, but her hands were too heavy. It grew difficult to breath. "Am-am I dying?"

The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was Sherlock's face twist in agony.