The Awakening (A Sherlock/Moriarty Vampire Fic - Canon AU)

Chapter Six

     Thoughts had gone from 'Happy To See You' to 'Alone-so-very-alone'. Paper shriveled up and landed on the floor, caught on fire...
    Molly groaned as she woke up, the dream still pulling at her: It had been different than the others. She could see detail and even understand things. Not fully, but at all had been enough. "Still dreams," she whispered. It had only been a night, so the healthy sleeping habits hadn't had time to take affect.
    Plus, she had a headache.
    After taking Tylenol she used a face towel to pat on cold water. The pin pricks shocked a little of the fog away, and then she went to the living room. She sat in her favorite chair, the reading chair. It had been a birthday present to herself three years ago. Sleek white design, but bulked with enough cushion to make it sleep-able. And sleep she did.

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    In the lab at St. Bart, Sherlock said, "Molly?"
    She looked up from the assortment of metal pieces. "Yes? And where did you get all of this? What's it for?"
    "Oh, you know, little of this, little of that. Plus I want to make a dagger... or two."
    "Why?"
    He sighed and adjusted his goggles. "Don't you have more important things to do? Like remove brains or something?"
    "Children," John said. "Could we please just get along?"
    Molly left.
    Sherlock watched until the door fully closed, and then he said, "Did you see? Her lips thinned, making them non-existent. It's not a good look. Why is she angry? She's never angry? Well, this angry so early in the morning."
    "I don't know," John said. "Why don't you go ask?"
    "I'd prefer not." He cleared his throat and added a block of silver to the machine. After turning it on he said, "I've never done this before. May be interesting. May be dull."
    "We'll have to see." He became entranced as he watched it be melted.
    John looked from the humming machine to him and back. "Can't this, like, burn your eyes out of your socket?"
    "No."
    He scowled. "Right." Knowing Sherlock wasn't going to be of any... any thing... while he watched, he went to find Molly. He found her in the morgue. Her lifting a box that she'd before needed help with registered as Molly Is Angry And Apparently Gets Adrenaline From It: Proceed With Caution.
    Hoping it came off as inquiring and not confrontational, he cleared his throat.
    "No," she immediately said. "No no. I don't want to talk. I'm-" She groaned.
    "I'm sleep deprived and..." A little laugh left her and it made her sound a little hysterical.     "Sherlock, sometimes he... I don't know why I even like him. Besides his helping people bit."
    That had been unexpected, but not really. John said, "He's... well, you know."
    "Yes." She turned to look at him. She looked worried. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't said that."
    "I really am lacking sleep. Every since... well, Moriarty. It's really been affecting me. Shock, trauma maybe. I don't know why."
    "I've been through worse, hearing about you two getting shot at and Sherlock actually getting shot once. Plus, I work down here."
    "Molly, it's alright. I understand. And it's nothing like any of that. Maybe you need some time off."
    "No," she said and it came out a squeak. "I need to keep focused. Otherwise I'd just go insane. Plus, being home, not doing any thing, it'd be so dull." She crossed the room to retrieve a clip board.
    "Ok," he said, unsure. "I'll just leave you to it, then." When he got back to Sherlock he said, "Molly, just used the word dull."
    At first it didn't seem like Sherlock heard him. The sound of his voice surprised him, "So?"
    "So? She talked like you do. Being home is dull. Not having any thing to do, dull. It's weird."
    "She's a capable human being with a smart mind - well, area oriented - which means no surprise she needs to keep busy.
    "Sherlock, she watches night time drama's and romantic comedy's. She has teddy bears on her bed. Being a maniacal genius isn't in her cards."
    Sherlock blinked rapidly and looked at him. "How do you know she has teddy bears on her bed," he asked incredulously.
    John sighed. "She's talked about it. Not to me, but I over-heard. Girls, some girls, apparently like cute, fuzzy... things."
    His mouth opened, then slowly closed. He looked weirded out, then unhappy, then uncomfortable, then over it. His attention went back to the machine.

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    Since Moriarty had come to this house, a night and day had passed. He sat on the top stair of a stone stair case. Five steps in all. The gray stone looked black in the early, starless night. And what were the side things called?
    They were also stone and you could sit on them, or in his case: Stare at them and wonder what they were called.
    His thoughts were racing, but in the background and much slower. His yard - pore thing - looked neglected. He'd have to take care of that. And what the hell was that? He sat straight, eyes wide, and watched the ugliest cat he'd ever seen cross the walk way.
    It had long orange fur with dark brown spots - there were bald places on it's behind and the middle of it's tail - and it had a face that looked like you should be afraid it'd eat your... well, face... off.
    "You, shoo," he said, and then he whined. "I don't like you at all." The cat ignored him and climbed a tree on the other side of the yard. He debated getting a bb gun. Or maybe just a knife.
    He didn't doubt he could catch it. Killing it seemed like a waste of time, though.
    Speaking of wasting time: "I need to figure out this blood thing. Vampires pull it off, so what am I missing?"
    He blinked and looked around. The scene had changed. His dark, empty yard had become a side walk brimming with people. His house had been located some fifteen minutes out of town. It took extra seconds for what had happened to catch up.
    He'd moved quickly, desperately - inhumanly - fast and had come to town to feed. He'd thought of Molly, of what little he could remember about attacking her. All he remembered was realizing that someone was struggling in his arms, stopping her from falling on instinct, and every thing after that had been clear. He hadn't been present during the bite, so he didn't remember doing it. "This is so frustrating."
    People were looking at him. Why? He looked at him. Oh. Scrubs, no shoes, brilliant.
    He searched out a shop and bought a new outfit: faded jeans, fitted, long sleeve shirt, purple, not dressy, thank God, white tennis shoes, looked trim, neat. His OCD loved them. Also, he bought a thin gold watch. It had the Roman Numerals for twelve, three, six, and nine on it. He'd bought it for the color.
    Next, socks.
    He'd refused to change until he'd gone to another store for hair gel and a comb. Fixed up, he left. The Scrubs he disposed of in a waste basket outside. He focused on people. Ordinary, boring people.
    All the same.
    Their warmth caressed his skin, making him want to get closer - but he didn't. He wouldn't. Disgusting, all of them. He hated them. He considered doing the world a favor and biting a woman wearing too much perfume.
    He fake wheezed.
    She sat at a table with two girl friends. They ate, laughed, drank. He found himself focusing more on their food and drink. Delicate moisture - cooked perfect green beans, breaded meat, butter -rolls, rice- he groaned. A clink on a glass startled him and he heard laughter.
    Their happiness made him feel funny, and he fought to shut down.
    Frustrated and sad, he kept walking. "What is wrong with me," he mumbled. "I could have killed the universe a few days ago, and now?" He hated it all - the ground, the people, his shoes, himself, his mind. "Impulse control," he chanted.
    Oh, how he needed to keep focused. Reacting stupidly wasn't the way to start this.
    No no no. He liked his shoes. They were perfect: thick, but light, clean white, and perfect. Yes yes.
    Ok. He could do this. There had to be a bloody vampire around here somewhere. He just had to find it. It wasn't smart to go looking for a fanged beast with super strength and speed, but he'd dealt with one while being human.
    He could do it again and now with less difficulty, because he had become a fanged beast with super strength and speed. A slow, deep in take or air- and he shot forward. Things should have been a blur, but his eyes kept up. The hair on his body didn't move - like, the air didn't impede him, but he cut through it. He laughed and kept moving.
    Through stores, restaurants - any place with activity. Those were a bust. What, vampires didn't come around people at all? Ridiculous. It didn't make since for them to just stay hid.
    He still felt like himself... more or less, so they also had to be who they were when human, to a point. Unless there were a secret society of vampire that forced the lesser's to become a certain way or act a certain way, but he doubted that to. It just didn't make since. This felt like a shot in the dark... or something like that. And he was getting bored.
    And thirsty.
    He bought a long water and uncapped it. It didn't hit the spot blood did, but it helped.
    He also bought a new cell phone, and after sending a text he leaped an outside wall and sat on it. "Come out come out where ever you are," he sing-songed.