Chapter Text
The mist hung over the streets, refusing to move. She had been walking back to her flat when she suddenly felt a prickle of fear on the back of her neck. The streets were deserted, which seemed unusual for London, especially this part of London, but she had assumed she was alone.
Somehow, she knew that was no longer the case.
She slowly reached up to ease one of her earbud headphones out of her ear. Not both; they were Bluetooth compatible so if she ran into trouble she could switch from the music player on her phone to 999, but she wanted to be more aware. Her mother had always warned her that walking home at night with headphones on could be trouble, but it kept the harassers at bay, or drowned them out.
But now she considered maybe her mother had been right.
The street was eerily silent, with no noise from the surrounding buildings or traffic anywhere in the vicinity. It was so quiet she could clearly hear her footsteps echoing. Damn it, why did she wear pumps? They made a clacking sound with each step she took.
She stopped and decided hell with it, she could walk the rest of the way in her stocking feet. Quieter that way, and easier to run. She reached down to pull off one pump, then the other.
The next sound heard on the street was the clatter of the pumps on the pavement, followed by a strangled scream. And then the eerie silence settled in again and the mist got thicker.
She never made it home.
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Sherlock rolled over and felt wetness. That was surprising, that Molly’s hair was damp. She usually showered in the morning, so that her skin was warm again at her post for at least a little while, and usually after she’d had her bag of blood. The sun wasn’t up yet and she was warm but cooling, and yet her hair was wet.
And the most puzzling part was, this was not the first time this had happened, and Molly seemed to have no idea why.
He laid on his back, eyes focusing on the ceiling. Molly had decorated the ceiling with glow in the dark stars as a joke on his birthday when John had mentioned Sherlock knew nothing about astronomy. She’d actually put up most of the stars in the constellations visible above London, and when he couldn’t sleep at night he would memorize the various constellations. The fact that he usually was wide awake at night was still troubling, and he would sometimes go up to the roof and leave Molly to her sleep.
How she was getting out of Baker Street without him noticing had him troubled. If she was sleepwalking, it could be dangerous. She was very good at keeping her blood urges under control, better than him, but if she was asleep that could spell trouble if she stumbled onto someone who was bleeding. A midnight snack was fine if it came from a blood bag or a human donor, but a stranger? That would bring unwanted attention to them.
And with his fame, that was the last thing they needed.
He ran his hand along her arm, finger idly tracing shapes, as he wondered about the situation some more. But his thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his mobile. He reluctantly lifted up his hand to pick it up, seeing it was Lestrade. “Hello?” he asked.
“Do you ever sleep?” Lestrade asked, his voice sounding like he’d been rather rudely woken up from a peaceful slumber.
“Yes,” Sherlock said. “Just not often. What do you need?”
“There’s an unusual murder in Church End, Barnet,” he said. “Victim is drained of their blood and there are puncture wounds in their neck. For all intents and purposes, it looks like a vampire got her.”
Sherlock froze. This was not good, not good at all. “I’ll be there soon,” he said. Lestrade rattled off an area to meet him at and then Sherlock hung up. He leaned over and pressed a kiss into Molly’s damp hair before sitting up. He hoped fervently that things were not as they seemed, that Molly wasn’t killing people in her sleep.
If she was, it would be bad news for them both.