The darkness was what he saw. Every day, for centuries, he had been stumbling in the darkness, never stopping and never resting.

The only light was her. She was different; every time, she was different. But her face was always the same. Always that lovely smile, and those enchanting brown eyes. And every time, he wanted her. He wanted to touch her, smell her… taste her.

The first time they had met had been when she was a governess in the home of his then current employer. At first, he didn't notice her—governesses were never interesting creatures—but something about her struck him. She had been in the schoolroom, the first time they had met. His employer had insisted on him meeting her, and it was social etiquette to concede to his demand.

When he found her, she had been sitting at her desk, reading.

"Sherlock Holmes," he drawled as a way of greeting. She immediately stood and bowed her head in response.

"Molly Hooper. Does the master send for me?"

"No. He insisted we meet," he said, playing thoughtlessly with the pages of her open book.

"Please don't touch that."

He looked up. "Pardon?"

"That book. It's… well, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry," she added, clearly flustered. By what, he couldn't quite tell. But he had an impression that it was him who agitated her. The fact amused him somewhat, and he couldn't help but smile as he stepped towards her.

"Are you frightened by me, Miss Hooper?"

She hesitated before answering. "N-no."

"Your body language begs to differ." He took another step towards her. She was almost backed against the bookcase now.

"I am not afraid," she declared, tilting her head up slightly in an attempt to meet his eyes.

He saw it then. Beyond her pale cheeks, and her quickness of breath, there was ferocity in those deep brown eyes of hers. A ferocity that betrayed a daily passion she fought to repress. And he believed her; she was not indeed afraid.

In a strange way, she was actually quite beguiling.

He leaned closer. If he had so desired, he might've kissed her. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hooper."

Her lips parted slightly as she attempted to reply in kind. But nothing was said. Her gaze was focused on his features, as if she were trying to drink it all in at once.

Sherlock merely smirked and swept out of the room.

Miss Molly Hooper. Such a fascinating creature…

Over the next few days, he had no chance to meet her again, as he was embroiled in the case his employer had provided him; a case that had proved much more complicated than when he first accepted it.

Much like a certain governess he had encountered.

Their second meeting was too crowded for his tastes. His employer had had the inclination to host a society ball in his honour, and so Sherlock was practically forced to attend.

He did his bit; here and there, he mingled with the guests, conversed with some of the more interesting parties and drank as much champagne as was polite to do so. It was all so very dull.

So when he noticed her standing alone at the balcony, he made his excuses and slipped from the room.

The air outside was a great deal cooler than the ballroom, and so not many guests had made their way outside. In fact, Miss Hooper was the only one there. In her hands, she held a champagne flute, but she was yet to drink from it. Her mind appeared to be elsewhere, and when he greeted her, a crimson red flush grew over her cheeks, informing him just of where her mind had been.

He smiled and placed his own glass beside hers.

"Did I disturb you?"

"No—not at all," she said, smiling. Her eyes however, relayed that he had. But he did not pursue the subject. He had enough experience to know when a lady preferred her thoughts to be private.

"Beautiful, is it not?" he said, leaning against the balcony. On seeing her puzzled frown, he gestured towards the night sky.

She smiled, realising. "Oh, yes. Of course. I apologise."

"There's no need to be sorry, Miss Hooper," he said with another smile. "I presume that that was what you distracted by?"

"Yes, Mr Holmes. I do so love to see the stars. It—no, I shan't say."

"Why ever not?"

"You shall laugh at me, and tease me."

Sherlock chuckled. She had such a thirst for knowledge, yet it was so contained within her fragile humanity. "Miss Hooper, how I can tease you about something that I do not know?"

"Other people have teased me."

"I am not like the others. Tell me."

Finally, she looked at him. "Seeing the stars, well… It makes me feel like I am not alone. That there are others out there."

For a long time, he remained silent as her words rolled in his mind. It shouldn't have been so surprising for a governess to be so inquisitive, and yet it was. He thought back to the way in which she had behaved at their first meeting in the schoolroom. Even then, he had seen how uncomfortable she was in that place; how despite having worked there for a year, she still didn't seem at home amongst the books and the desks.

"You dislike it."

"Pardon?"

"Your job. In fact, you don't just dislike it. You loathe it. It's why you love looking at the stars so much. When I first saw you, you were reading a book on anatomy. Lord Fanhurst's daughter and son are barely seven years of age, more prone to mathematics and English than the science of the human brain. So tell me, Miss Hooper, why be a governess when you so clearly desire to be something else entirely? I would think by your standard of dress and the way you conduct yourself around your superiors that you come from a family of poor circumstances, hence the need for a job which pays well and is suitable to your class. So you chose to be a governess, but only until you have amassed enough wages to—"

A sharp slap to his cheek prevented him from continuing. Her eyes were ablaze with hurt.

"That's enough, Mr Holmes," she said, her voice sharp in the silence.

"I highly doubt that. I'd wager that you wish to become a scientist." He didn't quite know why he had continued to speak. There was no need for him to prove himself to her; but he had to admit, there was some entertainment to be had in seeing the way in which her pale breasts rose and fell as she struggled to maintain her composure. He continued. "I shall admit, it isn't uncommon in these times for a woman to have such aspirations, but biology? That's an altogether more difficult career path."

Quietly, she turned away from him, looking to the stars.

"They told me of your skills, Mr Holmes. They failed to inform me how hurtful they could be."

He had clutched at her hand before he realised he had done so. It was without hesitation or compunction that he pulled her forwards and captured her mouth with his. In contrary to what he expected, she did not squeak, nor did she resist. Her breath caught as he deepened their kiss. He had only caught shades of it before, but now, with her body tightly pressed against his body and her warms lips against his, he could almost taste it. The warm, metallic smell of her blood, mixed in with the delicate, soft scent of her perfume.

Yes. Certainly beguiling.

She was the one to pull away, and another slap was aimed at his cheek. But it didn't land. His hand caught her wrist, and his stare locked onto hers.

"You will not strike me again."

"What do you want?" she asked softly.

He wanted many things. He wanted to punish her for striking him; wanted to taste her like he had done with so many others; wanted to be engulfed by that sweet, sweet scent.

He moved closer towards her, his footsteps barely making a sound.

"You, Miss Hooper. To someone like me, you are very tempting," he said softly, his eyes black in the dark light.

Yes, he did want her. But he wanted her alive.

So he let her go, his eyes once more back to their normal form.

With a smile, he raised her glass to her. "I look forward to our next meeting, Miss Hooper."

"There will be no next meeting, Mr Holmes."

She turned away, and never looked back.

The next morning, he awoke to find that Miss Molly Hooper was no longer in the schoolroom, and the book with which he used to deduce her past was missing. It was over dinner later that evening that his employer announced that what Sherlock had already worked out.

"As it may have come to your attention by now, Miss Hooper has terminated her tenure here. She departed early this morning."

"Any reason?"

"She claimed it was to advance her career. I assume she has another governess post waiting. A woman of her breeding, there's little else she can do."

That afternoon, the criminal was apprehended, and the great detective Sherlock Holmes had departed Lord Fanhurst's company. If she had gone, there was no real reason for him to prolong his stay.