I wrote this for the Creature Feature contest on the blog fuckyeahteenlock on tumblr. It's not quite as scary as I'd originally planned, but I hope it still counts.
Also, Anthea's name is Andrea in this, because that is my current headcanon for her name and I don't think she'd call herself 'Anthea' in her head this early on.
'This was not what I expected', Andrea thought, taking a step back from the creature curled up behind her boss' desk.
She had been working for Mycroft Holmes for three weeks now, and although his intelligence was extraordinary, he seemed to be ordinary in most other respects. His control over his emotions was second to none, his intelligence was higher than even his little brother's (and saying that had caused said brother to pout spectacularly), but he seemed to be normal. He was certainly better than her last employer, as although he was curt and a perfectionist, he didn't look down her blouse like her professor had or treat her like there wasn't a single thought in her head like another of her professors had done.
'Normal', apparently, was an extremely incorrect way to classify Mycroft Holmes.
Normal men didn't have fur, fangs, or turn into a two hundred pound wolf during the full moon!
Despite her internal panic, a small part of her remembered her boss' order to not bother him, whether he was in his office or at home, on the night of the full moon. She had thought it was a quirk, or that her boss hadn't wanted to be out and about when werewolves were free to roam. Or that perhaps it was his night off, as the man needed to stop working sometime.
She didn't think that Mycroft Holmes was a werewolf!
She didn't think that anyone would have expected that. There was a stereotype about the kind of people werewolves were (one that she had, regrettably, bought into), and her boss didn't fit into it. He wasn't savage, wasn't wild. He didn't disdain most forms of hygiene, or only eat raw meat. He was…he was human. Or as human as any Holmes was, she had learned to make that distinction in the first week, after having met Sherlock Holmes.
But Mycroft…he was always calm, always so perfectly well collected. He was always impeccably dressed, his suits always perfectly tailored. He was on a diet because he was convinced he needed to lose weight (personally, she thought he looked fine as he was, but it wasn't her job to comment), but that diet didn't involve raw meat at all.
He was…he was too normal to be a werewolf. He was too human.
If Moriarty had turned out to be a werewolf, she wouldn't have been surprised. If she had been told that Magnussen had been a werewolf, she would have just nodded and accepted it as par for the course. But Mycroft Holmes? Her perfectionist, cold, omniscient employer? No, that she would have never believed it she hadn't seen it with her own eyes.
It was watching her, the creature. She still couldn't bring herself to think of it as Mr. Holmes, as Mycroft, even though she was still trying to accept that Mycroft Holmes was a werewolf.
But it kept watching her, with those striking eyes that she would know anywhere, it's ginger fur so curly (she wondered if his hair was that curly without product in it). It didn't move, barely blinked. It simply lay where it was, still curled up as it had been when she walked in on it, and watched her.
Somehow, that was worse.
If it had jumped up and started snarling and growling, if it had tried to attack her, then she would have felt more validated. She would have simply been deceived by her boss, his carefully cultivated manners hiding the savageness within. Her judgment of her boss would have been wrong, but she would have been right in her judgment of werewolves.
Instead, she had to reconsider everything she had previously thought about werewolves. They weren't mindless savages when transformed; they weren't beasts in human form when the moon wasn't full. They were…they were still people. They were different, to be sure, but they were still people.
That was almost, almost, more difficult to swallow than the fact that her boss was a werewolf and she hadn't noticed! Three weeks she'd been working for the man, and she didn't notice until now that he was a werewolf.
(She could hear the younger Holmes criticizing her for that. You see but you do not observe.)
She wondered, idly, if Mr. Holmes would reprimand her for that tomorrow. She was supposed to be observant, after all, and she had missed every sign that would point to him being a werewolf. And most of the reason she had missed it was because of prejudice, which they couldn't afford in their line of work.
The wolf still hadn't moved, was still watching her with those far too intelligent eyes. It seemed to be waiting for her to run screaming from the room. That had been her first choice, to flee, but somehow that would feel like a failure if she did. Would she throw away all of the hard work she had done to reach this point (and even though she had only been working for Mycroft for three weeks, they both worked enough that it seemed like far longer) simply because of this? Mycroft wasn't vicious, didn't seem inclined to terrorize the general public like some werewolves she had heard about. She had known fully human politicians who frightened her more than Mycroft did. Even now.
Could she work for him, knowing this about him? What would happen if she did stay? Would he want to turn her, to make her into a beast as well. Werewolves were stronger, faster, and had better senses, even in their human forms, than an ordinary human did, so it was logical that he would try to turn her if she did stay on. Would she accept that? Would he give her a choice?
She forced that thought from her head. Mycroft wouldn't force her if she didn't want to be turned. He may fire her, but he wouldn't turn her without her full and willing consent. That wasn't the problem she needed to focus on at the moment regardless.
She smoothed out her dress and brushed her hair from her face. "I finished going over the files you asked me to, sir. They are on your desk, although as you are indisposed at the moment, I am sure they can wait until morning. If that will be all, sir, I am going home."
She fancied she saw approval in the beast's, in Mycroft's, unusual eyes before he nodded, dismissing her until tomorrow.
She didn't notice the shadow that followed her from the office, ensuring that any werewolves or people who were wandering around this late gave the young woman a wide berth.
After all, Mycroft Holmes was grateful to have found such a competent assistant, and he was not going to let any creature, man or beast, harm her. If they did…his face contorted into a truly vicious smile, and anyone in the vicinity backed off further. He would enjoy showing them what came of crossing Mycroft Holmes when his future mate was involved. And nothing was more deadly than a werewolf defending his mate.