"So, do you have a potential?" Jo asked, just trying to make conversation. Sherlock looked startled, as if he hadn't expected her to know that he was lycan; she would normally have been offended by that, but she decided to let it go, just this once, and only because he was distracted by the serial suicides/murders.

"Potential, no; not really my area," Sherlock answered, his gaze flicking between her and the window as if he wasn't really sure whether he wanted to allow the conversation to continue. Jo paused for a moment, wondering if it would be too rude if she were to ask her next question; in the end she decided that social niceties probably didn't count for much with Holmes.

"A companion then?"

After another brief moment she hastily added, "Which is fine."

"I know it's fine," he replied harshly, half glaring at her. After a few seconds he continued, sounding much less defensive. "But no, I don't have a companion." Jo nodded and mumbled something awkward that was meant to show camaraderie. Holmes tried to gently let her down from a come on that she had never made. She shook her head and said something about it all being fine, eager to just get out of that conversation. Later she would be impressed, and honestly a bit flattered, that he had even tried to be gentle.

That was the last, and only, conversation that the two ever had about Sherlock's lycanthropy. Their lives quickly fell into a routine, and the only really obvious sign that Sherlock was even a lycan was that he disappeared for three days around the full moon. Of course there were the more subtle indications, such as how he would be more outwardly agitated nearing the full moon and more subdued around the new moon, or how there were certain people (like Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade) who he obviously considered to be Pack. Jo had been surprised when she found out that the strange Alpha she had met in the warehouse was Sherlock's brother, but she quickly got over it. It wasn't unheard of for two siblings to be alphas, and Sherlock was most definitely an Alpha - queer as could be - but an Alpha nonetheless. Even Mrs. Hudson, a fairly domineering alpha in her own right, never felt the need to discuss the fact that Jo was human. In fact, the only person who seemed to be bothered by the situation was Sally Donovan, and she kept any comments to vague hinting that Jo found reasonably easy to ignore. It wasn't until she had been living with Sherlock for a little over three months that she realized that there was a fairly important conversation that they had never had.

It was the new moon, three and a half months after Jo had moved in with Holmes, and Jo was forced to recognize that there really were some questions that she should have asked. She had just gotten off work at the surgery, which was made all the more awkward since she and Sam had broken up, and was happy to be getting home. The door was unlocked and Sherlock's coat and scarf were hanging on their pegs in the hallway, so Jo half expected to find her flatmate in the process of dissecting something and/or blowing something up, possibly the same something. What she did not expect to find was a large black wolf with scraggly, almost curly, fur pacing back and forth in her sitting room. An exceptionally large wolf who, upon noticing her arrival, was very excited to see her, bounding across the room with his tail wagging. He came to a stop right in front of her, sitting down and practically smiling up at her. Standing he had come up to her waist and sitting his head was almost at chest level. Jo tensed, mostly sure that the wolf was, in fact, Sherlock, but because she had never actually seen him in wolf form before, she couldn't be entirely sure. Sensing her wariness the wolf (most likely Sherlock) laid down so that he didn't seem so imposing.

Jo sighed. "Sherlock Holmes, that had better be you." He huffed and gave her 'the look,' and Jo could practically hear the implied "obviously."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't give me that look. There is no behavioral way to tell the difference between a Natural Sire and any other lycan." Sherlock huffed again but it sounded more amused than annoyed. He jumped to his feet and began pushing her towards the couch with his head.

She pushed back. "Hold on; I've been coughed on and sneezed at all day and I need to take a shower before I do anything else. You decide whether you want to go out or stay in for dinner." Sherlock huffed but let her pass.

When Jo got out of the shower half an hour later Sherlock was still in his wolf form pacing the sitting room; she was actually fairly impressed by his agility considering the size of the room and the size of him. She let him herd her towards the couch and didn't put up a fuss when he laid down on her feet. She wasn't really concerned by his increased physicality since Sherlock had been more physically affectionate since the pool fiasco with Moriarty, and she really wasn't surprised that this had transferred over to his wolf form; lycans tended to me more tactile in their wolf form anyway. A few minutes later Mrs. Hudson came popped in, as she usually did in the evenings, and Sherlock jumped up so that he could nudge her towards the couch, being mindful of her bad hip. Once the landlady was seated next to Jo, he yipped at them, obviously intending for them to stay there, before bounding towards his own bedroom.

"What was all that about?" Mrs. Hudson asked, sounding more amused than anything else.

Jo shrugged. "I never know what's going on with him; I don't think it's a case though. He'll probably tell us eventually."

"Probably," she agreed, nodding her head sagely.

"He gave me a bit of a scare though," the younger woman said with a smile. "I didn't know that he was a Natural Sire, and it was a bit shocking to come home to a wolf of his size pacing my sitting room."

Mrs. Hudson chuckled. "Sherlock does tend to forget the effect he has on people."

"It's not that I really care either way," Jo added. "It was just a very unexpected end to my day. I feel like this is something I should have found out about before now."

She sighed. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. Sherlock does try so hard to ignore what he is. I knew him for years before I ever saw his wolf."

"I suppose it's not rational enough for him," she replied, only half joking; Mrs. Hudson laughed anyway. Sherlock chose that moment to reappear, changed back into human form and dressed in his usual black suit and his favorite purple shirt.

"What are you two so pleased about?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at the women on the couch.

Jo smiled cheekily up at him and answered simply. "You."

The detective rolled his eyes but ignored her answer, changing the subject entirely. "Come on, get your coats; there's a man who works at a lovely little French restaurant who owes me a favor.

Both stood and Mrs. Hudson tittered, nervously fingering the hem of her blouse. "I hadn't planned on going out; shouldn't I change first?" Jo was about to reassure her but was cut off by Sherlock.

"You look lovely Mrs. Hudson," he said softly. He hesitated for a moment before leaning in and kissing her cheek. "Happy birthday." He straightened up and cleared his throat. "My research tells me that the appropriate response to birthdays is a dinner out, and cake."

Mrs. Hudson smiled, blushing a little. "Thank you dear, but it's really unnecessary. I don't need any special treatment."

"Of course you do," he answered imperiously, gently ushering her out the door with a hand on her back. Jo followed the pair amusedly; she always enjoyed watching the way that the supposedly sociopathic detective interacted with his landlady. Mrs. Hudson was easy to overlook. Most saw her as the doddering old landlady who Sherlock took advantage of. Her wolf wasn't any more imposing: small with dingy gray fur, she looked as if she had gone to battle with the world and lost. Few saw her for what she was: an alpha with a spine of steel with a bite that was far worse than her bark. Even fewer could see that Sherlock would rather burn London than abandon her in her time of need.

They were out on the sidewalk waiting for the cab that Sherlock had called when Jo spoke up. "Mrs. Hudson, you should have told me it was your birthday; I would have gotten you something."

"Oh I didn't want a fuss," she replied. "When you get to be my age birthdays aren't really that big of a deal."

Jo rolled her eyes. "Birthdays are always important, especially when you get to be your age. I'll have to take you shopping this weekend."

"Don't expect me to join you on any such excursions, ever," Sherlock interjected, smirking.

"Well you're no fun to shop with anyway," Jo replied, bumping shoulders with him to show that she didn't mean anything by it; Sherlock smiled down at her. For all that Sherlock tried to pretend that nothing anybody said effected him, it wasn't entirely true; he also had a hard time recognizing the difference between something said in jest and something malicious, so Jo always made a point to let him know when she was kidding.

The cab arrived before too long and Sherlock even deemed the occasion special enough for him to be courteous enough to open doors and pull out chairs. The food was delicious and they didn't end up getting home until late. The next day Jo sat down to write up the event for her blog. After reading through the finished post, she decided to delete the description of her homecoming, deciding that it was no one else's business. Sherlock had always gone to great lengths to keep that aspect of himself out of the public eye, and she really had no interest in sharing it; she had a separate, private journal for things like that. In the end her attempts to protect him really didn't make much of a difference.

Jo and Mrs. Hudson never got their shopping trip, mostly because the day after her birthday Sherlock got a string of cases that kept them busy almost non-stop for two weeks. The last case was that of a spree killer who kept Sherlock going continuously for three days straight; Jo had barely managed to catch a few hours of sleep on Lestrade's office floor and the detective hadn't even managed that. They finally managed to wrap up the case, stopping the murderer before he had the chance to finish off his fourth victim. After their traditional late night post-case Chinese and a cab ride that Sherlock barely managed to stay conscious for, they both barely made it to their respective bedrooms before crashing.

Jo wasn't really surprised when she was up before Sherlock; he always made up for lost sleep right after a case. She took her shower and puttered around quietly, doing things that wouldn't make enough noise to waken her flatmate, who tended to be a light sleeper even when he was exhausted. Mrs. Hudson usually helped by intercepting any visitors at the door before they had a chance to make it up to 221b, so Jo was fairly surprised when there was a very loud knock on the door before noon. She was even more surprised when she opened the door and found a very familiar face.

Mrs. Hudson was standing behind him, looking distraught. "I tried to stop him, but he just wouldn't listen."

Jo gave her a small smile. "Don't worry about it Mrs. Hudson; I'll take care of it. You can go back downstairs now." Mrs. Hudson nodded and left, although not before she gave the man another wary once over.

Jo sighed and turned her attention back to her visitor. "Nick, what are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" He bellowed, his voice breaking the quiet of the flat. "I should be asking you that question!"

"Keep your voice down," she hissed. "You're going to wake up my flatmate."

"Good," he replied, not bothering to lower his voice. "It's almost ten! What kind of lazy bastard sleeps this late on a Thursday!"

She glared at him. "He just got off a case and hasn't slept in three days; I think he's entitled to sleep however late he wants. And it's none of your damn business anyway, so keep your voice down."

"It's not him I'm here to see anyway," he answered. He sounded just as angry as before, but his voice was quieter.

She sighed. "Well what are you here for?"

Nick's face began to turn red. "You know damn well what I'm here about!"

"I can assure you that I don't," Jo replied, her own voice hardening. "And since I am still very tired and quickly losing what little patience I have left, I suggest you get to the point."

"The POINT? This is the point!" He yelled, pulling a newspaper out out of his back pocket and slapped it against her chest.

She grabbed it from him just as she heard Sherlock's baritone come from the back of the flat. "Jo! Is that a client?" His voice was thick with sleep and he didn't sound like he had gotten up yet; Jo was pretty sure that he would probably go back to sleep if she didn't give him any reason to get up.

She closed her eyes and tried to keep her voice light. "No, don't worry about it. I'll take care of it." He mumbled something unintelligible and after a moment of silence she figured that he had gone back to sleep. She unfolded the paper and looked at the front page. It was from five days before and there was a picture of her and Sherlock at the end of one of the cases they had finished that week; the headline read Amateur Lycan Detective Helps Police." Jo sighed, suddenly understanding everything made sense - not that she was going to admit that.

"So? Sherlock works with Scotland Yard and I help him on cases; you knew that before. Why are you banging on my door on a Thursday morning?"

"You bloody know why!" He yelled, making no attempt to avoid yelling. "Now tell me if you knew about this!"

"Knew about what?" She asked, knowing that she was pushing her luck.

"Did you know that your flatmate's a fucking flea ridden dog!?" He screamed, banging his fist against the door jam.

Jo squared her shoulders. "This is my home and you will watch your language."

"Why? Because you don't want me to offend your pet," he spat angrily.

She glared at him. "Get out. We're done here."

He glared back. "I'm not leaving here without you."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, you are. You can't make me go with you."

"Watch me," Nick answered, taking a step towards her.

"Is everything alright?" Sherlock interrupted, managing to sound both sleepy and slightly menacing. Jo hadn't heard him get up and she quickly turned around to face him, surprised at how close he was to her. He had obviously just gotten out of bed. He was only wearing a pair a ratty sleep pants, and his metal identification tags glinted against his bare chest. His hair was all mussed and he was still trying to shake out the cobwebs; as brilliant as he normally was, and as much as he tried to pretend that he was above it all, he was a normal as anyone else when he first woke up in the morning. He looked at Jo, trying to gauge the situation, and she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Unfortunately the quiet moment was broken by Nick taking another step forward.

"Stay the hell away from my sister you filthy mutt," he yelled, jabbing a finger at Sherlock. Sherlock took a step back, not really knowing what else to do, but a low growl did escape his throat.

Jo stepped in between them. "Nick, knock it off. I don't know what you're trying to do here, but you're done now. Leave."

Nick shook his head. "No, I'm not leaving you here with this thing. Who knows what he'll do to you; I'll bet that you don't even have a good lock on your bedroom door, not that that'll stop him when he decides to take what he wants." Jo felt sick at what he was not so subtly hinting at and she couldn't bring herself to look and see at what Sherlock's reaction to the accusation was.

Nick had always been big, with broad shoulders and large muscles. He was an inch shorter that Sherlock, although Sherlock looked so scrawny that it was hard to tell, but that still meant that he was over a head taller than Jo. That had never stopped Jo, though, and she pushed on his chest, making him take a step back.

"Get out, Nick," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "I'm not going to ask you again."

He nodded and she stepped back again, thinking that it was over. Instead of leaving, however, Nick lunged towards Sherlock. Sherlock braced for the impact, but it never came. Jo had caught hold of her brother's arm and twisted it up behind his back in a way that had to be painful and forced him down onto his knees. She pushed harder, making him grunt in pain.

"Nicholas, listen very carefully, and I do know that it's hard for you, but try," she said in an almost conversational tone. "You do not have the right to come into our home and insult us. I am a grown woman and I can make my own decisions; you do not have a say in anything I do. You are not welcome here. Now I'm going to let you up and then you are going to leave. Do you understand me?"

Nick turned his head so that he could sneer up at her. "What? You're going to pick this dog over your own family?"

"Apparently," she replied in complete deadpan. "Now, do. You. Understand?" Nick nodded again and she let him up.

He waited until he was out of the door before turning and giving his parting blow. "You always were a fucking queer anyway." Jo just shrugged and closed the door, locking it for good measure. She hesitated for a few moments before turning around to face Sherlock, who had gone even paler than usual.

"Jo, I would never do…" He trailed off, unable to bring himself to finish the sentence.

She nodded, stepping towards him. "I know, of course I know that. I'm really sorry about Nick; he never was the sharpest tool in the shed, and I can't say that he's gotten any better with age. There's a reason we've never gotten along."

"How did he know about me?" He asked, frowning. "Did you put something on your blog?"

She shook her head. "No, I wouldn't do that. It was in the paper a few days ago. Lycan Registration is a matter of public record; some reporter was probably just doing research and found it."

"Ah, of course," he answered. Straitening his posture and finally seeming to regain his composure.

Jo smiled. "Now, you need a shower because I can smell you from here. You go do that, and I'll get breakfast ready."

"You don't have to do that, I don't want to inconvenience you," he said, offering her one of his sincere but barely there smiles.

She rolled her eyes. "You have never had a problem with inconveniencing me. And even if you did, you love my breakfasts and would take it anyway."

Sherlock's smile grew. "Probably. Although it's a good thing I like them because you can't cook anything else."

"Go. You reek." She answered, resisting the urge to laugh. Sherlock gave her a mock salute before heading upstairs to the bathroom. Jo did laugh at that as she went to the kitchen, wary of any experiments Sherlock had done on the food without telling her.

Sherlock didn't take as long to shower as Jo took to cook, which was expected, and so he puttered around a bit, checking in on the experiments he had all but abandoned for the case. When he finished he fixed them both coffee and sat down at the table; Jo dished up the food and sat across from him. The silence only continued for another minute or two.

"I didn't know you had a brother," Sherlock said quietly. "I just thought it was you and Harry."

Jo shrugged. "We don't really get on. We've never really been a close family. Harry and I have always been closer; she's a drunk, but at least she's not a total lunatic."

He nodded but still looked uncomfortable. "I never wanted to come between you and your family."

"Don't worry about it," she replied lightly. "I've had issues with my family long before this. I never really figured out how to deal with them, so I left home at sixteen, stayed with a friend's family until I could graduate early, and came to London for Uni; I was out of med school by twenty-five. This was just the latest on a long list of reasons why I won't be going home for Christmas."

He gave her another almost smile. "Out of med school by twenty five? Something tells me you are more clever than you let on."

Jo coughed awkwardly and ducked her head to try and hide her blush. "What you see is what you get with me. I'm not anything special."

Sherlock hummed but changed the subject. "Tomorrow night is the full moon."

"I suppose it is," she answered. "It seems like this month was really short."

He nodded. "We were so busy this past week that I forgot to call ahead and book a room for the full moon, so would you mind if I stayed here for the change?"

"Sherlock," she said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, "you live here too. I'm not going to tell you when you and and can't be home."

He cleared his throat. "I just don't want to make you uncomfortable."

This time she really did roll her eyes. "Then don't leave eyeballs in the microwave or heads in the fridge. You staying home for your change isn't really going to make me uncomfortable. In fact, it might be kind of nice to know where you are; I've always wondered where you disappeared to for three days every month." Sherlock smiled but didn't answer her implicit question. Instead, he reached across the table and snagged one of the sausages off Jo's plate.

"Hey," she said, frowning at him. But she she smiled back after grabbing a piece of his toast to even them out. Sherlock chuckled a bit at the domesticity of the routine and Jo couldn't help but join in.