A/N: So I got the idea into my head to do a remake of Beauty and the Beast, using Sherlock and John. This is going to be a slow building story, just so you're prepared. It will have violent moments, and I will most certainly earn the M rating, so if you're not into that then turn away now. You have been warned.
I might have a little trouble keeping them in character for this project, for the purposes of recreating this as an adaption of Beauty and the Beast, but I will damn sure try my hardest. I love the characters of John and Sherlock and it's hard to do them justice (especially Sherlock).
The beginning chapters will also be a little short, but they will get longer as the story progresses, I promise. I have a few chapters written out already and I will most likely update every Monday and Friday. I feel as though it is implied, but I'll mention it anyway. Reviews are very much appreciated. Thank you in advance.
One more thing, I do not have a beta. Any mistakes are my own fault, and I apologize for them.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters blah blah blah. (Be happy I remembered the disclaimer at all.)
Chapter One
The rancid stench of piss and beer followed John relentlessly as he walked, lingering and coating his hair and clothes. The steadily dimming lights of the pub behind him lit up the ground for him as he stepped carefully along the path, skittering over small stones as he began to lose the helpful glow. The noise faded along with the light, a welcome heavy silence sneaking in in it's place.
Tall pines and oaks stood still above him, their twisting branches sheltering him from the small patches of the lingering light of the stars as though they were doing him a favor. Their eerie creaking settled over him ominously, complaining as a breeze pushed them against each other in the darkness. The air was chilled, too cool for so early in the fall. John pulled his coat more tightly around him, watching as his breath fogged in front of his face. He quickened his pace nervously.
His shoulder ached with increased fervor as he strode through the woods in the direction of his cabin. The small space beckoned him, promising a warm hearth, hot tea, and a cold, lonely bed. His mouth twisted down into a pained grimace as he stubbornly reinforced the feeling of contentment. He was not lonely. He was not unhappy. He was fine.
"John, I know you're not doing well. Frankly, it's becoming more obvious every time I see you. Have you tried to reenlist? Perhaps use your skills in a non-combat zone or-"
"They won't take me, Mike. I've tried. 'Not physically fit for duty' they say." John replied, taking a deep swallow of the pint before slamming it onto the the table bitterly, while pointedly ignoring his friends pitying expression.
The darkness was complete now, an inky black that surrounded him, attempting to suffocate him with it's thickness. On the contrary, he found the quiet gloom to be a relief to the stifling heat and stench of the crowd in the pub. He knew this darkness, it was familiar and comforting. The beaten path under his feet weilded to him obediently, every bend and dip remained exactly where he had remembered it to be. He didn't need to see the rotting pine across the dirt to step over it. He knew that the glow of eyes in the dark was merely an owl, blinking at him without interest. The sound of rustling leaves didn't startle him, as he knew it was only the breeze stirring the dead foliage in the air.
"Well, something else then? Surely there is something? What about the city guard? They could probably use a doctor, even if it's just on an as needed basis. Pulling out arrow's and whatnot?" Mike offered, not bothering to smother the desperation in his tone.
"I live too far from the city. It takes hours by foot, less by horse but even minutes could mean life or death. They would die waiting on me." He murmured, resigned.
Thick green moss dampened the sound of his boots as he walked, the set of his shoulders stiff with leftover grievance from dinner. There was a heavy feeling in the air, humid and charged, with the threat of incoming rain. Soon the dirt beneath his feet would turn to mud, and instead of the dust covering his calves there would be gritty splashes of wet earth. The dry leaves would become heavy with drops of water, unable to continue clinging weakly to their branches. They would fall, littering the ground and leaving no barrier between him and the light of the moon filtering through the clouds. John only hoped that the rain would be patient and allow him time to reach the cabin before it assaulted the earth.
"Then leave that blasted cabin to rot and come stay with me! I have a spare room John, we could-"
"I believe I'm done for the night, Mike. It's a long walk home and it's already late. I'll see you next week, yeah? I'll buy. My pension will have arrived by then." Mike's protests were drowned out by the sound of his chair scraping loudly across the dirty wooden floor. John jerked his chin down in a quick, silent goodbye before he walked away with jerking movements, the need to escape the confines of the loud pub becoming unbearable. He could feel Mike's eyes on his back as he retreated shamefully.
He continued to walk, his arms wrapped tightly around his own torso in an attempt to keep the cold at bay. Each huff of breath fogged about his face, each stirring of the air around him ruffled his short hair. He was still a while from his cabin, and his shoulder ached in complaint at the thought. It occurred to him again that the air was much too cold for early fall. Had it been this cold earlier, on his trek to the pub? No, not that he could recall.
A fox yipped somewhere nearby as he stepped absently over damp patch of earth. It wouldn't do for him to slip and fall, not with the air this chilled and the temperature only dropping. The thought of laying unconscious in the dark, helpless and easy prey for the animals of the night filled him with caution, and an inspiration to pay extra attention to his feet. Though the path was familiar, the woods were treacherous and often had a mind of their own. John had no delusions that he was the master of these trees. He was merely a passenger, allowed to tread through their depths. They could turn easily, and John would be powerless against their will.
He reached for the comforting weight of the pistol at his back, tucked carefully into his trousers with practice. A gust of wind stirred him, dry leaves rustled and were ripped from the branches so high above his head. The undergrowth around his legs came alive with purpose, and that purpose was to unsettle him and chase away his previous confidence.
His familiar woods were suddenly sinister and mocking, chastising him for his misplaced bravado. He slowed, coming to a stop as he strained his ears, listening to the voice of the trees. His fingers lingered on the but of his gun as he stilled, taking comfort in the metal as a child would in a blanket in the dark. He knew this forest. He had grown up here, wandering it's depths and exploring it's secrets. He knew the sound of the squirrels as they chattered and scattered up the trees. He knew the slide of a snake across the leaves, and the sharp tap of a woodpecker as it jabbed it's beak into the wood. He knew the smell of the earth in the spring, and the individual wildflowers that littered along the base of the pines.
He did not know the agonizingly unfamiliar sound in the distance, disturbing the air in a steady rhythm. Thud, thud, thud.
John's breath stilled, even as his heart pounded faster. His body was suddenly alive and hyperaware of his surroundings. Everything had gone quiet, the fickle breeze had ceased, the buzz of crickets had been silenced, the fox was cowering somewhere in the dark. The only sound was the thud, thud, thud, as it gained volume, coming ever closer to John's frozen body on the path.
He no longer felt the cold as blood rushed through his body, adrenaline leaving him breathless and full of itching energy. Resisting the urge to bolt, he forced himself to remain still and silent as he listened to the noise coming from somewhere in the blackness. Thud, thud, thud.
The sound was becoming so loud that he could psychically feel the air being disturbed around him. The trees and bushes around him rustled, but not with a natural wind. Whatever was coming towards him, it was large, large enough to create a wind with enough strength to bring the forest around him to life with motion. Thud, thud, thud.
A loud crack of wood breaking finally pushed John into a flurry of motion. He turned away from the sound, heedless of the path as he simultaneously pulled his pistol from his trousers. He burst through the undergrowth, scrambling over tree roots and briar bushes as he fled from the noise. The thudding had ceased, but the sound of tree's being torn apart and some massive creature ripping through the earth had him gasping, the instinct of self preservation pushing his body away, away from the unknown beast.
He fell in his haste, once, twice, a third time. Sharp branches and rocks in the earth cut at him, leaving him bleeding in various places that he could not feel. The pain would come later, after the flight. If he survived whatever seemed to be pursuing him. Panting, he tried to turn, to angle his ear towards the sound as he ran, only to be assaulted with a defining roar so guttural that it made his very bones resonate. Unable to stop himself, he cried out with terror as another burst of adrenaline rocketed through him, pushing him faster still.
Whatever was behind him was not only large and powerful enough to snap tree's and shake the ground beneath his feet, but it was angry. Very angry.
In his blind haste, John tripped over a root and went sprawling across the uneven forest floor, knocking his head against something hard and unyielding as he collided with the earth. His pistol went flying through his hand, hidden by the dark as it thudded across the ground and out of reach. John blinked, unable to tell if his lack of vision was from the collision or because of the absolute blackness around him. The sound in his ears seemed muffled, and he sluggishly brought a hand to the side of his head to feel warm, wet blood pouring from the point of impact. His internal sense of balance was compromised, the ground swayed underneath him and he felt dizzy and sick. His army training dimly informed him that he was probably going to black out, and he would be lying here helpless in the cold when the monster came upon him. He vaguely wondered if anyone would ever find his body, with as far as he had run from the path.
Then the shaking ground went still, and all sound ceased as he lay spawned on his back, staring up at the tree tops above him. The last thing he felt was the heavy thud, thud, thud, in the air, and the solid weight of his own body upon the damp earth.