The dead body is the least of our worries. Now that I can even technically call it a body since it is scattered around in so many tiny little peices. My stomach churns and I have to swallow down the bile which is trying to rise up my throat. If I throw up at this crime scene I know Lestrade will never let me live it down. As he walks past Anderson gives me a smug smile. I ignore him and concentrate on weaving my way through the crowds of policemen towards where Lestrade and Sherlock are standing beside the worst of the mess. As I get closer I am able to smell the gut wrenching stench emanating from the week old body but take a deep breath and pretend that it isn't there as I eavesdrop on Lestrade and Sherlock's conversation.
"So what are we looking at here? A shape-shifter serial killer?" Lestrade asks with a sigh, running a hand across the untidy stubble on his chin. The murder is the fifth in as many days and judging by the dark circles beneath his eyes he is obviously having to work over time in order to keep up with the sheer amount of paperwork I know accompanies a case like this. Also unlike the other officers who appear horrified by the scene before them Lestrade has hardly reacted meaning that he is either extremely tired or simply doesn't care any more.
Sherlock ignores him for a moment and continues to search the ground for any clue which might be present, something which there has been a distinct lack of at the crime scenes as though the killer is being careful not to leave any evidence behind (a fact which is rapidly becoming frustrating for all parties involved). The only evidence found at any of the scenes were the deep gashes and tears present on the bodies. Eventually Sherlock looks up and I am able to see a brief look of exhaustion and annoyance pass across his face before his expression falls back into the carefully neutral mask he usually has in place. "Of course a shape-shifter is responsible. Isn't it obvious that this body has been torn apart by something with claws? Something which most humans do not possess. By the length of the marks the shifter is either a wolf or a large cat of some description." He explains, his voice tinged with an emotion close to being patronising. He looks round when he hears me walking towards him and flashes me a very small smile, so small that only I will be aware of it because after all Sherlock has to keep up appearances. "John, do me a favour and examine the body because I am afraid that the so called experts on show here will have missed something while they were arguing over when to have a tea break." He says, looking me in the eye while raising his voice enough for Anderson to hear him from where he is currently having the forementioned cup of tea. Anderson shoots an angry look in our direction but Sherlock ignores him and goes back to intently examining the crime scene.
Lestrade rolls his eyes. "You know, you could at least try to be nice Sherlock."
Sherlock snorts quietly but doesn't say anything in response. Instead he kneels down, his long woollen coat billowing around him, and reaches out to pick something off the pavement. Lestrade goes to stand beside him and Sherlock shifts to block him from seeing whatever clue he has found. I frown at him, wondering what he is up to because Sherlock never misses an oppotunity to boast when he comes across something the police have overlooked. From where I am standing I am able to clearly see him slip something small and slim into his coat pocket. I remain silent, knowing he probably has a reason and will most likely tell me about it later. I have become used to him using me as a sounding board for ideas and theories at the most random times, usually during mealtimes or when I am about to go to bed. I shake my head to bring myself back to the present and am in time to witness Lestrade stumble back a few times as Sherlock rises without warning to his feet and stalks off in the direction of the flat. With a wave of his gloved hand he motions for me to follow him. "Come John, I have seen enough." He says.
Lestrade's expression darkens slightly. "Hey." He says, stepping forward to intercept Sherlock by grabbing hold of his arm. "You can't just leave without telling me anything. I called you here to help me solve this case and I need to know everything that you know." He swallows and closes for eyes for a moment. "Please Sherlock, I need you here." He says. Judging by his facial expression he hates actually having to ask Sherlock directly for help, especially when all his officers are about to witness their detective inspector admitting that they can't solve this case without help. He will probably get teased about it when they return to Scotland Yard.
Sherlock shakes off Lestrade's arm before he turns to face him. "While I am fully aware you need my help Lestrade I need to return to Baker Street for a prior engagment arranged several weeks ago which I can not miss. I also need time to think about what I have seen here and come to a conclusion about the case." He calmly explains as he walks away. When he reaches the police tape he ducks underneath and then holds it up so I can easily walk beneath it. He doesn't acknowledge my nod and instead strides off, pulling his long coat tightly about himself to ward off the cold. He isn't the only one to have noticed the temperature today is rapidly dropping towards freezing or that the sky is onminously grey, usually a sign of snow on the way. Not that it bothers me particularly since I am lucky enough to feel warm no matter how cold it got.
Muttering an apology to Lestrade when I pass him I hurry after Sherlock, struggling to catch up with him. He always insists on walking fast even though he knows full well I have shorter legs than him and often get left behind. When he hears me puffing behind him he slows slightly and looks back over his shoulder at me with an expression I am unable to make sense of. He almost appears worried which is obviously impossible because Sherlock always manages to have a solution for everything. I try not to show my concern but with his keen observations skills he probably already knows I have seem him momentarily lowering his guard. Certaintly when I draw level with him he looks away from me and stares off to one side so I am unable to see his face. "Sherlock, there isn't any need to be rude. Lestrade has been working hard trying to solve these murders."
Sherlock lets out a quiet snort and reaches into his pocket, pulling out what looks very much like the feather of a bird. Without saying a word he holds it out for my inspection but I am too busy staring at him in disbelief to take it. "As I said to Lestrade I need some time to think over what I saw at the crime scene before I come up with a conclusion. Even though I have a good idea who the culprit is I would like to be certain before I reveal my theories."
Sometimes Sherlock can be incredibly infuriating and I glare at him when I finally snatch the feather from his outstretched hand. "Why don't you tell him your theories now, you usually don't hold back when there is an oppotunity to boast about how clever you are compared to the rest of us." I demand, feeling anger rising within me. I know it won't do any good to lose my temper because Sherlock never pays attention but I am unable to help myself. "You could save Greg from any more late nights." Sherlock doesn't say anything and simply stares at me with his familiar blank expression. Gripping the feather tightly in my fist I thrust it under his nose so he is forced to notice it. "Oh no the great Sherlock Holmes needs to be one hundred percent certain that he is right. For goodness sake Sherlock not only are you withholding important information but you have also removed what could turn out to be key evidence from a crime scene! What the hell has gotten into you?"
Sherlock's face remains blank though I swear I see a brief flash of hurt in his eyes before he reaching out and plucks the feather from my hand, roughly shoving it back into his pocket. "Nothing has gotten into me. I am completly fine." He says, brushing a lock of hair which is hanging in front of his eyes. "Why don't you go back to the flat John? I will be back later tonight, there is something I need to check up on at the British library." He calls back over his shoulder as he vanishes around the corner.
I sigh and massage my forehead where I can feel the beginnings of a nasty headache brewing. Sherlock has been acting out of character ever since the shape-shifter murders started but everytime I have confronted him about it he has either changed the subject or ignored me. Here I have been presented with the perfect oppotunity to find out what he is up to if I am willing to follow someone who is brilliant at noticing things which other people don't. I suppose I will just have to risk that there is a certain chance he might spot me following him. My mind made up I turn the corner, meaning to watch what direction Sherlock goes in next, but I find myself confronted with an empty allyway. I frown, surely he couldn't have moved that fast could he? Cautiously I take a few steps forward, looking for a sign of where he went next but all I find is a handful of golden red feathers which are warm to the touch when I pick one up. They don't help me in my search for Sherlock's trail and, letting the feather fall, I continue along the alley. As I walk my thoughts go to the feather Sherlock took from the crime scene. From the brief glimpse I was able to get I saw that the feather was mostly black with patches of green and purple irresdescence similiar to that which you saw on a magpie as it opened its wings and flew away. A sudden though strikes me and it is so ridiculous that I almost laugh out loud. Surely Sherlock didn't think that a magpie shape-shifter was capable of carrying out such a horrific, messy murder did he? I am so absorbed in my thoughts that it is several moments before I notice the clicking of claws on pavement behind me or the low growl which accompanies the sound. I abruptly become aware when the growl grows louder; the sheer power and fierceness of it freezing me to the spot.
Cursing quietly to myself I cautiously glance over my shoulder, trying not to make any sudden moves which could alarm the creature, possibly a predator, behind me. I prefer having my limbs attached to my body. When I see the animal crouched behind me, blocking off the end of the alleyway with its bulk I feel a brief moment of overwelming panic but I quickly push it aside. If a push comes to a shove I do have the ability to protect myself but I would rather not shift in public and risk being photographed by a curious passerby. So far, no-one had any idea I was anything other than human and I planned to keep it that way. The shape-shifter standing behind me is a large Bengal tiger, its orange and black fur gleaming and its muscles rippling. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm because I can feel my inner fire trying to make itself known. In the army we had been trained how to deal with shape-shifters but it is very different when you find yourself face to face with one in a place where you believed you were safe. Even I was feeling a little wrong footed about meeting a dangerous predator face to face. For my training I can remember it is an extremerly bad idea to look a shape-shifter directly in the eye and I realise with a jolt that I have been doing exactly that. Crap. Hastily I look away from the tiger but it has already taken a single step forward, its muscles rippling beneath its orange and black fur and a fierce snarl drawing its lips back from sharp fangs.
"What do you want?" I ask, frowning over the tiger's shoulder and trying not to meet its yellow eyes.
The smile the tiger gives me is all fang and a little unsettling. "I want you John Watson to come with me, there is someone who is dying to meet you." The tiger says, its voice little more than a snarl but still unmistably human. I have a feeling, it is difficult to tell because of the fangs distorting its voice, the tiger is a male. The tiger begins to circle me and I turn with it to keep it in sight as there is no way I am turning my back. "Start walking." He snarls, swiping at my ankle with a claw tipped paw that is easily the size of my head.
I start walking, allowing myself to be herded to whatever destination the tiger has in mind. Even though I am in the middle of London there is no one around to see the shape-shifter or raise the alarm. Its ironic really that Lestrade and his team are litrally just a few streets over but if I called for help the tiger would rip my throat out before they ever rounded the corner in the alleyway. From the corner of my eye I can just about see the tiger walking beside me, watching me intently to make sure I don't make a run for it. Again I could shift and fly away but I enjoy my privacy too much to do that (I mean poor Mycroft can't go five minutes without being bothered by someone). Never the less I can't just do nothing. Slowly, knowing the risk I am taking, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, anggling my body so I am between it and the tiger. Then quickly and as quietly as I can I compose a text to Sherlock, telling him I am in danger and maybe in the presence of the shape-shifter who has comitted the brutal murders. Hitting send I hide my phone back in my pocket and take a look at my surroundings. My mouth falls open with surprise when I see where I am. Without my realising it the tiger has somehow managed to herd me onto Baker Street and is currently pushing me in the direction of 221 where I share a flat with Sherlock. I glance back towards the tiger for a clue as to why the person wants to meet me here but all he does is snarl loudly at me and lean forward to rest his head against my legs, pushing me up the steps so forcibly that I almost stumble. Dreading what I might find when I open the door I do it slowly, images of Sherlock's and Mrs Hudson's bloody mutilated bodies filling my mind. Instead I find only silence and emptyness and I breathe a sigh of relief. Once inside I stop, no longer afraid to go another step now that I know it is only me who the tiger will be able to hurt.
"Where is Mrs Hudson?" I ask. There is no point asking about Sherlock because he is more than capable of looking after himself.
"She's out." replies a soft, lilting voice that is oddly familiar. "I made sure of it."
The soft tone of the voice after the harsh growl of the tiger is jarring and somehow the soft voice manages to sound more threatening. I glance round, trying to find its source and see, standing in the shadow at the top of the stairs, a dark shadow which upon stepping forward forms into the figure of Moriarty. When his hair catches the light I am able to see that there are glossy irredescent streaks running through it, identical to that of the magpie feather Sherlock found at the crime scene. At least now I understand his strange behaviour and why he has been seeming so on edge these past few weeks. A smirk spreads across Moriarty's face and, turning on his heel, vanishes upstairs. With a growl the tiger indicates that I should follow. At the top of the stairs the door to 221B is open. Unable to do anything else I unwittingly walk inside. Once I am standing in the centre of the flat's small living area I turn to confront Moriarty, almost but not quite losing my balance when I stumble over a pile of books Sherlock has neglected to shelve. "What the hell do you want Moriarty?" I demand, crossing my arms and glaring at him. "Also I suppose I am right in guessing that you are the one behind the murders Sherlock and I have been investigating.
There is a sly gleam in Moriarty's eyes as he sits down in Sherlock's armchair and makes himself comfortable. I clench my fists, only just resisting the urge to drag him back out of it. "Of course I am behind them Johnny Boy. Well technically Moran here is the one who actually kills people, I just choose who his victims are going to be." He says, gesturing at the tiger who is pacing behind his chair. "Anyway I believe it is time we were getting down to business. I imagine you want to know why I summoned you." He continues, holding up a black jacket for my inspection.
'Oh god', I think, my heart skipping a beat. I have seen such jackets before during my service in the Middle East where such items were in common usage by the enemy. I grit my teeth to stop myself swearing out loud. There is no way in hell I am going to allow Moriarty to strap that thing around me! I go to take a step forward, to lash out or run but Moran rears up with a snarl, slams a huge paw against my chest and pushes me down into the chair directly behind me. He keeps his paw there for a moment before padding back over to Moriarty. I don't try to get up.
Careful Johnny Boy." Moriarty cautions. "Any sudden moves and Moran will rip your throat out." There is a definite grin on his face as he stands and makes his way over to me, Moran following close on his heels.
Unable to do anything I am forced to remain still while Moriarty wraps the bomb jacket around me and secures it tightly so there is no chance I can wriggle free from it. I watch Moriarty while he works. It is odd to think that the last time I saw him was when Sherlock and I confronted him about falsely telling the world he was Richard Brook. My throat tightens; a few hours after that Sherlock leaped off the roof of St Bart's hospital. The memory still occasionally gives me nightmares. A shudder runs down my spine when Moriarty lightly strokes his fingers across my cheek and laughs quietly to himself. "Now John what I want you to do is very simple. I know you sent a message to Sherlock and when he arrives I shall be giving you instructions using this earpeice." He says, holding up the item in quesion. "You will repeat everything I say or I will detonate the jacket and kill both you and Sherlock...understand?"
While all I want to do is lash out and cause Moriarty pain I know that if I do Moran will tear my arm from its socket. Of course I could shift but all I would be doing is giving Moriarty further amunition to use against me and it simply isn't worth. Only if Sherlock's life is in danger and I can save him will I risk shape-shifting. From down stairs I hear the sound of faint footsteps which announce Sherlock's return. Moriarty tips his head to one side so he is able to hear better. A wicked grin spreads slowly across his face when the footsteps thunder up the stairs in a flat out run, his expression seeming almost to mock how desperate Sherlock is to rush to my side. Then gesturing for Moran to follow he walks into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the living area. Because of how the flat is set out Sherlock won't spot Moriarty until it is too late. If anything happens to him I will never forgive myself because it is my fault he is here, I sent the message to say I was in danger. Before I do anything, even shout a warning, Sherlock has burst through the door, his expression frantic. His steps falter when his gaze falls on me and he sees the bomb jacket I am rigged to. His eyes widen in what I could swear is fear. But this is Sherlock I am talking about, he can't possibly be afraid can he?
"Hello Sherlock, isn't this a pleasant surprise?" I say, repeating the lines Moriarty is feeding to me via the earpiece. Beside me I feel a threatening growl and feel course fur brush against my hand. Supressing a shudder I glance down towards Moran who is standing beside me warning Sherlock that rescue attempts and sudden moves would be ill advised. I turn back to Sherlock and swear I see a spark of orange fire burning in his eyes. He looks away however before I can look more closely, leading me to believe that I most likely imagined the whole thing. Maybe it was just a trick of the light. "Long time no see Sherly. You know something tells me that our meeting is going to go with a bit of a bang."
Sherlock grits his teeth, another sign he isn't quite as in control of his emotions as he usually is. "I know you're here Moriarty. What do you want this time? If you are trying to kill me than I have to tell you that it is beginning to grow tiring." He says, slowly turning on his heel in order to inspect every corner of the flat. He half steps towards the kitchen but stops when Moran snarls loudly and places a massive paw on my knee.
Moriarty's voice murmurs softly in my ear once more. "Why don't we make this a little more interesting Seb." I repeat, my voice beginning to shake despite my best efforts to keep it under control. I know I am close to loosing my temper and shifting but if I do that Moriarty will activate the bomb vest and even I couldn't survive a firey explosion, despite the protective covering of scales I posses once I have shifted. Beside me Moran rears onto his hind legs and shifts easily into a young, thirty something man with orange streaked black hair and a scar slicing his face cleanly in half. In a single smooth movement he leans down, wraps an arm around my throat and presses the barrel of a gun to the side of my forehead. I stiffen and barely manage to conceal a growl of anger. "Take another step Sherly and Johnny boy's brains will decorate the walls. Which would be a shame because I am rather beginning to get used to him." In my ear Moriarty sounds gleeful and also a little smug.
"As to what I want Sherly." says the real Moriarty, emerging from the kitchen and facing Sherlock. "Its really rather simple. All I want is you. Imagine, the world's only consulting detective, as my pet. Why with you by my side I could rule the world." He crows, circling around Sherlock with measured steps. I half expect Sherlock to relax but all he does is turn with Moriarty, watching him intently. He doesn't even flinch when Moriarty reaches out and runs a hands across his cheek, smiling at me when I glare at him. "Come now Sherly, you know it would be fun. Think of what I could do with a phoenix shape-shifter by my side." He says, sounding thoughtful.
I frown at Moriarty, hardly able to believe what I was hearing. Sherlock...a shape-shifter? It just wasn't possible. I mean surely I would have been able to tell, I spend enough time with him. "What are you talking about Moriarty?" I ask. Morarty ignores me however because at the same time Sherlock gives voice to a loud snarl and advances on the consulting criminal, his eyes flashing.
Moran's grip around my neck tightens, further cutting off my air supply until I am reduced to strangled gasps as I desperatly try to suck in more air. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision. I squeeze my eyes shut when I hear the click of the guns safety switch being taken off. I know then that there is a very strong possibility that I could die here today. Maybe it would be worth exposing my secret if it means that Sherlock and I get out of this mess alive.
Sherlock glances at me before turning his attention to Moriarty. In the brief moment he looks at me I see something almost like resignation on his face. "I will never join you Moriarty and you dare to hurt John I will burn the heart out of you. And you know that isn't an empty threat." He growls, his eyes gleaming brighter until it almost seems that sparks are coming from them.
A sly smile creeps across Moriarty's face and he throws himself down in the armchair across from me. "Awwe don't be like that Sherly, you're taking the fun out of this meeting. Johnny boy and I were getting along fine until you arrived. Anyway you should have realised Sherly that at this precise moment I can burn your heart much easily than you can mine. Any false moves and I will detonate the bomb attached to John Watson." He says shooting a smirk in Sherlock's direction.
Sherlock's eyes narrow and he lets out a humourless smile. Slowly he raises his left hand and I am startled to see tiny streams of fire burning in his palm. A quiet gasp escapes me. Dear god it really was true then- Sherlock was a shape-shifter. "Careful Moriarty, remember who you are talking to." He says, anger plain in his voice. "Besides as I have been told on many occasions and once even by you a heart is apparently an organ which I don't possess."
Moriarty's expression is disappointed as he shakes his head. "Now we both know that isn't true Sherly. Look at how you came running when Johnny Boy here texted you to say he was in trouble." He says with a sly smile that hints that more violence is to come despite his deceptively calm expression. Instead of making any more threats or getting Moran to shoot me Moriarty turns on his heels and walks off towards the open door of the flat, gesturing for Moran to release me. Reluctantly Moran does so and heads off after his master, shifting back into tiger form as he does so. The pressure on my neck gone I gratefully swallow great lungfuls of air. "Come Seb, let's give Sherly a few days in which to consider my offer; either he joins me or he watches everyone he cares about die. Toodles." He cries with a wave of his hand. With that he exits the flat and slams the door behind him, leaving Sherlock and I alone.
Before I can say anything or even breathe a sigh of relief Sherlock rushes to my side and begins tearing at the bomb jacket, desperatly trying to remove it. Startled by such a show of emotion I remain silent, unsure of how to react, and wait for Sherlock to finish. After several moments of frantic fumbling Sherlock manages to remove the jacket and with a tiny noise of disgust he tosses it into the corner of the room. Then he kneels down in front of the chair, places his hands on either side of my face and looks me directly in the eye. His irises, instead of their usual blue, are bright orange and burn with an intense inner fire. "Are you okay John? Did Moriarty hurt you?" He asks, his voice sounding frantic.
I let out a low, nervous laugh. I am not sure what to say to him in reply. Technically Moriarty didn't hurt me but he did manage to shake me to my core. I don't want to worry Sherlock any further though so I make an attempt at a joke. "Thank goodness no one was around to witness you tearing items of clothing off me. They might have gotten the wrong impression." I joke. Sherlock's expression remains steady and I know that he isn't fooled by the brave face I have put on.
Sherlock shakes his head and leans his forehead against mine. "I was so scared I was going to lose you when I saw you strapped to a bomb jacket." He murmurs softly, tears in his eyes. No, that can't be right can it? I look again, closer this time, and see tears slowly running down Sherlock's cheeks. My heart contracts at the thought he could care so much about a person. It is then that I realise with a jolt how close he is to me and his lips are inches away from mine. All I would have to do is lean forward slightly... my train of thought (and any actions that possibly might have followed) is shattered by Moriarty crashing through the door with a wild expression on his face. Sherlock starts and, half standing, goes to confront him.
"So sorry boys to interrupt your private moment but I got the impression during our little chat that Johnny Boy is ignorant of your little secret Sherly. We can't have that now can we? Especially since it appears John Watson is so dear to you." He says, a sly expression on his face. My fists clench, evidently he saw Sherlock's tears as a sign of vunerability and had decided to come back to kill us anyway. Reaching into his pocket Moriarty pulls out a handgun which he then procedes to aim at the bomb jacket. He gives myself and Sherlock a sarcastic wave and then pulls the trigger, quickly shifting into a magpie once he has done so and vanishing through the door.
The roar of the explosion is defeaning and is accompanied by a blast of intense heat and a shockwave which lifts me off my feet, sending me crashing back into the wall. I cry out, choking on the super heated air, and instinctively throw my arms over my head to protect myself even though I know it would do any good. After several moments of nothing happening I cautiously peer over the top of my arms to see what is going on. The scene I am confronted with takes my breath away. Hovering in front of me is a human sized phoenix, its golden red wings spread out to protect me from the fierce flames eating into the walls and furniture. It glances back at me and I am able to see traces of Sherlock in the warm orange eyes as it watches me intently. Then without warning the phoenix begins to glow brightly, forcing me to sheild my eyes, as it somehow absorbs the fire into itself and leaves ash and charred furniture in its wake. As suddenly as it began the light dies away and the phoenix lands in a rustle of feathers. Feeling a little daze all I can do is stare. It appears none the worse for the intense inferno which tore through the flat and shattered windows and melted furnishings. I wince a little. Mrs Hudson is not going to be happy when she arrives home. "So," I say, my voice somehow calm despite what just happened. "You're a shape-shifter...does anyone other than me and Moriarty know?" I ask. Damn, this is going to make keeping my own secret just that little bit harder. Though maybe since Sherlock is a shape-shifter too it won't do any harm. I will have to see how the next few days pan out and then decide what to do.
The phoenix nods, the orange gleam bleeding away from its eyes to be replaced by more familiar shades of grey, green and blue. "Only Mycroft and Lestrade know and I would prefer it if it remained that way." I can empathise with this because some people freak out upon learning that close collegues or friends were shape-shifters. "Solving cases would become difficult if I was to become a celebrity over night." The phoenix continues, shifting back into human form. Sherlock's expression is unreadable as he gazes at me from where he is kneeling on the floor. The only indications there is anything out of the ordinary (other than the comepletly destroyed flat of course) is the tangled mess his hair is in and the streak of blistered red skin on the right side of his face which looks painful. A concerned look flashes across his face. "Are you okay John? I didn't hurt you did I?" He asks, his eyes scanning me for any signs of injury.
"I'm fine Sherlock." I reassure him as I pull myself to my feet, limp over to him and kneel down next to him. At first I don't even realise I am reaching up towards the burn on his cheek until the moment I am lightly stroking my hand across its blackened edges, trying to avoid the worst of the blisters. Already the injury is beginning to heal and I watch, amazed and fascinated, as fresh skin flows over the wound, knitting it back together. Sherlock winces every now and then but apart from that the burn doesn't appear to be causing him any discomfort. "How are you doing that?" I question, curious to find out the answer because no normal shape-shifter has that capability (I should know).
A smile momentarily lights up Sherlock's face. "I am a phoenix shape-shifter John. Even though I don't burst into flames and become reborn like the creatures of myth I am able to heal and regenerate. So far I know I can heal broken bones, repair open wounds no matter how fatal they are, stitch major ateries back together and even regrow internal organs." He replies, his expression darkening as he remembers something he would obviously rather prefer to forget. He shakes himself like a dog and looks up at me to find out what my reaction will be to what he has just told me.
I think he expects me to flinch back or proclaim him to be a monster because he is startled when I lean forward and rest my forehead against his. My hand still gently strokes his newly healed skin. Beneath my touch I feel a shudder run through him. "Wow." I murmur softly, gazing into his blue eyes. "My best friend is a shape-shifter." I say with a smile, not adding that I am also one. Despite a thick protective layer of scales I would have been killed by the explosion if I'd been in my shape-shifter form. Whatever way you look at it I owe Sherlock my life. Sherlock's mouth twitches up into a relieved smile and I have to resist the urge to lean forward and brush my lips against his. Embarressed by the way I am feeling towards him I advert my eyes from his and clear my throat. "You know you hide the fact you're a shape-shifter very well. I knew a number of shifters when I was in the army who still had coloured skin or feathers showing. You on the other hand look totally human." I say, aware of how hypocritical I am being considering that no-one has been able to tell that I am anything other than human.
Sherlock doesn't appear to notice how I am feeling and leans in closer, a grin on his face. "I have learned to conceal my shape-shifter side though I am not able to control it entirely for I still have some feathers in an...unusual place." He says, his grin becoming a little uncertain. "Also." He continues, holding out his arms so I am able to see that his veins are glowing with a faint glowing light which is barely visible in the light streaming through the windows. "This little trick proves very handy on night time cases."
Sherlock is so close to me I can feel his warm breath against my skin. His proximity also allows me to notice how, unlike a human, his skin gives out a pleasant heat. "Are you telling me that you glow in the dark." I laugh but it sounds strained and Sherlock gives me a look which plainly says he has at least guessed how I am feeling. I don't know what it is but I can feel myself being drawn towards him with the result that it is becoming ever more difficult not to give in to the feelings of desire coursing through me. I wonder if he feels the same way towards me?
As though able to sense what I am thinking a sly smile spreads slowly across Sherlock's face. "John?" He whispers, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine. "Are you attracted to me?" He asks, his voice playful. He doesn't wait for me to reply and instead closes the gap between us. His lips are surprisingly soft and press against mine with a sense of desire, as though he has been waiting to do this for a while. His arms circle round me, holding me to him, and I feel him tangle his fingers into my hair. Well this most certaintly answers my question. After a long moment he draws away slightly and smiles down at me. "I have wanted to do that for so long but I was afraid you would reject me. But after today and the scare I had when I received your text made me realise that life is too short not to at least try." He goes to pull me back to him and frowns when I place my hands on his chest to stop him. "What is it?" He asks, sounding out of breath and a little annoyed.
I lean forward to whisper in his ear. "Tell me, where is an unusual place to have feathers?" I ask him, thinking about the red scales dotted on my lower body. A blush creeps up my cheeks and I begin to worry I might have overstepped the line. To my relief Sherlock smiles down at me, his blue eyes dark with longing.
"Where do you think?" He questions before he once more presses his lips to mine. This time the kiss is deeper, more passionate, and I feel tendrils of heat emanating throughout my body. I shiver and close my eyes when Sherlock reaches up to undo several of my shirt buttons with quick, deft fingers. I hear a rustling noise and open my eyes, curious to find out what could have made such a sound. Behind Sherlock stretches a pair of beautiful golden red wings which glow with a faint light. As I watch they curl over until Sherlock and I are enveloped in their soft, warm embrace, cocooned within our own little world. Hesistantly I reach out and gently touch the feathers on the wing nearest me. Sherlock moans against my mouth and arches his back like a cat. I continue to explore his feathers, running my hands along them until I reach where the wing merges into the skin of his shoulder blade. Sherlock breaks off the kiss with a gasp and hastily finishes unbuttoning my shirt, pratically tearing it off me. His arms tightens around me and I find myself being laid on my back with Sherlock straddling me so we can still cocooned by his wings. For a moment he simply stares at me before removing his own shirt. It gets stuck on his wings and he gives me a embarressed smile as he works to untangle himself. Once he is free and the shirt has been discarded to one side I reach up and pull Sherlock to me, our bare chests rubbing against one another. I slide my hands back to his wings. Sherlock lets out another low moan and presses himself against me. I allow myself a small grin. Evidently his wings are sensitive to being touched, a revelation I could potentially have fun with. My train of thought evaporates when Sherlock's hands creep downwards and he slips the tips of his fingers beneath the waistband of my jeans.
I inhale sharply and gaze up into Sherlock's eyes. He almost seems to be asking for permission to continue; giving me the choice to say no if this was not what I wanted. Right now there is nothing I want for and I nod to show I wish him to go further.
From close by I am dimly aware of the sound of footsteps, possibly two people, thundering up the stairs but am too preoccupied to say anything to Sherlock who doesn't appear to have noticed them. A few moments later the door is violently flung open with some considerable force. "Dear god there really has been an explosion." I hear a familiar voice exclaim. "Jesus christ! What the hell are you guys doing?"
Sherlock's reaction is startling in its violence. Hissing loudly he kneels over me with his golden wings stretched out to protect me from whoever has just walked through the door.
While Sherlock is facing off against the people who have just entered the flat I scrabble behind me for the tattered remains of my shirt and hastily pull it on. With it on I feel a little less exposed then before and I no longer mind peering over Sherlock's shoulder to find out just who has interrupted us. Dear god I hope it isn't anyone we know or I will never live this down. I smile sheepishly when I see Greg Lestrade and Sally Donovan standing in the doorway, both of them with identical expressions of shock on their faces. Oops, this was going to go well. To take my attention off them I turn to Sherlock and gently lay a hand on his shoulder. I can feel the tension that is radiating off him. At my toucch a violent shudder courses through his body but gradually he relaxes and leans his head on mine with a quiet sigh. He doesn't move however and remains between me and the others. Well I suppose there goes Sherlock's wish for no-one else to discover he was a shape-shifter. This little 'incident' will very likely be known through Scotland Yard before the day is out unless I can somehow persuade Lestrade not to talk.
Lestrade, what are you doing here?" I say, asking the obvious question since I am surrounded by the remnants of an explosion. I try to prevent the blush I can feel from creeping up my cheeks but I fail and my face grows hot. As though he is able to sense my discomfort Sherlock shifts position and lightly kisses me on the cheek, an action which only causes me to blush all the harder. Suddenly I find myself unable to meet Lestrade and Donovan's eyes.
Loudly clearing his throat Lestrade discreetly stares over my shoulder. "We received a number of calls about a tiger shape-shifter being spotted in the area before the reports started flooding in that there had been an explosion at Baker Street. I grabbed Donovan here and came running as soon as I heard but it appears that you don't need our help." He says, glancing round at the charred remains of the flat. "What happened here?" He asks, abruptly changing the subject.
It doesn't take as long as I thought it would to explain everything from my kidnapping to Moriarty's threat and the detonation of the bomb. Throughout the explanation Sally Donovan seems disinterested in what I am saying and instead keeps glancing at Sherlock with a puzzled, almost sly expression as though she is trying to work out how she can use this to her own gain. Lestrade however stares at me with a shocked expression. Once I have finished he collapses back against the wall, looking more than a little shaken. "This is a lot to take in." He says, taking a deep breath. "So let me get this straight Sherlock...Moriarty came here because he wants you to work for him?"
Looking disappointed at Greg's ignorance Sherlock shakes his head and folds his wings against his back. "No Greg, he doesn't want me to work for him. What Moriarty wants is for me to become a sort of pet at his constant beck and call." He explains, sounding faintly disgusted with the idea. He looks over his shoulder and gives me a small smile which I return. A sudden thought strikes me. This is the first time Sherlock has actually gotten Lestrade's name right. I give him a look, wondering what he is playing at. Maybe he only gets it wrong to annoy him and this is him trying to show that he is being serious. Who knows...right now we have other things to worry about.
For a moment Lestrade continues to stare at Sherlock, obviously having difficulties in understanding what he has just heard. Admittedly it is a lot to take in. Just imagine how he would react if he learnt that there were actually two shape-shifters in the room. "I don't believe this. Why the hell didn't you tell me you were a shape-shifter Sherlock?" He cries, running a hand through his hair and causing it to stick up. He opens his mouth to say something else but is interrupted by the sound of sirens from outside. As usual the rest of Lestrade's force is slow to follow him. He glances towards the window and lets out a sigh. "None of this goes further than this room and that also applies to you Sally." Donovan pulls a face and mutters darkly under her breath but reluctantly nods to show she understands. "The official story we will release to the press will be a gas leak and an accidental spark, maybe from a cigerette, which just happened to ignite it. No-one was hurt and you and John were away on a case at the time. I really do not need another mass panic centred around Moriarty." He says, turning on his heel and gesturing for Donovan to follow him. Before he walks through the door he glances back over his shoulder and gives me a weary smile. "Sherlock, John, I think it goes without saying we will never speak of what you two were or were not doing ever again." He says before exiting the flat and leaving us alone again.
When we hear the front door slam Sherlock turns to me with a wide grin and a wicked glint in his eyes. "Now where were we John?"