COLD INTELLIGENCE - Chapter One
AN: Hi guys. Alright, in case you were wondering, the pattern is thus in the COLD series; things relating to body (flesh, blood etc) are important in the continuity. Other things are oneshots (Blanket, intelligence). Anything with an element is a rewriting of an episode/scene. Alright.
Enjoy!
*P*A*G*E*B*R*E*A*K*
There are three major warning signs that I need to take note of.
Number One. This is the earliest symptom and therefore the easiest to overlook. It also lasts the shortest amount of time. This is a hyperactivity, a sensation of energy that emerges from nowhere at all. I am prone to these under any situation, so often, I overlook it. However, it is accompanied by the transformation to my eyes, and sometimes my teeth.
Number Two. An itching sensation at the base of my spine. This sensation lasts the longest of the three, and is the stage where I tend to find I can still reverse the transformation.
Number Three. This is the last warning sign, and at this stage, it's very rare that I can undo the transformation, as it has begun in earnest. I get a sensation of prickling along the back of my hands and arms, an itching and something reminiscent of the beginning of pins and needles.
Sherlock leant back from his laptop, stretching his hands and upper arms, licking his lips. John was at work; but he had recommended that Sherlock wrote down how the transformation felt. He believed it would increase the consulting detective's wavering control, considering he was so impulsive and had begun to change so regularly. He could easily read the worry in John's face, and thought it was a good idea, so here he was, in his pyjamas, typing away. He mused a moment, then continued.
Every transformation is painful, and this has always been the situation. I have found, through experimentation, that once I go past the prickling stage, I must stop resisting, otherwise the pain will be far more intense. If I have allowed myself to this stage, then resisting is usually very unlikely, as I do enjoy the sensation. My experience of drug use means that I do understand my tendency to lean toward self-destructive habits. The issue with my transformation is that it can have negative impacts; I am changing while attending cases, as well as when I am bored.
I shall describe the transformation. Once I've undergone the initial three symptoms, the true pain starts. Focused in my spine, by this point I will be removing clothing as rapidly as possible, as otherwise it will be destroyed. Claws grow from the bone, replacing my own; the transformation that has begun on my face during the early stages continue. My canines become lion-like, as my others sharpen. It is unnatural and strange, as my other teeth thicken and sharpen as well, which should be impossible, yet it does. The major change occurs, which is my pelvis. In the process of reshaping, it moved to a different position, forcing me to four legs.
The most painful part of the process begins at this point. Muscle is thickening, but my skin has thickened also, and it cracks. This is as if hundreds of nails or screws instantly run over my skin, creating these lines. There is no blood as the pigmentation changes, creating scales. I am still growing as my ribs move into a different position. I grow a keel, a heavy adaptation on my collarbone, growing through the centre of my ribs. Bone spurs are produced and break my skin, forming wings and tail; the muscle grows on them. By this stage of the process, I have gained a numbness - I do not feel the wings and tail, most likely due to my body producing natural and powerful painkillers.
I grow soft pads on my feet and hands. My feet twist and change, re-forming as the muscles and bones create a different structure, more canine. The last to twist is my face. As if someone has grasped and tugged my cheekbones forward, they change, my jaw extends as my nose blends out into this muzzle. My ears liquidise and reform like a feline's, but still attached along the side of my face. My hair falls out, and a thin line of feathers grow from between my eyes to half-way down my neck. This stage, the transformation is almost completed.
I am far larger than I was as a human. I stand, roughly, four feet to the shoulder, with an extra foot for my long neck and head. My length, John has assured me, with my head up, is roughly ten feet, including four feet of tail, which is tipped in a half-dagger shape; the scoop is pointed downwards. This is not sharp or heavy in any way. My tail is not very flexible. It will fold around when I am relaxed, but the bulk of it is a vital tool to flight. The drug seems to have created a false instinct, as I have always flown with ease and ability. John told me that, after a thorough investigation with a doctor's knowledge, it is easy to see that I am a very slight build. My collarbone is visible, my cheekbones as sharp as they are in human form, as are my ribs. Indeed, after the experiments that have resulted in this new form, I find myself requiring more food, even during cases.
Overall, I have enjoyed this new side. It is a remarkable tool in investigation, as no one will reveal what they have seen when I shift my eyes and teeth - the easiest part of the change, that I can initiate with no trappings. Criminals will confess with just a threat. It is rather satisfying.
With that final statement, Sherlock leant back, eyes flickering over what he'd written. He hovered his mouse over the POST button but then moved it away, saving it as a draft that would never be posted. He mused, watching the computer screen for a few minutes, and then the door went and John strode in. "Hi." he said, sounding a little breathless as he stripped off his outdoor clothes. He glanced over Sherlock's shoulder. "You wrote it?" Sherlock nodded and placed the laptop on the sofa, getting to his feet and stretching out like a cat, fingertips almost touching the ceiling. "You can read it if you wish." he moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside, peeking out into the street. It was dark out.
John went into the kitchen and flipped the kettle on. Sherlock continued staring, but not seeing, focusing on every part of his body, awareness on his shape, breathing even, trying ever so hard not to think about flight, or running, or any of his triggers. His spine was itching like crazy, and all he wanted to do was rub himself against the doorframe, like a bear. "I'd like it, if you could read it." he was speaking too softly for John to hear. "Maybe it would help you understand."
If you love me you'll reviiiew.