Okay, so its obviously not the most cannon fic ever written, but it begged to come out, so enjoy. Feel free to review...or not. Up to you :)

Per the usual routine, I do not own Sherlock. No infringement intended.

.:...:.

Rain drizzled over London, fogging up the street lamps in a miserable sputter that was just enough to be annoying, but not enough to ruin anyone's plans. John wished it would downpour. Maybe then he would have an excuse to stay home.

Somehow, he'd gotten himself roped into going out for the night with Greg and a couple other cops he'd only met in passing back before...no he wasn't going to think about that. At first he'd declined. After it happened he hadn't felt like going out or making friends or doing much of anything. He let his blog rot. He stopped working (not that he ever really was). He barely even went out to do the shopping. It was pathetic.

Lestrade came by off and on and invited him on nights and even the occasional morning out, but John always turned him down. This particular afternoon Greg phoned and practically begged him. Something about needing a night away from the case he'd been working on, though it was more likely another ploy to get John back out in the world. The next thing John knew Greg was talking about meeting at some pub at eleven. He tried to protest, only to hear the heavy silence of someone hanging up before he could get a word out. Sneaky bastard.

At first, he considered just not showing up. He could say he'd forgotten the name of the place or he couldn't find it, but it didn't take him long to decide that Greg would see right through both excuses and ultimately guilt won out over his hesitation. Greg had remained a loyal friend even when John shut him out in the beginning, shut everyone out. Saying no was one thing, completely blowing his friend off was a whole other matter. Besides, John reasoned, maybe this would be good for him? The more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself it wouldn't be so bad.

So at 10:30 he pulled on his coat, shoving his keys into one of the pockets and headed out. He flagged down the first cab he saw, pausing a moment before he sighed and clambered in. Get it over with, John, he thought to himself. He quickly told the driver where he wanted to go, a little pub a long enough distance away to make walking a bother, and they were off.

.:...:.

Elsewhere in London, a large, white dog stumbled her way through the darkness of a back alley, her cream tinted fur soaked red at the chest and right, hind leg. Her progress was slow, her body limp, blue eyes dulled by pain and exhaustion. A barely detectable hitch in her step was all that betrayed the searing pain she felt with every movement. Few people would recognize the wolf in her and even fewer could believe a human mind lurked beneath those teeth and claws. Werewolves didn't exist, especially not werewolfdogs. She was a Husky, a mix, but nothing more. It was a lie people told themselves to feel safe.

She was used to it.

Five years. Five years of rage and revenge had come to an abrupt, violent end and she was done. Everyone she'd ever known, everyone she'd ever loved or hated was gone. There was no one left who still mattered and no one left she mattered to. The emptiness numbed her. She had no master, no family, no purpose. She just…was and nothing had ever been so terrifying. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was dying, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Who would miss her? No one.

She should stop, lay down, let death come. But something wouldn't let her. All those times she'd wished she was dead and here she was dying and what was she doing? Walking. But this was nothing, just the last burst of adrenaline charging her batteries while her body shut down. She didn't even realize she'd wandered into the road until white, hot lights throbbed in front of her. She squinted but made no effort to get out of the way, not even when the car honked its horn or the tires screeched in a futile effort to miss her.

Unfortunately, she wasn't numb enough to escape the pain of the vehicle colliding with her right side, sending her skidding across the pavement. She lay limp, not even raising her head. Her eyes were open, but she saw little more than shadows. This was it. She wasn't exactly ready and she was scared, but she didn't fight it. She could hear voices shouting around her, dim and distant. Even in the state she was, she knew it was two men. An uncomfortably familiar scent swam with the blood in her nostrils and sent sickening fear shivering up her spine. Neurons sizzled inside her brain. Run! But she couldn't remember why and couldn't have moved even if she wanted. In a few moments, none of it would matter.

Her eyes closed slowly, her consciousness unraveling as she sank into the earth. She was a breath away from being gone forever, but something pulled her back. Anger and fear exploded inside her when she felt a hand work through the fur on her chest. A voice, the one who'd done the shouting was murmuring something, but whatever it was didn't make it through the panic fueled static of her brain. All that mattered was the hand and getting it off of her.

She thrashed, snapping her teeth at whatever unseen enemy had dared touch her. The hand withdrew quickly, the voice muttering something again. She dropped back on her side, mouth falling open, and began to pant. There was a hiss and the voice's owner brushed her forehead in smooth, light motions, rubbing his fingers over the notch in her left ear. She growled, wanting it to stop, wanting him to go away.

But the voice continued speaking and someone slowly slid both arms underneath her. She felt herself lifted and everything went dark.