There was a slight miscommunication before rp started and it turns out that writing werewolf smut (understandably) squicks Mer, so we wrote the actual sequel (see profile ff list) with human!Sherlock. And then with her permission, I solo-wrote this Filthy Remix with ALL the werewolf smut. Also, I'll be keeping the same John!POV then Sherlock!POV and back writing style for this fic.

A standard break-and-enter of a small office building had quickly turned into something a little less standard but not anything he was any less used to. Sherlock's cabinet file rifling had been interrupted by three men armed with handguns. John had jumped, rolled, and come up in a crouch with his own gun drawn, looking around for Sherlock. He was annoyed but not really surprised to see the tail of Sherlock's coat disappearing up the stairs at the back of the room.

The lock on the office door he was sure held the evidence he needed clicked open under his picks and Sherlock straightened with a triumphant grin when the pop pop pop of a familiar gun sounded from downstairs. He froze, instinct to check on the health of his mate warring with the logical knowledge that John had let off three shots in rapid succession and hadn't been returned upon which meant that he'd taken care of all present threats and was fine. After a moment, logic won and he ducked into the office to begin rifling through the desk drawers.

John held his breath for a long moment, waiting for more assailants to appear. He knew there were three others that had been chasing them directly, and when they didn't appear, he stood, wary that they weren't approaching him because they were approaching Sherlock. Silently, he crept passed the three men laying on the floor with bullet hole in each of their foreheads and headed up the stairs.

Necessary documents finally in hand, Sherlock moved to the door, preparing to rejoin John on the first floor when he heard footsteps. Footsteps that he knew and more footsteps that he did not, coming from opposite ends of the hallway. At their paces, he knew the three remaining criminals would surprise John when he came around the corner. He'd never shedded his clothes faster.

His hand was steady as he held his gun at the ready, prowling down the hallway. He really wanted to be angry at Sherlock for leaving him alone again, especially with the caliber of people that were after him, but he was too used to it and too high on adrenaline at the moment to muster the proper emotion. Suddenly, he heard an animal snarl and a man shout and the realisation that Sherlock had changed made him break into a cold sweat. The sudden bang of a gun going off followed by a sharp yelp had him breaking out of his slow crawl and into run.

He'd twisted in the air in time and the bullet had only grazed his side but now the need to protect his mate from imminent harm was joined by anger at having been attacked. Snarling, he crouched low and sprang forward with all the strength of his wolf legs, powerful jaw ripping violently into the offender's throat. The two humans on either side of the shooter shouted in surprise, turning their guns on him as he followed the fool caught in his teeth to the floor.

When John came 'round the corner, it was to the sight of Sherlock ripping into a man on the floor with his teeth and two men on either side of him taking aim at the wolf with their guns. "Sherlock!" he shouted and the two other men looked up. He put a bullet in each of their foreheads as well.

The remaining two criminals dropped on either side of his prey and his head snapped up at the call, muzzle dripping with blood. Sherlock whipped about, finding John at the end of the hall, staring at him with wide eyes. Mate the wolf growled, and he turned, breaking into a run towards the human, snarling as the scent of fear spiked as he neared.

He'd seen Sherlock as a wolf plenty of times in the last three months but Sherlock had always been himself, just in a different body. This, with his muzzle bloody from his attack, John was wary about the quickly approaching form. Did Sherlock see him as another threat or would he recognise him as the mate he claimed he was? Well, bloody muzzle or not, he had to trust Sherlock, trust that he wouldn't harm him. He flipped on the safety and stuffed it in his coat pocket, bracing for impact.

The lycanthrope leaped, tackling the man, and they tumbled through the hallway until they landed with Sherlock's front paws pinning down his mate's shoulders, back paws braced on either side of slender hips. His human was staring up at him with wide eyes, face drizzled with the blood falling from his fur. He lowered his head to fixate one of his eyes on his mate's and snarled low. He needed to mount his mate and he needed to do it now.

"Sherlock," John said softly, reaching up slowly to smooth a hand along the wolf's side, flinching when the wolf whimpered and his hand came back smeared with blood. "Shit, we need to get you home. I need to know how deep that is."

Sherlock only stepped back as far as replacing his back paws with his front on either side of John's hips. The man under him smiled up at him before moving to get up and Sherlock growled, knocking him back down again. He wasn't getting it. Blue eyes widened further and the wolf bent his head to get his teeth into the waistband of John's jeans, tugging harshly, pointedly.

John's breath caught in his throat at the implication of what it seemed like Sherlock was trying to get from him. "Sherlock, we're going home," he said firmly, placing a hand on the blood-slicked fur of the wolf's jaw. "You're not fucking me here, and you're not fucking me like that."

The wolf blinked at his human for a minute before surging forward and clamping his still-bloody jaw around his mate's neck, pressure firm but not piercing. The man under him froze and Sherlock stepped slowly back, pulling at the neck in his jaw as he went. When the human failed to move, he growled low in his throat, increasing pressure momentarily before loosening to tug again. This time, his mate complied with his unspoken demands, rolling, albeit slowly, onto his belly, but roll he did.

His heart was pounding in his chest, his mouth was dry, he was a bit terrified about what he knew was coming next... and he was harder than a diamond. The teeth around his neck, pressed against his vulnerable jugular, pulled away slowly, like Sherlock was cautious of him trying to get up again. He wasn't sure yet if he would try a second time, not with how his lover had reacted had reacted the first time he'd tried. John jumped when teeth tugged impatiently at the waistband at his lower back, nosing under his coat and jumper to nip at the flesh when he didn't move fast enough.

His mate was slow to move, each action done haltingly and it was making him anxious. The human didn't seem to understand. The man had been threatened, he himself had been injured, and the bond he'd placed months ago needed reaffirming. He was going to mount his mate and his mate was going to let him.

As Mycroft had once pointed out, John's hand remained steady when he was under pressure. But right now, adrenaline high from the near gunfights and at seeing Sherlock acting more like the wolf he occasionally was than he'd ever seen him, and arousal unusually high from being dominated by his lover like this, John's fingers were trembling as he carefully lifted his hips to undo his button, unzip his fly, and shift his jeans and pants down his thighs. Ever since that first time, Sherlock had often began to rim him in this form, and it had been a bit of a struggle to accept it, but he'd begun to enjoy the benefits that came with the longer, wider, more dexterous muscle. But up until now, he'd always asked Sherlock to change back before fucking him, and so far, his lover had complied with his wishes. But from the delay between rimming and compliance, John knew it was something that Sherlock kept hoping he wouldn't ask for.

Once the fabric was out of his way, Sherlock dove in, laving attention on his mate's entrance with his tongue, quickly pressing inside and licking him open fervently. His anxiety was rising the longer he left his mate unmounted and it was making him rush an activity that, normally, both he and his human enjoyed in equal measure. Even so, John was beginning to writhe in pleasure under his ministrations.

Fuck, this felt amazing. As with every time Sherlock did this though, with every tickle of fur against his skin, he was hit with the dilemma: 'Was this actually bestiality?' After all, Sherlock wasn't actually a wolf, and it was always Sherlock initiating. And as much as he loved their slow lovemaking sessions, especially the ones where his lover let him mount the detective instead, he loved the rough way Sherlock would take him after his transformations just as much. And now he couldn't help but wonder how animalistic this would turn out to be, especially as that long tongue flicked against his prostate and he moaned lowly before whimpering when it pulled out.

The sounds his mate made when he pleasured him always went straight to his cock and he realised he had yet to taste his mate's cock, something he would have to remedy later. But not now. Now he had to get inside. Pulling away from his mate's arse, he crawled up over the human, keeping low along the man's back to keep him in place. His cock brushed along the wet hole and John jumped. Sherlock growled low in his throat, a warning to keep still and the man immediately froze. Just in case, he enclosed the back of his mate's neck in his jaw as he pressed inside.

"Holy fucking shit," John groaned. This shouldn't be so arousing. It was. Sherlock's cock was hot, hotter than it normally was, and it was burning him from the inside out in the most delicious way. It was slimmer than his human form's, but longer, and it's press inside him was unexpectedly filling. And filthy. Utterly filthy. The wolf above and inside him pulled out and pressed back in roughly, jabbing his prostate and sending sparks throughout his nervous system.

He couldn't give his human time to adjust, immediately setting a cruel, gruelling pace, his mate crying out with every thrust and squirming in pleasure. The knot at the base of his cock began to swell and the man under him jumped with a questioning sound. He released the man's neck and angled his head around John's to nudge at his cheek and whuff softly. The man turned to look at him and he licked his parted lips, unsurprised when the human jerked back in surprise. He pressed a paw to his mate's shoulder, curling his claws in warning before leaning back in to lick at his lips again. This time, the human's tongue darted out, touching on his for a flash before pulling back. Sherlock shifted his hips and his mate cried out again, eyes closing with the pleasure and the wolf used the opportunity to lick the inside of his mouth.

Filthy. So fucking filthy, letting his werewolf lover lick him open, let him fuck him in this form, letting him kiss him in this form. He had never been more aroused. And there was something growing at the base of Sherlock's wolf cock, bumping against his rim with every violent thrust. As his orgasm gathered like a brewing storm, John began to suspect that he was going to come untouched as that long tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth and he responded tentatively, pressing his tongue to Sherlock's and wondering at the difference, the smoothness of the muscle's surface. The claws in his shoulder tightened but as it was accompanied with a rough thrust that had him seeing stars, he guessed that this time, it was more in pleasure than reprimand.

At the spike of arousal in his mate's scent, he renewed his efforts for a quick orgasm. His was already quite close and if his human's sounds were any indication, he was as well. He growled and pressed his teeth into the back of John's neck once more, fucking into him hard and fast, chasing release. Right as he began to orgasm, he gave an extra-violent thrust, shoving his knot into his mate and biting down hard enough to pierce flesh.

John screamed from the sudden sensory overload, the pain of being bitten by a wolf almost overridden by the constant and unrelenting pressure on his prostate and the strange way Sherlock was swelling inside him, filling him fuller than he'd ever been in his life. His vision went white as pleasure lit up his entire body like fireworks. He'd never had such a violent orgasm in his life, his cock feeling like it was exploding and, if it wasn't pressed tight to the hard floor, he was sure his semen would have hit his face, joining the blood that was already dried there. John was pretty sure he blacked out momentarily because he blinking as he came back to himself, blinking dazedly, feeling a tongue laving gently against the pain at the back of his neck and hearing soft whines from his lover.

Alarm didn't begin to cover what he felt when his mate had screamed and then went limp and unresponsive under him. Had he hurt him? Had he done something to damage his more fragile human? He pulled his teeth free as gently as he could before licking away the blood that welled at each puncture. Whines slipped from his throat unbidden as he tried to rouse his mate, rocking his hips gently forward, his cock being milked by the warm passage around it. Soon, but not soon enough, the human under him began to stir, groaning weakly and attempting to roll over.

"Sherlock," he moaned, voice positively wrecked and cracking in the space of one word. He tried to roll onto his back, feeling short of breath and a bit suffocated, but when he tried, the weight and warmth along his back increased and he whined. His shifted his hips and found Sherlock's swollen erection was still as hard inside him as when he'd first started. He suddenly remembered that canines had a knot at the base of their cocks that would swell inside the female, keeping them together to ensure pregnancy. He fucking moaned at the thought and rolled his hips, feeling Sherlock's cock pulse inside him, filling him with more semen. Thank god he couldn't actually get pregnant, not with their lifestyle, though he'd be lying if the thought of raising a child with the man he loved didn't suffuse his chest with warmth.

As his knot began to fade, his mind and body slowly returned from The Wolf back to Sherlock. With it came an overwhelming sense of panic and shame and he pulled out quickly, kneeling over hard thighs and hands fluttering just over the man's skin. "John. Oh God, John. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Are you all right? Please tell me you're all right. I'm so so sorry."

John jumped at the sound of his lover's human voice, everything so fuzzy that he hadn't even realised that the knot inside him had faded and the cock slipped free, semen leaking out onto his thighs. But the panic, the panic registered. This time when he rolled over, there was nothing to stop him, though there was a weight hovering around his thighs that turned out to be Sherlock kneeling above him, expression one of horror. He couldn't help it. He smiled. "Come down here, love," he said, voice rough from the way he'd screamed at orgasm, reaching up to cup Sherlock's face.

Tentatively, the detective did as he was bid, bracing his elbows on either side of his doctor and hovering over him, wary of laying on him. The fond smile John gave him confused him and then arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him down to lay completely on his mate. He searched kind blue eyes for any traces of anger or disgust... or hate.

"Don't look at me like that, Sherlock," John said softly, leaning up to press a kiss to soft lips, heart swelling at the ginger way it was returned. When he pulled away, the man looked almost terrified, like he was ready to be shot at any second. "It's fine," he said quietly. "It's all fine."

With a choked sob, Sherlock collapsed on top of John, pressing his face to the tan neck, hot tears slipping from his clenched-shut eyes. The arms around him clutched him even tighter as words of comfort were whispered into his ear. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," he continued to babble, unable to stop. "I'm so sorry, John. I didn't mean to- I never wanted to-"

"Shhh... Shhh..." John interrupted, beginning to stroke the still too-thin back, doing his best to comfort his lover through his breakdown and tried to curb it before it got too far in. "I understand."

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me. I can't lose you," Sherlock confessed in a rush, heart stuttering at the thought. "I can't-"

"You won't," the doctor interrupted, voice fierce. "I love you and I'm here. I'll always be here. I'm in it for the long run. You and me until the end. I promise." Sherlock clutched at him tightly, hot tears dampening his neck and slim body trembling over and around his.

Aftershocks of his terror and a fresh wave of relief made him weak and he could only clutch at John desperately. "I'm so sorry, John," was all he seemed to be able to say. "I love you so much. I'm so sorry. God, I'm so sorry." His apologies faded as his voice gave out, but John never stopped holding him, never stopped whispering words of comfort in his ear. John wasn't going to leave him. And that was more than he could have hoped for. That was more than he could have ever hoped for.

FIN

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