Disclaimer: Sherlock does not belong to me, it belongs to BBC and Doyle.

Thanks to 'Guest' and 'M' for my first reviews, I happen to love reviews so feel free to leave one.

'Guest' there are lots of chapters to come, a whole long story to go. It might be slow updating sometimes because of life but I won't abandon it.


Chapter 2
John's POV

That night as he sat in his bedsit at his desk he opened his laptop with curiosity for the first time in a long while. Normally when he did so it was out of obligation, this time it was not, it was out of need to discover all he could about the young man who could become his bondmate in the near future. Over the next several hours he looked up everything that he could on Sherlock Holmes, learning as much as possible about the human.

He was from a small family but one of one of great importance in the British government. Apparently he was the only one in several generations not to go into politics. His father was dead, his mother a noble woman who held court in her home but rarely left it, both his brothers work for the government in some form, though exactly how he is not sure yet. There are several articles on each of the Holmes brothers as children because all three were protégés. Past that he had not been able to find very much recent information on him, but all he had found made him even more intrigued.

When he was done with his research it was early morning, far too early for some but he knew his sister, she would still be awake so he sent her a text.

-Found a potential bondmate, going to stay in London to check it out.- JW

-Bondmate? Finally! I was worried that it was never going to happen. Who's the lucky women?- HW

-Not a female-JW

-Your male potential bondmate? Intriguing. I thought you swore off blokes after that incident in uni?-HW

-Oh shut up. I just wanted to tell you before Mike did.- JW

-Okay. When will the next pack meeting be?-HW

-Looking at a place tonight. Text you after with address if it is a go. Full moon.-JW

-I'll tell the others. Bye.-HW

After the brief chat with his sister, he lies back on his bed and stares at the ceiling considering all the new information he had received. He had sworn off sleeping with other blokes after the one in uni had tried to blackmail him, but something said that this particular bloke would be in a totally different ball park. By the way he reacted to the female at the morgue, Molly, he wasn't really interested in females perhaps that meant he was interested in males instead. But…his mind calls up his scent. No, that's not right, there is nothing lingering in any way about anything intimate or sexual in his scent. Is he asexual then? Not aware or not caring of his bodies needs? That could end up being interesting if that is the case because then he would have to figure out how to make him want something that has been uninteresting to him so far. Something to consider.

Drifting off his mind builds an image of him. His well defined features, piercing grey-blue eyes that saw far more than they probably should, delectable smelling and tasty looking pale skin, his tall lithe frame, and the rather fine outfit he was wearing that highlighted all his best features. Oh yes, this could be a very good thing, and he made an attractive image for a mate.

A few short hours later and he was awake again, his body not used to sleeping more than four hours at a time. Stretching slowly, he gets off the bed and makes sure that everything he needs is packed up so that it will not take much to move. Then, because something tells him he should he digs out the small hoister for his gun and layers his clothing so it is not seeable. After thinking about it for a few minutes he grabs the two knife sheaths and connects them on the inside of his boots.

Glancing at the clock he realizes that he still has several hours to go before he needs to leave so he spends the time planning for the next pack meeting, and contacting various members of his little pack. The first one he gets in touch with is Jacob when he knows he is awake.

-Meeting at next full moon. Location being determined tonight. I will text you once I know.-JW

-Sir. I will notify the others.- BJF

-It will include both packs for merging.-JW

-Shall I expect to step down?- BJF

-No. Harry wishes to.-JW

-Sir.- BJF

Once that conversation is out of the way, he decides to take some time looking around London, reacquainting himself with the city. Of course while he is out and about he runs into several different members of the pack, all of them happy to see him home, Harry had already told relayed the message about the next full moon so every one of the ones he ran into kept it brief. Shortly after six pm he starts heading in the direction his phone says Baker Street is. He gets there just prior to seven pm and is not sure if he should knock or not, he is just getting ready to when he catches the scent of Sherlock behind him getting out of a cabbie.

Turning he briefly smiles, and walks over to him, "Ah, Mr. Holmes." He greets him, using his last name seems off to him somehow but know it is the polite thing to do until given permission to use his first name.

"Sherlock please," the tall human replies, shaking his hand.

Glancing around he comments, "Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive," to see what Sherlock's response will be.

Dismissively he replies, "Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."

A curious look and he inquires, "Stopped it or guaranteed it?"

Sherlock's lips curve into a smile, "I ensured it."

A moment later the door is opened by a slightly older woman who opens her arms to the young human. "Sherlock, hello." She greets him.

He turns towards her, hugging her briefly before stepping back to make introductions, "Mrs. Hudson, Doctor John Watson."

The scent he gives off when near the older woman is familial, as if he considers a mother. Considering her scent is much like an old mother he is not surprised at all.

She turns to look at him, "Hello."

"How do?" he politely inquires.

Smiling, she gestures him inside, "Come in."

He inclines his head, "Thank you."

At the same time Sherlock queries, "Shall we?"

"Yeah," Mrs. Hudson responds.

The three head inside, with Sherlock taking the stairs three at a time, with John slowly making his way up second, and Mrs. Hudson closing the door behind them before following. When he reaches the second floor, Sherlock opens the door to the living room, stepping inside.

He takes a look around, spotting the miscellaneously place boxes. Taking a delicate sniff, he can tell that this is all Sherlock's things, so he had already started moving in. "Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." He comments as he enjoys the scent of his potential bondmate.

"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely," he states as he looks around the flat happily. "So I went straight ahead and moved in."

He smiles at the younger man, taking in the fact that it might seem to be a mess but he is fairly certain that the young human's mind knows exactly where everything is and the mess probably changes with his moods on a day to day bases. Glancing at the mantle he smiles at the skull he spots, and motions with his cane at it, "That's a skull."

Almost as if realizing he had made a mess, Sherlock glances around and mumbles, "Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit." When the dark-haired human realizes that he is motioning to the skull, he replies to the unspoken question a bit more clearly, "Friend of mine. When I say 'friend' . . ." his voice trails off as he starts taking his coat and scarf off.

Mrs. Hudson had followed them up and picks up a cup with saucer off the table, inquiring, "What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

His lips curve into a small smirk as he replies, "We'll see if we'll be needing two bedrooms."

The older woman rambles on as if she hadn't heard him, "Oh, don't worry, there are all sorts round here." Her voice drops to a whisper as she comments, "Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones."

He glances over at Sherlock to see what his reaction is to that but he seems oblivious as he halfheartedly moves things around. Well that will change with time, he thinks, for now he will use the second room but eventually perhaps they will share the same room. Patience, he reminds himself, this is going to take patience, and who has more patience then a wolf at times?

While Sherlock is moving things around Mrs. Hudson goes into the kitchen only to turn around and sigh, "Oh Sherlock, the mess you've made." Before she goes to tidying things up a bit.

A sharp pain shoots through his leg, reminding him that he had been on it for longer than it wanted today. Grabbing a pillow he plumps it up before dropping it and himself into an armchair. As soon as the pressure is off his leg he softly sighs, before remarking, "I looked you up on the internet last night."

That seems to catch his attention because the dark-haired human sets what he was doing down and turn to face him as he tucks his hands into his pockets querying, "Anything interesting?"

John smiles a bit, thinking far more than you would expect, but commenting, "Found your website, The Science of Deduction."

A proud smile crosses his face as he asks, "What did you think?"

He replies with an amused look which seems to mildly confuse Sherlock if his scent is anything to go by, "You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb."

"Yes, and I can read your military career in your face and leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone." He replies, his tone remaining even.

Curious he asks, "How?" but does not actually expect an answer since he hadn't got one yet to that question.

Sure enough he does not answer, instead he turns to face the window, his left hand fiddling with something as Mrs. Hudson comes out of the kitchen with a newspaper.

"What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same." She comments as she folds it up and glances at him.

"Four," he replies distractedly, his scent beginning to become excited as he walks over to the window and looks down at the street. "There's been a fourth. And there is something different this time."

Her scent changes, including fear in it as she repeats, "A fourth?"

A moment later he hears the front door click and the heavy steps of a person coming up the stairs. Not even a minute has passed and a serious looking fellow with silvering hair comes walking in the door even as Sherlock inquires, "Where?"

Catching his breath the fellow replies, "Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."

John takes another sniff of the air discreetly and is mildly surprised that this fellow has shifter blood in him though it is so light as to say that he is a human child of a shifter. Jackal if he is not mistaken. That means he probably does not belong to a pack since jackal tend to get rid of all human offspring.

Curiosity pours off of Sherlock despite his outwardly calm tone, "What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."

Still breathing a little heavy he responds, "You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yeah…"

"This one did. Will you come?" there is need in his voice, acceptance even though it seems to be grudging. His scent says that he respects him to a point but is weary of him, this makes John curious why but does not plan on asking just yet.

A thoughtful look crosses Sherlock's face as he questions, "Who's on forensics?"

Tilting his head a bit, the stranger answers seriously, "It's Anderson."

Sherlock scowls a bit as his scent changes to annoyance, "Anderson won't work with me," he complains.

"Well he won't be your assistant," the stranger answers trying to cheer him up.

"I need an assistant," Sherlock insists, frustration changing his scent again, but beneath it is happiness.

Nodding once, the fellow repeats, "Will you come?"

Fidgeting, he replies, "Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."

"Thank you," he breaths in relief, giving Sherlock a small bow before taking a quick glance around the room before he heads down the stairs.

When he is gone, John can still smell the soft scent of joy from Sherlock. Before he has a chance to say anything though he spots the smile curving his lips and watches in mild confusion and amusement as he jumps in the air doing a half-circle with clenched fists as he mutters, "Brilliant!" excitedly. Landing facing the other direction his hands move as he continues to speak spinning around happily, "Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!"

If he had seemed happy previously, he can now tell that it is more than just happiness. He is overjoyed at the thrill of the hunt, his mind fully engaged, and his scent full of curiosity. Its rather intoxicating and as he flutters into the kitchen, saying something to the landlady as he does so, John barely hears because he is too busy trying to get his hormones back under control.

Almost as soon as he gets his hormones controlled, he catches the tail end of Mrs. Hudson's commentary, "…You rest your leg."

"Damn my leg!" he snarls, thinking that it is really getting annoying. Immediately after he feels bad when he catches the scent of her shock, before she can say anything he apologizes, "Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing…" he allows himself to trail off as her scent shifts to understanding. He smacks his leg with the cane, frustrated.

Frowning he realizes he will have to be careful about using his sense of smell because there are also chemicals in here and he does not want to misread a situation because of the chemicals in the air. Oh brother….

Mrs. Hudson apparently feels better about his apology and takes it as an uncommon trait for him, commenting, "I understand, dear, I've got a hip." Again she turns towards the door and he recalls that she had offered him a cuppa.

"Cup of tea'd be lovely, thank you." he says, commenting on her earlier offer.

She responds but he is not really paying attention despite the fact he response. He has picked up the newspaper that speaks about Beth Davenport's apparent suicide. With that article is another article that talks about D.I. Lestrade, identifying the human with shifter blood. He is in the process of reading it when Sherlock swings the door back open and looking at him speculatively as he pulls on a set of sleek black leather gloves.

"You're a doctor. In fact you're an army doctor." He murmurs, his voice thoughtful.

He knows where Sherlock is going even before he gets there, yet he waits patiently for him to continue, standing slowly, he replies, "Yes."

"Any good?" the dark-haired human asks curiously.

"Very good," he responds, putting emphasis on the very.

Walking towards him, Sherlock continues, "Seen a lot of injuries then, violent deaths."

"Mmmm, yes," he answers him seriously, keeping his darker eyes locked on him as he keeps waiting.

Stopping directly in front of him he remarks, "Bit of trouble too, I bet."

Lowering his voice a bit, he comments, "Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much." He is thinking of the various hunters and problems that have occurred over the years. Problems with the pack he was born into, the deaths of those into the pack he had created in Afghanistan. Yes there had been problems.

Staring down at him with those beautiful eyes, Sherlock inquires, "Wanna see some more?"

Anticipation spikes through his body as he fervently replies, "Oh God yes," and follows him out of the flat.


AN: So I will post the next chapter which is close to done when I have ten reviews, have a great one everyone! Nah, never mind.