A pounding knock on the door alerted the resident within the townhouse in Belgravia. Long, blood red nails clicked against the doorknob as it twisted. Upon opening the door, she noticed Sherlock Holmes on her stoop.

"Darling, how nice of you to drop by," Irene grinned, revealing her sharp fangs. "Full moon already?"

"Yes and I am not your darling," he growled, letting himself through the threshold.

"Now, now, don't take the fun out of me having to chain you up in my dungeon," she smirked. "Though, I can't stay long. I need to feed tonight." She lead him down to the secret floor of the townhouse that was located belowground.

"Just remember not to drain them completely," Sherlock told her. "I had to cover up your mess last time."

"I promise I won't; drink then compel them to forget…easy," Irene replied.

Once he was safely chained up, she blew him a kiss and left for her late night snack session. Vampires and werewolves never got along, but Sherlock and Irene tolerated each other. They had had a one-time fling a couple of years ago but Sherlock refused to continue it.

The full moon had reached its peak and Sherlock felt the familiar change go through his body. He wasn't so sure the shackles would hold this time, and as they creaked with his changing form, worries filled his mind. What would happen if he hurt somebody or if he was spotted in the streets of London? Werewolves of London, he thought with amusement. The shackles broke as he became full wolf and he found his way through the house running off into the night.

Molly was leaving the hospital when she noticed the large onyx wolf in front of her. She showed no fear though. There was only one person who had those beautiful cerulean eyes. He was showing his teeth at her as he snarled. Molly cast a glamour so nobody would see them.

"Sherlock," she whispered, stepping closer hesitantly with her arm outstretched. "Hey, it's alright." He had growled at her to get her to run, until he realized she was not as normal as she had seemed. Eventually, he lowered his head so she could pet him. Her small hand made contact with his thick, soft fur and he nuzzled his head against her palm. "Come with me, you'll be safe, I promise."

She led him through the backways of the city to her flat and allowed him inside. Once the door was locked behind her, she lifted the invisible veil that hid him from the others. Sherlock's mind was reeling. It's not that he didn't still think like his human self, but when hunger took over, he tended to lose control. So, naturally, he was curious as to how Molly was able to tame him.

He watched as she prepared something in the kitchen. From the faint chanting he heard, he knew immediately she was a witch. Molly set the bowl on the floor in front of him.

"Well? Eat up," she told him. "Believe me, you're not going to fit on my sofa in wolf form." He gave her a questioning look—or as close to it as he could. "Oh! You need clothes! Give me a moment." Molly disappeared into her bedroom and tossed a large t-shirt and a pair of stretchy grey sweatpants on the sofa. "I won't look, I promise."

With her back turned, Sherlock began to lap up the soup, and soon enough, he was a man again; a very naked man at the moment. He quickly slipped on the clothes she had brought him.

"That was different," he commented. "How did you know it was me?"

"Your eyes," she replied. "They're unique."

"And you're a…witch?" he asked.

"Yes, I am. I'm far from the green skinned type, aren't I?" she laughed. The mellifluous sound of it gave him goosebumps.

"Yes, well, I must be going now," he said curtly.

"Aren't you even going to thank me?" Molly asked.

"Thank…you?" he made a face at the words that left his lips, for he never showed common courtesy of his own free will. "Just—look, if anyone asks, I was in a drug den."

"What!?" she exclaimed. "That's your cover story?"

"It's the only one people believe when I suddenly pop off to nowhere," he explained.

"Right then," she remarked. "Just one last thing?"

"Yes?"

"Are you related to a William Holmes?" she questioned.

"That's my father's name, but it is also my true first name. William Sherlock Scott Holmes is the whole of it," he answered. "Why?"

"I was just wondering," Molly told him. Of course she wasn't telling him that she had a recurring dream since she was thirteen and first gained her abilities. Within this dream, it was just her writing the name William Holmes in an old leather journal. She never knew what it meant but now she had a chance to find out.

Author's Note: So, anyone surprised about Irene? I think vampire suits her. And Molly has a secret, whilst Sherlock is trying to keep his distance as usual. Virtual Halloween candy of your choice if you leave a sweet review!