Moon Song
Chapter One
"Sherlock."
"Hmm?"
"I'm going out for the night, alright?"
"Mmm."
"Is there anything you need me to pick up?"
Sherlock's silence told John everything he needed to know about the amount of attention Sherlock was paying to their conversation. John sighed, and the Wolf sighed too. The moon song wilted in his veins, and then blazed with a sudden fire that told John he should probably get out of the flat soon before he attached himself to Sherlock's neck and started nuzzling and licking and biting and –
"Right, well, I'm off then. Say 'bye' if you've heard and actually consciously understood what I've said."
The outstanding silence remained. John rolled his eyes and the Wolf growled and tugged at the metaphorical leash. Get a move on, it seemed to say.
"Alright," John muttered, and backed out of the flat. He closed the door, walked down the seventeen steps to the entrance, and then let himself out into the open air. The Wolf breathed a sigh of relief. There was open space here, and It wanted to get out, but John pushed down firmly. Look at the people, he told It. Don't you think they're going to notice something is a bit off if an enormous, adult male wolf bursts out of nowhere? The Wolf whined, but backed down.
John started jogging for the park. It was quiet there, especially this late at night, and it was so close to Baker Street it had John's (and the Wolf's) scent all over it. There would be nothing to disturb him (except maybe the odd duck or two, who seemed to have no sense of self-preservation at all – not that the Wolf would hurt them, John liked ducks).
The park was empty when he reached it, and the lamps were dimmed. John strolled over to a bench, sat down and removed his jacket. And his jumper. And his shoes and socks. Then he stood, stretched with his hands over his head, and handed the control over to the Wolf. John changed so abruptly it would have been easy to miss it, and then there was a huge, golden-brown wolf sitting happily upright on the ground. Its tongue lolled out, tasting the scents in the air and, almost unconsciously, Its front paws lowered and Its bottom rose. The Wolf scampered around happily, exploring what had changed over the last month, and John watched on amusedly. The excitement of the Wolf was a recent addition to the change, and made John practically euphoric. The Wolf's simple happiness was better than any human happiness John had felt in his life as of yet. It was pure. It was lovely. (And it was very, very addictive.)
John managed to shake himself out of the constant emotional loop he was in and calmed the Wolf. They raised Their head in unison, physically and internally, and opened Their jaws.
The howl burst out and filled the park. The moon song surged in Their blood and the howl surged with it. It rose and fell with the moon, and began and ended with the sky.
Slowly, gradually, eventually it petered off and They lowered their head and raised Their ears and the Wolf shook itself and John breathed and closed his eyes. And then the full moon was covered by cloud and the Wolf reluctantly gave John control again.
It disappeared and John returned, gazing out into the darkness. He breathed out. Changing back was always a conflicting experience for him. On one hand, it was exhilarating to be the Wolf, to not have to worry about the social norms that were a constant constriction in human life. But on the other hand, John did rather like having opposable thumbs. And he liked Sherlock (though he refused to admit just how much), and he didn't want to give up his company because of a furry, genetic mutation. He replaced the items of clothing he had taken off beforehand, and made his way out of the park.
John had absolutely no idea how Sherlock would react if he ever found out. There was no 'normal' that he could use as a template. Sherlock defied normal in every way he could, and then some. When they'd first met, John had had to triple check to be certain that Sherlock didn't have any of the Wolf in him. Some of the things he did… But no, Sherlock was completely human, just flesh and blood and bone (and so vulnerable). Either Sherlock would accept John's abnormality and life in 221B would go on as usual for them, or he would be (understandably) appalled and kick John out. The absolute worst-case scenario was being gift-wrapped and given to Mycroft, because John knew if he ever went in to an experimental facility at the command of Mycroft Holmes, he would never get out.
John would rather die.
So he kept his supernatural abilities hidden, for the time being. He would keep it secret for as long as he needed to – and who knows, maybe it would come to save their lives in the future, and Sherlock wouldn't mind so much.
Well, he could dream, couldn't he?
He rolled his eyes at his internal antics and strolled back to Baker Street, the moon hidden and his blood quiet. His hand trailed against things as he walked – a streetlamp, a phone booth, a post box, a fire hydrant. It was his own way of marking things (and far less embarrassing than peeing on everything in sight) and served as a deterrent to any other werewolves who came into his territory. If only it worked for all criminals, then their flat might not get such a beating. Come to think of it, John should probably tell Sherlock to take their address off his website. He had kept quiet about the Arab assassin who had tried to kill Sherlock with a sword, but after Adler and Moriarty, he'd rather the criminal classes not know of their exact whereabouts while they were sleeping. Or at least, not so easily.
His musings brought him to the front door of 221 Baker Street, and he pushed it open, humming quietly to himself. The sounds of late night television were audible through the door of 221A and John smiled. He remembered watching the same shows with Mrs. Hudson while he was unemployed. He climbed the seventeen steps to 221B, still smiling, and paused in front of their flat.
He stopped.
He sniffed.
"Bollocks!"
He charged through the front door, yelling curses as he went.
"Sherlock, what the hell have you done!"
Sherlock was standing in the middle of their kitchen; bold as brass, with a small flame torch (still alight) in his right hand, goggles protecting his hair, a smoking cloth in his left hand and a confused expression on his face. Their table was on fire. John ran around it, grabbed a tea towel from the bench, and started beating at the table. Sherlock watched on with vague interest. When the fire was out, John grabbed the flame torch from Sherlock and turned it off. He set it down on their now charred table, crossed his arms, and glared.
Sherlock had the decency to look at least somewhat bashful.
"What did you do? Or, apparently more accurately, what were you trying to do?" John had his army voice turned on. Sherlock shrank back the tiniest bit. He looked slightly to the left of John's face.
"I was trying to see how long it took before wood coated with different aerosol dispersants caught fire."
John's mouth fell open.
"What the hell kind of experiment is that, Sherlock! You could have set the whole building on fire if I hadn't come home."
Sherlock sniffed, but still didn't look at John.
"I had it under control."
"Sherlock, if that was under control, I am taking away every piece of lab equipment you own, burning them in a pyre, and then scattering the ash in five different places, during a hurricane."
"Don't be ridiculous John. It would take you years and years to get to five different hurricanes. And statistically speaking, you'd die before-"
"Don't you talk to me about statistics, Sherlock Holmes! What were you thinking?"
John stopped, pinched the bridge of his nose, and told himself sternly that he was not Sherlock's mother.
"Never mind, I don't want to know. Hold out your hands."
Sherlock did.
"Promise me you'll never do another experiment that involves fire and our kitchen table, or any other object made of wood within five hundred metres of our flat."
"John, that's ridi-"
"Promise!"
Sherlock sighed and glowered.
"Fine. I promise."
"Thank you, now let me take a look at you."
John stepped forward and Sherlock lowered his hands, already bending slightly so that John could look at his face more easily. He reached out and gently lifted the goggles from Sherlock's hair.
"They're meant to protect your eyes, silly, not your hair," he said softly, eyes raking over Sherlock's face. Sherlock smiled slightly, and John thought he saw just a hint of fondness in it.
"I didn't expect that reaction."
"Well you're a goose anyway, that's what they're for."
John stepped back and the Wolf, who had been silent for most of the terrifying experience, grumbled slightly. John pushed it down and tried to focus on gentleness, and not the overwhelming (almost violent) urge to take Sherlock away and keep him safe where nothing and no one could ever even think to harm him. But Sherlock would probably die of boredom anyway, so it wasn't a great plan.
"You'll look a bit singed for a couple days, but there's no permanent damage. And I'm sure your eyebrows will grow back."
"What!"
John sniggered.
"Kidding!"
A/N:
So there you have it. The first chapter of a new story. Um, as of right now? There is no plot. None, at all. I have no idea what this is going to turn into, so I'll need to sit down and work that out.
Thank you for the AMAZING response! I checked my email and had something like 25 new emails. So before I checked them all I had a couple minutes of just hugging myself and trying not to let crazy noises come out of my mouth. (I even got a review in Spanish! ...and then had to look it up on Google Translate)
Please let me know what you guys think, and I'd be willing to hear any ideas! :)
Cheers!
foxboxtango
P.S I don't own any of the rights to, nor any portion of the Sherlock Holmes collection, including the original works by Arthur Conan Doyle and the recent modern adaption by the BBC. Neither do I own Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman, Rupert Graves, Una Stubbs, or any of the other fantastic actors/actresses who are employed in the making of aforementioned adaption. Much to my misfortune.
P.P.S I have only myself to blame, as I have no Beta. I'm Beta-less. All grammar, punctuation, spelling or continuity errors are my own. Please let me know if you see any, because they annoy the hell out of me.
