Moon Song
Chapter Three

The charge didn't actually consist of much charging; it was more of a short jog in an effort to not lose sight of the shopkeeper. Within minutes they had him cornered in a dead end alleyway and he was left panting with his hands on his knees. He raised his head long enough to see that Sherlock and John were walking towards him, and then promptly passed out on the floor.

Sherlock stopped by the unconscious murderer and nudged him with his shoe.

"That was actually quite disappointing," he remarked. John had to agree. It was nothing like their (too) frequent chases along London's rooftops – they thrilled John and, though he would never admit it to anyone lest they put him in the psych ward, he had started running ten metres off the ground for his weekly jogs.

"John, go check the back of the shop. I'll sort this out."
"And phone Lestrade?

Sherlock sighed.

"And phone Lestrade," he agreed.

John strolled casually back into Biggles. The lack of danger-fuelled adrenaline kept him aware of exactly how long he'd been up and without food, and he consciously repressed his growling stomach.

"Oh for -"

There was another man who had previously been hidden within the cool room, but upon John's return, looked up from the dead body he was carrying and froze. There was a silent stand-off for perhaps a minute, and then the man (manager of the shop, according to his name tag) dropped the corpse, readjusted the bloody knife in his grip and ran, knife point-first, towards John. John reached for his waistband for several seconds before realising that he hadn't brought his gun. By then, the knife was only metres away, and John could do almost nothing.

The Wolf leapt out, ducked under the manager's arm, and clamped Its jaws around his thigh.

The man screamed and the knife fell to the floor with a clatter, blood staining the ground. The Wolf shook Its head twice, tearing at the skin and making the man cry out again. It darted back and surveyed the damage. The man's shirt was fast turning dark red, as were his hands as he pressed them to his wound. He coughed and a bubble of blood grew in his mouth and popped, splattering against his face. As he fell to his knees, the door to the storerooms crashed open and Lestrade burst in, gun out and safety undone. There was a split second where he and the Wolf stared at each other, the gun pointed straight between Its eyes, before Greg blinked and John was standing there with his hands up.

"Woah, Greg, please don't shoot me; I can only stand getting shot once," John joked, slowly lowering his hands. The gun lowered in time with him, until the DI stood with his arms by his sides and a confused look on his face. He opened his mouth and John could sense the proverbial storm gathering as questions warred on his face.

Sherlock ran back in, blood on his fingers and across his face.

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock, what the hell?"
"I heard screaming, what happened?"
"I left you alone with an unconscious man, for crying out loud!"

John rushed towards him, ignoring his questions.

"Oh, that, it's not my blood, I just wanted to know the answers to certain questions and he wasn't being very forthcoming."

Lestrade closed his eyes and was clearly prepared to start on yet another lecture about proper civilian arrests and the fact that it really was quite illegal for Sherlock to be interrogating witnesses, particularly outside of New Scotland Yard, and it was illegal even then. Sherlock was able to tell what was coming and could most likely recite the lecture word for word so, looking to head it off, directed the attention back to the man on the floor.

Unfortunately, that meant Sherlock's attention was then directed at the man on the floor, something John had been hoping to avoid.

"What happened?" Sherlock looked about as surprised as he ever did. Both eyebrows were raised and his eyes were wide with confusion and determination. John panicked.

"There was a dog," Lestrade said smoothly.

Both Sherlock and John turned to look at him.

"There was a what?" Sherlock asked. Only through force of will did John's mouth remain shut and not ask the same question. "You know, domestic animals that some people keep as pets? Only this one wasn't so domestic, I guess. I couldn't tell what kind of dog it was, it ran away almost as soon as I arrived, but it was definitely a dog that did this."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in suspicion and peered curiously at the man on the floor, who had passed out during the conversation.

"Sherlock," John attempted. "What did you to the other man?"
"Oh, he's attached to one of the pipes outside."

John frowned.

"With what?"
"A zip tie."
"A zip tie? Where did you get -" John patted his pockets. "Right."

Greg looked amused.

"Come prepared now, do you?"
"You never know when you're going to have to tie people up," John said. "And sometimes it's good to have the threat." He jerked his head at Sherlock and they shared a grin, before remembering what had happened before and looking away.

"Come on, Sherlock, I'm sure you'll be able to look at him later, we need to get them both into custody now," Lestrade said, in Detective Inspector mode. The rest of his team had been gradually filtering in through the door and were collecting evidence in bags.

John pulled a pouting Sherlock away and led him over to a tap. Sherlock washed his hands, dried them carefully on a paper towel, and turned to John, staring at him intensely. The Wolf laid Its ears back and John tried not to fidget.

"Did you see the dog, John?"

He knew Sherlock's use of his name was some sort of psychological attempt to get him to tell the truth.

"It was hard for me to see, but it sounded like a dog."
"Hmm."
"Why, do you think Lestrade's lying?"
"I'm not sure yet. It's possible that it was a dog, of course, and perhaps I'm overreacting, but it seemed like he was hiding something."

John's heart pounded in his chest.

"Oh well, I'm sure I'll figure it out sooner or later."

Thank god. Sherlock's arrogance could be a blessing, sometimes.

By the time Lestrade's team had catalogued the evidence and taken it back to the labs for forensic analysis and Greg had taken Sherlock's statement, John was so hungry he was thinking about just pillaging the store and taking what he wanted. Fortunately, Greg's arrival in front of him stopped him from stealing food. Unfortunately, it meant John would have to answer his questions.

"I've sent Sherlock home, told him we were going out for a pint," Greg informed him. John was impressed – usually, telling Sherlock to do something resulted in him doing the exact opposite. Because he was a ridiculous child.
"Well done you," John said in return. Lestrade rolled his eyes and stepped back to allow John to stand. They walked out of Biggles and down the street towards the Yard. They stopped briefly for food on the way, thanks to every other step being punctuated by John's growling stomach. Half an hour later, they made it to Greg's office. He walked around the desk and sat down in the office chair, surveying John carefully. Cautiously, John edged in and sat in the chair closest to the exit, unsure of what was to come.

"So. I didn't hallucinate, did I?"
"Well actually-"
"Nice try."

Dammit.

"Look, John, I don't really know what to say. I think we've become friends – there's been a fair bit of bonding over beer at our mutual annoyance at the Holmes brothers – so can you please be honest with me?"

John sighed – he hated being honest with people.

"There is literally no way for me to say this without you thinking I'm batshit crazy."
"Are you batshit crazy?"
"No!"
"Alright, I just thought I'd check."

John scowled.

"I'm a werewolf."

Silence.

"You are batshit crazy.
"No I'm not! I know it's hard to believe, but it's the truth!"

Lestrade was still looking at him like he was out of his mind, so John, scowling loudly and with force, stalked over to the door and pulled the blinds down, doing the same to cover the glass walls. Without preamble, he gave the slightly surprised Wolf control.

"Holy shit! Now I'm batshit crazy!"

The Wolf's rump fell to the floor with a loud thump and Its ears flattened across Its head.

I'm right here, Its expression seemed to say. Greg recovered enough to slide his chair forward from the window and stared into Its eyes. Squinting slightly, he reached out a hand and put it between the Wolf's ears, patting the fur there lightly. Unconsciously, Its tail started smacking against the floor, making Greg smile bemusedly.

"Weird," he breathed, and withdrew his arm, easing back into his chair. John took control again and regained his seat, this time sitting directly opposite Lestrade and not about to run out of the door (open or not) at a moment's notice.

"That's crazy."

John snorted.

"You're telling me."

Lestrade went back to staring at him. John sighed, exasperated.

"It doesn't really change anything, you know. I'm still me – I'm going to be the exact same me you've known the entire time. Except now you know that I have the ability to turn into a furry animal. Think of it like finding out I'm bi."
"You're bi?"
"Oh my god, Greg, are you sure you're a Detective Inspector? Because you're not doing very well with things right in front of your face at the moment."
"Shut up, you, I could…have you arrested."
"That threat stopped working ages ago, Greg."
"Shut up."

The DI looked him over, this time more as an appraising glance than a you-are-literally-a-supernatural-being-and-I-don't-know-how-to-react-to-this-right-now stare. It was an improvement, in John's opinion – he didn't fancy being tasered.

"I won't tell."
"Oh really? Thanks."
"John."

He sighed.

"Sorry, it's just really weird having someone who knows. I'm not used to it."

Lestrade stared at him again. (John was rapidly getting sick of being looked at).

"Wait, what?"

John stared back, confused.

"What?"
"No, what? Sherlock doesn't know?
"No…should he?"
"Christ, John, you're flatmates! And…"

John's eyes narrowed sharply.

"Friends," Greg finished lamely.
"Look," John started. "Sherlock doesn't need to know at the moment. If and when he needs to know I'll tell him, and no sooner. Or show him – whatever."
"John, he's Sherlock. He's going to catch onto it sooner or later."

John rolled his eyes at the familiar words.

"I can't make you do anything, you're a grown…man…but if I were you, I'd just talk to him. You know he's weird, he probably won't even care. I mean, the worst I can imagine is him wanting to experiment on you, and knowing the both of you, he probably already does."

John scowled again and stood.

"You're making it sound like a domestic," he muttered.
"All healthy relationships require communication!" Greg called out cheerfully as John slunk out of his office. He half smiled at John's low, but terrifyingly loud, growl, and even more at the frightened interns scampering down the hallway in the opposite direction.

"Good luck hiding it from Sherlock, John," he muttered to himself and smirked.

A/N:

Yes! I'm done! I wrote this chapter in a day and am mostly, reasonably happy with it. As far as I can tell, there aren't any glaringly obvious mistakes, but again, please tell me if there are, as they are entirely my own. Also, matchmaking!Greg! I've started binging on Rupert Graves, and it's frankly unhealthy. Anyway, please let me know what you think. Pretty soon the story's going to be moving forward rapidly and will hopefully get a bit more exciting!

Cheers,
Foxboxtango97 :)

P.S As always, I have neither full nor part ownership of any rights whatsoever, but I do have a newfound appreciation for Stephen Thompson. He is the wonderful, but often overlooked, man who wrote both the Blind Banker and The Reichenbach Fall. My eyes have been opened to his brilliance. (also also, all the Johnlock in those two episodes) ;)