Author's Note: My muse has become a little lost at this point and is unsure where to go from here, so it may be a little while before I update again. But have no fear! Update I shall-eventually. If you have a request, I'll be happy to give it my best shot. Also, I love kudos as much as the next writer, but what my muse really likes is reviews-so don't be a stranger!
The Desolation of Sherlock
Chapter Six: Did He smile His work to see?
"John, I don't think this is a good idea."
"You said that before. It didn't change my mind then, either."
They stood in a shallow depression not far from Dewar's Hollow, well-shielded all around by jutting outcrops of rock. Sherlock's scarf was askew, which John took as a sign of his mental state; Sherlock was always fussing over his appearance.
"No, I mean it, John."
John stopped and looked closely at Sherlock. It wasn't just his scarf: his curls were in worse disarray than usual, he kept fidgeting—Sherlock never fidgeted—and he refused to meet John's eyes. John remembered the growl and felt a tendril of fear curl around the base of his spine.
"Why isn't this a good idea?" he asked carefully.
Sherlock cleared his throat. "Since you have seen my other form—albeit only glimpses—you understand that I am rather large—and if I may say so, impressive—and quite well-armed. The most reasonable reaction of any human faced with such a sight is, of course, fear—or rather, that would be the most reasonable reaction, though I'm not sure any human—"
John held up his hand to stop the stream of words. He thought he understood what Sherlock was trying to say: he was afraid. He was afraid John would see the real him and be so frightened their friendship would end. Sherlock, being Sherlock, couldn't come right out and say it, but John tried to put as much confidence as he could into his voice when he said, "It's fine Sherlock. I trust you."
So trust me, he thought, but didn't say aloud.
Sherlock seemed to understand what he meant, because some of the tension left his shoulders. He gestured for John to stand back against one of the rock outcroppings, and then crossed the open space so the width of the depression lay between them.
"Just don't... panic," he said.
John wasn't sure what he expected the transformation to look like. As Sherlock's body began to twist and warp, he didn't think any amount of expectation could prepare him for this. Sherlock's clothes seemed to dissolve into his skin, leaving him naked for just a moment before he was covered in shiny black-and-gray scales. His torso and neck stretched, his legs lengthened, his nose extended into a muzzle and filled with enormous fangs. A tail grew from the base of his spine. Two batlike wings sprouted from his shoulders. A series of quiet grinding and crunching sounds accompanied the changes, as bones bent and realigned, and John flinched at the noise. Apparently it felt as unpleasant as it sounded, because partway through Sherlock made a strangled gasping noise.
In less than a minute, John's friend was gone. A dragon sat in his place.
John took a few deep breaths and tried to calm his racing heart. He knew the dragon was still Sherlock, but it was so big, and its claws looked so sharp, that he had to fight the almost overwhelming desire to either run away or curl up on the ground and have a nice fit of hysterics.
The dragon that was Sherlock folded its wings neatly on its back and curled its tail around its front paws. It looked remarkably like an enormous cat. It also, somehow, still looked remarkably like Sherlock. Most of its scales were the same deep black of Sherlock's hair, but they faded to gunmetal-gray on its underbelly. It had markings on its back, paws, tail, and face: patches of deep iridescent blue that broke up its otherwise monochrome pattern. It was frightening the way a tiger or polar bear was frightening—but, like a tiger, it was beautiful and mesmerizing.
John swallowed a couple of times and managed to say, "Can you talk like this?"
"Yes, of course."
Despite himself, John jumped. The voice was Sherlock's, right down to the faint note of scorn, just... bigger. Somehow, the familiarity of the voice, even coming from such a bizarre source, allowed John to relax a little. He took a few hesitant steps forward, still intimidated by Sherlock's size. He wasn't as big as John had first thought, when he'd seen him in the tramway, but he was still bigger than the Land Rover. He could easily flatten John with a single paw, or swallow him whole.
John tried to put that image out of his mind.
Sherlock crouched down so one of his dinner plate-sized eyes was level with John's head. It was the same color as Sherlock's human eyes, just bigger and with a slitted pupil. Cautiously, because Sherlock didn't much like being touched even when he was human, John reached out and touched the raised ridge of scales that overshadowed that blue-gray eye. Sherlock's skin was warm, almost hot, under John's hand, the scales supple yet hard. He blinked at John's touch, and John caught a glimpse of a nictitating membrane sliding under his eyelid.
"O-kay," John said slowly, taking his hand away. "Can you turn back now?"
"You should stand back."
John did, and the dragon transformed again, shrinking and shortening until he was Sherlock again. Unable to resist, John stepped a little closer than he should have to peer up into the other man's face. Aside from his slitted pupils, there was nothing to show Sherlock had been sporting a set of fangs just a few moments ago. Even his clothes had re-formed perfectly.
Sherlock jerked back irritably. "Don't look at me like that," he snapped.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm some sort of... specimen."
"Oh! Sorry."
Sherlock adjusted his scarf self-consciously. "You... aren't frightened?" He sounded unsure, which was not a sound John was used to hearing from him.
"No," John lied.
Then he stopped and looked, really looked, at Sherlock. He looked unconcerned, but a little too unconcerned. He wouldn't meet John's eyes, and his shoulders were hunched defensively. John realized he must have never shown anyone his dragon-self before. No wonder he'd been so afraid John would panic. But he'd shown John anyway, because...
Because they were friends.
So John took a deep breath and said, "No, I'm not frightened," and that time he meant it.
