Chapter Ten

The Transformation

He could hear the hounds at Baskerville. On their tail as they took off in the opposite direction.

Damn Mycroft to hell and back. The bastard had decided that the third visit to the labs was pushing it and so had revoked their entrance to the facility. Something that John was going to yell at the man for because really, who called the hounds on their own brother?

Though he supposed that Sherlock would do the same thing to the fat bastard himself if he ever got the chance.

Damn it, he was around Sherlock too much to be calling Mycroft fat. Oh, look, there's a damn German Shepard right behind them barking up a storm.

"They're catching up." John shouted as he pushed himself to move faster. His leg was cramping though and it was irritating him beyond belief. "Damn my leg!" He shouted as he pushed pass the pain and moved so that he was now even with Sherlock.

"We need to lose them."

"No really! I thought we needed to stop and play with the puppies."

"Come now John, sarcasm isn't needed at the moment."

"Then keep moving and come up with a plan!"

"It'll be dark soon John, we need to get up high somewhere so that we can escape their attacks."
John blinked as he looked out to the sky in between the trees of the forest. It was already getting dark. The moon would be up tonight.

A full moon.

"Damn it! Split up Sherlock. We'll meet up at the bed as soon as we possibly can." He growled as he turned abruptly and went in a different direction. He ignored Sherlock as he disappeared into the forest.

He had to get away from the other man before it happened. He couldn't let it happen in front of the other man, he'd be hated just like all the other times.

It was one of the reasons why Harry drank so much in the first place if not the main reason. So he ran away from his friend, ignoring the yells for his name and the sounds of the man trying to keep up with him.

He knew that this close to his time that Sherlock wouldn't be able to catch up at all. He'd be stuck back there and hopefully he'd try and take a separate path to try and cut him off. In which case John had a plan.

He stopped and held still and waited. Sherlock was stopped himself, most likely trying to hear him, and when the other man didn't he turned to do what John thought he'd do. Try and cut John off by taking a direction he though the soldier would take.

Perfect.

With that he shed his clothes and folded them up, hiding them in a push with his shoes and watch. He couldn't risk tearing them and having to walk to the bed naked. Sherlock would beat him there anyways.

Just in time too. The sun had gone all the way down and the fully bright moon was shining up in the sky.

He growled as he felt the first shift of his body. His bones snapped angrily before rearranging and shifting, forcing him to fall onto his hands that were changing as well. His tailbone lengthened and soon fur was sprouting all over his body. His mouth and nose began to lengthen and elongate further as his teeth sharpened and readjusted to fit into the muzzle. His eyes dilated from both the pain and the darkness surrounding him.

It was a long few minutes that felt like hours, but soon the shift ended and he reared his head back and let out a long howl out to the moon.

He growled as barks reached his sensitive ears. Other predators in his temporary territory were not permitted. He didn't care if they were hunting or if they were already here before he was. This territory was his for the time and he was going to make sure that they knew it.

He moved towards the sounds of other canines, growling low in his throat, nose in the air to take in the scent, and instincts already flaring to tear those impudent creatures to pieces.

He wouldn't let them trespass.

His eyes narrowed as a new scent came to him, brought by the breeze of the night. It was tangy and salty, a scent he knew well from past kills. Those other canines had injured something, but it wasn't just an animal or small creature.

No, the scent was one he knew intimately. He spent days breathing it in back in his den. It was the scent of his pack mate. It was one of his kin and he had been injured.

He snarled as he followed the scent to where his pack mate was with the others that dared to hurt him.

He would tear them to pieces before they could do anything about it.

He ran through the forest, the scent of blood and anxiety soaking the air. The sounds of the dogs getting louder. Soon he was right on top of where they were.

His pack mate wasn't anywhere to be seen but the hounds that had clearly chased him were at the bottom of a tree, barking up into the branches. That must be where the pack mate was. Trapped in the trees and unable to run or fight from his position.

So he'd do it for him instead.

Without a second of hesitation, he jumped forward and tore through the neck of the first dog.

Blood spattered everywhere, soaking the ground anything near him in an instant. He spat his prey out of his mouth before leaping at the next. Ignoring the sting of one of the dogs leaping onto his back and biting into his spine. He grabbed the second on by the scruff of its neck and threw it into a tree, the sound of something cracking pleasing to his ears.

He rolled a second later and crushed the third one with his weight. Much heavier than most wolves and yet still small enough to maneuver when the fourth and final dog tried to bite at his throat, avoiding the attack by back pedaling away from it. Though he didn't give it a chance as he bunched his muscles tightly and leapt on top of the other creature and ripping along its spine and tearing the vertebra almost completely out of the body before slamming a paw on its head and crushing it beneath his strength.

He licked his the blood off of his muzzle the best he could before looking around and listening intently. There was no real sounds besides the wind and the breathes of his pack mate still up in the tree. Silence for a long moment.

But then voices. Footsteps heading in this direction. Shouts of orders. HE snarled at the sounds before leaping in the direction they were coming from. He needed to protect his pack mate at all cost. There was no way he was going to allow the other to be injured anymore than he was.

He was going to tear apart the threat with all he was and make sure they were safe.

Even at the cost of himself.

So with that in mind, he slid into the darkness to take out the threats permanently. They would not know what hit them.

221B Baker Street

A.N. I so have been wanting to do a werewolf one for a long time! I'm happy so far and the second part is going to come up next! I can't wait! It'll be in Sherlock's point of view! So review and tell me what you all thought about it!