"Man, we are so out of our depth," Stiles announces as he sits down on his bed with a bowl of chips. He is at his hotel with Jackson, who is pacing to and fro.
The predicament they were in was getting messier still. Right after Molly left for work, three more werewolves came to visit—two men and a woman with shocking red hair. They had broken in Jackson's place and they had distinctly heard furniture being thrown around and doors slamming. Stiles, after the trio had left, dragged Jackson off to his hotel. Jackson had then told the tale of werewolves in London and their pack dynamics. Stiles had commented that these were not packs, they were cults.
"I mean come on, we are not experts in how crazy packs like these work," Stiles says.
Jackson stops pacing and looks at him, "What about the Alpha pack that came to visit?"
"That was all Derek," Stiles stops talking, an idea forming in his mind, "Derek…"
Jackson frowns, but then his frown starts clearing when he grasps Stiles train of thought. He says, "Derek."
Stiles smiles. They were finally on the same page. He says, "He won't be delighted."
"When is he ever delighted?"
"Good one."

Sherlock runs up the stairs in 221B Baker Street, the blood sample in his pocket. He opens the door and rushes into the kitchen. He takes out his microscope and prepares a slide. He puts in the slide and looks at the sample he collected.
Sherlock Holmes can count the times he had been truly astounded or confused on his hand. And as he adjusted the lens, he can safely say he is completely astounded and confused. He needs to go back to St Barts. He looks at his watch. He still has two hours. He can wait.

Molly sighs and sits down in her office. She massages her temples. She feels like screaming. The mishap at the lab a few hours ago still haunted her. If only she had not cut her hand in front of Sherlock. It was Sherlock Holmes, world's most curious human being. He will come back and he will have questions. He had left by the time she came back with the cleaner, but she knew this was far from over. The anticipation is killing her. Also she is wondering why he left. She shrugs her shoulders. She will never figure that man out. She sighs again.
She picks up the file on Igor Jablonski again. It is mentioned there the place where he was found. She finally remembered that night. The dead body lying in the pool of blood. The other man standing over it. The other man is the one who bit her. She was there, an eyewitness. But the rest of the world believed it was an animal and not a werewolf. So who in their right mind would choose to believe her? But this also means that Jackson is innocent. Now if she could only prove this to others.
She looks at her watch. Her shift is almost up. She cannot wait to go home. She hopes Stiles and Jackson had come up with something about the mess Jackson is in. She stands up and prepares to leave work.
She wraps the scarf around her tighter, even though she is not feeling that cold. Another perk of being a werewolf, high body temperatures. She decides to walk home today taking the short cut which is a narrow alley—same alley where she was bitten. She agrees to herself that yes, she is taking this route because she wants to see it again, see if she could find something—anything. A clue as to who bit her.
She slowly enters the alley and looks around. It is nearing twilight. There is light but the pathway is shrouded in shadows. But that does not hamper her. Her new eyesight is posing no problems. As far as she can see, there is nothing. No indication of the blood she remembers seeing. She allows a shudder to pass through her.
She suddenly hears a sound behind her. Footsteps, there is someone following her. Her body releases adrenaline into her blood and prepares her for fight or flight. She chooses fight (blame it on her inner wolf).

She walks forward slowly, letting the footsteps come closer to her. Her heart beats loudly as her breathing slows down. She feels her eyes sting and her canines growing. She remembers Stiles saying that situations like these where her heart beat increases leads to transformation. He had said she would need to practice control. Well she will practice later. Right now she needs to defend herself.
The footsteps are right behind her. She whips around in a flash. Her claws are out as she pushes the body into the wall. She grabs the neck and leans forward. Her heart drops to the ground when her eyesight adjusts to the face in front of her. It is Sherlock, whose face is etched into shock because he can see her glowing amber eyes.
Sherlock stares at her, completely awestruck. Molly Hooper is now staring at him, equally surprised, except that she has glowing eyes and her teeth are huge. Also she had him pressed to the wall with immense strength. Strength he knew she did not possess previously. He is finding a little difficult to breathe. She finally lets him go.
He stumbles a bit. He shakes his head. It is downright strange. He straightens up and says, "How?"
"Come with me then if you want to know."
"What was that? And your blood…"
"So that is why you left. I was wondering," Molly wonders how she could sound absolutely normal when she is actually internally screaming.
"But what…how…you?"
"Do you believe in werewolves?"