Chp 14

Oh! Time to start up the shit storm (with characters who are not mine I might add)! Hope you're all ready (pretty strong language by the way, and some more upsetting references to abuse).

Sherlock took the taxi ride down with out making a single sound. He was deep in contemplation. His conversation with Mycroft had been most enlightening. He had wanted to know whether or not Mycroft would be able to justify his killing of not only John's father, but whoever this pack leader of theirs was. While he normally didn't take into account all of the politics of these packs and their inter-workings, the last thing he needed was retaliation. Blood would most certainly lead to more blood, if the proper precautions weren't taken. Sherlock had to protect his mate (yes, John was his mate now, strange how fitting it seemed…) from any and all threats, and his father and his leader were definite threats. Mycroft had been born for both his minor position in the government and as their pack leader. While yes, Sherlock had been turned before him by an overzealous neighbor, it hadn't taken long for Sherlock to lash out and unknowingly curse his older brother with the same affliction. He rose through the ranks and quickly gained his position as pack leader. Which was helpful in allowing Sherlock to skirt his duties, and for Mycroft to clean up his messes (heroin and full moons really don't mix). Now Sherlock was calling in yet another favor, luckily his brother was compelled to comply. He may have been the 'ice man' but he certainly had a soft spot for his brother and the doctor who kept him so at peace. After a few phone calls Sherlock had a license to kill and more than enough support amongst the werewolf community to put an end to this incestuous ring of werewolves. Sherlock shuddered; he didn't want to think about that, about what had been done…

He analyzed his surroundings, he was close. Now that everything was in order, it was time to gather data. A quick trip to John's half witted sister would more than likely provide Sherlock with the necessary information to take care of these to disgusting excuses for living life forms. He relished in the thought of eradicating the pathetic men from the face of the earth. If his hypothesis was correct (which of course it probably was) Harry was a werewolf herself and therefore would not only know who their pack leader was, but what exactly it was that lead to the bargain for John's…Sherlock shook away the disturbing and intrusive thoughts following that train of thought. He had to stay focused.

The cabby pulled up to Harry's house and Sherlock slipped him a bit more than was needed. He slinked up to the door and smoothly rapped against the wood. He could tell from the door handle she'd spent a great deal of time indoors this past week. A good indicator that she was aware of some wrong doing (or that she was on some at home binge). When she opened the door and peered up at Sherlock with wide blood shot eyes and a slight tremor in her bottom lip, he suspected a bit of both.

"May I come in?"

He demanding more than asking as he pushed his way into her home.

"Yo-you're Sherlock, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with John?"

She questioned keeping a good distance. A stupid question, with even dumber implications.

"If you are insinuating that I left John unattended then you are mistaken, he is currently in the company of a well respected detective inspector and two special agents."

Sherlock took note of the fresh bruises on her forearms and knew that he hadn't been the first to come asking. She was looking anxiously and shifted her glance from him to the door.

"You were expecting me weren't you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, it's all quite clear. Was it your father? Did he come here, warn you? Tell you what to say? Don't bother answering you've said enough with that pitiful look on your face. Well, Ms. Harriet, I would advice you to ignore your father's demands and adhere to mine as I've recently acquired a license to kill and I plan to use it on your father, your pack leader, and anyone who get in my way."

He came infinitely closer, so close he could feel her quivering breaths. She smelt of alcohol and fear, good, fear would be useful. Her eyes began to water and her legs gave out beneath her.

"Jesus, I never-oh god-I never wanted any of this! You think I don't know how FUCKED UP this is? I'm his daughter too you know, John isn't the only one who's suffered here! You think I wanted to have to leave my wife! You think I asked for my father to come to my house every night for the past year, demanding I become straight 'for the good of the pack', just so he could-he could…fuck. So he could fuck his son, his own sodding son. The prick sold me off so he could…"

That was it, she couldn't talk anymore, and she just broke down into a mess of sobs and incoherent wailing. Sherlock could see the need to take up drinking now; he could see it very clearly. There is no way he'd be able to live like that without some sort of mind numb. He thought for a moment that this would be the time where John would motion to comfort someone giving such a response, but Sherlock couldn't move. He was filled with sorrow for John, for John and for his sister; no one should have to be forced into such a life. Sorrow was accompanied by rage of course and Sherlock had to concentrate with much difficulty on not shifting into a wolf.

"Harry…You care for your brother, I can see that, and I know you're troubled as well. please, help me stop him, let me put an end to this."

She stood up shakily and wobbled over to her living room couch. It was large and littered with empty bottles, the coffee table in front of her held multiple more along with a couple partially filled ones. She picked up a bottle of gin and took a swig. She set the container down with a thwack and looked back up into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock took a few steps closer and seated himself on the love seat opposite her.

"Ask your fucking questions, I want to see the sod burn."

Sherlock gave a humorless smile. He seconded those sentiments whole heartedly.

"First, I need to know, what is it that your father was required to do in order to obtain…John, why hasn't he accomplished it yet? It sounded as though he'd been trying for quite some time."

"Try twenty years. He's been growing desperate though…this past year, with the clock ticking and all."

"Clock? Please clarify."

"My biological clock. They want me to mate with, well be impregnated by, the pack leader's son. They think our kids will be some superior breed or some shit. Whatever it is that John has, is buried in my DNA. They think that if a werewolf possessed it they'd be extra powerful and all this other bull shit, honestly it all sounds like a real load to me. Of course the pack leader thinks him and his family are already superior so we're a perfect match apparently. Accept of course that we're both as gay as all hell. Or at least I assume he's gay, although by the looks of him I think he wouldn't mind having sex with me, so long as some sort of leather and blood were involved. The dude's a psycho. Of course I've refused, the pack leader would be more insistent (probably would have arranged to do it with or without my consent really) if it weren't for the fact that his son isn't to keen to the idea. My dad knows that without that wretched child in the world though he'll never get what he wants. The pack leader will never allow him to…scent John."

Sherlock took a steadying breath. This was all so perverse, honestly he didn't know how much of this he could listen to with out either rushing out and killing the man or bending over and vomiting. He had one more question though, and he knew he wasn't going to like the answer. No, the facts may not have all been there, but something in his gut told him that this horrific little thought would indeed be truth.

"Who is your pack leader and where kind I find him?"

She leaned back into the couch and ran her hands through her ragged hair.

"He lives in some posh flat downtown in the building he owns. As for the name, well…you're not going to like this, his name is Bertolf Moriarty."

With that Sherlock shot of his seat and headed for the door, before he could race out into the cool night air Harry grabbed hold of his shoulder. She was fast, especially for a drunk.

"Be careful. Being around John…it can make you stronger, faster, and certainly enough of him can give you a bloody good high, but the Moriarty's…my father, their not going to go down easy. I've seen good men wind up dead for messing with them."

"It's serendipitous then that I am in fact not a very good man."

He turned to leave but was once again held by Harry's strong grip.

"I mean it Sherlock, be careful. If you die, then John is fair game again, and honestly they might change their minds on how willing I have to be to undergo this pregnancy. If you…if you die, then you can bet that John won't go unmarked for long."

With that she let go of his arm and he bolted out the door. There was no way in hell anyone would be doing anything to John. John was his, and only his, and the time had come to make it clear. He would kill them, all of them, and he would return to John alive. Because failure was not an option, not by a long shot.

The next few chapters are going to get bloody! The shit storm has officially begun ladies and gentlemen! Also, a bit of a spoiler, there will be some serious character death. You know, so look forward to that.