A remarkable discovery had been made, one that lead to a horrifying potential.

Dealing through an awful sensation that had been with him since leaving the lab, Sherlock waited before entering the flat. Frozen at the door, and chilled through. John had been changed, that was for sure. The proof was in the blood. To compare, Sherlock had drawn some of his own blood by pricking his thumb, and set it alongside John's, staring down on them with the microscope. What he had seen, shocked him. And thoughts of the future haunted Sherlock the whole way home.

A liberal spirit and manner charged him all of a sudden, if he was to save John then the first step was to talk sense into him. Taking a slow breath, Sherlock pushed the flat door open. Immediately, he was confronted with a scene. A bowl was turned upside down on the floor, with its contents - a stew, by the looks - emptied out on the carpet, with John lying next to it. He had fallen from the couch and was breathing heavily.

Sherlock rushed in, his coat flying behind him. 'What? What happened?'

'Oh calm down, will you.' John snapped, in that new angered attitude. He shakily raised himself and sat up. 'I was just having tea and fell over, thats all.'

'You didn't fall over sat down.' Already Sherlock had spotted the culprit for John's sudden collapse from the couch. He stooped as John got back onto the couch, and gingerly picked up the spoon he had been eating his stew with.

Horrified, Sherlock stared from the spoon to John. 'A spoon. You'd been eating with a spoon.'

'Yes, so?'

'John, it's silver! You must never come into contact with silver!' He stared down John, speaking rapidly.

'What? Why?'

'Because it will kill you!'

A despairing silence sat between the two for a moment, John frowning deeply at Sherlock, and then scoffing like it was ridiculous. 'A spoon will kill me? Come on.'

'Not the spoon John, the silver! You were fine before holding the spoon, and as you continued to hold it you got weaker and weaker until you collapsed from the couch. I dare say you'd be dead now if you hadn't dropped it.'

'What exactly are you trying to say, Sherlock?'

Sherlock furrowed his brow as though he had to think about it deeply himself. Finally, he replied. 'Lycanthropy.'

'Lycan-what?'

'More commonly known as the werewolf curse.'

Another silence, and John looked at him, almost sinking in expression. His face hardened, becoming cold. 'Now your just being ridiculous.'

A determination seared in Sherlock, 'I ran a blood test.'

'You did what?'

'Its all to do with DNA structure. Somehow, when you disappeared someone combined your DNA with that of an animal - in this case being, a wolf. They're slowly merging into each other, but won't combine fully until you become exposed to a full moon.'

John's face flushed with colour, he became enraged. 'For christ's sake I didn't disappear! I thought we'd settled this!'

'We don't have time to argue, John! Your molecules are mutating at a rapid rate. If we don't get you to a lab and find a cure ... '

'I'm not going to any lab - you're insane!'

Hearing this, Sherlock found no scruple in mentioning the cruel conduct he would have to abide by. In a moment rendered scarcely aggitated, he dipped his hand in his coat pocket and withdrew the whistle Mycroft had given him. He blew hard on it, and John instantly cried out, slamming his hands over his ears. The shrill screech of it was torture on his ears. Sherlock, meanwhile, heard not a thing.

'What the hell is that?' John wailed, still cowering from the ringing in his ears.

Lingering in the moment, Sherlock's point was to make an example. He dangled the whistle infront of John. 'It's a dog whistle! Made deliberately to create a sound too high for a human to hear, and you heard it in full effect!' He threw the whistle aside. 'A werewolf trait, John!'

'Right, thats it!'

Sharply, John turned his back and went to grab his coat. Sherlock jumped into urgency, 'What are you doing?'

'I have to get away from you and your rubbish. I'm going out.'

Through cold and extreme agitation of his mind, Sherlock leapt in the way of the front door and put his hands out to stop him. 'John Hamish Watson, you listen to me right now because I will not be saying this again. I have never in my life ... connected with anyone the way I connect with you. You've helped me, supported me and above all, befriended me. I can't say your not incredibly aggrivating sometimes - you half-think, you're moral to a fault and you do that thing with your fingernails. But I would not change anything about you. Someone has though .. someone's changedyou and you're not .. ' He paused, hands falling to his sides. 'Your not my John anymore.'

Sinking into an almost neutral expression, John stared back at him to the point where it looked like he might have considered staying. But at the very last moment, he pushed passed Sherlock with a bitter, 'Fuck off.'