Chapter Twenty-One

"There's little over a week left until the full moon," Sherlock said.

This was in the place of a greeting, one afternoon as John exited the Tube station. Of course, this was not anything out of the ordinary – Sherlock did not tend to greet John in the normal way. The werewolf could not so much as imagine him saying anything along the lines of "Hi, how are you?" John had long since become used to Sherlock seeming to appear out of nowhere, to suddenly be walking beside him, starting a conversation as if they have been talking for hours.

John was also used to the fact that Sherlock always has a point. The statement that the vampire had greeted him with today would not simply be an observation about the time of the month. There was a reason that Sherlock had brought it up. That reason merely would not be immediately apparent.

"Yes, I did know that."

"Are you planning on shifting before then?"

Ah, thought John. There's the reason.

"I don't know, I haven't really thought about it. Why?"

"I think I should come with you."

John stopped dead in his tracks, forcing Sherlock to do the same, and he stared at the vampire once Sherlock had turned around to face him. "You're joking, right?"

"No, I'm being quite serious."

"Did I not make it clear enough that I kind of don't want anyone around when I'm shifting? You realise that was kind of the reason why I was really pissed off at you, right?"

"That was before you saved my life. While you were in your werewolf form, might I add."

"That doesn't mean I won't kill you if you're there again. You were lucky, Sherlock. I don't know, maybe the fact that you were dying appealed to the more conscious part of me. It doesn't mean I won't try to rip your throat out if we're there together again."

"You can't know that until you try."

"Yes, but my way of finding that out would be to wake up to find your decapitated body, which I would rather not do."

"That's presuming you cannot control yourself, and I can't protect myself. I assure you, if it became necessary, I could either avoid you, or inject you with just enough venom to subdue you without causing you any lasting damage."

"Sherlock," John said, starting to walk again, "you realise that that arrogance is the reason you ended up bleeding out in the middle of the forest last week, right?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, and then hesitated for a moment. "Well, regardless," he said after a beat, "I am still more than capable of defending myself against you if the situation called for it. However, I find it far more likely that you will be able to control yourself, given the way you behaved last week."

"I don't know, Sherlock. This is entirely different."

Sherlock took a quick step forward to get ahead of John and then stepped in front of him, turning to face him and cutting him off. "You told me that your attempts to shift voluntarily as I had told you to do were a waste of time, because you had not been seeing any results. That means you were not feeling any more in control of yourself, and you were finding it no easier to remember what had happened while you were in your wolf form, correct?"

John could see where this was going already, and he did not like it. "Correct," he said, unable to keep himself from sighing a little.

"And yet, you managed to not kill me last week. So, you not only were able to control yourself, but I'd also wager that you had some memories when you came around – namely, memories that reminded you that you had to save me."

John's shoulders dropped a little bit more. "Yeah, I did."

"So perhaps, having someone familiar there helped to trigger the more conscious part of your mind. Perhaps my injuries were irrelevant."

John snorted. "You know, that sounds like you're taking the credit for what happened."

"I have a point, however. The difference between the times when you failed to control yourself, and the time when you did, was my presence."

"And, you know, the fact that I had had more experience, and there was a hunter shooting at me, and you were dying."

"John, I might be right. Perhaps I can help you focus."

John sighed, coming up to his front door. He pushed the key in, unlocked it and pushed the door open, and then he hesitated. He let out a sigh, turning around, and he let the door half-close behind him. "Promise me," he said, his tone more serious than Sherlock had heard it be in a while, "promise me that you won't let me hurt you, or anyone else."

"I really don't think that will be necessary."

"No, shut up. Promise me that you won't put yourself in more danger than this will already do. Please."

Sherlock was silent for a moment, watching the werewolf, before he said, "I promise."

John nodded his head once. "I've got the next couple of days off work," he said, pushing the door open again. "We can try tomorrow night."

OoO

It did not surprise Sherlock, when he arrived at John's bedsit the following afternoon, to discover that the werewolf had changed his mind. It was the first thing John said to him when he came through the door.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"Come on, John, you agreed to it yesterday. You can't simply change your mind now because you're afraid."

John didn't even argue with the accusation. "Look, except for last time, I've made sure that the forest is completely empty and I've been as far away from any living – or, non-living, in your case – being, with the exception of whatever animals live in the trees nearby. And those animals tend to end up dead."

"That is only to be expected. You are a predator, John, and the vast majority of the wildlife that you will find in the forest is your prey. It is natural for you to hunt, and kill them."

"Not reassuring, Sherlock. You're my prey too."

"No, I am your biological enemy."

"Is there a difference?"

"Obviously. I, unlike your prey, stand a chance against you."

"I really don't think this is a good idea. I did some research, you know, on werewolves. If I overpower you even for a second, long enough to break your skin with my teeth, you're as good as dead. Even a scratch will get infected and kill you."

"I'm sure there have been vampires that have survived small werewolf bites, and if not, I will happily be the first."

"Sherlock." John pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and rubbed them, sighing. "I'd rather you not get bitten at all, and the only way I can make sure of that is if we don't do this."

"You agreed yesterday."

"And now I've had time to think about it, and I've decided that we better not."

"John." Sherlock waited until John had pulled his hands away from his eyes and was looking at him before he continued, "I promised you yesterday that I would make sure you don't cause me any harm, and I intend to keep that. I've had one near-death experience in the past month and I have no intention of repeating that again. Believe me when I say that I can take care of myself, and believe me when I say that there is a very good possibility that this might be beneficial for you in the long run."

John did not speak, but Sherlock could see his resolve breaking; though with obvious reluctance, Sherlock could see the expression on his face becoming more thoughtful, more open to considering Sherlock's suggestion.

The vampire pressed on, "If this works, there is a lot you can gain from it. It would be a mistake for you to refuse this opportunity out of fear."

John sighed, shoulders sagging, and then he walked over to where his coat had been thrown over the arm of his chair. "All right," he said. "Let's go before I change my mind."

OoO

They took a cab to the forest, just as John had done on his own a few times in the past month, and they arrived shortly after closing time. It meant that they had time to kill, waiting until it got a little later so that they could be certain that there would be no one either in the forest or on the road just outside of it. They decided that it was best to go there early than to draw attention to the fact that there were two men lurking around an empty forest at night after all of the centres should have been closed.

It was not hard to pass the time, either, as they spent it wandering through the forest in search of a good place for John to shift. John managed to find conversation topics to fill the time, and it became apparent to Sherlock eventually that the werewolf was talking mostly for the sake of talking, either to keep his mind off what they were about to do or to delay it for as long as possible (it was not immediately apparent which).

It was just when Sherlock was beginning to contemplate the kindest way to tell John to stop stalling and shift (kind only so that John wouldn't decide to change his mind) when John stopped walking, and stopped sighed. "I suppose this is as good a place as any."

Sherlock looked around, taking in the place where they had stopped. It was nowhere near large enough to be considered a clearing, but the trees were far enough apart to give them some space to move, and, if Sherlock's mental map of the forest was correct (which it was, of course), they were far enough away from any of the visiting centres, even though they would be empty at this time of night. "Seems acceptable," he said with a nod of his head, turning his attention back to John. "Whenever you're ready." The last part was added in a tone of voice that seemed to say 'Hurry up'.

"Right," John said, taking a deep breath to ready himself, and then he began to undress. He showed no discomfort with undressing in front of another man, which came as no surprise – John had been in the army, after all, and he was a doctor. He knew as well as anyone that nudity was not an inherently sexual thing. It was also undoubtedly the case that John's mind was too caught up on what he was about to do to worry about anything else. Sherlock averted his gaze nonetheless.

The moment John started to shift, however, Sherlock's full attention was on him once again. It wasn't even more than a minute after he had finished undressing that it began – it was likely that John had gotten better at that since starting to shift voluntarily. It seemed almost effortless, whatever process John took to trigger the change. Sherlock would have to ask him about that when John was capable of speaking English again, to find out what exactly went on in John's head, or in his body, when it began.

The change itself did not seem nearly as effortless. Sherlock watched with avid fascination as the shape of John's body twisted and contorted, bending in ways that it was not supposed to. He heard bones break and watched as they reformed, watched as John's skin stretched over new shapes and grew fur. Sherlock had never seen the change occur this slowly before, not since the very first werewolf he had ever seen shift, and that time he had not been allowed to watch the process the whole way through. This time, he could, satisfying the part of his brain that needed to see and know and understand. More than once, he had the urge to reach out and touch, to see if he could feel the bones moving beneath John's skin, but he decided against it. He didn't know if his touch would affect the change – for all he knew, he could push John's bones out of shape and he could cause more damage.

The process was clearly a painful one, and Sherlock couldn't help the twist in his stomach every time John moaned or cried out in pain. Sherlock had broken his arm as a child, falling out of a tree, and in his early months of being a vampire he had gone through a stage where he had broken his wrist multiple times, intentionally, with the purpose of seeing how his body would heal it. He knew that broken bones were painful, and he could only imagine how much worse it would be, to have every bone in your body breaking and restructuring, with no way of stopping it.

By Sherlock's estimation, the entire process took a little less than half an hour. It wasn't half an hour of non-stop changing, of course – at several points, everything stopped, and John seemed to collapse on the ground as if boneless. The first time it happened, Sherlock reached out for him, unsure if he was okay, but before his hand had made contact, John's body had jerked again, and the process continued. The closer John reached to the end of his transition, the less frequent these pauses became, and finally, after twenty minutes or so, John let out an animalistic howl, and in front of Sherlock stood a wolf.

The creature shook like a dog after a bath, shaking out grey-brown fur, and then he turned to face Sherlock. The vampire could see the tension in his form, the way the hair stood up on the back of his neck.

"John," he said. "Do you recognise me?"

The werewolf growled in response, baring teeth, and Sherlock took that as a no.

Instinct told him, in this situation, to either run and hide or to fight, but Sherlock had never listened too much to his instincts. He stayed where he was, holding his ground. "Focus, John," he said softly. He didn't know if John would understand a word he was saying, but it was worth a shot. "Come on. You know who I am."

The creature growled again, taking half a step backwards, but it wasn't clear if that was to move away or simply to give him the opportunity to take a running lunge. Sherlock thought back to what he could remember of John coming to his rescue, and he remembered the way that the wolf had come to him and lay down beside him. Body language would have to be important to creatures like this. So, slowly, Sherlock raised his hands, and then lowered himself to the ground, to take on a less threatening pose.

"Come on, John," he muttered, barely talking to the werewolf now. "I know you can do this."

Slowly, so slowly, the werewolf stepped forward, nose twitching as he seemed to take in Sherlock's scent. Sherlock kept perfectly still, even though a part of him wanted to move away from the strong jaw and sharp teeth.

He watched as John took him in, and then closed his eyes, and Sherlock saw the way his body relaxed.

There was no drastic change like you might see in a movie, when John opened his eyes again – they had not changed colour or anything of the sort – but Sherlock could swear they seemed more human. He smiled. "Knew you could do it."

He reached out a hand, but John flinched back, and Sherlock held very still until the werewolf relaxed again, moving forward again and nudging Sherlock's hand with his head. The vampire took that as an invitation, and he gently ran his hand through John's fur, paying special attention to the backs of his ears and his neck, because Sherlock could remember his dog enjoying being pet there. The touches seemed to relax John further, and at one point, Sherlock was certain he had seen John's tail wag.

"You're like a puppy," he commented, smirking slightly, and then he drew his hand back, standing up. He looked around the forest, and then turned to John and grinned, tilting his head to one side. "Fancy a run?"