'Quickly!'

A just as cold lucidity kept Sherlock a step ahead, tearing off his coat and bundling it over John's head. Keeping him low, and tightly in the wall shadow. It did little against the light, that was quickly invading it. Sherlock turned his face up at the large moon, shining in full lustre. No doubt it had fallen on John's skin - and damn him for being so absent, he was afraid to speak after some moments had passed. Afraid that something slavering and deadly had taken John's place beneath his coat.

A small voice broke in, muffled from the underneith. ' .. Sherlock?'

Sherlock did not speak, but dared at least breath. Keeping his eye on the sky.

Timidly, it added. 'What's happening?'

His arms remained around the covered doctor, holding him as though he could shield him. Sherlock eyed the area infront vacantly for a moment, and, following rather his own curious thoughts than seeking any light on this somewhat vague situation, he uttered. ' .. Nothing.'

He could hear John breathing. Long, low, quiet, unhastening - the miracle of calm.

'Exactly nothing. I'm .. not changing.'

That much was true - John had been exposed to moonlight and was still himself. While out of the rather broad bemusement of his face, Sherlock remained in his position of ward. A man is changed by the gravitational pull of the moon when it is full, specifically targeting the mutation. It is this activation, that kicked the wolf. Though breathlessly thankful, it made no sense for John not to change.

'Not yet.'

The whisper came from behind and there was barely time to react, the two feeling a quick tremor as Starling - freshly characterized by a quickness, lightness and nimble movement - turned sharply onto Sherlock. In a startling movement, he laid his hands on him and tore him from John. Falling onto all fours on impact, the set, stricken face of John let the coat fall from him and turned his face up, seeing in only a few short seconds, Starling forcibly take Sherlock furthur into the room. A more illuminated part of the room.

Hard faced, John slowly rose to his feet.

'You have to give it a minute, Watson!' He called back to him, resorting to old methods and holding the struggling Sherlock by his hair. 'Delay mechanism I just couldn't skate around, sorry about that. Call it an .. unfortunate side effect. Take me, for example. Still the handsome bastard I was five minutes ago!'

Five minutes.

'Why don't you join us out here, doctor? The moon's lovely tonight.'

'No John! You'll aggrivate the mutation - stay out of the light!' Sherlock burst in, face twisted in winces from where Starling was pulling his hair. This did nothing to help, and Sherlock sharply gasped as the sargeant yanked his head right back.

'Doctor, I swear if you don't come out on the count three, I'll tear his head off.'

Sherlock protested. 'John don't!'

'One .. two... '

Gloomily debating within himself, John stepped out out of the narrow shadow and started towards them in a kind of walking reverie. Dust to dust it looked to be. Living in thought, John stopped a few feet off from Starling and his hostage, glanced up at the pale dial of the moon, then returned his look - one of unwavering antipathy, to his former peer.
Starling smirked. 'Feeling dizzy yet?'

'Let him go.'

'I suppose that would be the kinder thing to do, considering what he's about to witness. Give him a running head start, eh?'

John repeated. 'Let him go. Now.'

The changes, none the less, and in spite of its subtleness, were beginning to take shape and consistency. Starling's eyes began to spark a yellow lightning, his face becoming increasingly more haggard. He had no intention of letting Sherlock go, not now. The man himself, breathing, and thinking, began to identify the area, though not in quite so formidable a fashion as might have summed up. With the distraction, he took the opportunity to swing his leg and jab Starling hard in the knee.

Snarling in pain, he released Sherlock and bent, to cradle his injury. Immediately, Sherlock scrambled to his feet and ran, pulling John with him. They ran frantically from the large, open room, into a corridor, through bedroom barracks and arrived into a lavishly decorated dining area. He dropped the doctor's wrist - leaving him to stand alone and motionless. Heart pounding, he pressed his lips together and considered, while Sherlock peered out of the next door, the pupils of his eyes slowly contracting and expanding as he gazed down black vacant gloom; past the dim louring presence.

He said aloud. 'We need to find the armoury.'

'Sherlock, kill me.'

Pausing, the named turned from the door and faced John. 'What?'

'Please.'

This had an awakening effect. Shaking his head, Sherlock extended his arms and held John's shoulders at length. 'There is no need to talk like that.'

'Yes there is!' Yanking himself from Sherlock's hands, his whole person proclaimed desperation. Something tragic and heroic seemed to rise in him and, catching his eye-light, Sherlock perceived a tear. 'I'm going to turn into a monster. A monster, Sherlock! I don't know when but .. but it's not long. I can't let someone else die because of me ... ' He blinked, and that tear fell. ' ... I can't.'

There was a moment of silent staring, before both John and Sherlock were startled by a distant howl.