Sherlock paces around 221B with jittery nervous energy as the day fades into evening. Tonight is the next full moon. Not only a full moon, but a blue moon. A floating thought from the back of his mind finally came to the forefront and he thinks back to the nasty scratch he received while on a case just a month or so ago, and also a night of a full moon unfortunately. Remembering everything he had read online about the curse and myths, legends, and the multitude of facts regarding the transformation, he taps his fingers irritatingly on the windowpane. Of course there is doubt in the back of his mind that it may just be that- a myth, a fantasy.

He looks down at the scratch on his side, a flaring red thing on this particular night. Quite a contrast from the nights previous. It had even looked like it was healing. "Maybe it's just infected…" Sherlock thinks to himself, trying to swallow down the fear in his throat. If there is anything Sherlock hates more than anything in the world it is lack of control over himself or situations. Hell, THIS would be the ultimate betrayal to his mind and his body. The ultimate lack of control.

If this IS real, if it's not a myth, not just a legend, this will change his entire life. He could go from the great detective who solves murders to the monster whom, as Donovan had stated before, was the one who put the bodies there. There would not be a thing he could do about it. He's already infected, already changed. Tonight would be the beginning of his new secret identity. One he would loathe and that would instill fear into his own mind about who he is as a person. Would he be more aggressive, more of an arse than he already is? Would he start fights or hurt people? Would he have a thirst for blood and gore that couldn't hope to be contained like the one whom had infected him?

These horrid thoughts run through his mind as he collapses into his leather chair and groans as he rubs his face, distraught. "I am alone", he thinks. "Completely, utterly alone. I've not a clue as to how I will be or what I should do. I am lost." Before Sherlock realizes what he is doing, sobs escape him quietly and his hands become wet with his tears.

Sherlock Holmes is afraid. No, terrified. Of himself. After all these years fighting criminals, terrorists, and worse, who the hell could have known that the absolute biggest threat to him would be himself and his lack of knowledge over the beast he has been forced to become?

Wiping his eyes, he wanders into his bedroom and sits on his mattress, unsure of himself and completely out of his depth. His face falls even further when he realizes that after everything he has gone through with Molly, and finally getting her to believe that he does in fact love her, he will have to push her away again for her own safety. There's no way he can tell her this secret, it will hurt her. That's one thing he vowed never to do again, was hurt her. Wrapping himself up in a blanket, he sniffles slightly as he longs to be able to share this with her, for her to save him from this as she has from death many times. Molly could always save him, always. Just not this time. Nobody could. Not from this.

Not even his big brother and all the power he possesses from the British Government could save him from this curse. He is doomed to live a life of misery, a life of secret. More so than he thought he had just as a loner genius detective.

Sherlock lies in his bed helplessly watching the daylight turn into sunset, and sunset turn into darkness. The full, blue moon will be high in the sky very soon. God only knows what will happen to him or even when. Was it when the moon crested at its peak?

Before even thinking about it, Sherlock grabs his mobile and texts Molly. No matter what happens tonight, he wants her to remain safe.

{Are you home from work? -SH}

{Yes, I just got home, why, what do you need? Xxx Molly}

He smiles fondly but sadly, realizing that she uses that question just for him, and that always warms his heart. It's more sentimental than "What's up".

{Nothing, I just wanted to be sure. It's a pretty big full moon out there, you never exactly know what beasts lurk in the shadows. -SH}

{Beasts? Have you been watching fantasy TV? LOL Xxx Molly}

{No, I just mean, I guess that I mean a lot of bad criminals tend to be out during full moons, evil nature and all I suppose. Please just promise me you'll stay inside for the rest of the night. -SH}

{Well, usually I elect not to believe in superstition, but if you are that concerned, I'll stay in. Are you sure you're alright? Xxx Molly}

{Yes. I worry about you, isn't that allowed? -SH}

{Well, yes of course but you just sound like something is on your mind. Are you really this superstitious? Xxx Molly}

{I don't know really. Just a precaution, can't be too careful. -SH}

{Says the man who voluntarily runs after criminals and terrorists for a living! Xxx Molly}

{When it comes to you, I meant. You…you mean a lot to me. You know that. I constantly worry about your connection to me getting you hurt or killed and I would do anything in the world to prevent that, I hope you know that Molly. -SH}

{I do know that Sherlock, and I care about you too. If something is worrying you, you should tell me. Especially if you think I could be in danger from whatever it is too. What's wrong? I'm worried about you now. Do you need me to come over? Xxx Molly}

{No! Do not come over! Nothing is wrong. Stay home tonight. I'll see you tomorrow most likely. Have a nice night, Molly. -SH}

{Alright…I'll see you tomorrow 3 Xxx Molly}

Molly furrows her brow and softly bites her lower lip. He sounded like he was in trouble, but she didn't want to interfere if he didn't want her to. They both established boundaries when they had agreed to try to date. If Sherlock were having trouble with something and needed her, he knew that he could come to her. If he doesn't want to come to her with an issue, that's his choice too. She sighs and changes, then makes her dinner and puts on a movie for herself.

Sherlock finds himself walking alone in the park, not quite sure why he decided to, but the moonlight is giving him a euphoric high as it looms over his skin. He can feel himself sweating and he seems to be able to smell everything from the bus smog, the damp dirt beneath him from the rain earlier, cigarette smoke from…someone somewhere, and he can ever swear he smells lemon cleaning solution from Bart's Morgue, even though it is miles away. "Damn...Molly must have left the little window in her office open", he murmurs.

He glances up at the bright, yet annoyingly distracting lamp posts that line the walkway of the park, wishing they would go out. They're in the way of his moonlight. "My moonlight?", he questions himself, realizing just how sweaty he is. His dark curls stick to his pale forehead and he can see a damp spot on his purple shirt where his chest is sweating. Sherlock growls to himself, a bit angry at this and walks into the adjoining woods. He doesn't quite know why, but he lets his feet carry him, assuming his mind knows what his body is doing.

Sherlock finds himself deep enough within the woods that he can't see the way back out, but isn't quite bothered. He slumps down against a tree trunk, an intense pain beginning to burn through his body. Yelling out in pain, sweat drips from his head and tears squeezed from his closed eyes rush down his face. He pants hard as he only get a few seconds of reprieve from the pain after each very long wave. The crying and yelling continue for hours, the pain only getting worse and worse until he his entire body is trembling in pain and he is afraid to move a muscle.

After four hours, he's writhing in agony on the ground. About an hour ago, his clothing had begun to burn his skin as if he were being forced into flames, so he had shed everything. In his mind he knew it was wrong, but the pain was so intense that he needed to. Being the most terrified and humiliated as he ever has been in his entire life, he curls up in the fetal position, his sweaty, ghastly pale skin against the damp ground.

Sherlock lets out a sharp gasp and a scream of intensity as he feels his body shift and hears the pop of his shoulders pull from their sockets and the crunch of his hips deforming. Every bone in his body breaks one by one slowly and excruciatingly over the course of the next half hour, eliciting the most gut-wrenching wails from him. He watches helplessly as his long fingers which are dug into the moist earth in pain, turn into gigantic paws, his entire body breaking out in thick black fur which mimics the color of his usual curls.

Moments later Sherlock tries to speak, yell, cry- anything. All that comes from him is a deep, guttural howl. In pure shock, he curls up, his tail tucked into his side. "Tail? Oh God this is really happening, I really transformed. Oh God someone help me.." He lets out a pained canine whimper and looks around. Everything is so much more vivid in color and depth, it's like seeing the world for the first time, even if it is just trees and brush. His hearing is about the same—it seems as if he can hear every little sound for miles if he focuses on them. Cars, people in cafés, the low hum of heaters, the beeps of hospital monitors. "Oh, Bart's again", he ponders as he sniffs the air, searching for that familiar scent of lemon until it reaches his nose. It almost immediately calms him, as it does in human form because it reminds him of Molly. "My Molly…my sweet, caring Molly. She would be terrified of me. I'm terrified of me. I wish she were here…"

Sherlock growls at himself and closes his eyes. "Enough. THINK, Sherlock. What am I going to do now? The hound that scratched me was killed by the police. There are no others that I know of…what if I'm the only one in London? Even if there are more, who's to say they aren't evil like the one who infected me? I can't and won't be like that. I refuse. I'm on the side of the angels…I won't hurt anyone…" his mind races, and he is completely at a loss of what to do next. Standing up on his four paws, his tail hanging behind him, Sherlock decides that it may be best to just take a walk. It's good that he's a black wolf so that he can blend in with the darkness of night, but he doesn't want to be seen near populated areas anyway.

He begins walking through the woods at first, then finds himself running as fast as he can. Adrenaline pumps through him as the trees and sky streak past him at high speed. The air whips through his thick fur as he runs with precision and profound power. For the first time in his life Sherlock feels a sense of calm and freedom in ways he had never had the pleasure to before.