-:- John -:-

I walked down the old familiar hallways of St. Bartholomew's, and caught a whiff of that scent. The new-yet-familiar smell that made my wolf try to escape my strict hold I had on him. I took a deep breath, smelling. It was fresh now. Whomever it was is here, in the building, and the smell only intensified as we walked to wherever Mike was taking me. I couldn't understand why this is happening to me, how just smelling someone could set off this, this yearning for them.

I'd never been taught much about being a wolf, just a pamphlet and a video on what to expect. The bare minimum of the things I probably should have been told about my new condition. I'd already known that silver would burn me, and wolfsbane would, in low doses knock me out, in high doses kill me, and everyone knows that a Were turns into a wolf on the full moon. But this was never mentioned, not even a single "hey, one day you will find a person whose smell makes you want to rip their clothes off and fuck until next Tuesday..." Nothing like that.

Hesitantly for me, yet eagerly for my wolf, I walked into the chem lab after Mike. A tall, dashingly handsome man stood at a microscope, ignoring us, until a fan blew my scent his way. His head snapped up, and his golden eyes found mine. A soft whine came from him, as he walked slowly towards me.

"She needs you." Was all he said, untucking his white button up, and lifting it to reveal an old scar on his side. Ah.. his wolf was a 'she'. Mine was howling at me, trying to get me to aka him back to my place so we could fuck like rabbits. I showed him my scar, pulling my shirt collar to the side, as he let out an aching whine, like a dog for food.

"This is an old friend of mine, Sherlock, Dr. John Watson. He's new." Good old Mike, keeping us sane.

"This wasn't in the pamphlet... Please, can you help? I don't understand..." I wanted, no needed him, my wolf was begging me to claim those plush lips with my own, to run my hands through those thick black curls... God I was so fucked. I trembled, fearing that my wolf would come out any minute.

"Do you have a safe place to stay?" He asked in his glorious baritone voice, then, cocked his head, blinking hard. "I'm sorry, I can tell that you don't. " Walking back to the microscope he had been using, he switched it off, and grabbed his satchel. I hadn't noticed it, as it lay on the stool next to him. I could barely stop myself from snogging him, as he stood in front of me. "I know a place in central London, together we could make it work." He looked at me, looked into me, and I saw a hint of the same desire in his eyes, before he mastered it. "Address is 221B Baker Street, meet me there at noon tomorrow."

I nodded, clenching my hands into fists to stop me from reaching to him, as he left me standing there. I shakily exhaled, leaning on the chemical bench. What the actual fuck was going on with me?

-:- Sherlock -:-

I hailed a cab to take me home, home to my shitty little studio on Montague street, my mind and heart racing out of control. As soon as I stammered out my address to the cabbie, I texted my brother, Mycroft.

I need you

SH

Less than thirty seconds passed before I heard my phone ring, as I rested my head on the cool leather interior of the cab. I knew he would never ignore a text like that, and he always preferred to hear my voice. He could tell how I was feeling just by my tone.

"Mycroft. I found him, the one she needs." I said weakly, all of my strength going to keeping myself from asking the cabbie to take me back. "We're meeting tommorow at noon. I'll tell him then." Tell him I'm dying.

Yes, I was dying. Being slowly killed by my wolf from my inside out. I'd been bitten at sixteen, much too young. The wolf hormones increased exponentially as my puberty spiked, and they continued to increase, never ceasing. John was a recent turn, I could tell, just by his manner. He would make it. Me, however was a whole different story. The witch who lived in the shop next to my building said I had a month before my body would start to reject her therapies, and at most two before I either died, or lost myself to my wolf.

The sad truth is, most teenagers who were turned don't stand a chance. That's why the bastards who turn them get heavy jail time. Hardly any live past twenty, and here I am at twenty-five, no longer running on borrowed time, but stolen time.

I said a few more words of explanation to my brother, and hung up as the cab pulled up to the dump I called home.

Thank God I was getting out of this hellhole.

I stopped by the manager's office on my way up, and left a note that I'd be leaving tomorrow, didn't really matter, he was never in anyways. God this place was my own personal nightmare, but at least no one had slipped powdered silver in my mail in a few weeks, so... Kudos to whomever finally got the message.

I found myself thinking of John that night, as I lay on my bed, searching for sleep. Wondering if this attraction was as strong as I hoped it was. Having someone to care for me as I left the world, or someone to care for my wolf, if that was the case, wouldn't be so terrible. It might actually be... nice, to have a mate.