Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. A. N. Happy Halloween! I know, I know, this story remained dead for two years. I hope to finish it within this year. If it'll let itself be wrapped in 2 more chapters. Or, anyway, I'm hoping to resume monthly updates for this one until it's done. So many other things going on in real life. We'll see how I can ride the chaos.

John threw a pillow onto the floor. "Sit down, please."

Sherlock glared at him. "Really?"

John crossed his arms. "Do you want to learn or not?"

Sherlock sat cross legged, with a little huff.

"Now, relax."

Did John plan to trick him into having a nap? And maybe influence his dreams? Still, he tried to follow the instructions.

"I didn't say to go into your mind palace."

"I can't exactly stop thinking," Sherlock snapped.

"Don't think. Feel. Feel your wolf. Feel the tug on it. It's in every molecule of the air."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "As a hypnotist, you're awful. And feelings are not my strong suit, as you know."

"It doesn't mean you don't have them. I have faith in you. " John grinned at him.

He felt, all right. Warm all over, like every time John praised or supported him. No wolf need apply.

Still, he tried. He felt ridiculous, too, but John's hypothesis would have made sense of the state of his bolthole. and...for all the experiments he'd done on him, it was uncharacteristic of the doctor to try to fool him, possibly taking advantage of his high state.

No matter what he tried, though, he couldn't find anything, He shook his head. "There's nothing in the air. Not here."

"Not even contemplating the idea that you might have failed on your first try? That is so you." John snorted.

Sherlock stretched and started to get up. "If it was a somewhat rational endeavour..."

"It wouldn't be magic," John cut him in. "Down."

Embarrassingly, Sherlock found his arse back on the pillow before the word stopped echoing.

"Just listen to me. I know what you are. I know what you can do. And I want to see how pretty you are. Now, show off for me." John's words could have been a spell in their own right. Despite the warmth in them, there was just a hint of steel in the last sentence. It was, undoubtedly, an order.

Now, showing off was usually something Sherlock was all too happy to indulge, but that meant his brain. The combination of John's trust, blatant flirting, and decision to order him about? The sleuth thought he'd combust on the spot. It was heady. Dangerously so, perhaps, judging from how out of sorts he was feeling. He opened his mouth to tell John he didn't think he was completely all right yet...and yelped. Yelped? He hadn't emitted a sound in that range since he went through puberty.

"Look at you. So big, So gorgeous."

There was something wrong with Sherlock's sight again, just like this morning, but he could hear perfectly well. John's praise, and...a thud. Rhythmical. He couldn't exactly place it, so he stilled...and the noise ceased. So annoying.

John seemed to want to go for his hair, like he sometimes did when they curled together on the sofa, only he actually,..scratched behind Sherlock's ears instead of ruffling his curls? Weird. Not that he minded at the moment, because endorphins were flooding his brain. Nice. So nice. He'd be embarrassed later.

"True though, you can't see yourself like this. Come along."

Sherlock made to rise, and wobbled first, but he knew he could do it, in a minute. Before he could try again, though, John said, "No no. Stay exactly like you are. Like this."

Come, stay... He didn't mind that John decided to take the lead, but it'd be lovely if he could decide what he wanted!

But then John was already midway to the bathroom, turned towards him and called him with a hooked finger. "Come on, Sherlock. Don't you want your evidence?"

Sherlock tried to get up again, but... "I said no."

"You aren't seriously saying I should crawl?" is what the detective wanted to say. Instead, a wordless snarl that, frankly, sounded terrifying started to erupt from his throat. He snapped his mouth shut.

Despite everything, John seemed unimpressed. "Now, now. I mean, I could photograph you but you'd argue about filters and whatnot, so. Stop arguing and come here."

He'd show John. If he wanted Sherlock to crawl...well, he could – his equilibrium still wasn't the best – but he'd do it so quickly it wouldn't give him any satisfaction. That was the advantage of having long limbs. In his place, maybe John would have to endure the humiliation for ages. Instead, with a big stretch – it wasn't even proper crawling, more like a half-jump thing... and in two, he was past John and opening the bathroom's door with a paw.

Wait, with a what?

The mirror was in front of him, and Sherlock couldn't deny what he saw. A huge...canid, again, fur black as death. At least he assumed; colour vision was not working, but he'd be very surprised if John told him he was purple.

He turned around, seeking John's...opinion? Reassurance? Confirmation that Sherlock didn't belong in an asylum?

Only to find the same creature his flatmate had changed into before, coming forward to lie at his side. If, as a human, it had been possible to stick to his doubts – assume a legerdemain of some sort – in this shape, he couldn't deny his perception. His companion smelled just like John. No actual dog, no matter how long he spent with his blogger, could be so drenched in his scent that it left no trace of its own.

Besides, any drugs should have worn off by now. Either he was in a coma (if so, he'd have words with whoever was watching stupid movies in his sickroom and influencing his dreams when he woke up) or...well, Even if he was in a coma, it's not like he could will himself to wake up. Probably. He might as well act like this was reality, at least for a while, and hope it became interesting.

He sat primly and inclined his head to watch John, who seemed completely relaxed. Still, a question was too important to enjoy the moment. He closed his eyes and tried to...if not consciously change back, at least lean into what he wanted hard enough that his body would follow suit. The next time he tried to speak, his voice obeyed him. "Now what, John?"

He opened his eyes and sure enough, he was back to normal - and so was John, who rose, The bathroom tiles weren't a nice nap spot in human form. "Well, whatever you want. I was thinking we could finish your case...if you're not too fond of your creator."