Sorry for the delay. This chapter was all written out and only needed editing, but then I got attacked right outside my own home and I've been all out of sorts since. So I'm moving far far away so that I never have to deal with moronic drugdealers on my doorstep ever again, but it's taking time out of my writing until I'm settled again.
Life went back to normal after that day, or as normal as they could be with two guests in his home. One who was more than welcome to stay and the other he couldn't keep out, no matter how hard he tried.
In any case, Greg had to return to work, which meant long days away from home and he couldn't very well bring human-John along, even if he put him on a leash. Actually, that would just make things weirder, and John had burned the leash to ashes over the stove anyway.
So maybe it was a good thing Sherlock was there to keep John company, even if it was to do strange experiments on him.
So far, John said he couldn't transform back into a wolf, even once he was completely healed from the bullet wound, but Sherlock was being pig-headed about it and accused John of not trying hard enough.
"Fine. I don't want to, and if you can't understand that… Well, actually, I'm not surprised you can't."
Greg held his breath. John had a point, but he didn't know Sherlock enough to see the flash of hurt crossing his face before it was quickly smoothed out into its usual bored expression.
"You said you'd let me experiment, and this is part of the experiment. You retain some "wolfish" attributes, so to speak: accrued sense of hearing and smell, night vision, accrued speed and your teeth are notably sharper than they had been. Why do you think I went through all the trouble of stealing your dental records? You're welcome by the way. That would have been a problem in the long run."
John put a hand over his mouth, eyes wide with horror.
"Oh, it's fine. Everyone is too blind to notice such details, and that is actually a change in your favour since you prefer your meat rare now. It would have been something of an ordeal eating that with your dull human teeth."
John didn't say a word as he ran out to the bathroom.
"I wonder if he's always been this emotional," Sherlock said with a thoughtful tilt of his head.
"Alright, that's enough for today, Dr Frankenstein. You can't push him around like that. If you really can't figure it out for yourself, John is probably afraid that if he succeeds in changing into a wolf, he'll be stuck as in that form again, and maybe for good this time."
Sherlock made a sound of acknowledgement, then smoothly slipped out of the door, as if that had been his intention all along. With any luck, he realized he was being a bit of a bully with John. Maybe. Greg shrugged and knocked on the bathroom door.
"John? Sherlock left in case you want to come out." Silence. "I don't think he'll be back anytime soon."
The lock turned and the door latch opened, but only a fraction. John didn't come out.
"John?"
A gentle nudge got the door open wide enough for him to see John just standing there in front of the door, head bowed. He'd half expected to see him peering into the mirror and poking at his teeth so he wasn't sure how to handle this. In doubt, he always went for the obvious.
"Hey. You alright there?"
"I don't know," John whispered. "I hadn't realized I had changed that much, but it's true."
"Change isn't always a bad thing. Quite the opposite, if you ask me. So you can hear a fart a mile away and read in the dark. Big deal. It'll save on the electricity bill."
John snorted. Progress.
"Most people would sell their mothers to have your superpowers, although I suppose being able to smell that fart from a mile away isn't all that appealing."
John finally looked up at him instead of glaring daggers at his floorboards.
"But I'm not normal."
"I have it on good authority that normal is boring."
"Sherlock," John huffed. "He has a way of getting under my skin. I'm sorry I just snapped. I should probably apologize to him."
"Nah. Let him try it out for once or he'll never learn. He was way out of line anyway."
"You make him sound like a puppy."
Greg laughed. That was actually the most apt description he'd ever heard of Sherlock: impatient, single-minded, unaware of personal space or private property...
John seemed more like himself after their little chat, although he wouldn't smile quite as often or quite as widely as he used to. If Sherlock didn't apologize soon, and make it sound good, or at least sincere, Greg was going to kick him off every single one of his crime scenes for the foreseeable future. And if his cold cases piled up on his desk… well, he'd just have to deal with the fact that he relied on Sherlock more than he liked to admit.
One thing that hadn't changed since he'd taken John in was that he would sometimes find him.. curled up in bed next to him. Greg had given him the guest room, so he wasn't sure if this was some remnant of the wolf or if John was just lonely and needed some human contact. The next morning wasn't awkward, but they didn't talk about it either. What was there to say, anyway? Besides, Greg didn't mind. He missed petting his wolf, if he had to be honest, but even he realised it would be weird to keep up that particular habit.
The peace and quiet only lasted a few days before Sherlock reappeared in their living room. His doors and windows looked whole and unharmed, so Greg didn't say anything and made tea for three. As soon as John walked out of the bedroom to join them, Sherlock jumped to his feet and thrust a file at him. Poor Sherlock looked so stiff and awkward, Greg had to hide his grin behind his cup.
"I apologize, John. I shouldn't have treated you like my usual experiment subjects. You are, after all, alive, and I should have taken your… feelings into account."
Greg was impressed. It was a bit too formal an apology, the likes of which came once in a lifetime with Sherlock, but he wondered if it would be enough for John who didn't know him as well. His roommate's blank expression cracked and he started laughing. Giggling, actually. It was cute.
"Okay, that's fine. But don't push. When I say no, it's no. Get it?"
Sherlock nodded emphatically, his riot of curls bobbing around him in agreement.
"What's this then?" John asked as he held up the file.
"My apology… gift? I read it's supposed to be flowers or chocolates but I didn't think you'd like either."
Greg snorted. Sherlock must have read advice in the wrong section of "how to be a normal human being" again. He had fond memories of the time he had brought a neon pink vibrator to Dimmock's stag night. Poor guy had blushed crimson and couldn't look anyone in the eye until he was well and truly drunk.
John opened the envelope and took out a stack of official looking documents. His eyes growing wide as he flipped through them in silence. Greg glanced at Sherlock's smug expression, and gave in to the urge to know what was going on by standing next to John and glancing over his shoulder.
"You just gave me my life back," John said. "Just like that? How?"
"Mycroft," Greg muttered.
That was cheating. There was no way Greg could compete with such a gift when he was only a measly copper.
"My brother," Sherlock clarified. "He claims to occupy a minor position in the government."
"He doesn't?" John asked, looking more bewildered by the second.
"No. He is the British Government. So I can't really take credit for all that paperwork."
"You told him about John?" Greg hissed, wondering how far they could run before the elder Holmes caught up to them.
"Of course not. I'm not an idiot. I told him he was one of my homeless network who had fallen on hard times, but wanted to "better" himself. Mycroft bought it hook, line and sinker. If you ever meet him, don't be offended if he thinks you were alcoholic. He can be rather simple-minded when he wants to."
Simple-minded is the last term he would have used to describe Mycroft, but Greg was too relieved to learn no one was after John. It did make a believable story after all. More believable than the soldier being cursed into a wolf form by a voodoo witch at any rate.
Greg didn't want to ask about the alcohol though. Probably some family history he would learn about at a better time. For now, he still had some suspicions and decided to grill Sherlock since he had him on hand for once.
"And your brother did that for free, did he?"
Sherlock snorted.
"Mycroft doesn't do anything for free. He's a consummate politician."
"But-" John said.
"But it's nothing I can't afford. Just a case involving some lost plans of some sort. I'll probably solve it under an hour. Mycroft is simply too lazy to do any legwork."
Sherlock seemed sincere enough, so Greg let him be, even if he knew the consulting detective already had the maniac bomber to deal with. Sherlock had never bitten off more than he could chew before, but Greg made a mental note to be on the lookout for drugs, just in case.
His bigger worry for now was what John would do now that he was free to do anything. He could return to the army, take up a job as a doctor, rent a place of his own… He wasn't dependent on him anymore and that scared him most of all, because if he so chose, John could simply walk out of his life and never look back.
It would be the easiest way for him to forget he'd been a wolf for three long and lonely years.
However, John stayed. Just like that. He did start working as a GP in a small clinic, socializing with his colleagues, making new friends and even did the shopping and chores around the house, but Greg drew the line when he offered to pay rent.
"You're already paying for all the food, and making dinner, and stitching me up when Sherlock gets me in trouble. I think I should be the one paying you a salary for taking such good care of me, to be honest."
"What? Like a nanny?" John laughed.
No. Definitely not a nanny. John was more like the dream-flatmate. The perfect companion. Not that he'd say as much, so he changed the subject.
"What are you doing to yourself anyway?"
Because John currently looked like a mad scientist experimenting on himself.
"I'm trying to determine whether I'm infectious or not. I'm being careful at the clinic. I keep my distance and wear double gloves, but imagine if I accidentally turn someone into a werewolf through spit, sweat, blood, or hell, just looking at them funny for all I know."
"You think it's possible?"
Greg hadn't even considered the possibility. It had been a curse, and they had broken the curse. He had honestly thought this was over and done with, but then again, John was still a bit wolfish… Damnit. He was an idiot.
"I honestly don't know. Sherlock doesn't know. We don't even know what to look for. Parts of me remain half-wolf but nothing seems to appear at a medical level. All tests seem to point out I'm human and only human, but I know I'm not…"
Greg mulled it over for a bit. The risk of infecting anyone seemed to weigh on John, but if both John, a real doctor, and Sherlock, a bloody mad scientist, hadn't found anything, it was most likely because there was nothing to find.
Acting on impulse, Greg tilted John's chin up and kissed him full on the lips, making sure to put a bit of tongue in before John could gather his wits and react. And react he did. With a snarl, John pushed him back with such force that Greg fell back on his arse. He hadn't realised John was stronger than average too. A shame, because it meant he hadn't been able to enjoy that kiss longer. It was probably the only one he'd get from him and so, he only felt the tiniest bit guilty for having stolen it.
"Are you mad? That was completely and utterly foolish. Did you not listen to a word I said?" John barked as he tried to wipe Greg's lips clean with his sleeve.
Greg was having none of it. He had quite enjoyed the taste of John Watson, thank you very much, and would like to enjoy it for as long as possible.
"I'm just proving a point. Worrywart."
John huffed and gave up his feeble attempt to save him from lycanthropy, then stood and gave him a hand up, but he was still looking as worried and angry as before.
"And I don't feel the slightest urge to howl at the moon or lick my balls."
"I never did that!'
"Hey. I'm not judging," Greg said, wiggling his eyebrows.
"You're impossible. Don't come complaining to me when you have fleas and need your ears scratched. You'll only have yourself to blame. You're worse than Sherlock and I thought he was insane. What if-"
"I'm fine," Greg interrupted him. "More than fine, actually."
Because John hadn't pushed him back immediately. For the tiniest fragment of a second, John had given in to the kiss, had been kissing him back. He wasn't even angry about the kiss, only the risk of infection. Greg took a step forward, smirking when John blushed but stood his ground.
"We should wait…" he said uncertainly.
"I'm fine. It's fine, John." He was inches from him now and could see his shallow breaths and dilated pupils. "Unless you tell me you don't want me, and for a better reason than that you have cooties…"
Greg trailed off, waiting. All John had to say was no and he'd back off. He counted to ten as he held his breath to give John time, but he'd only made it to three when John tugged on his tie to bring him to eye level.
Those eyes…
A shiver ran through Greg at the predatory gleam he saw there, right before John pounced on him. It was his turn to be momentarily stunned and John took full advantage of it to push him back and down into the sofa to straddle him. It was a side of John he'd never seen before. So confident, and dominant. Not that he was complaining, but he wondered if it was his wolf making a reappearance. After that last coherent thought, the rest of the night was a jumble of sensations and pleasure he'd never experienced so thoroughly before.
John nudged him awake the next morning, his kisses like soft echoes of the previous night.
"Greg, your phone."
Greg rolled over, ignoring his ringing phone to look over John, still naked in his bed.
"They'll call back."
"I think they already did. Twice."
The ringing stopped.
"Problem solved," Greg mumbled.
"No wonder the crime rate in London keeps going up."
Greg chuckled and swung his legs to the side of the bed. He'd rather stay here, preferably with John, but he knew it wouldn't be long before the ringtone made itself known again.
"How are you feeling?" John asked as he wrapped his dressing gown around himself.
"Are you asking if I'm feeling a bit wolfish today? Or just generally sore from other activities?"
John's cheeks burned pink.
"Both?"
"Fine on both scores. Never imagined you'd be so…" Greg scrolled through his mental thesaurus to find a word his now liver would find offensive. "Passionate."
"Three years, Greg."
Enough said. John had actually shown a great deal of self-control, all things considered. He was glad things had not become awkward between them. If anything, it had quite the opposite effect, obliterating what little reserve they'd kept towards one another. Greg couldn't stop grinning. Except when his phone rang again.
"Lestrade," he said, holding back a sigh.
"Get down here," Sally snapped. "The freak is taking over the Yard and he's driving everyone bonkers!"
"Another pip?" Greg asked.
"What else?" she muttered and hung up.
He should stop for her favourite coffee on his way there or he was going to have to deal with her foul mood all day.
"I have to go," Greg told John regretfully.
He'd hoped they would at least have time for breakfast together, but duty called.
"Be safe," John replied with a kiss, sweet and innocent, before slapping his backside with a cheeky grin.
Greg snorted, but he doubted running around with Sherlock after a murderous bomber could be considered safe, even if he wore a full kevlar armor from head to toe. He wouldn't lie though, so he just smiled.
Of course, Sherlock had to be a prat when he arrived at the Yard, late admittedly. He then commented loudly that he'd had sex the previous night, which meant Sally harassed him all morning to know who was the lucky lady. She, in turn, got annoyed whenever Sherlock sniggered at her question, and even Greg had to admit she could have made some deductions about that. In the end, they got very little work done that day and the clock was ticking. When he got back home, he only had enough strength to walk to his bed and fall face first to catch a few hours sleep, even though he felt guilty for doing so, knowing Sherlock would be up all night trying to find this arch-enemy of his.
"You're working crazy hours," John commented the next morning, pushing breakfast his way that contained enough calories to take him through the whole day.
"It's the bomber," Greg explained. "Frankly, I'm way out of my depth. Sherlock seems fascinated by the bloke. I've never seen him like that, and if I didn't know better, I'd think he's in love."
"How do you know he's not?
"Sherlock doesn't do sentiment, or relationships. He claims love is a chemical defect," Greg explained with an eye roll. "I think he's more interested in the fact he's found someone like him. Can you imagine a criminal-Sherlock?"
John's eyes grew wide.
"God, no!"
"And that's what we're dealing with right now… "
"Be careful," John repeated when he left.
Greg did his best to seem confident, but to be honest, he'd never been so terrified in his life, not even when he thought an oversized wolf was about to eat him. There was just something so malevolent about this Moriarty character… He was like a real life cackling villain, shrouded in mystery, bent on destruction and completely insane. Greg had a bad feeling about the whole thing, and Sherlock's apparent cluelessness about his mysterious nemesis was not helping him deal with all the stress.
They diffused another bomb that day. Greg knew he should feel happy about it, but he just felt drained. How Sherlock thrived on such cases, he'd never understand. The superintendent was happy for once, and he clapped him on the back with some tart comment as he made his way out of the Yard. Wanker.
Greg walked to his car, keys in hand, when something stung him. He slumped to the ground almost immediately, too exhausted to fight the numbness taking over his body. His last thoughts was that it wasn't the season for bees, that he hadn't even known he was allergic to bees and that he wished John was there because he'd know what to do… but then he realized he was just being kidnapped when a couple of thugs picked him up yo stuff him in a car. It was a first, despite his line of work. He didn't have much say in the matter anyway, and decided he might as well get a kip while he could.
He woke up in a swimming pool, of all the ridiculous places, with an Irish bloke strapping him into a Semtex vest. Greg knew immediately who this was exactly: Sherlock's nemesis. The psychopath blowing up people all over town. Moriarty, as he introduced himself, and was he really expecting him to shake that hand? Really? Greg glared with all his might, which only earned him a bop on the nose.
"You, my dear, are the last pip, so you can just sit there and look pretty. You being Sherlock's heart, he will come to the rescue, don't you worry."
He bopped him on the nose again, seeming to enjoy the flinch he got in response every time.
"Oh, you really shouldn't have done that," Greg said, trying to keep a brave front despite the ridiculous amount of explosives strapped to his soft abdomen.
For the same reason, he didn't even try to fight back. He knew there were a lot of armed men around to stop him if he stepped out of line. He didn't even believe anyone would come for him. Except for John, who only knew how to love so completely and fiercely that he already held his heart. But how could he help him? He might be able to convince Sherlock to look for him, but he wouldn't hold his breath. All he could do was hope and try to gain some time before he was blown up to bits.
"And what can you possibly do, Detective Inspector? Trussed up as you are and at my mercy?"
"Me? Nothing, obviously," he smirked.
Moriarty backhanded him for his trouble. He was a lot stronger than he looked. A trickle of blood dropped down his chin and he licked his split lip, but the damage was done.
"I'm not Sherlock's heart. He doesn't even believe in sentiments, let alone love. He'd run the other way if he thought I had afflicted him with such a defect. You're his fan. Surely you know that?"
Men screamed on the other side of the door, followed by several shots, then silence. Greg's heart beat faster. He knew it was John. He could feel it in his bones.
Moriarty froze, but Greg was quite at ease now that the cavalry had actually arrived, despite all odds, and right on time too. Except when the psychopath stalked up to him to scream in his face. It was as bad as staring into the barrel of a gun.
"What is that? What did you DO!"
"Me? Nothing. Like you said, I'm all trussed up and helpless here, but you really shouldn't have abducted me. The owner of my heart has a bit of a temper."
Moriarty's eyes widened at the barely veiled threat and he whirled around to bark at his last minions who had exited just a few minutes ago.
"Moran! Perez! Sullivan!"
No answer. Moriarty slammed shut the door to their little locker room, but that wasn't going to save him. On cue, it was kicked open not even a minute later and in stepped a gloriously naked man, his mouth coated in blood. Greg realized what that meant, why the men had been screaming… The shots he had heard hadn't come from John after all.
"Greg? You okay?" John asked, ignoring the madman in the room for now.
Greg nodded. He had so many questions to ask, but none he could voice out loud in front of a witness.
"What took you so long?"
"Stupid Semtex smell threw me off my trail, but I got a whiff of your blood," John explained and wiped his thumb against his lip. "Is this the nutter who's been blowing people up."
"The one and only," Greg replied.
"Who are you?" Moriarty hissed. "Where is Sherlock?"
"Late. He likes making an entrance. Probably curling his hair or something, but I'm sure he'll be disappointed to have missed you," John said in a mild tone, just before he shifted into the familiar golden wolf to rip his throat out.
There were no witnesses left after all.
Greg would never forget the disturbing look of surprise on Moriarty's face. He wasn't sorry for the bloke. Not one bit. He should probably scold John for putting himself in danger and leaving him a crime scene he couldn't possibly explain to the Superintendent, but all he felt right then was gratefulness. John would always be there for him, and so would he, if it came to that. But more than that, love, because John had confronted his worse fear and taken a huge risk by turning back into a wolf. And all that just for him.
A few minutes later, Greg was Semtex free and he called the bomb squad. He wouldn't be allowed on the scene for a good few hours, and the dead bodies weren't going anywhere.
"Come on, John. Let's go home."
