A/N: Yup, it's time to continue this story! (grins) BUT, before moving on with the story…

THANK YOU, so very much, for all your reviews and listings! This is only just my second touch to 'Who' fiction so your support means more than you could ever imagine. THANK YOU! (hugs)

Okay, before I get cold feet or something… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

Of Werewolves and Aliens

Molly Hooper had had very long day. When a man comes to life on a coroner's table it tends to issue a lot of questions. She answered those Greg had the best as she could, still more than a little shaken and convinced that she was dreaming. She was offered the rest of the day off but she refused. Somehow she had an inkling feeling that she might end up being needed.

When Molly came back from fetching a much needed mug of coffee she was startled to a point where she nearly dropped the whole thing. She wasn't alone in her laboratory, after all. And to think that on most days the liveliest visitor she had was the janitor. At the moment Sherlock was there, focused intently on one of her microscopes.

Molly let a out a long, far from steady breath. It didn't calm her heart a lot. "… you scared me!…", she managed.

Sherlock muttered something she chose to take as an apology. He didn't tear his gaze away from whatever he'd been studying for even second. "Did you do as I instructed?"

Molly nodded, feeling a little dazed. "Yeah", she confirmed. She pulled out a blood-test tube. "He… didn't seem happy about being tested. Said that the results would only confuse us."

"We'll see about that." So saying Sherlock held out a hand. It took longer than it should've before she realized to offer the blood-sample and his grunt made his displeasure known.

While he continued his research Molly peered towards the microscope, trying to figure out what, exactly, he was doing. She frowned. "Is that… blood?"

"Yup." He took away the first sample, preparing the one she just brought to be examined. "From another victim. Found from the edge of Thames, close to your visitor. Something's… off."

"What is?"

For a while she wondered if he even heard her. "The nail marks", he supplied eventually. And that was all he said for the next three minutes.

Then, so suddenly that it startled her again, he was up and putting his coat on. There was a strange look on his face. Almost like he was… shocked. "I was right", he declared and for once didn't seem happy about it. "That sample wasn't human blood."

Molly felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice water on her. A shudder crossed her whole body. "Which one?"

By then Sherlock was already fast on his way towards the door. His eyes seemed troubled while he typed furiously on his cell-phone. "Neither."

Molly swallowed hard, feeling even colder than before. "Be…" But he was already gone. " … careful."

It took what felt like ages before Molly finally managed to turn back towards the samples Sherlock left behind. She kept staring at them. And knew one thing for certain.

This had to be one of those most bizarre days of her life, and considering how long she'd been working with Sherlock that was saying a lot.

Ever since she decided to travel with the Doctor Donna Noble had known that she might end up facing some… rather unbelievable things. And she hadn't been disappointed. Over the course of their adventures her heart had been hurting and racing with terror as many times as it'd been filled with pure joy over being able to discover all those wonders of the universe.

There were very, very good, downright amazing days. And then there were days like this one. The moment she woke up in a hospital, notified by a timid, overly helpful nurse that she had a concussion, she knew that the cause was bound to be something-not-quite-human. She groaned, loudly.

The nurse jumped a little at the sound. "Is… Is something wrong? Do you need pain medication?"

"No", Donna announced sternly. "I need my clothes. I'm getting out of here."

The nurse's eyes widened. All color faded from the woman's face. "You just…!"

"I'll fill out whatever papers I have to. But I'm leaving, now." The headache hammering her skull was unbelievable but she knew that she had to find the Doctor. Quickly. "How long have I… been here?"

The nurse's hands trembled while she gave her the clothes. "A few hours, I think. You were found nearby Thames."

Yes, she remembered now. Bits and pieces, anyway. It was all very confusing and frustrating.

A growl.

Genuine shock on the Doctor's face.

A sharp flash of pain, something attacking her from behind.

'DONNA!'

"There's this man", Donna told the woman who didn't seem to know what to do. "Tall, skinny. Impossible hair. Talks and walks a lot." And she really hoped and prayed, from the bottom of her heart, that he was in the condition to do so. To imagine him still and quiet… "He… I think we were both attacked. Is he here?" Seeing the nurse's hesitation she hurried to add. "He's my brother." She'd never known that she was such a good liar.

The nurse's shoulders relaxed slightly but the troubled expression remained. "Oh! He… was brought here from the morgue."

Donna could've sworn that her heart stopped there. No, no way in…! "What?"

"Don't worry, he's alright. Or seemed that way, the last time I saw him." The nurse tried to smile but it didn't exactly manage to soothe her nerves anymore. "The cold water… It must be what caused the confusion. He was checked throughoutly but he refused to stay." The woman bit her lip. "He… kept asking about you. If I'd known to make the connection…"

"Yeah, yeah, save it", Donna groaned, her headache pushing acid into the tone. Relief flooded through her intensely, though. At least the bloody maniac was still alive. Thank god…! "Where is he now?"

"At the police station." The nurse didn't seem entirely sure if she was supposed to share this information. "They… had some questions for him."

Donna felt color drain from her face while dread made her stomach drop. The Doctor and police officers… Well, they wouldn't be a good combination. And now she'd have to get him out of the mess? Brilliant. He'd probably already succeeded in actually getting himself arrested.

The nurse frowned. The smaller woman's hands kept moving animatedly, indicating that she had no idea what to do with them. "Are you alright?"

Donna shook her head, feeling her blood pressure picking up significantly. She was the one who would've needed two hearts to survive him! "I'm going to strangle him", she growled.

Over the years DI Gregory Lestrade had faced quite a bit of things that had left him baffled. Having Sherlock for a consultant made facing the unlikely – impossible – a likelihood. But the man on the other side of the glass in a interrogation room was quite positively the most incredible and inexplainable… thing that'd ever come his way.

"So…" John blinked twice with a new line on his forehead. "Are you seriously telling me that Molly detected two heartbeats?"

Greg nodded slowly. "Yup." Three hours, a million repetations of those words in his head and it still didn't make the slightest bit more sense. "And don't forget that he was already dead on a slab. Molly was about to open him up when… Well."

John's shiver was clearly visible. The former army medic's eyes scanned the suspect with years' worth of field experience. "He should be in a hospital!"

"He refuses treatment. Apparently he's feeling perfectly alright. Considering how much he talks and that he won't hold still for even a second I'd say that he's right." Greg rubbed his forehead with a wince. A headache? How lovely. "I offered him a more extensive health inspection but he claimed that he's been through a lot rougher."

John gave him a surprised look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Greg resumed to glaring at the suspect. "I have no idea", he growled reluctantly. "All I know is that the best suspect I have so far is a dead man buzzing around my interrogation room with two hearts beating inside him."

Inside the room it was Sally Donovan's unfortunate task to try and continue the interrogation. "So…", she sighed, clearly bracing herself. "You said that your name is…?"

"… the Doctor", the man replied without a beat of hesitation.

Sally nodded. There was a well balanced mixture of confusion and irritation on her face. "Doctor… Who?"

"Just the Doctor." The man's fingers were drumming at the table, creating a restless yet oddly catchy beat. "I'm sorry, but I really need to go. There was an attack and Donna is still missing. I need to find her."

Sally's eyes narrowed. It was almost possible to see a vein on her forehead beginning to swell unhealthily. "You… aren't going anywhere for a bit. There's been a murder and if you're not the killer you're the only witness. You will receive medical attention if you need such but for the time being I can't let you leave." She made some more notes. "Your home address?"

The Doctor shifted slightly. The drumming intensified. " I don't really have one. I'm not… from around here."

"American?"

"A bit further." The Doctor pursed his lips. "Someone… called me a Spaceman. Something like that."

Sally stared at the man. So did the trio listening behind the glass. "Are you… trying to tell me that you're some sort of an alien?"

Greg kept staring. Then groaned, loudly. "That guy doesn't need a doctor. He needs a psych evaluation."

Sherlock, however, frowned. The detective had been terrifyingly quiet ever since joining him and John, obviously lost in his thoughts. Finally there was a sign of life. "I have a few questions for him." And then, before Greg or John could utter a word of protest, the detective marched into the interrogation room.

Sally jumped at the sudden intrusion. The Doctor glanced at the arrival with a degree of curiosity. "Sherlock!" she snarled, almost like a parent chastising a child. "You can't just…!"

Sherlock, clearly, didn't give a damn. "Could you step outside for a moment, Donovan?" Shockingly polite, really. But with a sharp edge. "I want to talk to the Doctor."

Sally considered for a long moment. Then threw her hands into the air with a groan. "Fine, fine. I'm done with him, anyway."

As soon as she'd left the room Sherlock reached out to his pocket and pulled out something shoved into a evidence bag. It was the strange screwdriver they found from the beach. A stunned gasp left Greg, followed by a long list of curses. "That bastard…! When the hell did he nick that?"

"I'd assume that this is yours", Sherlock stated, his baritone rumbling in a mixture of a growl and a purr. A wild animal on a hunt was the first thing that came to mind. The detective's eyes were sharp and calculative, obviously deducing rapidly.

The Doctor's eyes widened a barely visible fraction. "Yes. How did you…?"

"Because you just claimed that you're not from Earth and this device isn't something from this planet." Sherlock's eyes narrowed while the man leaned closer to the suspect. "You're not our killer. But you do have something to do with this."

"So…" The Doctor frowned, as though trying to deduce the detective. "You believe me?"

Sherlock scoffed. "I wouldn't go that far." The detective leaned forward, a bloodhound catching a scent. "You're a puzzle. You seem to be in your thirties but your eyes and posture suggest that you are, in fact, much older. You keep giving that smile but there's a constant grief in you. You're socially awkward but there are clearly people that you hold dear, including this… Donna you've been asking about. You've been alone for a very, very long time and that makes it hard for you to let anyone close but you have been cared for. Otherwise you wouldn't have this capacity for empathy and compassion. You're very protective. I saw that flash in your eyes when I mentioned Donna's name." The detective's eyes narrowed still. The hunch was growing stronger. "You've had a family, haven't you? But not anymore. You've lost them. You seem very used to losing those you care about." One corner of Sherlock's lips twitched when he obviously saw a confirmation that was invisible to anyone else. "You've abandoned all arms and detest violence. I saw the reaction you gave to the crime scene photos. Still you keep looking for confrontations and struggles persistently. Your body and mind… They're restless and at unease without those. You're not our killer but there was a time when taking a life wasn't a feat to you." The Brit nodded to himself. "Yes. I recognize a war veteran when I see one." The man leaned backwards on his chair with folded arms, signaling that the deduction was closed. "So, I know that you haven't killed lately. But I don't have enough data to trust you."

Greg winced with pity for the poor man, John did the same with a shudder.

For a few moments, just a few moments, the Doctor looked like someone who'd just been shot at repeatedly. The man tried to disguise the tremor that crossed him with balling one of his fists for a few seconds. And then the tension and all the emotions that caused it were forced back, replaced by the already familiar air of energy and curiosity. "Fascinating…", the man murmured, tilting his head. "Are you a telepath of some sort?"

Greg honestly wished that he would've had the time to catch Sherlock's ensuing expression with a camera. It was simply priceless. "No, I'm not", the detective replied flatly.

The Doctor sighed, deflated. "Pity. They're fasinating creatures. Now…" The alien clapped his hands together. "I'm going to tell you what's going on. But then I really need to dash. There isn't a lot of time before they kill again."

John tensed up. Greg shivered. Sherlock's glare hardened. "'They'?"

It was still quite early but Harriet Watson was already stumbling while she made her way towards home. Every now and then a brief chuckle left her when she took in her own condition. Maybe the man at the park was right, after all, when announcing that she'd had one too many. He still deserved the slap she gave him.

She was already standing right outside her block of flats, rummaging through her bag with drunken fingers and trying to find her keys, when she heard a growl.

Chills went through Harry while she looked around, adrenaline rendering her sober for a brief moment. There was no one. A yet another small chuckle burst through her lips while she shook her head. "You really did yourself good this time, Harry", she slurred to herself.

Exactly one second later there was another growl. This time she didn't even have the time to turn around. Her screams were left echoing into the walls but no one was there to hear.

Before seeing the samples under the microscope Sherlock would've definitely felt far less inclined to believe anything that the Doctor had to say. But he had seen and, much to his intense irritation, couldn't explain it. And then there were the nail marks on the body and ground that didn't belong to any known species. So he listened although he knew that he'd need far more data before he'd be even remotely convinced.

None of this felt believable, really, and a part of Sherlock was telling him to just walk out the room and let Greg hand to lunatic to psychiatric care.

The Doctor quite clearly saw his doubts. There was wariness in those somehow impossibly old eyes. "It took me a while to know why I was dragged to London. Now, of all times. Until I saw those two creatures fighting."

Sherlock's eyebrow bounced up. It was easy to see the wheels turning. "Do continue."

The Doctor took a deep breath, like a professor preparing himself for a lecture meant for particularly thick sculled students. "I'll try to keep this simple for you." He was fortunate enough to not notice the downright murderous glare aimed his way. "I trust that you're familiar with the concept of introduced species?"

Sherlock nodded. The detective's fingers were drumming agitatedly. "Yes, the cane toad in Australia. Do move on before I get bored."

The Doctor didn't seem to hear past the 'yes'. "Millenniums ago a very special canine breed was spotted on Earth. To this day it's unclear if it was an original species that mutated somehow or something that came from another planet. But those shapeshifting creatures, half wolves and half human, thrived. Back then humans knew of their existence and didn't hesitate to take advantage of their canine personality traits, strength and stamina. They, a species that still truly respects human and wants nothing but to co-exist peacefully beside them, was reduced to slaves and servants. Tools. The ancient Egyptians were particularly cruel masters." There was the slightest hint of bitterness in the bizarre spaceman's voice before the man collected himself. "In the end they couldn't take it anymore, despite the fact that they still felt immense loyalty towards human beings. So they opted to disguise themselves into their human forms, to a point where they became nothing but a stuff of legends. Rumors. Stories for books and fairytales. They remained close and kept looking after humans, serving them and helping them, but no longer dared to reveal their true appearances to anyone but each other."

Greg wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at the surreal story. John… had gone worryingly white and the former soldier's trembling fists were balled tightly. Sherlock simply stared, unblinkedly. "Are you talking about werewolves?" the detective asked in the end, justifiably incredulous.

The Doctor chuckled. "No, no, no. You see, like almost all horror stories and fairytales even those tales are based on something very real. Despite being nothing more than whispers and echoes these creatures remained in the minds of humans. Even when the real name of their race has faded into the sands of time long ago."

It was stunning, really, how quickly Sherlock recovered himself. Saying that the detective appeared convinced would've been a dire understatement, though. "And what you said about introduced species…?"

"Ah, yes. That's the saddest part of the original species' story." The Doctor sighed. "A couple of decades ago another similar species found its way to Earth. Danshées. Also shapeshifters, although far less shy about their original form. But far more blood thirsty and brutal, with absolutely no regard towards human life. If they feel threatened they attack, hard. You could compare these two to domesticated dogs and wolves." The alien's jawline tightened a little. "For a while everything went well despite occasional territorial disputes. But two feral species that similar can live side by side peacefully only for so long. The territorial disputes… They've been growing more and more aggressive until they've reached the point of war. I'm sure that there have been plenty of suspicious attacks lately. The one that I witnessed… It's merely the first one that became reported as a homicide."

Sherlock kept staring. Then scoffed. "Are you honestly expecting me to believe this sci-fi story, Doctor?"

The Doctor gritted his teeth. "You don't understand! If this invasion isn't stopped Danshées will destroy this original species!"

"I believe you." They both turned their heads towards the room's doorway. Stood there, his face chalk white but with a military posture and his hands perfectly steady, was John Watson. "You… You came all the way here to protect my kind. And I'll help you stop that massacre."

TBC

A/N: Oh boy…! Now that's quite a background story. And who would've thought that John would manage to keep such a secret from Sherlock!

Soooo… Was that any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know! This story is something VERY new to me so I'd reeeelly like to hear from you.

Until next time, folks! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!