Don't hate me for liking monster AU's. Seriously FlyingRotten has got me hooked on monster AU's.
I was thinking about making a part two for this one, let me know if you guys want one!
When John Watson was six years old, his sister was attacked.
"It's just a dog, Johnny." Harry rolled her eyes, looking at the thin and mangy bit of fur laying in the grass in front of them. "Don't be such a coward."
"It looks dangerous." John warned her, he was standing behind her in the place any cautious observer would but close enough to protect her if things went badly. He didn't want to look afraid, and he was also very afraid for her.
"Looks like it's dead." Harry grabbed a nearby stick and started poking the black dog with it. The pup whined a bit and squirmed. "Oh! Not dead!"
"Leave it alone." John said firmly, but his sister was hardly about to listen to her wimpy younger brother.
"Wonder if it has rabies." She cackled, trying to lift the dog's face with her stick. The dog began growling and John backed away slightly.
"Harry lets-"
The dog lunged, it was small and young and probably on death's door but it was still powerful. It managed to topple Harry over and sink its teeth into her shoulder. She screamed and writhed, beating the dog's head with the stick but it was useless. The dog mangled her a bit more and then let go as a final blow from the stick sent it sprawling. It shook its head and gave a final growl before jumping back off into the tall grass.
"Mom!" John screamed, grabbing his sister and trying to drag her back to where their mom was reading on the porch. There was blood all over her shirt and she was crying. "Mom!"
Harry was rushed to the doctor, and Mr. and Mrs. Watson were so busy worrying about their daughter they forgot to tell John to stay outside in the waiting room. He tagged along, watching his sister anxiously and showing the doctor every sign of admiration.
"I'm sorry but...that wasn't a dog..." The doctor wrung his hands together as he addressed the worried parents.
"No..." Mrs. Watson collapsed into a chair.
"So you mean it was...one of them?" Mr. Watson asked, horrified.
"Yes." The doctor removed his gloves. "I'm seeing signs of infection already, considering it was fully transformed I'm not surprised. That is the only way for the virus to spread. A bite from a fully transformed werewolf."
"So she's going to turn?" Mr. Watson rubbed at his temples.
"Every now and again. It is completely controllable with practice." The doctor explained. "Still...you understand from here on out her life will be very different. Limited contact with her brother and friends until she learns to control herself to prevent spreading infection."
"She'll be treated different her entire life now." Mrs. Watson put her head in her hands. "Their kind isn't very well liked..."
The doctor put a kind hand on her shoulder, and John's eyes were lighting up.
This is a good man, doctors are good people. He thought. We'll need good people to make my sister better.
"Sherlock Holmes if I step in one more science experiment gone wrong I will throw out the entire chemistry set!" John roared, pulling the ruined socks off his feet. He was just lucky the container holding the mysterious substance was plastic and not glass. He grabbed another pair of socks (Sherlock's, John had done laundry the previous night and told Sherlock to put them away but of course he'd ignored him...his loss then) and pulled them on his feet before slipping on his shoes.
"Ah, there you are, John." Sherlock appeared suddenly at the doorway. "You're taking too long. Hurry up, the crime scene waits for no man."
"Except you." John grumbled. "And so by default me."
"Hurry up!" Sherlock insisted, running out the door with a swish of his coat. John struggled to hurry behind him. He'd lived with this man about a year and he was still amazed by his incredible hyperactive behavior when there was a case to attend to.
One short cab ride later there were at the crime scene, and Sherlock was raring to see the body. They were in a warehouse yard, in between two of the large warehouses. The area was covered with barrels and crates, and puddles from last night's rain.
"Alright basic drive by shooting right?" Lestrade asked Sherlock, desperate for a quick explanation for the act of violence. A woman's body lay on the ground, most of her facial features distorted by a fatal gunshot wound. Sherlock knelt next to the corpse to examine it.
"No...The shooter wasn't in a vehicle when this shot was fired." He stood up and grabbed John by the shoulders, dragging him to right in front of where the woman lay.
"What are you doing?" John sighed. Sherlock mimed a gun with his finger and took a few steps back and looked at John. Then stepped back some more, angled himself a bit and looked down his finger again.
"He was...not too far from her." He though aloud. "And she was running. She saw him coming."
"She could easily be running from a car." Lestrade argued. "There's been a rash of drive by shooting in this area."
"Uh, can I move now?" John asked.
"Yes, move." Sherlock waved John away casually. "Look around Lestrade, if a car came through here do you think all these crates would still be standing?"
"Well..." Lestrade folded his arms over his chest.
"Besides, the drive by shootings are at random. Just bored teenagers." Sherlock replied. "This was personal. He took something from the body. There's a pale circle on her ring finger left hand." He bent down and pulled up the hand for Lestrade to see. "There was a ring there. Most likely an engagement ring, runaway bride runs too far and the fiance comes for her. You're looking for a man about my height named Jared."
"Jared?" Lestrade gaped. "How do you know that?"
Sherlock smirked and pulled the woman's blouse down slightly to reveal a heart shaped tattoo bearing the name "Jared" in swirling ink on her left breast.
"Simple. Can't believe you called me down here for this." He stood again, brushing off his coat. "Ready to go, John?"
He paused, and there was no response. He glanced about and John was no where to be seen.
"Hm. Perhaps he saw the pointlessness of this case before I did." Sherlock winked at Lestrade.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever just go catch up with your babysitter." Lestrade half scowled. "See you later...dick."
Sherlock walked off towards the opening of the area, looking for John. It was strange of him to wander off like that, and something seemed odd about it. Sherlock was still cocky from solving the case so easily, his mind wasn't entirely focused on John's disappearance. At least it wasn't until he turned the corner and heard a man cough loudly. He turned his head and there was a man there dressed in a ratty hoodie and jeans, of course the factor of most interested was the gun he was currently holding to John's head.
The doctor was kneeling, hands up and the back of his head pressed against the gun.
"You're gonna come with me, and I'm going to make sure you don't tell the yardies about Deborah." The man growled hoarsely.
"Ah, so you're the fiance." Sherlock shrugged. "Never left the crime scene."
"I was mourning her." Jared glared down the detective. "She shouldn't have died only she wasn't listening to me, wouldn't be with me. Couldn't have her not with me so I had to kill her. Now I'll have to kill him unless you come along quiet now."
"Very well." Sherlock gave John a worried look but otherwise kept calm. Jared jerked his gun to indicate he wanted Sherlock to walk in front of him, and then led both men into the closest warehouse. Inside the dark room the man pushed John to the ground.
Sherlock made a protesting noise but the man pointed the gun at him and yelled. "You shut up! I want to have my fun with him first. Try to stop me and I'll kill him and you both!" He took advantage of Sherlock's forced compliance and began beating John as hard as he could. He used the gun, his fists, soon he found a plank of wood and walked over to retrieve it.
Sherlock was not happy.
John knelt on the ground, a bloody mess, groaning and trying to think of a way out. There was too much noise, the killer was grunting and yelling and pushing wood around looking for a nice solid piece, and something was growling. There was probably a dog nearby, and it sounded pissed. Close too, John sighed and hoped there wouldn't be a rabid dog added to their current problems. He turned rather painfully to look back at Sherlock and nearly jumped.
The detective's face was twisted in anger, his eyes looked darker than usual yet they were shining in the dark. John could have sworn he was the one growling, and he could have sworn his teeth were sharper than usual.
Jared returned with a plank, he still kept the gun in one hand but lifted the plank in the other. John winced.
"Don't." Sherlock ordered in a warning tone.
"Or what?" Jared scoffed, brandishing his gun in an almost lazy fashion. He lifted the wood and was just about to smack it into John's skull before he was suddenly thrown back by a dark shadow. John opened his eyes and peered out into the darkness. The killer was screaming, making an insane noise somewhere beyond fear and pain. John couldn't see much but he could make out the outline of two men struggling off in the distance. He attempted to push himself to his feet, struggling a bit. Then he approached the fighting men carefully.
Sherlock was on top of Jared and was he...biting him?
John couldn't believe it. Sherlock was one of them.
The detective's ears had grown into large canine versions covered in black fur that matched his hair, hair that encroached onto his cheeks and neck. His hands were engulfed by fur as well and his fingernails had elongated into claws, a bushy black tail stuck out from under his coat and fierce fangs were currently being driven into Jared's shoulder. There was blood everywhere, seeping out from under the killer and spurting out of Sherlock's mouth.
"Sherlock! Stop it!" John ordered, then pleaded. It seemed his friend was hellbent on ripping the killer to shreds. John limped forward and grabbed Sherlock by the back of his coat and forcibly yanked him off the criminal. The detective spun and fixed John in his wolfish glare, growling and for a moment John thought maybe Sherlock would attack him too. Then the growling ceased and Sherlock covered his teeth behind closed lips, his ears flattening against his head.
"Sherlock...you're infected...?" John gasped, distracted from the pain of his injuries. Sherlock gave another small growl and lowered his eyes.
"Are you scared of me, John?" He asked quietly, his words slightly distorted by his large teeth.
However there was no time for an answer, because at that moment Jared found his gun and fired off a shot that cut right through Sherlock's shoulder. The detective yelped in pain and John ran over, punching the man out and kicking his gun well out of reach.
"Sherlock, are you okay?" John asked, spinning around to check on the detective. He was holding his shoulder tight with one pale hand. John hadn't noticed it before, but he had the killer's blood all over his mouth and shirtfront.
"Fine." He grunted. "You?"
"Yeah...fine." John panted slightly more from fear than exertion. They sat silently for a moment and then John spoke.
"My sister...she's infected too."
"Don't say infected." Sherlock shot back. "I was born like this, I inherited it."
"Sorry..." John put his hands up in a pacifying motion. "It's just...it's more common to be infected than bred."
"My whole family is like this." Sherlock shrugged.
"Even Mycroft?" John gaped. "Jesus..."
"..."
"...I bet he's still chubby as a wolf..." John mentioned under his breath. Sherlock's ears perked up and he started laughing quietly.
"Yes, yes he is."
"You saved me." John drew nearer, crouching in front of Sherlock. He was struck by the sudden urge to reach out and scratch him behind the ear and he almost resisted. Sherlock seemed to enjoy the action.
"Well...I suppose it would be rather boring without you." He blushed.
"You almost killed a man." John pointed out.
"It's not as if you haven't killed for me." Sherlock pointed out as well, referencing the cabbie. "I have no qualms against doing the same."
John was struck by another urge this time, the urge to lean in and kiss this terrifying horrible man on his bloodstained face. However, the blood was more offputting than his strange new sexual feelings and so it was the only thing that kept him from doing as much.
"Right...we have to get him to Lestrade and you to a hospital...you have just been shot."
John was lucky not to have suffered anything more serious than a black eye and a couple more assorted bruises and scrapes, Jared was thinner than he looked and apparently couldn't land a decent hit to save his life. Sherlock was fine too, although the doctors had initially reacted fearfully when they'd seen all the blood. Somehow Sherlock managed to convince them with some clever lie or another about a wild dog attack leading to Jared's situation and a lip bit in the middle of their struggle causing the blood in his mouth. Honestly John thought people just wanted to believe what scared them less, because that lie was as flimsy as anything.
John thought about Sherlock half transformed, the black fur and the dark eyes had looked...familiar. Suddenly he sat upright, put his laptop aside and stormed over to Sherlock's room.
The detective was laying on the bed with his fingers steepled and laying against his chin in his typical thinking posture. He didn't even seem to notice John walk in.
"A black wolf." John half accused.
"...yes?" Sherlock cocked his head to one side and opened his eyes.
"You're a black wolf." John confirmed.
"Is this...going anywhere?" Sherlock asked dryly.
"A black wolf infected my sister. It was just a puppy." John had hated that thing for so long, hated the animal that made his sister turn to drinking whenever she remembered what she was. People looked down on the infected, they hated them. Thought they were monsters made to kill. Harry had to always hide who she was but then again...didn't Sherlock?
"...John..." Sherlock sat up. "If you are implying that I was the one that infected Harriet..."
"No, it doesn't matter."
"You would be correct."
John's mouth fell open, Sherlock just admitted it the way you'd admit to something as casual as eyeing up your mate's girlfriend or drinking the last of the milk.
"Might I also point out, I was dying and she was hurting me." Sherlock shrugged, opening his hands with the palms facing up. "I didn't mean to hurt her. I was very young, John."
"Yeah..." John sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and trying to understand his life as it spiraled out of control. "No, yeah I get it."
"Well I'm sure there's going to be some sort of angry outburst now?" Sherlock asked, and though he said it in his usual sarcastic tone his voice was devoid of cockiness. He seemed almost fearful and ashamed.
"...I can't blame one kid for lashing out at another." John sighed finally. "It's like toddlers fighting on the playground. You ruined her life, but she had a hand in it too."
"...I'm sorry." Sherlock actually sounded remorseful for once in his life. John turned and looked at the face that had so recently been covered in the blood of a man that would have died in the werewolf's powerful jaws if John hadn't stopped him. He leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to that fatal mouth.
"I know." He said and left the room.