Fog
by: Ismira Daugene
Chapter 3: Compatibility
It was much later that evening, around nine thirty, if John's blurry eyes were seeing the clock right, that the former army doctor reached consciousness again. A heavy warmth was covering his entire body and he found it difficult to move. However he managed to turn his head a bit only to receive a sharp ache along the back of his neck and to get a mouthful of dark curls. He spat the curls back out and moved his face so that they wouldn't go back in. The werewolf elite was lying on top of him, pinning him down. His long arms were still wrapped around John, both holding him in place and giving warmth.
John wasn't sure if he was supposed to be comforted or not. On the one hand, the werewolf elite would take care of him. He would want for nothing being this man's mate. On the other hand, life as he knew it was over. There would be no more date nights with Sarah. No more rugby matches in the park with his old army mates. He would be expected to stay with the werewolf and adopt his ways.
Grimacing slightly, John tugged a hand free to rub at the back of his neck. The wolf had definitely broken the skin, and the doctor in him was screaming that it needed to be disinfected. He tried to move and shove the werewolf off of him, but that only resulted in those long arms tightening around John's chest. He grunted in discomfort, but in the next instant he was shivering as the werewolf's cold nose was running along the bite mark. "Hmm, you smell even better now," the werewolf remarked in a groggy deep voice.
"What did you do to me?" John asked shivering again despite the werewolf's warm weight.
"Bonded us," came the nonchalant reply as the dark haired man nuzzled into his mate's neck, licking at the bite mark a little.
"But I thought getting bitten by a werewolf turns you into a werewolf," John remarked, hoping that he was wrong.
The lycanthrope stopped nuzzling and licking to stare down at his mate in confusion. "Yes, of course it does," he finally said.
John's mind went blank for a moment. He was a werewolf now? He was a little behind on the werewolf laws. All he remembered from courses in school was that werewolves were pretty much the upper class. That's why it was so difficult to become one. Even if you were sick and dying, a background check was run and if you were found wanting, then the wolves had no problem letting you die.
"I'm a werewolf," John muttered nonplussed.
"Of course. Werewolves can't very well perform the bonding bite without turning their mate. Our bond will complete with your first transformation in two nights."
John couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Being a werewolf would change his entire life, and not necessarily for the better. Everything he knew was gone even farther than he had originally thought. His job at the hospital would no longer be deemed fit. They would let him go because he'd be "over qualified". The pub he liked to meet his rugby mates at would most likely refuse service giving the excuse that the establishment "wasn't for his kind". The only part of his old life that would stay the same is his family… what little he had left. His parents had died a while back in a car accident leaving only himself and his twin sister, Harriet (Harry). Of whom, he wasn't very close at all. They'd gotten into a fight after their parent's death and Harry had turned to alcohol to solve her problems where John had simply turned into a workaholic.
He felt a bit dizzy and realized that he was starting to hyperventilate. The werewolf noticed and moved off of him to kneel on the floor and cup his face with long pale hands. "John, look at me."
John fought against the command. He didn't want to look at the root of his current situation. His breaths came in short sharp pants and his vision was going spotty. The small doctor voice in the back of his mind was telling him to calm down and breath deeply, but that seemed much too difficult. "John!" the wolf's sharp command broke through and blue eyes turned to stormy ocean eyes. "Listen to me. You need to calm down. Everything will be okay."
The lycanthrope's voice held that same secondary element as the night before compelling John to listen to the commands. It wasn't long after that his breaths slowed back down and his vision cleared. However his chest still felt tight and it wasn't until one of the wolf's thumbs wiped away a tear that he realized he was crying. John tried to turn away, but his face was still being held between those long pale hands. "John," the voice held none of that secondary command element, but John still found himself looking over at the werewolf. Curious blue/green eyes examined him before one hand wiped away the leftover tears and he stood. "This may take more adjustment for you than I thought. We will spend your first transformation here I think, let you imprint on the flat and myself of course."
John scoffed as he sat up and leaned back into the couch. His entire body still felt groggy and slow, but he didn't want to fall back to sleep. He wanted answers. "What gives you the right to just take away my life?" he asked looking up at the man before him.
"The law for one," he grumbled. "And biology for another," he looked at John as though this should be obvious then moved into the kitchen to press the button to boil some water.
"What do you mean?" John asked. While he prided himself on his knowledge of human anatomy and physiology, he knew next to nothing about werewolves. Only what was generally known to the public, like their advanced strength, sense of smell, and sense of hearing.
The werewolf (Sherlock, John reminded himself after a moment) leaned against the table while the water came to a boil. His arms were crossed over his chest and one leg crossed over the other. He still wore the navy silk housecoat, though his hair had dried now into wild unruly black curls. "It is well known that werewolves have in advanced sense of smell. What isn't commonly known is that we can sense hormones. We can even use our own hormones to influence others to a degree. Nothing to the effect of what I did to you earlier though." Here he smirked a little. "That was quite the experience. I've never had that much control before."
"Yes, about that. What the hell were you doing?" John grumbled rubbing a hand over his face.
"We can only influence someone in the way I did you if they are highly compatible with us."
"Compatible? What the hell does that mean?"
Sherlock frowned at this. "If you'd stop interrupting…" he trailed off and John's lips thinned in annoyance, but he didn't say anything. Sherlock continued after a moment. "Those who are compatible are potential mates."
"So I'm not the only one? You could have your pick of others?" Sherlock glared at the blond man again and John threw up his hands. "Sorry! Continue, your highness."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed off from the table. He continued to talk while he put together a tea tray. "For some wolves, they are compatible with a large number of people and can influence them all to a degree. For others, it's only a select few individuals."
"And how many have you had?"
Sherlock glanced over at him again before bringing the tray over. "Only one."
"Besides me?" Sherlock gave him a pointed look, but didn't say anything. "Only me?" John's voice was a little bit higher pitch at this realization.
"Yes," he said quietly as he handed John a saucer with a cup of tea on it.
John's eyes widened and his teacup hung in midair. "Is that unusual?"
"I've never met another like me. Though it isn't common to go around speaking of one's compatibility with others." He took a sip of his own tea after stirring in two spoonfuls of sugar and sitting down on the couch next to John. The tea tray rested on the low table in front of them.
"Is this supposed to make me sympathetic toward you?" John asked not looking over.
"Of course not," Sherlock growled. "You are mine now, John." He didn't say any more than that as though it was a given fact and that there would be no questions about it.
"I think you'll find that I belong to no one, Mr. Holmes," John growled.
"We'll see."
Both men continued to sit calmly next to each other finishing their tea. One sat in a silk housecoat and the other in too-tight pants and loose white v-neck shirt. They made an odd pair, but a pair they were now. The bond had been forged and would be completed in two days time on the night before that of the full moon.
Author's Note: John doesn't like being forced into things... can you tell? /sarcasm
Anyway, thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think in a review. I have more written for this, just want to make sure that there won't be any plot holes later on. Those are always hard to fill. grr...