Fog
by: Ismira Daugene
Chapter 4: Formalities
It was the next morning that John woke up to Sherlock staring at him. He'd fallen asleep on the couch after the cup of tea despite his best efforts. The werewolf sat in a chair across from him, staring while sipping at another cup of tea. John groaned as he sat up, his muscles stiff and uncooperative. "Remind me not to sleep on the couch again," he said rubbing the back of his neck.
Sherlock didn't say anything, just continued to stare at him over the top of his mug. "What?" John asked, still stretching.
"My brother called earlier this morning."
"That other man from the dinner?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Yes. He pointed out some things that had slipped my mind."
"Like what?"
"That we need to be registered as a bonded pair before your first transformation… among other things." He made a disgruntled face as though the other things his brother had reminded him of weren't worth his time. "Which means that we will be going out today. Your things have already been brought over and put up in your room."
John cast a curious glance back towards the stairway that led to his room. "How…?" he trailed off.
Sherlock rolled his eyes again. "My brother sent some of his people to bring your things over early this morning."
"Oh."
"Indeed." At this, Sherlock rose from the chair and turned to set the teacup on the table in the kitchen. "I recommend getting dressed because a car will be here in half an hour to pick us up." He started to stalk into his bedroom.
"A car?" John asked, still a little sleepy.
"Yes, more interference from my brother," Sherlock growled before disappearing into his room.
John sat on the couch for a moment before deciding that a half an hour would be enough time to get a shower in before getting dressed, and perhaps disinfect the bite wound on the back of his neck. He grimaced at the thought. It should have been done last night, but he'd fallen back asleep before he was able to do anything. Standing up slowly and stiffly, John made his way into the bathroom.
Fifty-eight minutes later, both men were sitting in the back seat of a sleek black saloon as it pulled up to an official looking government building. John looked up at the tall white marble pillars, admiring the stylized Georgian architecture. Once the car had come to a stop, John exited the car first. Sherlock followed and laid a hand on John's shoulder as he steered the shorter man up the steps and into the building. "I'm not going to run, you know," John grumbled as they walked down the hall.
"I know you won't. However the others here need to be shown to whom you belong." The hand squeezed slightly as he steered them around a corner.
"I don't belong to anyone," John growled.
Sherlock sighed. "Would it make you feel better if I said to whom you are mated?"
"Amounts to the same thing, doesn't it?"
"Approximately."
"Then no."
Sherlock shrugged and continued to steer John through the halls and up a set of stairs until they stood outside an office labeled Registrar's Office. Without knocking, Sherlock opened the door and ushered John inside. Deep red, almost crimson, carpet covered the floor stretching between the cream colored walls. The outer office was plain and simple, with several waiting chairs and a mahogany desk behind which sat a young blond woman typing away at a sleek silver computer. "Can I help you?" she asked pleasantly looking up from the monitor.
"I have an appointment," Sherlock said.
"Name?"
"Sherlock Holmes."
At this the blond woman's eyes widened for a moment before she gave a false smile and stood. "Of course, Mr. Holmes. Right this way." She stepped out from behind the desk, showing off her sleek charcoal tweed pencil skirt and matching blazer. John followed behind her wondering what Sherlock's name had triggered in her head. He didn't have much time to ponder though before they were ushered through another door into a smaller office.
The coloring and themes were much the same as the outer office, except that the walls in here were obscured on one side with a tall bookshelf and on the other by a large portrait of a man dressed in tails and a top hat as he posed in a study or lounge of some kind. A short tumbler of amber liquid was in one hand and a black cane with a silver wolf's head was in the other. Another mahogany desk sat in this room as well, behind which sat a balding man with sharp features wearing a black three piece suit and classic red tie. "Ah, Mr. Holmes, I'm Mr. Armistead," the man smiled behind his closely shaven beard and mustache. "Mr. Holmes the elder informed me you would be stopping by today." He stepped out from behind the desk and half way reached forward to shake hands, but then seemed to think otherwise and retracted the hand, instead rocking back on his heels.
John glanced up at Sherlock's face to see that he was studying the man before them with a bored face, making it clear that he didn't particularly want to be there. "And this must be Mr. Watson," the man smiled at John, but didn't reach forward at all to shake hands.
"Doctor Watson, actually," Sherlock corrected. John looked back at him again, surprised that Sherlock had remembered. But then again, given the man's intelligence thus far, perhaps it wasn't so surprising.
"My apologies, Doctor," the man gave a short bow with his head in deference. "Well, shall we get started then?"
Sherlock didn't answer, but instead lead John to be seated in one of the two seats in front of the desk. The tall werewolf only took a seat once Mr. Armistead had as well. "Since your lineage is unknown, I'll need you to fill these out to the best of your ability, Doctor Watson," Mr. Armistead said handing John a sheaf of papers in a cream folder. "Once you give us the basics in there, we should be able to find the rest and fill in the gaps."
John opened the folder and let out a sigh at all of the small print. He took the proffered pen and began filling out the paperwork. Luckily, it wasn't very difficult. Mostly things that he already knew, like his own history, his parents, siblings, grandparents, birth dates, death dates, titles (if any), and careers. While he worked, Sherlock watched and made small noises of interest at the information. Mr. Armistead tried to make small talk once, but was quieted when Sherlock only responded with an "Indeed".
Once John was finished, Mr. Armistead took the folder back and looked through it briefly. "Ah, formerly of the Royal Army Marine Corps. Excellent." He looked up with an exaggeratedly cheerful smile on his face. "That only leaves the examination."
John furrowed his brow and looked over at Sherlock. No one had mentioned anything about an examination. Sherlock noticed the look and shook his head. "It's only to examine and catalogue the bite mark," he said.
"Seems a bit personal," John muttered as he loosened his collar and leaned his head forward.
Mr. Armistead stood as he slipped on a pair of latex gloves and moved around behind John. Sherlock let out a low growl, but kept his place as the balding man gently tugged down the back of John's shirt and two cold fingers traced along the bite mark. The registrar leaned over to write a couple of notes on a piece of paper a few times, all the while examining the bite mark and running one or two fingers along it. John shivered and an ache was starting to build in his neck and shoulders.
It was at this point that Sherlock growled out, "I think that will be enough."
Mr. Armistead's hands disappeared instantly and he backed away. "Of course, Mr. Holmes. All seems to be in order here."
"Then we can leave," Sherlock said standing. The statement wasn't so much for permission as it was to inform.
A hand helped to pull John from his seat as he buttoned up the top two buttons on his shirt again and straightened his jacket. "Come, John," Sherlock said as he led the way out of the office. John could feel the secondary command element in Sherlock's voice and felt his legs move faster to catch up with the werewolf.
"What was that about?" he grumbled as he caught up with the taller man in the hallway.
"I don't like people touching my things, and he was hurting you."
"No he wasn't, and I'm not your thing!" the shorter man growled.
"Yes he was. I could see it on your face. Eyes narrowed slightly, shiver that ran down your spine, mouth thinned, trying to roll your shoulders to ease the tension. It was all there for anyone to see."
"He wasn't hurting me, Sherlock. I'm still just a bit sore from sleeping on the couch last night, and bending forward like that aggravated my neck. That's all."
"Wrong." They had reached the street now and Sherlock held the door open to the black saloon. John rolled his eyes, but climbed in and scooted across the seat to make room for Sherlock. The former army doctor didn't say anything, just crossed his arms and waited for Sherlock to explain. With an exaggerated sigh, he proceeded. "Yes, your neck is probably still sore from sleeping on the sofa last night. However that is not the reason it was aching just now. It was because of the bond. Mr. Armistead is another dominant werewolf. It doesn't matter that he already has a mate, and children going by the pictures on his desk, but the bond between us reacted to his touching you."
"A dominant werewolf? What do you mean?"
"It's not something you've likely heard before, I'll give you that," he nodded at John. "It's something that happens naturally in werewolves. All werewolves are either dominant or submissive. For those who change their mates with a bonding bite, such as I did with you, usually the mate is automatically the opposite of their counterpart."
"Let me guess, you consider yourself to be dominant in this relationship?"
"Of course."
John snorted. "Well I hate to break it to you, but I'm not very submissive."
Sherlock glanced over at his mate and smiled. "Yes you are, Captain." John quirked an eyebrow at the use of his army rank, but didn't interrupt when Sherlock continued. "Exhibit A: your army career."
"But I was a captain in charge of others. I was the one giving the orders."
"But you still took orders from your superiors, and if those orders were not followed there were consequences," Sherlock said quickly. "Exhibit B: the ease in which you follow my orders."
"Only because the stupid bond compels me to!"
"John, stop talking." The command came with that timber in Sherlock's voice that made John automatically shut his mouth. "You see? Yes, it's partially the bond, but if you weren't so naturally submissive it wouldn't be nearly as effective."
John didn't say a word, but his eyes narrowed and he let out a huff as he crossed his arms and turned away from Sherlock. The taller man let it go and the rest of the ride back to 221b was spent in silence.
Author's Note: Hey guys! I'm impressed by the amount of people reading this fic! Thank you for sticking with it! And I appreciate every single review that you send my way! I'm thinking that Thursdays are going to be my update day. And I know what you're thinking, "But Ismira, today is Wednesday." I know, but I'm just in an incredibly good mood today for some reason, so you get chapter 4 early! Happy Wednesday! lol...
Anyway, as you can see, John is still fighting the bond. Don't think he's going to stop anytime soon either. Though he may find some things easier to deal with soon *hint for next chapter!*