Fog
by: Ismira Daugene

Chapter 7: Strangers

The next two nights (that of the full moon and the night after) John and Sherlock spent inside 221b. During the day, they slept and lazed about, but at night they romped and played like puppies… two hundred pound puppies. There were no cases to distract them, and besides, Sherlock wouldn't have left his new mate during his first moon phase.

John was becoming more comfortable with the idea of being a werewolf, even if it did hurt a bit when he transformed. Sherlock informed him it would be almost a year before his body adjusted. It was only when he woke the morning after the last night of transformation, completely covered by Sherlock on the floor in front of the fireplace that he felt a little uncomfortable. He still wasn't too sure about the idea of mating with this man. He'd never really considered himself completely heterosexual, but he'd never been with another man. He'd only ever dated women. However here he was on the third morning with a mouthful of black curls and the heavy dead weight of a man completely asleep on top of him.

They'd managed to fall asleep in Sherlock's bed last night, so at least his back didn't hurt as much this morning. A low grumbling announced his hunger though. One thing he'd noticed about being a werewolf was that his appetite had picked up. Medically speaking it kind of made sense. The body would have to exert a ton of energy to change forms and that energy needed to be replaced, therefore always hungry. He tried to shove Sherlock off, but as always the taller man simply clutched tighter to his mate. "Sherlock," John grumbled.

Sherlock made a sleepy sound and nuzzled further into John's neck. "Sherlock, I need to get up," he tried again.

"No you don't," a muffled scratchy voice replied.

"Yes I do. I'm hungry and I need to pee."

There was silence for a moment before Sherlock grudgingly groaned and rolled off of John. "I want you back here in under ten minutes," Sherlock said, his eyes still closed.

John felt himself stiffen a bit as his body recognized the secondary element to Sherlock's voice that indicated a command from the dominant werewolf. Frowning, he made his way to the bathroom where he took care of business before proceeding out to the kitchen. Tea and toast was all he could do in under ten minutes, but it was enough that his stomach wasn't protesting as much.

Nine minutes and twenty-eight seconds later, John was still in the kitchen. He didn't want to go back to bed now that he was up. He wanted a proper English fry up and maybe some coffee. However there was a nagging, itching sensation in the back of his head, and his legs were jumpy.

Nine minutes fifty-five seconds…

John felt himself rise from his seat at the kitchen table despite the fact that he was in the middle of taking a sip of tea. "What the bloody hell?" he muttered as his legs moved without his permission. They were carrying him back to the bedroom. John frowned and felt anger rush through him. He was not going to just give in to Sherlock's every whim. Reaching out, he grabbed hold of the framing that lined the entry between living room and kitchen. He managed to stop himself for a moment, but then a sharp pain at the base of his skull forced him to let go and desperately clutch at his head.

His legs continued to move toward the bedroom and once there, he collapsed in a heap on the end of the bed over Sherlock's legs. The younger man looked down at his mate. "You fought. Why did you fight?"

John was still trying to control the pain in his head. Tears threatened to escape, but he blinked them away. "Because I refuse to be controlled by an arrogant arse!" Nausea swept through him from the pain and he curled up into the fetal position.

"You're in pain," Sherlock's soft voice whispered.

"Of course I'm bloody well in pain! You ordered me about when I didn't want to do what you wanted!" John clamped his mouth shut as the nausea threatened to bring the toast and tea back up. He closed his eyes and tried to breath slowly in and out through his nose. He could feel the bed shifting as Sherlock moved and a moment later, a cold hand was smoothing back his hair and down along his cheek.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, John," Sherlock said quietly as he stroked John's back now.

John shivered at the touch, but felt his nausea calming down. When he opened his eyes he looked up to see a concerned man looking back down at him. "I don't appreciate being told what to do, Sherlock," he said still gently holding his stomach. "Why do you do that anyway?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Order me about?"

Sherlock looked away for a moment. "In school we were taught that we had to command our submissives to do as we wanted else they would not know what to do."

"Sherlock, I'm a grown man. I know what to do, and I know how a normal relationship works. It involves give and take from both parties involved. I'm not some helpless submissive."

"I know that, John."

"Then you need to treat me like a person." He uncurled from the fetal position and sat up so that he was on the same level as Sherlock. "If this is going to work… if you want me to be happy, then we're going to need to work together. You can't just go about ordering me to do things whenever you please. I will fight you if you do."

Sherlock looked up into John's serious blue eyes and could see the truth in the words he spoke. He nodded. "I want you to be happy," he said quietly. John looked at his mate and could see how vulnerable he was at that moment.

Reaching forward, he rested a hand on Sherlock's leg. "We can talk about this later when I'm not as angry. Right now, I need to get something to eat and talk to Greg."

"Greg?" Sherlock's head snapped up and John could feel a kind of vibration along the link that connected them.

"Lestrade? Your brother's mate?"

"Oh, Lestrade. What do you need to talk to him about?"

"About you, to be honest."

Sherlock furrowed his brows for a moment. "He offered to take you out for drinks after the full moon. Offered to be someone to let off steam with."

John nodded. "I just need to ask him some questions about this whole thing."

"You can always ask me," Sherlock replied, his hand came up to cover and squeeze John's, which was still resting on his leg.

"I need someone who's not biased. Greg has a similar background to me. He's a changed werewolf who's not really a full submissive. I think he can help me understand what's going on a little better."

Sherlock's frown lessened a bit. "I don't understand your need to relate to someone, but I won't tell you that you can't go."

"Thank you, Sherlock. I really do need this." He squeezed Sherlock's hand back before smiling. "Now come on, you have to be nearly as hungry as I am. Is there a place nearby that serves a decent fry up?"

Sherlock nodded and smiled a little. "Two blocks down."

It took another hour of showers and getting dressed before they were able to go down to the bistro a couple of blocks down from 221b. John was famished and eagerly wolfed down a full English breakfast. Sherlock, on the other hand, sipped at his coffee slowly and watched his mate, content that the man was, at the moment, happy. "Sherlock, you need to eat," John said as he scooped up some egg with his hashbrowns.

"I've eaten."

John gave the man a skeptical look. Sherlock had indeed ordered food, but it was only a simple meal of toast and an egg with a slice of ham, and the ham was still lying untouched. "No wonder you're so skinny," John muttered. He set down his knife and fork only to pick up his cup of coffee and take a sip of the now tepid liquid. "I need to get out of the flat," he said after a moment.

"Why?"

John gave Sherlock a skeptical look. "Because normal human beings can't be cooped up all day everyday and be expected not to throttle their flatmate."

"But you're not a normal human being anymore, and I'm your mate, not your flatmate," Sherlock pointed out gesturing with his coffee cup.

"That's beside the point! You can't tell me that you don't feel the need to get out and walk for a bit?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm content to do my experiments."

John sighed. "Okay, well I'm going for a walk in Regents Park. You're welcome to join." He finished off his coffee and got up to leave, throwing a tenner down on the table.

John made it all of five steps out the door of the bistro before Sherlock caught up with him. "This isn't how it's supposed to work," Sherlock said. John could detect a note of confusion in his voice. "I'm not supposed to be the one chasing after you."

John smirked. "Do I look like I care how it's supposed to be?"

"Not in the slightest," Sherlock smirked back.

They walked through Regents for a while, enjoying the crisp breeze and cool air. John shoved his hands in his pockets and walked a casual pace. He wasn't in a hurry. He'd texted Lestrade on the way to the bistro and the DI had texted him back saying to meet at a nearby pub called Purl over on Blandford Street at 17:00 the next evening. He was looking forward to it and being able to ask Lestrade some things that had been bothering him.

It was when they had just rounded a curve in the path that John noticed a man in a fine black wool coat walking towards them. The coat was left open, allowing anyone who cared to look a sight at the man's bespoke Westwood suit. John rolled his eyes a bit. Westwood had never been in his price range, but he knew the sight of one when he saw it from his days running around his parent's tailoring shop. His dad had been one of the best tailors in London as was evident in their clientele. However that was neither here nor now and John shrugged off the cold feeling he always got when he remembered his now dead parents. Instead he clenched his hands into fists in his jacket pockets and continued onward, leading Sherlock as the man texted away on his phone a few paces behind.

John was just passing the man in the Westwood suit when a hand on his arm stopped him on the path. He looked over at the elegantly dressed man, noticing his dark eyes and combed back black hair. A smile curved his thin lips and John shivered at the cloying expression. "Can I help you?" he asked the man.

The man looked him in the eyes, still smiling. "Do you want to follow me home?" he asked in a tone that begged no arguing that that was exactly what John should do.

John could feel a kind of pressure on the back of his neck in the same place that lit up whenever Sherlock ordered him around. "I…" John knew he should say no, but the words wouldn't leave his mouth.

Suddenly, a vicious growl vibrated through the air and the man was pushed away from John. A strong arm was holding him pressed up against his mate, back to front. Sherlock continued to growl at the stranger who looked startled for a moment before his face melted back into a menacing smile. "My apologies," he said quickly. "I had thought he was free for the taking. You weren't paying him much attention after all," the man said holding up his hands in mock surrender.

Sherlock's growling ceased as he spoke. "He's not available."

"Of course, of course!" the man nodded and moved away at a quick walk, but not before casting a last gaze at John that had the man not known better he would have called it lecherous.

A shiver worked its way through John as the man left and Sherlock continued to hold him tightly. A cold nose pressed against his skin where the bonding bite was followed by a warm wet tongue. Another shiver rose in John, but for a different reason. "Time to go home, John," Sherlock said in a tone that begged no argument. He didn't use the compelling tone that would have forced John to obey, but John still knew not to argue with his mate.

He waited till they got back to Baker street and Sherlock had hung his coat up before asking what had been on his mind since the park. "What was that about?"

Sherlock, uncharacteristically tactile at the moment, helped John with getting his jacket off before leading him to the sofa where he pushed John down to sit on the plush leather. Sherlock settled down next to him, pressed up against his side. "He was trying to compel you to follow him."

"Compel?" John asked trying to scoot away from Sherlock a bit, but it only resulted in the consulting detective stretching out across John's lap possessively.

"Yes, that's what it's called when I give you a direct order that you have to follow."

"So he was a werewolf?" Sherlock nodded and John absently rested a hand on the man's shoulder. "Others can compel me even though I'm bonded to you?"

Sherlock nodded again. "Your scent is mixed with mine, but some ignore that, liking a challenge." At this, the werewolf tightened his hold around John's middle, pressing his face into the man's stomach.

John grunted a little at the tight hold, but didn't voice a complaint. "Is this it then? Will he try again?" he asked after a minute.

Sherlock looked up at his mate, a possessive look in his eyes and his mouth in a hard line. "If he knows what's best for him he won't."

"Does this sort of thing happen often?" John asked, ignoring the short growl from his mate.

"No, but it's not completely unheard of."

"What usually happens?"

"Usually the other wolf is scared off by the current mate, but in some instances the two Doms fight to the death during a full moon for possession of the sub."

John was quiet for a moment. As much as he didn't like being owned or possessed by Sherlock, he would choose the consulting detective over the stranger in the park any day. While Sherlock was cold and calculating at times, at least he cared. The stranger just looked cruel. He looked like the sort who would put a collar on his sub and force him to do his bidding.

The former military doctor shivered at the thought of being owned by the stranger causing Sherlock to tighten his grip once more. "I won't let him anywhere near you, John."

Author's Note: Oooh! It get's interesting! lol... I'm sure you guys can guess who the stranger was, and if not you'll find out in the next couple of chapters! Thanks for reading!