Panthera Pardus

Chapter 2: Lovely to meet you… again.

6:48pm

Twelve minutes… twelve minutes till either hell came crashing down around him or he was lifted on to a higher plane. Twelve minutes till John arrived… or didn't arrive. Sherlock dug his fingers into his thick hair. Twelve minutes was too long! Sherlock hadn't even figured out how to approach John about the subject that they were bonded mates. Well… semi-bonded… They would have to complete the bonding in order to be fully bonded. There was still a huge chance this would not work and then Sherlock would be left with nothing. Less than nothing…

6:57pm

Three more minutes… Sherlock paced the floor, hoping and wishing and praying to every deity that he had heard of. And then he heard it. A sharp triple knock on the door. John… Sherlock nearly vaulted the entire staircase in his hurry to get to the door. He whipped open the door just in time to see John's raised hand as he was about to knock again. "You came," Sherlock whispered.

"Excuse me?" John asked.

"Nothing," Sherlock said a little louder. "Come in, then."

Sherlock turned to find his landlady, Mrs. Hudson, standing in the hall. Hmm… the purple dress with matching kitten heels. Another date with Alfie tonight. "Mrs. Hudson," he addressed her. "This is John Watson, John, my landlady Mrs. Hudson."

"How do you do?" he asked, raising a hand to shake with.

Mrs. Hudson completed the shake and smiled. "Lovely to meet you, dear. Sherlock told me someone might be stopping by to see the place."

"Did he?"

"Well, come on then," Sherlock said eager to get John up the stairs. To his dismay, Mrs. Hudson followed. On second thought… it was probably a good thing. Mrs. Hudson would enforce him to reign in his self-control.

The three trooped up the stairs, John's cane thumping on every other step. Once at the top, Sherlock stepped aside to allow John in past him. He leaned forward slightly as John passed, his jacket sleeve brushing Sherlock's chest. Sherlock suppressed a shudder. He wasn't certain how long he could restrain himself. Heat was working its way through him, concentrating in his groin, urging him to complete the bonding.

"This is nice," John murmured. "Yes, it could be very nice," he said with more conviction.

"Exactly what I thought," Sherlock replied, trying not to stare at John.

"There's a second bedroom upstairs, if you'll be needin' two," Mrs. Hudson piped in.

"Of course we'll be needing two," John replied turning to look at Mrs. Hudson.

"Well we get all sorts around here," she waved a hand nonchalantly then whispered, "Mrs. Turner next door has got married ones!"

The look on John's face made Sherlock's heart sink a bit. This was going to be work. It looked like John was as straight as a board. Of course, the bond would make him a little more amiable towards a relationship with Sherlock, but everything was still up in the air until they completed the bond. At the moment, John was merely marked.

"Well I think this'll do nicely," John said, turning back to look around once more.

"You'll take it then?" Sherlock asked, needing the confirmation.

"Yes, I think so," John smiled at him and Sherlock swore his heart stopped.

"Excellent," Mrs. Hudson grinned. "Welcome to 221b, John!"

"Sherlock," a new voice from the door said.

Sherlock turned to see Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade in the doorway of 221b. "What is it this time?"

"Lauriston Gardens, Brixton. Murder, behind a locked door," he replied simply. "Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics?"

"Anderson."

"I can't work with Anderson," Sherlock grumbled.

"Well he won't be your assistant," Lestrade pointed out.

"But I need an assistant!"

"Will you come?" Lestrade almost pleaded.

"Fine, but not in the car. I'll be right behind you."

"Thank you," Lestrade said before leaving.

Sherlock waited a whole thirty seconds before jumping into the air. "Yes! Oh it's like Christmas."

John stared at his new flatmate with concern. "Well off you go then, dear," Mrs. Hudson said. "And try not to look so happy, it isn't descent."

Sherlock grinned anyway, pulling his coat and scarf on. "Won't be back till late, might need some food. John, make yourself at home," he said quickly. The urge to mate had been blown out the window. Well… the fire was still there, but the excuse to get away so he didn't tackle John to the floor was too good and he needed to take it immediately.

He was halfway down the stairs when he realized something. John… John would probably not appreciate being left behind, and if Sherlock wanted to continue encouraging John to be his mate… well, Sherlock was going to have to make some changes. He slowly came back into the flat to see John sitting where he'd left him. "You're a doctor," he said.

John looked back to see Sherlock and stood, bracing himself on the cane. "Yes," he replied.

"Any good?"

"Very good," he said with a straight face. Now who was posturing?

"Seen quite a bit then. Lots of brutal injuries."

"Yes. Far too much. Enough for a life-time."

"Want to see some more?" Sherlock grinned. If he was reading John right, and he knew he was, then…

"Oh god, yes," John sighed in relief and zipped his jacket.

Excellent!

The cab ride was quite, until Sherlock grinned and said, "You have questions."

From there he explained the deductions he'd made at St. Bart's, cautious to not put John off, but all the same worried because no one had ever liked having their lives examined that closely. However when he was done and silence filled the car and Sherlock waited for the axe to fall, John surprised him. "That… was… excellent."

"What?"

"Extraordinary. Quite extraordinary," John murmured.

"That's not what people usually say," Sherlock commented.

"What do they usually say?"

"Piss off." John grinned and a chuckle left his lips. Sherlock grinned as well because he had been the one to do that, make John laugh.

They arrived at the crime scene shortly thereafter. The house wasn't very large, but it had several stories, all of which where run down and dilapidated. It looked like the house hadn't been used for several years except by squatters. Sally Donovan intercepted them as they made their way towards the run down building. "Where do you think you're going?" she asked.

"I'm here to see Inspector Lestrade."

"Why?"

"Because I was asked."

"Why?"

Sherlock glared at the woman. "Because, as always, you're out of your depth."

He ducked under the police tape and held it up for John, but Sally interfered once more. "Whoa! Who's this?"

"John Watson, my colleague."

John gave him a surprised look, but smiled a bit at the title.

"Colleague?" Sally laughed. "How did you get a colleague? Did he follow you home?"

John remained silent, and gave Sally a raised eyebrow. She laughed again then held her radio up and spoke into it. "Bringing the Freak up."

Sherlock grumbled under his breath. This was not how he wanted John to see him. They both remained silent until they reached the house. Sherlock completely ignored Anderson who had stopped to speak to him. Instead he rushed inside, conscious of John limping along behind him. That had to go. Mission number one would be to cure John of that psychosomatic limp. "Come on then, put this on," Sherlock handed John a blue jumpsuit used for the forensics team.

John took the proffered suit and began struggling to get in it. "Aren't you going to wear one?"

Sherlock raised a skeptical eyebrow, but didn't reply. A couple of minutes later, he, John, and Lestrade were gathered around the body. "What do you see, Doctor Watson," Sherlock asked, letting John have free reign.

John moved forward, his booted feet thumping in time with his cane, and crouched beside the dead woman. He gently picked up her hand, turning it slightly, before putting it back down. His gloved fingertips ran along blue tinged lips, and Sherlock felt a stirring of jealousy. Oh for crying out loud! Over a corpse? Apparently so… Sherlock scowled at himself. John stood then. "Dead by asphyxiation from strangulation." He pointed to the bruising around her throat. "Has been dead for approximately ten to fifteen hours."

"Good, completely missing all of the important things, but good," Sherlock said cheerfully before crouching down beside John who was frowning at him. What did I do now? Sherlock ignored him in favor of pointing out his deductions. "Clothing, hair, and skin condition indicate that she's not very well off and is in fact one of the homeless squatters who occasionally resides here. She's originally from a middle class family in Oxford as is evident by her facial structure (quite common to old families from that area), but was cut off from the family money when she started doing drugs," he pointed out the needle marks in the cook of her elbow. "Worked for a bit as a barista, as is evident from her shoes, but couldn't maintain it without a reliable way to get to work nor a shower to keep clean. Has only been squatting in this particular building for the past two months, but prior to that she roamed the alleyways and pick pocketed in the London Underground."

"So what happened to her then?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock gave the Inspector a glance before continuing. "She got her hands on something valuable. Something she'd pickpocketed."

"So some other squatter killed her for it?" Lestrade remarked crossing his arms over his chest.

"Wrong," Sherlock replied. "These fingerprints around her neck are strong. Much too strong for someone who lives from day to day mostly on the scraps of others. This was done by someone who wanted his possession back. Your killer is a thug who someone hired to get their valuables returned by any means, which means the item is probably stolen and worth quite a hefty sum." Sherlock visited his mind palace then. He walked through the corridors, visiting things he'd read and heard about being stolen until finally he came across the most likely suspect. "The item is most likely the Inferno Necklace of Kabul."

"The what?" Lestrade asked, a blank expression on his face.

"I've heard of that," John said. Sherlock grinned, he suspected John might know of the rare item. "It's a necklace with a 20 karat D grade diamond pendant and several karats worth of accent rubies. It's rumored to be cursed."

"Rumors, John," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "The necklace is worth upwards of 60 million pounds, and was stolen two months ago."

"Were there any suspects in the investigation?" John asked.

Sherlock grinned. It seemed that John was quite good at running perhaps not on the same track as Sherlock's mind, but definitely parallel. "A few, but nothing definite was ever pinned on them."

"So we need to look into who the suspects were, and see if any of them have been in the country recently," John said smiling.

"Exactly!" Sherlock's grin grew larger. "And that would be your job then, Lestrade. My work is done here." Sherlock brushed some dirt from his shoulder as he rose to his full height. "Come along then, John."

With that, Sherlock exited the building, John on his trail, limping behind him. They were headed toward the main street to catch a cab, when Sherlock heard a bit of a commotion behind him. He turned to see that a man had run smack into John, and that his mate had fallen to the ground. "John," he breathed as he rushed back and crouched beside the fallen doctor. "Are you alright?"

"Of course I am, Sherlock," John grumbled. "Just some bloke who wasn't watching where he was going."

"Seems he didn't stick around either," Sherlock commented looking down the street to see the man had disappeared. "Come on then, walking beside me from now on," he smirked and pulled the doctor up.

John brushed himself off and frowned. "I think that man just stole my wallet," he said. "Son of a…"

This was better than Sherlock could have hoped. A chance to get rid of John's psychosomatic limp! "Come on then, John! We can still catch him!" Sherlock tugged at John's sleeve and started running after the man.

"Sherlock!" John called out from behind, but Sherlock kept running. If John was to forget about his limp, he would have to get caught up in the chase, and Sherlock couldn't wait for him.

Sherlock whipped around the corner in time to see the man getting into a cab down the street. He rushed forward and reached the taxi just as it was pulling away from the curb. "Great, now we'll never catch him," John said as he caught up.

"Wrong," Sherlock disagreed and watched to see where the taxi turned. Left… which meant that between the one ways and construction zones, he was headed to one of four places and they just might have a chance of catching him. "Come on, John!" Sherlock pulled John forward and started running down the alleyway. He glanced back to see that John was indeed keeping up. His cane held in his left hand was useless as he pounded down the pavement to keep up with Sherlock. Sherlock grinned and kept going, turning this way and that and occasionally jumping over trash bins that had fallen over.

At one point, they reached a stop light and Sherlock could see the cab idling, waiting for the green light and had just about caught up to it, his hand nearly touching the trunk when the light turned and the cab took off. "Damnit!" John cursed.

"This way!" Sherlock cried out not stopping.

He could hear John behind him, skidding on the pavement as he struggled to keep up. Sherlock wove between the people walking and ducked into an apartment building where he raced up the stairs to the roof exit, John following close behind. He threw open the door and ran out on the roof of the building, not slowing down as he got close to the edge, picking up speed and jumping the gap between one building and the next. "Sherlock!" John called out.

Sherlock paused for a moment to see John standing on the edge of the building. "Come on, John! He's getting away!" He made to keep running, but listened to see if John made the jump. Five seconds later, he heard the thump of two feet landing on the gravel and he smiled as he ran towards the fire escape.

Several turns and one jumped fence later, they caught up with the cab again as it pulled over to the side of the road. Sherlock ripped open the door before the passenger could and dug in his pocket for the badge he'd stolen off Lestrade ages ago. "Scotland Yard," he breathed out heavily. "Give back the wallet you just stole and we'll forget this incident."

The man in the cab stared at Sherlock with a shocked face. "How…"

"Give back the wallet, sir."

The man hurried to pull the wallet out of his back pocket and threw it at Sherlock. "Sorry! I'm sorry! I won't do it again!"

Sherlock surveyed the man quickly. Middle-aged blue-collar worker, has a wife and three kids, two small dogs, lives in Chiswick, recently had a bad bit of luck with money and thought he could pickpocket to make up the difference. "We'll forget about it this time, sir," Sherlock assured. "But don't think we won't persecute next time."

The man nodded enthusiastically and stumbled out of the cab, running away from the tall dark haired sleuth and his doctor assistant. John, still breathing hard from their run laughed as the man ran away. Actually, Sherlock would describe the sound as more of a giggle, and it made Sherlock smile as well. "Where the bloody hell did you get that?" John asked pointing at the badge.

"Lestrade volunteered it," he grinned.

"By 'volunteered' do you mean he didn't say no when you stole it from him?"

"Possibly…"
John laughed harder and took his wallet back from Sherlock, checking inside to make sure everything was still there. He shook his head disbelievingly before stuffing the wallet back in his pocket and straightening up. "Shall we go home?" he asked.

Sherlock grinned even wider. "Absolutely." John had just called 221b home. This was working out even better than Sherlock had hoped. Now if only he could figure out a way to tell John about the bond.

oxoxoxo

It was a few weeks later when John was walking down the street on his way to Tesco to pick up a few essentials like tea, bread, and jam. He no longer needed his cane, hadn't used it in fact since that first night with Sherlock. John grinned at that thought. Who would've thought that meeting a nutter like Sherlock could cure John of his psychosomatic limp? Either way, John was glad he'd met Sherlock. Since that night, his life had completely turned around. He felt like he had a purpose again, a reason to live. Sherlock was manic, psychotic, got into feuds with the telly, didn't eat for long periods of time, left things lying about like acid and human remains, never bothered to do the dishes, and took advantage of Mrs. Hudson who kept claiming she wasn't their housekeeper, but proved time and again that she cared for them by cleaning up a little. And despite all of this, John couldn't imagine living without Sherlock. It had only been just around a month, and already Sherlock was an integral part of John's life.

Of course, he was pretty sure he'd become an integral part of Sherlock's life too. He cleaned up after the man, made sure he ate enough, made his tea, let him use his laptop when his was on the other side of the room, served as a pillow frequently, was a sounding board for ideas, or more often a friendly face to rant to about how stupid the lot of humanity was. John really could not imagine what kinds of things Sherlock used to get up to before he was around. There had been more times than he could count where Sherlock checked himself at a crime scene because of the 'not good' glare John gave him.

John had noticed some changes in Sherlock since they'd first met though. The tall lean detective had been touching him more. Nothing overt, just casual gestures such as a brief touch to John's elbow when turning John in the right direction, a hand on John's shoulder when giving praise or excited as though he needed grounding, a gentle nudge to the small of John's back when Sherlock needed him to move. Things like that. Then there was the fact that Sherlock slept more often when John was in the room. For example, when John worked all day at the surgery (he'd been picking up extra work at the local hospital to contribute something to the rent), Sherlock would pace and become agitated. He'd fall into boredom spells that would result in his shooting the wall or dripping acid onto John's sweaters just to see the reaction. However when John spent all day at 221b, Sherlock would sleep, peacefully and without dreams. John had wondered why this was. Perhaps Sherlock had formed a bond of trust with John that allowed the man to settle down enough, when John was present, to actually fall asleep?

Of course, John never pretended to know what went on in that brilliant head of Sherlock's. He'd often wonder, but would always come to the same conclusion that it would most likely be too much for him. Where most humans wandered around the Earth in their small circles (work, family, home, lovers), Sherlock strode the Earth with a yearning for more. He needed knowledge, puzzles, and activity. His mind did not appear to have an off switch, even when he was first waking up, as John had witnessed one time. Sherlock had fallen asleep on the sofa for a solid two hours after talking about the decomposition of a human finger that he'd been experimenting on. Not thirty seconds after waking up, Sherlock was on the same train of thought and rambling on about some question he hadn't been able to answer before, but had now figured out. It was really quite wonderful to watch, Sherlock's mind.

It was about this time during his walk that John noticed a sleek black car following him. It had tinted windows and subtle chrome highlighting. It looked expensive. He stopped, experimentally to see if the car would keep going. It did not. He continued walking and the car moved with him.

Huffing in exasperation, John took the initiative and strode over to the car, rapping on the window once it had stopped. Instead of the tinted window rolling down, the back door popped open. "Get in," a feminine voice inside commanded.

John hesitantly bent to peer in the open door. "Excuse me?"

"Get in… please?" the girl said. For she was a girl… no older than twenty-five perhaps.

John didn't believe her sincerity when she said please… nope, not for an instant. "And just why should I?"

"Because my employer wishes to have a word with you, and because you don't really have a choice," she said barely looking up from the Blackberry in her hands.

At this, John noticed the car's burly driver had exited the car and was standing unobtrusively behind John. He had a feeling that the driver was not as unobtrusive as he seemed. Scowling, he climbed in the backseat and sat on the fine leather upholstery. The driver strode around the car and got behind the wheel, pulling out into traffic and moving smoothly through the streets. "Where are you taking me?" John asked.

The girl didn't answer.

"Who are you?"

"Anthea… today," she replied, still not looking up from whatever she was typing.

"Today?"

"Today felt like an Anthea day," she shrugged.

John sat back against the seat befuddled. "Who is your employer?"

"You'll find out, soon enough," she replied. Any further enquiries John voiced were met with silence, so he settled back in the car to wait.

The wait wasn't very long, perhaps another twenty minutes and the car had come to a halt in the middle of a deserted parking garage. "Go on then," Anthea said waving absently at the door.

John slowly opened the door, and got out. The dim lighting and damp concrete were everything one would expect for this sort of thing… whatever it may be (John still wasn't sure). Before him stood a tall balding man with a slender nose and somewhat beady eyes. He was wearing a well fitting three-piece suite and carried a black umbrella with a metal tip. The man smiled at John, his eyes calculating and observant, just like Sherlock's. "Good afternoon, Doctor Watson," the man said.

"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met before," John replied becoming slightly annoyed.

"Well, not properly anyway."

"I think I'd remember meeting you," John grumbled.

"Yes, you would think."

"What do you want? Why have you brought me here? To tell me riddles and flaunt your supposed superiority over me?"

The man raised a single eyebrow. "Neither, actually. I've brought you here to enquire as to what your connection is with one, Sherlock Holmes."

Why did this man want to know about Sherlock? "We're flatmates."

"I see. Only met a little more than a month ago and already flatmates. Will there be an announcement soon?" John scowled at the man. Who was he to presume? "I have a proposition for you, Doctor Watson. I would like you to tell me about Sherlock… his daily goings on and such."

"Why?"

The man let a pause play out for a half a minute before replying, "I worry about him… constantly." Another pause, then, "I promise you'll be compensated."

"No," John replied with certainty.

"But you haven't even heard how much I'm willing to offer you in return."

"No."

The man smiled again. It most definitely was not a real smile. More like the type of thing you'd see on a shark. "My, my… aren't we loyal. And just what has he done to deserve your loyalty?"

"Well for one thing, he hasn't had me kidnapped and taken me to some remote deserted parking garage."

The man laughed at that. "Yes, I can see why he likes you. Though, he hasn't told you of his past, has he?"

"His past is his own concern," John replied, failing to see where this was going.

"Hmm… not when yours and his past converge… if only briefly."

"What are you talking about? I've never met Sherlock before a month or so ago."

He smiled that shark smile again. "He hasn't completed the bonding. I would have thought that would be the first thing he'd do. He was ever so eager that day." John gave the man a glare. He didn't like the way this man was speaking to him and was starting to get a headache from not understanding what the hell he was going on about.

"I would say it's his own prerogative usually, but this concerns more than just him," the man continued.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" John growled.

Once again, the man let a pregnant pause fill the air before continuing. "I'm sure you'll recall during your service in Afghanistan a particularly hot day when you survived an encounter with not one, but two black panthers?"

John gaped. That had certainly not been what he'd been expecting. How did this man know about that?

"Yes," the man drawled. "The first panther bit you, did he not?" John nodded mutely. "May I?"

John continued to be silent, and the man walked forward and around behind John. He gently pulled the collar of John's jacket down, and John stiffened reflexively. The man didn't touch him at all, only looked at the scars that had been left by the panther. "Went quite deep, but no lasting harm was done," he commented before letting go of John's jacket and walking back to his previous spot in front of John.

"How do you…?"

"How do I know of this event?" he interrupted. He smiled again… that shark smile that made John think he did this quite often. "I was there, Doctor Watson."

"No… no one was there."

"You are incorrect. There were two black panthers there, were there not?"

John nodded.

The man was silent for a minute, simply allowing John to think, of which he couldn't seem to do as his mind seemed only able to spin in circles. "I'm going to show you something, Doctor Watson. I'm not doing this to frighten you, only to inform you, because it is obvious Sherlock wouldn't anytime soon if it were left up to him, and this matter needs to be dealt with."

John nodded minutely, not even realizing he was holding his breath.

"I'd ask you not to run please," the man said before laying down his umbrella and loosening his tie.

John stared as the man efficiently and unselfconsciously took off his clothing. Once everything was off, even the man's socks, he stood still. John was about to ask what the man thought he was doing when he noticed black hair growing on all over his body. No… it was more like fur. Not only that, but his body was changing as well. His face elongated into a muzzle, his ears traveled up the side of his head to perch on top and became more rounded. His knees inverted which caused him to fall forward onto his hands, which were now massive paws with sharp claws. Finally, a tail grew out of the end of his spinal cord and the transformation was complete.

Before John, where once had stood an average if slightly overweight man, now stood a sleek black panther. John felt as though his mind was short-circuiting. This particular black panther looked an awful lot like the second black panther from that day in the Afghani desert. John, his mind still puttering and gasping, took a hesitant step forward, and then another. He moved until he was standing right before the black panther, and reached out a slightly shaking hand to gently touch the beast. Its fur was course under his hand, but he did not get the chance to explore further as the cat growled and John backed up a few steps. Then, just as he had changed from man to beast, the beast turned back into a man. John wasn't perturbed by his nakedness at all. His mind was elsewhere, trying to restart still. "What are you?" he finally managed to whisper.

"I would suggest you ask your new flatmate, Doctor Watson. And while you're at it, ask him about those bite marks on the back of your neck as well."

John's hand flew up to finger the scars at the back of his neck, feeling them anew as though this were the first he'd learned of them. "Sherlock…" he whispered.

A/N:

Sorry for the almost verbatim from the first episode. I promise that it's going to get more original as we move forward now. Also, THANK YOU for all of the kind reviews for the first chapter! I'm glad so many people are liking this! Hopefully I continue to live up to your expectations.