Panthera Pardus

Chapter 9: Indian Imports

When John had finally gotten home the previous night and told Sherlock of what had happened, it had started something John had never would have thought. During the telling of John's story, Sherlock had grown steadily more tense, his spine straightening, his fists clenching, his jaw tensing. And when he reached the end, Sherlock marched over to John who was sitting on the couch and kissed him roughly, his hands roaming over John's torso and under his shirt. John had been stunned by the reaction, but had soon started participating in the kiss. It was more teeth and biting than anything else, but John found he really didn't care. That was until Sherlock pulled away and John made a small noise of loss. "Mine," the brunet growled.

That had been when Sherlock had shape shifted into a panther and pinned John to the couch. He'd lain on John all night long, scent marking him. Eventually, John had fallen asleep. However now it was morning, and John was still pinned under a possessive panther. "Sherlock," John tried to reason with the creature. "I'm just fine, alright? I promise I won't leave the flat if you just let me up."

Sherlock didn't move a muscle, except to flex his claws. John rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath. "Look, I have to piss, alright?" he finally grumbled.

The panther eyed him for a moment before rising from his perch. "Thank you," John said as he rose and headed for the bathroom. Sherlock followed him the entire way, and sat outside the door while John used the facilities.

"Really?" John remarked when he opened the door after taking a shower and shaving. "I wasn't going to get kidnapped from the loo, Sherlock," the blond admonished as he stepped over the panther lying in front of the door.

He proceeded to go up stairs to get a change of clothes, the panther followed, this time he scooted inside the door before John could close it. "Come off it, Sherlock! Nothing is going to happen to me while I'm in the flat!"

The panther didn't give any sign of acknowledgement and continued to sit stoically beside the door. John let out a huff and went about getting dressed. He felt a bit self-conscious about getting dressed in front of the shapeshifter, but pushed it back. Once he'd finished, he went down to the kitchen and made himself some breakfast, a couple of eggs, some toast, and a rasher of bacon (he'd gone shopping just the other day). He even offered some to Sherlock, but the panther refused. John thought for a moment before offering him a slice of raw bacon. Sherlock gave him a look that even though he was a panther, John could read as 'Really, John?'. He blushed and put the slice in the frying pan with the others.

The day continued to be quiet, and Sherlock remained in his panther form, never leaving John's side. Eventually, John gave up trying to convince Sherlock that nothing was going to happen, and actually started to enjoy the benefits of having a large furry animal around. Benefits such as having a foot warmer while he typed at his blog. It was sometime in the early afternoon when Mrs. Hudson's familiar voice was heard downstairs. "You hoo! Boys! Are you up there?"

Another more masculine voice was heard then, but John wasn't sure what he said. A moment later, Mycroft Holmes stood in the doorway of 221b. He took in the scene of John sitting on the sofa, his laptop perched on his thighs, and Sherlock, still in panther form, laying on John's feet. A single raised eyebrow was all they received. "John," he said, coming further into the flat.

Sherlock growled a bit and tensed. "Really brother, I have no interest in your mate."

"Oh, we're not…"

"You may as well be," Mycroft interrupted as he sat down in Sherlock's chair. "He's certainly acting the part. I suspect that living together has strengthened the bond enough that it is nearly the same as a complete one, without the added benefits of course."

"Benefits?" John asked closing his laptop.

At this, Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You have told him nothing in these past months, Sherlock?"

The panther at John's feet growled, but didn't get up. Mycroft let out a put-upon sigh and brushed off some imaginary dust from his sleeve. "The benefits of a complete bond include picking up some of the abilities of the your mate. For example, heightened hearing, or smell, or eyesight. Any, all, or none of these could happen. It's all very much up to the individual relationship. Despite studies done on the subject, it is still unclear what causes certain relationships to have these benefits and others none."

John nudged Sherlock with his foot. "You could've told me," he accused.

"Would it have sped up your desire to complete the bond?" Mycroft asked.

John thought about it for a second. "Probably not," he admitted.

"And that is most likely why my brother did not tell you."

John raised an eyebrow. At that moment, Mrs. Hudson bustled into the flat, a tea tray balanced in her hands. "Here we go then," she said. "Just this once though. I'm not your housekeeper. Just made those biscuits though and thought you might like some."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," John smiled at the motherly woman.

"Oh Sherlock!" she exclaimed as she caught sight of the panther. "Having a bit of a strop is he?"

John chuckled. "You could say that."

"Well you just let me know if there's anything I can do to help out," she said giving Sherlock one last look before returning to 221a.

John helped himself to a biscuit and a cup of tea then. Might as well, he thought. "So why are you here, Mycroft?" he finally asked.

"I heard about your incident last night and came to confirm a few things with Sherlock. However it appears that he's become incapable of speech at the moment, so I will ask you." John nodded as he took a bite of the lemon biscuit and nearly moaned. He could see why Mrs. Hudson's baked goods were sometimes the only thing Sherlock would consent to eat while on a case. "I believe Sherlock identified the hair found on Captain William Murray as that of a black leopard?" The elder Holmes reached forward to pour himself a cup of tea and if he gave the biscuits a regretful look, John missed it.

"Panther," John corrected.

"A black panther and a black leopard are the same thing, John. In fact, if you look carefully at Sherlock's coat you can see the outline of spots," he indicated the cat at John's feet.

The doctor bent forward and squinted. Sure enough, he could see the faint outline of spots, black on black. "Panther is a generic term used to describe leopards, cougars, and jaguars. Our particular species is a black leopard," Mycroft explained.

John wondered why it was that he learned all pertinent information about shapeshifters from Mycroft. He stroked a hand down Sherlock's back in fascination. "Amazing," he whispered.

"Yes, quite," Mycroft sounded amused. "Back to the topic at hand." He leaned forward slightly as he gave John a quick perusal. "What exactly did you see last night, John?"

"What? No CCTV down that street?" John joked.

"No," Mycroft's face was completely serious.

John's smile faded and he shifted uncomfortably. Down at his feet, Sherlock grumbled and moved so that he was lying on the sofa, his head in John's lap. The laptop was shoved aside. John gave Sherlock a tolerant look. Mycroft gave them both a slightly nauseated look. John stroked Sherlock's head, running his fingers through the course fur. "I left the bar around midnight," John started continuing to stroke Sherlock. "I was… a bit tipsy to put it succinctly. I didn't really notice anything until about a block away when I felt like someone was watching me, but I didn't see anyone when I looked around. The feeling continued and when I was passing the park, I saw a pair of golden eyes looking out from the bushes. I ran. I don't even know if I was chased, but I ran anyway."

"Yes, I saw you jump in the cab," Mycroft seemed to be studying John. "Unfortunately, the street the bar is on doesn't have any cameras. Something I'll be rectifying soon." He seemed to add the last as an afterthought. "I believe that's all then," he stood adjusting his waistcoat as he did so.

"Leaving already?" John wasn't actually sorry to see Mycroft go, but he felt he should offer the gesture, even if the elder Holmes would see through it.

"Indeed," he buttoned his overcoat. "Oh and Sherlock, I'd recommend getting over your possessive nature soon. The case won't solve it's self."

Sherlock growled and flexed his claws. John jumped a bit as the claws came close to breaking through his trousers. "Sherlock…" he grumbled. He attempted to get up to see Mycroft out, but Sherlock growled again and refused to move.

"Please, don't get up, Doctor Watson. I can see myself out," Mycroft smirked. With that, he retrieved his umbrella from near the coat rack and walked out.

John waited till he heard the door close downstairs before pushing at Sherlock. The leopard grumbled and moved even further onto John's lap. "Come off it, Sherlock!"

However John halted the rest of his admonishment as Sherlock shifted right there on John's lap. Soon he had a lap full of brooding brunet and suddenly the tension in the room skyrocketed. Sherlock turned so he was straddling John. "The place reeks of him now," Sherlock commented, wrinkling his nose.

"Nice to see you again," John grumbled.

"It is, isn't it?" Sherlock smirked. "Because I can't really do this," he kissed John chastely. "When I'm a panther, can I?"

"No, you can't," John replied then promptly pulled Sherlock back down for a proper kiss. One hand held Sherlock's head in place while the other roamed his back. It was about then that John realized Sherlock was nude. "Um, Sherlock?" he muttered as he pulled away.

The detective moaned slightly at the loss of John's warm lips against his own. "It's quite rude to interrupt a good snog with pointless observations, John," Sherlock grumbled.

"You're naked, Sherlock."

"Yes, I had noticed."

"And you don't think some pants would be good?"

"Do you think pants would be good?" John flushed a brilliant red at that. Sherlock smirked and scooted closer so they were flush against each other. "John? I think you're wearing entirely too much clothing." His long dexterous fingers brushed up John's chest, dragging against the doctor's nipples through his shirt.

"Sherlock," John whimpered.

"You want me to help you with that?" Sherlock tugged at John's sweater, then began attacking the buttons on his button-up.

The shirt was soon tugged off and thrown across the room. Sherlock then began attacking John's belt. The blond groaned as fingers brushed against his erection. Every inch of him was begging for more, but a small logical side of him was still there and persistent. "Wait, Sherlock," John managed to groan. "I'm not ready to complete the bond yet."

"I know, John," Sherlock whispered, his voice a dark sensuous sensation. "However the bond is only completed with penetrative intercourse." He licked a stripe up the side of John's neck and nibbled at his earlobe.

John leaned his head away to give Sherlock more access. The detective continued to explore the exposed skin with both teeth and tongue. Once he'd mapped out the entirety of the left side of John's neck, he chose a spot halfway up and bit down, sucking at the flesh hard. John cried out and thrust his hips up at Sherlock. The younger man pulled back, a pleased look on his face as he examined the already purpling mark. John's hands traveled down to undo his own belt and unzip his fly. Sherlock pushed his hands away then and cupped the hard warm flesh still trapped behind John's pants. A low groan filled the air as the shapeshifter squeezed.

Suddenly, John's cock was being exposed to cold air, but warm fingers wrapped around it just as quickly, trapping his and Sherlock's lengths together. The older man thrust upwards causing them both to hiss in pleasure. The detective's fingers tightened and began to move up and down in a steady rhythm, using both of their pre-cum as a lubricant. "Oh god, Sherlock!" John cried out as his hips jerked and thrust. "Don't stop!"

Sherlock's reply was to bend forward and mash his lips against John's. His tongue thrust forward into the doctor's mouth, tangoing with his own. His hand continued to move, though now it was losing its rhythm and jerking erratically. He thrust against John, at the same time he bit at the doctor's lower lip causing John to moan low and needy. Their hips both thrust now, their entire bodies shook with exertion and the need to tip over edge. Sherlock squeezed again and John let out a choked yell as he spilled his seed all over Sherlock's hand and up both their chests. Sherlock followed shortly after and slumped against the doctor.

They lay against each other, catching their breath. John was completely boneless and closed his eyes for a moment. Sherlock was boneless as well, draped over John in a way that made John feel warm and secure. However the moment didn't last long as he felt the younger man stiffen and suddenly jump off of him. "I've got it John!" he cried as he raced toward the bookshelf.

He pulled out an old tomb that was written in a flowing script that John recognized as Hindi. He'd spent some time in India while in the army when training. "What is it, Sherlock?" he asked curious now.

"The beetle John!" Sherlock suddenly spun the book around after flipping through half of it, showing John a picture of the exact beetle they'd found at the warehouse with the first of the bodies. "It's a Khapra beetle native to India, eats dried plant and animal matter including dried blood, and is on the Department of Agriculture's list of 100 most invasive species! I knew I'd seen it somewhere!"

John grinned as he tucked himself back into his pants. "So what does that mean?"

"All ships coming in from India are subject to search and quarantine. With this information we can find the place where the surgeries took place and perhaps more clues about Moriarty!" Sherlock began to run towards the door, but John's firm hand reached out to stop him. "What, John?" he asked exasperatedly.

"Sherlock, you're still naked and we both need a bit of cleaning up."

The detective glanced down and let out a low huff, agreeing with his flatmate. He then pulled John to his feet and steered him into the bathroom. "What are you doing?" John asked, his voice a little above normal.

"We both need a shower, but this information needs to be shared as soon as possible. Therefore, we shower together," Sherlock explained as he turned on the taps to let the water warm, then reached in John's pocket to fish out his cell phone. "Hey!" the doctor protested, but Sherlock ignored him and quickly sent out a message to Lestrade before continuing to strip John and pull him into the shower. It was very difficult to not ravish John in the shower, but Sherlock managed to keep his hands to himself. However the heated looks between the two men all but ensured another round of what happened on the sofa would happen again soon.

It wasn't long before Sherlock and John were getting out of a cab in a warehouse district east of Canary Wharf. The Khapra beetle had led them to a particular warehouse where cargo was held quarantine. Lestrade and his team would be arriving shortly. However Sherlock refused to wait. Instead, he and John inched along through the maze of warehouses, John's browning held at the ready. "That one," Sherlock said quietly as he pointed to a warehouse ahead of them.

John nodded and they quietly approached the drab warehouse and slipped inside. There were boxes of cargo labeled in both Hindi and English piled to the ceiling in places and large plastic sheets hung from the ceiling to mark off different ship's cargo. The two men quietly navigated the warehouse, peeking into the different sections. It wasn't until about three quarters of the way through that the found what they were looking for. Behind another section of plastic sheeting, were three gurney tables with three bodies laying on them. IV carts stood next to them along with blood transfusion bags. John could tell instantly from the smell that at least two of the bodies were dead. However as he approached the third, he was startled to see glassy eyes peer back at him. "This one's still alive! Sherlock, we need an ambulence!"

Sherlock nodded and lifted his phone to his ear. John heard him muttering into the mobile, but his attention was riveted to the man laying on the gurney before him. He was trying to assess the damage. It appeared, judging by the stitching, that only a kidney and perhaps a piece of liver had been extracted. Which meant that this man could live. However the wound that had been created to take out organs was still open and needed to be closed. Without thinking, John reached for the nitrile gloves and pulled them on. "Hang on, I'm gonna fix you up," he tried to reassure the man.

John proceeded to thread a needle and bent to get to work stitching the open wound back up. A soft grunt accompanied his first stitch and John's face blanched. They'd been operating without any anesthesia or painkillers. John gritted his teeth and set back to work. This wound needed to be closed now. "John?" Sherlock's soft voice was behind him.

"Not now, Sherlock," John muttered.

"Lestrade just got here, I'm going out to lead them back here."

"I'll be here."

Sherlock placed a hand on John's back before departing. He heard the detective walk back through the warehouse and out the door. It was about then, that John saw something inside the man. It was a mesh type substance and he gently reached in to pull out. He looked curiously at it. The mesh bag held an organic substance inside. The mesh itself was like that of the type that surgeons used in transplants. Inside was what looked to be part of a liver. However a small light was blinking from inside the organ. He glanced around the makeshift operating theatre taking in the other materials there, and his eyes widened. This was a bomb! An organic bomb that could be planted inside someone and triggered to go off.

He set the bag gently down on the table and nervously went back to stitching the man back up. However when he was about to put in the last stitch, a strong arm wrapped around him from behind and a hand held a cloth against John's nose and mouth. The doctor struggled against the solid hold to no avail. "SHERLOCK!" the muffled yell could be heard through the rag. John's struggles grew less and less though as the drug took effect and soon everything went dark as he slumped back against whomever had drugged him.

: : :

Sherlock ran between the warehouses to get back to where Lestrade and his team were. The Detective Inspector stood waiting and signaled his team the moment he saw Sherlock. "This way!" Sherlock yelled as he turned around to lead them back. He hated leaving John alone, but the maze of warehouses would've prevented Lestrade's team from getting there anytime soon.

The detective dodged through the maze, leading the team back to the warehouse. He let out a sigh of relief as he spotted it and picked up the pace to get back inside. "John!" he called out as he jogged through the warehouse.

Silence and plastic curtains met him, and Sherlock picked up the pace to reach the area where the bodies were. "John?" Sherlock pulled back the curtain to find the three bodies exactly how he'd left them except for a small mesh bag on the table with a note attached to it. Slowly, Sherlock approached the table and reached for the bag and the note. Loose flowing script was written on expensive parchment with a ballpoint pen.

Sherlock,

Lovely to see that you've finally discovered this place. Feel free to examine the object this note is attached to, to your heart's content. However just know that for every moment you spend studying, little Johnny's life will be draining away.

Them's how it works, unfortunately.

Ta ta!

Jim Moriarty

Sherlock could feel his fists shaking and his breath coming in sharp irregular gasps. "Sherlock?" Lestrade's voice called out behind him. "Where's John?"

The detective turned to meet the DI, and offered him the note. Lestrade took it and read it to himself, his eyes widening. When Lestrade looked back up, it was to see Sherlock walking determinedly toward the exit. "Sherlock!" he called out, but the man didn't stop. Lestrade ran to catch up with him, but as soon as he reached the door, he lost him. He looked around frantically, but only saw a black wool coat lying on the ground covering a few other tattered pieces of clothing. Lestrade's eyes widened as he crouched to pick the items up. "Son of a…" he muttered. "Mycroft's not going to like this." He proceeded to pull out his mobile and scroll through his contacts until he found the one he was looking for. "My?" he used the nickname he'd adopted for the elder Holmes. "He's gone," he said simply, knowing the elder Holmes would know what he meant.

A sigh was heard at the other end. "Very well, thank you Gregory. This will mean a long night I imagine."

"Same here, My, same here."

A/N: What's that you say? There's Mystrade in this story too? Yes! Yes indeed there is! Why? Because I happen to like the Mystrade pairing quite a lot, just about as much as the Johnlock pairing. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review, even if you didn't. I love reading what you people think!

P.S. I'm participating in April's Camp NaNoWriMo this year which means that I'm trying to write 50,000 words worth of a novel in 30 days. Needless to say that this in combination with my job and getting ready to go back to college will leave me little time to write for Panthera Pardus. Never fear though! I will endeavor to finish the next chapter soon. It probably won't be up on Friday, but I will try to get it out by the 10th. Hopefully... I know you guys really hate cliff-hangers.