The next day was a bit less boring, as the prisoners were let out of their cells to do some manual labour for Dragonsreach. John was left to chop firewood, Sherlock sorted the court wizard's tomes into alphabetical order and some of the other prisoners had jobs such as polishing the guards' shields and armour. If any of the prisoners talked they would be rammed in the back with a sword handle, so every kept to themselves until their work was finished.
John was guided back to his cell. After the door was slid shut, he asked "How much longer will I be in here?"
"A few more months." The guard replied.
John didn't think he'd met that guard before, as he didn't seem as rude as the many others he's met. A few more months might just kill him. He regretted everything. One stupid mistake meant this. He was deep in thought when he heard a hushed conversation from the guards at the other end of the hall.
"I didn't realise til just before, it's his time now. It starts tonight."
"Who, the Dragonborn?"
"Yes. Secure the lock, and get some extra guards in here for the night."
"Yes captain." There were footstep approaching.
John chose a non-suspicious position so it wouldn't look like he was listening in. he looked into Sherlock's cell. He was curled up in the corner breathing heavily. John looked out the small window at the end of the hall. It looked like it was around sundown.
Shortly after, about five extra guards came in and took their positions at different points of the dungeon. John crawled over to the edge of his cell.
"Are you okay, Sherlock?" he asked through the bars.
"Get away from me." He muttered warningly.
John shuffled back a few feet. Sherlock glanced up at him.
"Get right back, as far away as you can." John just stared back at him. "DO IT!" Sherlock roared.
John quickly moved up into the furthest corner. The guards around clutched their swords after Sherlock shouted. John was worried. He had no idea what was happening. He kept his eyes on Sherlock. He was still curled up in the corner, but now he was shaking uncontrollably. He began to whimper and twitch, and some of the guards unsheathed their swords, while others turned their heads and looked out of the window. John followed their gaze. The sky was now deep blue. Sherlock was now writhing and the stone floor.
"Prisoners get back!" the captain of the guard bellowed.
All the other inmates sank into the dark corners of their cells. John continued to watch Sherlock. John was shaking on fear at the sight. What was going on.
Sherlock shouted out in pain. He yelled, and writhed, and wriggled. He set his hands in front of him, breathing so hard that John could his whole back rise and fall. Sherlock jumped up and raised his arms in front of him, letting out a long growl. His body twitched, and it was deforming. John watched in horror as Sherlock's face stretched, and a hairy snout replaced his mouth. His ears grew and sprouted dark brown fur, and his arms bulged, his legs forming those of a beast, covering in fur. Finally the transformation was complete, and he flung his head up, and let out a long scary roar. He leaped forward at the bars, and was swiping into the hall with his long hands. Inch-long claws had grown from his fingertips. There was no doubt about what Sherlock was.
He was a werewolf.