For the remaining nights of the full moon, John and Vistha camped in the witches' cave, while Sherlock and Aela spent their nights in the mountains. They believed it would be the safest thing to do.

John kicked what appeared to be rat bones against the cave wall.

"This place is disgusting." He said.

"The Glenmoril witches don't care much for hygiene." Vistha remarked, clearing a space for him to sit by the fire.

They'd prepared a fire after collecting firewood from outside. The small, flickering fire gave the dank cave an orange glow.

"How did you and Sherlock meet?" Vistha asked.

"We met in prison." John poked a stick in fire, shifting one of the logs. "We escaped together. I think he'd known exactly how to escape for a long time, but he just didn't know what he'd do on the outside."

"So you escaped and came to the college?" Vistha inquired.

"Yes. I saw him transform not long after I was thrown in the Whiterun dungeon. He'd said he'd heard of a cure, but didn't know what it was; so I just thought of the College; not sure why. I guess it just seems like a place of knowledge; I suppose I just thought someone might know something. So we devised an escape plan and went to the College; and now, here we are."

"What are you going to do after Sherlock is cured?"

"I don't know." John frowned. "When we were in prison, we did talk about becoming some sort of… sellswords. We will have to stay hell away from Whiterun Hold, though."

"The sellsword trade can be a tough business. You need to prove your strength for anyone to hire you." Vistha explained.

"I think Sherlock could do that."

John imagined Sherlock using The Words to slay a dragon. Surely if he was seen doing that, anyone would be willing to pay him for his services. John just hoped that after all this was over, that Sherlock would still want him. He didn't have anywhere else to go.

With equipment and severed head all packed and ready, and everyone back in human form, Sherlock, John, Aela and Vistha caught a carriage from Riverwood. Ten minuted into the ride, just outside of Whiterun, Aela told the driver to stop.

"This is where I'll say goodbye." She turned to her fellow passengers. "I'm afraid I feel I should get back to The Companions, so I'll leave you to finish your quest. I wish you all the best with your endeavour, and I hope you may put your wolf spirit to rest and that you find peace."

"Thank you for your help." Sherlock spoke gratefully.

"Yes, thank you so much; we couldn't have done it without you." John added.

She shook hands with the men, and stepped out of the carriage, paying the driver the remaining gold for the journey.

"Farewell." She said, and she gave a nod, and headed to the Whiterun gate.

Days passed, with daily stops to make camp and get some rest, but they finally arrived at Ysgramor's Tomb. The entrance was a circular pit in the ground, with very old and worn stone steps leading down around the edge of the pit. Sherlock, John and Vistha stepped down, one after the other. At the bottom of the pit was an ornate double door which looked very old. Sherlock placed a hand on one of the doors, looked back at the others who nodded encouragingly, and pushed it open. They stepped inside and were hit by the strong smell of dust and damp earth. The first room had a statue (presumably of Ysgramor) in the centre, and two wide pillars on each side of it.

"Do you know what you have to do?" John turned to Sherlock.

"Yes, Aela told me." Sherlock walked around the statue and through an arced doorway on the other side. His companions followed.

John followed Sherlock through the dank tunnel, breaking through thick spider webs, the silk sticking to his body as he pushed his way through it. They walked for quite a while, twisting and turning. Aela must have given Sherlock directions, unless he had no idea where he was going, but that was unlikely. After about five minutes of uneventful walking, Sherlock came to a halt. They were in a large chamber with a high ceiling. In the centre of the room was a stone basin, with a blue fire burning inside.

"We're rather lucky that The Companions were in here not too long ago. Apparently they ran into a fair bit of trouble then." Sherlock pondered, staring into the flame. "I need the head."

John opened the rucksack and pulled out the head. He hoped he'd never have to see, touch or smell anything like it ever again. He handed it to Sherlock, who took it from him and placed it in the blue flame. For a few seconds, nothing happened. The flames licked the sides of the witch's head and suddenly Sherlock keeled over and let out a pained shout.

"What's happening?" John asked, panicked.

"I think it's the wolf spirit." Vistha replied, looking on, his mouth slightly ajar in fascination.

Sherlock's limbs flung back, and ghostly blue wolf leapt out of his torso. John fumbled around in the rucksack and unsheathed the sword. Vistha charged a spell, and he threw a handful of fire at the spectral beast. It reared its head in anger and turned to John. John's heart was racing; the wolf leapt towards him and John clenched his eyes shut and held the sword out in front of him. The wolf jumped upon the blade and let out an ear-popping yelp. It writhed, trying to dismount from the sword as Vistha fired another spell, and the wolf was still. John dropped the sword and ran to Sherlock who was crouched on the ground, his back rising and falling with heavy breaths.

"Are you alright?" John knelt beside him.

"Yes." Sherlock panted. He raised his head and grinned widely at John. "We did it."

"That was quite extraordinary." Vistha approached from behind them. "I have never seen anything quite like it."

John helped Sherlock to his feet.

"I already feel different." Sherlock spoke. "I feel… lighter."

"Well, you can get a few days' rest, but then we've got to get our business up and running." John smirked.

"Forget the few days' rest; we need to start planning now."

EPILOGUE

Vistha returned to the College, feeling wiser than he did when he left. He provided Sherlock and John with food and water for their journey, and they were on their way. They headed to Dawnstar to find work, and they got their first job together, slaying Forsworn not far out of the town of Morthal. They worked well together as a team. John had some experience with a sword and Sherlock used his Shouts to his advantage. They were quite the sight when in action, and worked up quite a reputation in the western holds. They sent a letter to Aela in Whiterun to tell her everything went well, and to pay her for her services as thanks.

John was thankful to Sherlock, for his life now had meaning and he earned his keep through honest work, and in the company of a friend. Sherlock was thankful to John for getting thrown in prison that one day, for Sherlock was never furry and fanged again.

...

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thank you so much to everyone who's read this story all the way through. I do apologise for its short length, but my writing style for this tale didn't go in depth enough to make it a longer story, and also the plot was rather simple. But overall, I am happy with it, and I hope you may stick around for future stories!

Before I sign off, I'd like to tell you lovely readers about an idea I have, and ask your opinion on it. So, a friend of mine gave me the idea of writing a little series of stories that go with this one. So they'd be set after this story, but they'd be like cases with Sherlock and John in Skyrim. It'd be like some insight into what they got up to after Sherlock was cured! What do you think?

I'm not completely sure if I will actually do it yet, but I do really like the idea, so tell me if you'd be interested!

Thank you so much again for your support, kind words, and patience! (For you readers from DeviantArt and who had to wait over a year for chapter 8)

Goodbye, my friends!