Shirley scratched at the collar sitting around her neck and yawned while John filled her bowl with a steaming hot helping of eggs, chicken, and peas. It'd been three days since the break in and she wasn't exactly sleeping, but she was eating and she'd finally allowed him to put the collar on. More specifically, she'd grabbed it out of the cabinet and brought it to him. He'd looked at her like she had three heads before carefully buckling it around her neck. They'd already gone on a few walks.

Dog or no, she had to admit it was nice to get out of the apartment even if it meant having to wear a leash. She was still getting used to the sheer number of people rushing about the city, but John only took her out really early in the morning or later in the evening when most people were already locked safely into their homes. There'd been another kidnapping in the area since the vet tech, a child this time. It was all they could talk about on the news. Derek was stepping up his game. The others were too old to train, but he obviously had a trace of the virus to convert them.

But that was impossible. She'd burnt the lab to the ground. The only thing left of the virus now, should've been her. And because of her, he now had unlimited access to it through his own blood. She'd thought it would stop him, slow him down at least. He must be going mad. How he could handle taking anyone right after being infected was beyond her. The newly converted were ravenous and wild. They tore apart anything that moved. She'd never seen the process take less than a week to even out.

Was he working with someone? How had he even found her? It was a mystery she was determined to sniff her way to the bottom of before he took another kid. The problem was that any trace of him in their immediate area had been washed over by the tangled criss cross of London smells. They needed to go deeper, further. Of course, that's the issue with investigating a case your partner has no clue that you're on. John always stopped them and turned back before she could find anything. She kept hoping something would pop up in the news, a hint, a clue, but there was nothing.

Shirley gulped down her breakfast and ducked into the bathroom before fetching her leash out of the cabinet. She stared unblinking at John with it in her mouth while tried valiantly to eat his food in peace. She gave a slight whine and his body tightened, but he held on. A paw rested on his leg and his shoulders slumped. Gotcha!

"Alright, alright. We'll go out." But he didn't seem mad. On the contrary, he was thrilled that she'd been wanting to go out.

He deposited his dishes in the sink and grabbed his coat, hooking on the leash as quickly as possible. His touch still felt foreign, not completely unwelcome, but unnerving. Mrs. Hudson's petting had been awkward, but tolerable. She was hardly a threat and she'd needed the comfort. After a while it'd almost felt…good. Sometimes John pet her, but usually on the leg or the back and only for a second.

Shirley pulled them out the door, wagging her tail at Mrs. Hudson as they passed. John gave a quick wave before Shirley yanked him onto the sidewalk. She heard Mrs. Hudson chuckle as John locked the front door behind them. As soon as he was done, Shirley put her nose to pavement. John jogged behind her to keep from being dragged onto his face. She examined every inch of concrete, every blade of grass, but nothing so much as hinted that Derek had passed through here since the night of the break in. She was sure he'd have been back by now. He couldn't have forgotten about her, could he? Part of her wanted to get John and Mrs. Hudson to move, but she wasn't sure how and every time she thought about it the guilt would surge up. How many kids would die if she walked away?

Stopping at a crosswalk, Shirley fidgeted at the end of the leash. John distracted her with a bit of chicken, which she took carefully from his fingers. It was in that moment that the detective who'd visited them a few nights before (Greg?) came trotting up the street after them.

"Hey," he called and John turned. The second he saw who it was he smiled warmly.

"How's the case?"

"Better." Greg's eyebrows wiggled upward and the triumphant smile on his face was perfect emphasis to his words.

Shirley perked her ears and turned to face the detective.

"We found the car. The Volkswagen. Not much in it, but we did find blood. DNA tested out as Derek Hopkins. But there's something else."

John's brows furrowed. "Another victim?"

"See that's the thing, if she is, she's been missing nearly fifteen years." Shirley tensed. "Rosaline Taft."

The street spun and she stumbled backwards, her heartbeat throbbing against her skull. London dropped away. Earsplitting growls and screeches filled her ears while a man in a lab coat stepped closer with a syringe. Her throat was raw from screaming. Her head swam. She tried to push the man away, but she couldn't move. Hot, white sparks exploded in her vision and her blood boiled. Every bit of her burned and the room filled with drumming. Louder and louder and louder until it roared like fire.

"She's been missing since she was ten."

Fire.

"So he's taken a child before."

No really, fire.

"Mmmm, and I doubt he's done."

You idiots. Fire! John made a disgusted noise when he felt hot piss soak his leg. His grip loosened. Shirley sprang away, ripping the leash right out of his hand. She was up and running before he had time to react. He made a grab for her, but she was already gone.

"Shirley!"

She ignored him. It was there. She could smell it. She could hear it. People were screaming. She flew down the sidewalk, barking like mad. Greg and John ran after her, the frantic thud, thud of their feet was a faint, steady beat behind.

She rounded the corner and was nearly blown back by a massive wave of heat. The apartment complex blazed bright red-orange, thick, black smoke streaming out of several windows on the third floor. People were rushing out the front door and flooding the street with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. One man was dragging his wife out kicking and screaming.

"The kids! I have to go get my kids! Tim! No. Let go!"

"Oh my God." It was the detective. John was already pulling out his phone.

She didn't think, didn't hesitate. John screamed her name as she disappeared into a cloud of black smoke.