Jackson wakes up. His back is sore from sleeping on the hardwood floor. He rubs his neck and gets to his feet. He looks down at Molly. She is still unconscious. Externally it looks as if she is peacefully dreaming. But oh, he remembers the pain and the agony. He might not remember anything from his Kanima days, but he remembers the moment after Derek Hale turned him. A shiver runs down his back. Morose thinking to be done later. Right now, he needs to make sure Molly is okay. He leans down and listens for her heartbeat. It is sporadic. Fast now and slowing down the next moment. The venom is changing the prior 'normal' rhythm of her heart. Her breathing too sounds normal enough. His hands are itching to call someone at Beacon Hills, but he refrains. Nope, he is not going to, at all costs. He cut all ties there so he could live here in peace. And run from the guilt of killing so many people. Of all the blood on his hand no soap can wash off.
Another shiver runs down his spine as he sits down on the floor again. His head swivels around as he hears footsteps up the stairs. He sniffs the air. Not a werewolf. But curiosity rears its head at him. He leaps to his feet and peeps through the peephole. He frowns. Who is that long coat wearing person knocking at Molly's door? Oh wait, now he is picking the locks…should he do something?
Sherlock tries knocking. No answer. Okay, then, out come the lock-picking tools that he may or may not always carry with him.
He picks open the look and enters her flat. He had been here only once. Right after he had jumped off St Barts rooftop. He had hardly stayed for any more than an hour. He looks around and notices…nothing has changed. There is still her overflowing bookshelf pushed up against a wall. The television not too far from it. And that couch placed opposite to it that had been too comfortable for his liking. Even Toby, her cat is still here on the couch, glaring at him with his yellow eyes. On his right the open kitchen and breakfast bar is still clean and clinical as always. He could glimpse her bedroom and bathroom in the hallway running beside her kitchen. Wait, even the cat magnet stickers on her refrigerator is still there.
He wanders in her bedroom. The door is ajar anyway. He pushes it open and deduces that 1) the bed is still made and looked unslept in and 2) her casual clothes were piled on her bed, as if she had plans to go somewhere after she came back from work (probably a all-nighter with that Tom, he rolls his eyes and scoffs). So in conclusion, she neither came home nor did she go over to Toms'. He frowns. Where is she?
He does not want to, but along with his curiosity, he feels concerned too.
Jackson opened his door an inch and listened. So far he heard his footsteps and Toby's wheezing. As he heard his footsteps coming closer to the entrance of Molly's flat, he shuts the door softly and goes back to peeping. He notices the look of extreme anxiety on his face. Jackson wonders who the hell is this guy? I mean, he knows Tom. And this guy kind of resembles him…
He is broken from his profound musings when he hears Molly shift. He turns around and rushes over to her in no time. He sees her opening her eyes. They are bright amber.
At first she feels this burn. It is sizzling her blood. And gosh, her muscles! Why does it feel like she ran a mile or something? And Lord is she thirsty! Her eyes are watering too. They are so filled with liquid, she can hardly open them. She even feels that her bones are different.
Well, that is everything under her neck. Now neck up it is pandemonium. Her head is hurting like hell. Like an entire army of blacksmiths are hammering in her head. Then the sounds in her ear were not helping at all. She can hear her heart (and another heartbeat), her lungs pumping precious oxygen, doors slamming somewhere, a baby crying, a theme song of a popular morning news show, people talking and traffic. She finally opens her eyes and it does not really help.
As her vision clears, everything becomes high definition. She can actually see the dust on the ceiling. And her olfactory senses her attacked by myriad smells—eggs frying, car exhaust, soap and more importantly the metallic scent of dried blood.
In a rush like the random occurrences of flash floods, she remembers everything. She sits up straight and shudders. She notices her surroundings for the first time. This is not her flat. She turns around to a voice calling her name, "Molly?"
"Jackson?" Molly speaks.
"Hi. Good morning."
"Jackson, what happened to me?"
Jackson runs a hand through his hair. He opens his mouth, but hesitates. Molly leaps to her feet and gets a little astonished how fast she rose up from her sitting position. Hell, her muscles and bone all of a sudden feel…flexible. What the hell? She notices the blood on her shell pink blouse. So it was her blood she smelt. She pushes down the blouse and notices the faint scar on her shoulder. A bite mark. Her eyes widens in horror. She knows the stories, the legends, and the lores. The teenager in front of her had told them to her. She whispers, "Jackson? Was I…bitten?"
All it takes is a nod from Jackson to send her collapsing back on the couch with an uncomfortable realization that her world is crashing down on her.
Mauve is waiting in the lab for the fingerprints technician to give her a positive match. She literally breathes down the hapless guy's neck ("How long Ian?") who is by now is extremely nervous. The results come back. They squint down on the name on the screen. The guy says, "Igor Jablonski. Repeat offender and owns a garage."
"Yes, very good." A thick Russian-accented voice speaks up from behind them. They startle and turn around to face an intimidating gigantic blonde man accompanied by this petite redhead. "Now, listen carefully—give the body to us."
Mauve shakes her head while the technician just shakes from his head to foot. She says, "Who are you? If you're family, then sorry. It is an ongoing investigation and we can't simple release his body to you."
"Oh yeah? Irina?"
The redhead, Irina, skips up to the technician and grabs him by the neck. For her height and musculature, no one would think she could actually dangle a man far taller and heavier than her a foot of the ground. Ian face turns an alarming shade of red as the oxygen gets slowly cut from his brain.
Mauve flails her hands, "Stop! Stop! What do you want?"
The guy says, "Give us the body lady."
"But-"
"Or else he dies. Irina?" On command her hold on his neck gets even stronger.
Mauve sobs, "Okay, all right. Take it!"
He gives them a wolfish grin. Irina drops Ian on the ground, who coughs and curls into the fetal position on the floor. Mauve kneels down beside him as she sees the two intruders out of the corner off her eye. They grab her ID that she had casually placed on the table. They leave.
Mauve gets to her feet and lunges at her phone. But before she could make a call, the big blonde guy returns. He makes a clicking noise with his tongue and Mauve watches in horror as he smashes her smartphone in his hands without breaking a sweat. He smiles and leaves.
A/N. So I actually do not know how it feels when you turn into a werewolf. That was just a random guess. Like I would know more if Derek Hale bit me. But then I would be too busy eating without getting fat. LOL.
Anyway please leave a comment if you like.