Stiles makes an excuse and gets two days free. Lillian Coles was miffed—she had colour coordinated their schedule and all. But today is the full moon. He has given his word to Jackson. Yes, he really had no wish to do so. And no, he does not miss the supernatural. Not really. Nope.
He decides to go back to the bistro he had met Jackson for lunch. He occupies a seat beside the window and sits down. The bistro has al fresco dining as well. Stiles gives his order and sits back in his chair. A sudden movement catches his attention. Two men take a seat outside, directly beside the window seat he has occupied. Stiles gives them a brief glance. Both men are very tall and muscular. One looks much younger than the other. The younger one looks very excited while the older man looks one hundred percent done with his companion.
The waitress comes back with his order. He takes a mouthful of spaghetti and he nearly chokes on it when he hears one of the two men say, "Jackson Whittemore, eh?"
Stiles whips his head around. It is the younger man who said so. The older man growls a little, sighs exasperatedly and says, "Listen kid, stay away from this. Gus wants this guy's head on a platter. Leave the killing to the professionals. You stay out of this."
"But dad, I liked Igor as well and if Jackson Whittemore killed him, don't I get to do some avenging?"
"No kid, you do not. Your mom will kill me if she gets to know I took you with me. So nope. Don't even think about it anymore."
Stiles eavesdrops, his eyes widening in horror at every word. What is happening? He tries stealing a look at the father-son duo again. He memorizes their faces. Jackson killed someone? He shakes his head. Sure lizard Jackson could kill people, he just could not envision wolf Jackson killing people. He puts down his spoon, his appetite lost. He needs to talk to Jackson.
He dials Jackson's number. He picks it up at the third ring, "Stilinski."
"Hey have you been killing people again?"
The sun is going to set soon. Every werewolf in London prepares for the moon to rise and change them. Put them in immense agony as their bones rearrange and flesh burns so they could be their true self tonight. Some are taking help from trusted helpers to bind them in chains. Some are locking themselves up in rooms with a ring of mountain ash or wolfsbane at the entrance.
Jackson waits for Stiles in his apartment. Molly has started her pacing again. Jackson wishes he could tell her something but he has no words. He sits down on his couch and goes over the conversation he had with Stiles a few hours ago.
"Hey have you been killing people again?" Stiles asked.
"What?" Jackson whispered incredulously.
"Yeah. You heard right. Did you kill anyone recently? Had any blackouts?"
"Stiles...Shut up, or I will kill you. What are you even talking about?"
"I just overheard two guys, possibly werewolves take your name and this guy's name who is most probably dead and apparently you killed him!"
"What!"
"Yeah, guy named Igor is dead and guy named Gus is looking for you."
Silence had followed when Stiles had dropped that name. Jackson knew him. Igor had tried bringing him into his pack. But the name Gus struck cold fear in his heart. If it is Igor, then it must be Augustus 'Gus' Lowndes. They had met once. It was not a pleasant meeting. And Jackson knew the stories about him.
He said, "We will talk later." He had disconnected and put his face in his palms. He was not the praying kind but he understood that today—the full moon night—would keep him alive for now. But tomorrow…he has to find a way.
He snaps out his thoughts when the bell rings. Molly goes to open it. It is Stiles. Jackson stands up and gives him a small smile. Deep down he had doubted whether or not Stiles would show up.
Stiles smiles back at him. He can almost guess what Jackson is thinking. Jackson tilts his head towards Molly, "If you would-"
"Yeah sure." Molly grabs a box from behind the couch. A medium sized box with an intricate design on the top. Stiles looks quizzically at it. Jackson says, "Mountain ash. Derek sends me some every three months. Earlier Molly would draw the boundary line but…"
"But," Stiles finishes, "She is a werewolf now."
Jackson nods his head. He gestures Stiles to take the box. Stiles reaches out and takes it. He looks down at it and says, "What about after I leave?"
Jackson sighs, "I don't know. I will find a way. But for now, since you are the one I trust the most, you will do."
"Aw Jackson, thank you so much."
Molly giggles at this exchange. They turn their heads to look at her. She clears her throat, "So? What next?"
"I will chain you two first in two separate rooms and then draw a line along the entrance and windows. It will hurt and sting, but it is all necessary," Stiles says.
Molly feels nervous and scared. She only heard "hurt and sting". She startles when she feels a warm hand on her shoulder. She looks up to see Stiles smiling down at her. He says, "Well I am no expert, but my best friend says it gets better with time."
"Does your best friend turn twice in a month?" Molly says rolling her eyes.
"Uh no. I promise to do look that up. I have no experience with female werewolves, honestly speaking."
"Awesome," Molly takes a deep breath, "I need to go feed Toby. Wait for me."
Stiles realizes he still has his hands on her shoulder. While Molly hardly notices, Stiles gets embarrassed and blushes as he removes it.
Jackson does not miss it. As soon as Molly is out of the door, he smirks, "So you have something for cute pixie noses?"
Stiles gives his best death glare.
Molly figures it has something to do with the fact she is a werewolf now. This realization strikes her when she gets close to Toby, her cat. He hisses and tries running away every time she would come close to him or try to pet him. She feels her heart breaking as her feline avoids her. Well Toby is a feline and she is a supernatural vulpine at the most. And aren't vulpines and canines nearly related?
She sheepishly places Toby's dish by the refrigerator and leaves with a sigh. Abandonment by Toby is the last thing she wanted on earth. Who will she cry with—okay Toby acted more as a warm and furry napkin at the most—when Sherlock is all mean again? She sighs again as she enters Jackson's apartment. The boys are standing in the middle of the room glaring at each other.
"What's going on here?" Molly asks.
"I think," Stiles says, "That you need the stronger chains."
"But I think," Jackson says, "You don't require to be bound so tightly."
Molly frowns. She is at sea here. She says, "I don't understand."
Stiles sighs, "You are a new werewolf. You are more dangerous than our veteran here."
Jackson crosses his arm and scowls, "Molly would not hurt a fly. She won't-"
"No, Stiles is right. I'd prefer to listen to him on this. I have never done this before, remember?"
"Okay then!" Stiles says. Jackson just shrugs his shoulders.
Stiles directs Molly towards the spare bedroom and points her to the floor. She nods and sits down. She notices an iron ring constructed into the hardwood floor. She also notices the chain beside it. She gulps. She is so not prepared. She has some choice words to say if she ever meets her maker.
Stiles first binds Jackson. He puts some mountain ash on the window ledge and then some on the door. He locks the door and puts the key in his pockets. He enters Molly's room. She is sitting, hugging her knees and muttering.
He leans down and asks in a soft voice, "What are you doing?"
"Praying. I hardly go to church and here I am praying."
Stiles smiles, "Happens. Ready?"
She nods. Her brown eyes wide with fear. Stiles first cuffs her wrists and then her ankles. Then he takes the chain and tugs on it. When he sees her wincing, he says, "There, strong enough."
He winds the chain around the ring and locks it with a padlock. He stands up and repeats his mountain ash sprinkling actions. He allows himself a grin when he realizes that at seventeen, he had become such a pro at this. How many seventeen year olds know all this?
He walks up to the door and draws a line at the entrance. He says, "Uh, best of luck."
Molly snorts. She really cannot help herself. She smiles at Stiles anyway. He closes the door. She hears him lock the door. She tugs at her chains, wincing again as the cuffs live a prominent bruise on her wrist. She leans back and looks around the room. It is quite small. Jackson stores miscellaneous items here or items he does not know what to do with. A broken X-box, a few destroyed textbooks, a box of clothes, etc., etc. There is a tiny window opposite her. She can make out the moon, hiding behind the clouds. Moonrise is in a few minutes now. In addition to her already beating heart, she feels funny in her stomach. She tries taking a deep breath. She does not know how, but she feels it is time.
She is right. After a breathless five minutes, the funny sensation in her stomach becomes more prominent. She feels the adrenaline rushing through her system, preparing her for her ordeal. Any moment now…She does not know what to expect yet.
She gets her answer in the next five minutes when the moon finally comes out from behind the clouds. As the silver white light softly enters the room and falls on her face, she feels it.
First she feels her skin crawling and her bones vibrating. She keels over—the pain hits her like a punch to the gut. Her eyes sting next. She wants to keep them closed, but they blink open on their own. She can feel them expanding. No wonder they are amber by now. She had thought earlier that the room was too dark, but now the room feels like as if it is filled by sunlight, not moonlight. And that light stings, a lot. Next her jaws hurt. She opens them, gasping in pain. She can feel her canines elongating. The skin crawling sensation returns, this time travelling up her arms, the side of her face and her feet. She looks down at her feet. It is covered by soft brown fur.
Beside the fur, she sees her toenails are no longer short. They are now massive, sharp and curved. She jerks her foot which leaves a deep scratch mark on the floor. She pulls up her hands to her face, her fingernails are the same.
A fleeting wave crashes on her chest. It rises up her throat. She opens her mouth and a low guttural sound escapes from her sound box. The wave rises again. And this time she opens her mouth wider and the low sound is replaced by a growl which gets louder as her bones start rearranging themselves. She growls louder still. She tries sitting on her haunches but the chains restrict her. The cuffs cut in deeper and she smells her own blood. She keeps pulling on them. They cut deeper and deeper into her skin. But she hardly notices that, her only thought is now to break free.
The adrenaline which was pumping hard and fast in her body reaches a crescendo. Her heart beat rises to such a level that it would have killed a normal human being by now. A burst of strength courses through her and after a final pull, she finally breaks free.
The chains break and she launches forward. But the mountain ash stops her. As soon as she hits the door, she ricochets back at the impact. Her growls get wilder as her desperation rises. She crashes against the door again, but to no avail. She falls back again.
Stiles sits in the living room, chewing his nails. He is currently in an enclosed space with two werewolves on a full moon night. If that is not a suicide wish, he does not know what else it could be. He startles when he hears the door of Molly's room shaking. She has broken free of her chains then. Terrific news, he thinks. They need to buy stronger chains. While Jackson is growling and he could occasionally hear the chains rattling in his room, Molly has totally wolfed out. Stiles flashbacks to the first time he had seen Scott changing. He shudders a little. Thank goodness for mountain ash. He leans back on the couch and wishes morning cannot come soon enough.
Molly finally stops hitting the door when her animal side reasons that it is of no use. She falls back and curls up in a corner. She occasionally thrashes about and prowls around the room on all fours. Near daybreak, her muscles feel tired and her head feels heavy. She retreats to a corner and lies down.
Stiles wakes up with a start. His alarm shrieks on. He cannot remember where his phone is at. Or for a brief moment, where he is. He rubs his eyes and things become a little clear. He is at Jackson's place and he needs to find his phone. Whose idea was it to set the alarm to the song 'Baby'?
"Stiles if you don't turn that off, I will kill you," Jackson shouts from his closed bedroom door.
Stiles finally finds his phone. It had somehow managed to get behind the couch. He finally switched it off. No more Justin Beiber at seven in the morning.
"Stiles, you awake?" Molly says, her voice muffled.
Stiles unlocks her first. He tries to cover the gasp he had coming. The room is in pieces. Well almost, as if a tiny cyclone had passed through it. Boxes have been overturned, clothes torn to shreds and scratch marks everywhere. He sees the broken chains and gulps. Molly sees the look on his face. She wraps the shawl tighter around her and stares down at her now normal feet. She says apologetically, "Um, sorry."
Stiles shake his head, "Uh happens." He stalks away and goes to unlock Jackson.
Jackson comes out. He looks over at Molly who is still staring at her feet. He says, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," she says, "I will have to deal with this for the rest of my life now."
"Yeah," Stiles mutters. A loud growl interrupts the moment. Molly laughs. The sound came from Stiles stomach. She says, "Okay boys. Let's go over to my apartment. I am in the pancake making mood!"
After Jackson finishes his seventh pancake, he hears a noise and a faintly familiar scent. The sounds are coming from his apartment. He looks at Molly. She had heard it too. She puts down the pancake batter bowl and walks to her door. She peeks through her peephole. She says under her breath as Jackson joins her, "Jackson there is a guy standing at your door."
Stiles, who was busy stuffing his face, notices the two werewolves muttering at the door. He walks up to them and asks, "What is going on?"
"Here," Molly says and makes space for him to look through the peephole. Stiles does a double take. He hears Jackson saying, "He is a wolf. We can smell him."
"Yup. It is the guy I saw at the bistro yesterday." Stiles knows he cannot be mistaken. It is the younger guy, the son. The guy looks around him once and then leaves.
Molly says, "What guy? You know him?"
Stiles looks at Jackson, "She doesn't know?"
"Know what?"
Jackson sighs, "Igor Jablonski, an Alpha is dead. And his pack thinks I killed him."
Molly frowns. She has heard the name somewhere, but she fails to remember now. Instead she asks, "But why would they think you killed him?"
"I had an altercation with Igor when he tried recruiting me in his pack for the third time. Igor-"
Molly cries, "Igor Jablonski?"
"What about him?"
"His body had come to St Barts for autopsy. I was supposed to be doing it but I was bitten the day before so…"
Stiles strokes his chin, "Jackson hasn't killed anyone. But someone is spreading the rumours. Molly can you ask around the hospital?"
"Sure I can. My shift starts in a few hours."
"Cool. We need to prove Jackson is innocent. I mean two werewolves against a pack is hardly fair."
Jackson puts his hands in his pocket. He mutters, "I cannot go back to my place."
Molly speaks up, "Stay with me for the time being," Jackson starts protesting. Molly puts her palm up, "No, no excuses. I am not letting you stay on your own and then getting killed. Okay?"
Jackson sheepishly nods his head. She turns to Stiles, "You too can stay here if you want. I have a small spare room and the sofa in my living room can transform into a bed. So?"
"I need to think about this. I am not here on my own, you know," Stiles says
"I know. But the invitation remains. You boys have been so helpful; I'd hate anything to happen to you two."
She smiles at them both. Her heart swells in affection. She had hardly realized when she had adopted these two as her own brothers. She never had any siblings, so having some surrogate ones did not hurt.
Molly pushes the doors to her lab with the file on Igor Jablonski pressed to her chest. She plans to go into her office and read this thoroughly. It has been proved that Igor was indeed a werewolf, and a powerful one at that.
She nearly yelps when she sees Sherlock perched on a stool, peering at a test tube clutched in his fingers. In her surprised state, the file falls to the floor. Sherlock notices her. He sees the file, he frowns when he sees the name and picture on top. She mumbles something and picks up the file. She retreats to her office.
Sherlock puts down the test tube. The Igor Jablonski case is not hers. Dr Raffles had taken over and finished all the paperwork. But as far as everyone was concerned, the case was closed. No one is invested in this case anymore. Yes, the search for the blonde male and the redhead female is still on but there has been no progress in that matter. So why is his pathologist concerned?
First her inherent lying that day. Next this. He turns around as she comes back into her lab. He sees her putting her lab coat on and tying her long brown hair in a ponytail. He notices her empty ring finger.
He finds himself saying, "Your engagement is over."
Molly turns around and opens her mouth to say something. She looks down at her naked ring finger and a small wave of renewed guilt crashes over her. She mutters, "Yes. It is over."
"Did he break it off?"
"No. I did."
"May I ask why?"
Molly gnashes her teeth. Of course he knows that she knows that he knows why. At least she is certain he must know a part of the reason why. She says, "I don't see how you must be concerned."
Sherlock narrows his eyes. He is right then. He returns his attention to his experiment and says, "No concern at all. Just making conversation I suppose."
Molly frowns. What? She says aloud, "You? Making conversation? That is so unlike you."
Sherlock turns back his attention to her again. Molly has never ever talked to him like this. It is like she had developed a new personality or something. He stares at her and she stares back at him with warm but defiant brown eyes. He registers his surprise in the back of his mind. This is new to him too. She, previously, had hardly managed to look straight at him and now she is holding his gaze with confidence. First the slight physical changes, then the lying and now this. His pathologist is becoming a puzzle he is dying to solve.
Molly thinks she will go into cardiac arrest soon now. His too-beautiful-to-look-at eyes are boring into her. But she is not standing down either. She almost looks away when a tiny but loud voice in her head coaxes her not to break eye contact. She could never hold his gaze for too long before. Hell, she could not even look straight at him and now she is locked in a staring contest with him. But the voice persists. She shall christen it 'the wolf' in her. She really cannot find a rational reason behind her sudden confidence boost.
She sees him backing down first. He looks down at his experiment again. She sighs at her little victory. She walks over to him and asks, "Do you need any help?"
"No," he mutters. His eyes are glued to the microscope. He reaches out to grab another glass slide. But he manages to knock over a test tube rack with test tubes and all to the ground.
Molly jumps at the sound of glass shattering on the tiled floor. Sherlock looks up and then at the floor. He hears Molly mutter, "Oh Sherlock." She kneels down to pick up the broken pieces.
Sherlock too kneels down to help her. Molly is so shocked by this—she accidentally cuts herself on a piece of glass. The piece slashes through her finger and blood spills on to the white floor. She stands up abruptly. He too stands up. He says condescendingly in that ridiculous baritone of his, "Molly, you need to be more careful." He reaches out to grasp her hand, but she backs away. She can already feel the wound healing. If Sherlock sees this…
But it is too late. He finally manages to tug her hand free of her clasp. He frowns when he looks at her wound…or the absence of it. He sees the blood, but no wound. She stutters, "Uh i-it is nothing r-really," she wrenches her hand from his grip, "I will go call a cleaner." She makes a quick exit.
After she leaves, Sherlock gets thinking. He had clearly seen the piece go into her skin, cutting it. He had seen the blood. But the absence of the wound mystified him. He looks down at the mess on the floor. Broken glass and blood. He gets an idea.