The phone rings. He does not even turn to look at it. He is not in the mood to talk to anyone. It is morning where he is. He tries to drink his coffee but gets interrupted. The phone starts ringing again. He slams the cup down on the table. The table gets a new stain when the coffee splashes over. He does not notice that. All he can think is who the hell can call him now when he had explicably told everyone who had his number not to call him this week. He needed some 'me' time. Away from juvenile Alphas, Alpha packs, druids and magical trees coming back to life. Plus he had his planning to do for his super personal mission.
He picks up the phone from his bedside table and scowls at the name flashing on his screen. He wonders if it is worth picking it up or not. He groans and answers it anyway. He says, "What?"
"Hello Derek. Hello to you too Stiles. How's London?"
"Stiles," he says in a low voice hoping it manages to scare Stiles Stilinski but he doubts it.
"So…how you doing?"
"Stiles."
"Okay grumpy cat. Listen as you might know I am in London and an old acquaintance of ours needs help."
"Who?"
"Derek?" another voice says.
Derek recognizes it alright, "Jackson?"
"How soon can you come to London?"

"What? Why do I need to go to London?" Derek says.
Jackson rubs his face. He sighs and says, "I am in deep shit here in London."
"Yeah you found Stiles. I understand."
Jackson cannot help but laugh at this joke, "No that is not it. It is something else. I am a dead man Derek. I need an Alpha to help me."
Derek goes silent. Stiles had not said anything then. He clears his throat, "Look Jackson-"
"No I know. Let me rephrase I need an ex-Alpha to help me."
He sighs, "Okay. I guess a little vacation would not hurt me." He disconnects fuming a little. Well he would need to go because if something happens to Stiles, Scott would never forgive him. He needs Scott to be on his side.
Jackson looks at Stiles and gives him a crooked grin. Stiles grins back. Mission successful. They both are back sitting in Molly's flat. Toby is curled up in Stiles lap. The cat is just glad to find a human being who can pet him. He makes a satisfied purring sound when Stiles strokes under his ears. But his respite is cut short when he hears a knock at the door. He hisses and jumps down from Stiles lap and disappears into Molly's bedroom.
Jackson goes up to open the door. He knows it is Molly coming back from her shift. He opens it and blinks at the stranger. Okay not so much a stranger, Jackson recognizes him as the man snooping around Molly's flat.

Sherlock had followed Molly obediently up to her flat but this is unprecedented. He recognizes the guy in front of him immediately. He is one part of the teenage duo at the bistro that day.
Molly steps in as the guy moves to allow her in. She beckons him in. Sherlock follows silently but internally bursting with questions.
He gets his fifth shock in the evening when he spots another teenager sitting in her couch looking all bemusedly at him. He stands up and cries, "You are Sherlock Holmes aren't you? I Googled you. Man you are a freaking legend!"
Sherlock says, "American. Seventeen years old. Somewhere from California."
"Wow man…how? Is it my nearly there tan?"
Sherlock smiles, "Yes."
"Cool. I am Stiles Stilinski."
"Is that a real name?"
Stiles sighs, having done this a million times already, "Yes."
Sherlock turns around to face Jackson who comes forward and introduces himself. Sherlock scowl deepens as he realizes that he is American as well. What is Molly doing with two American teenagers? How does she even know them?
Molly turns to Jackson and says, "He saw me. I mean the whole eyes and teeth thing."
Jackson's' eyes widen with anxiety. He mutters, "Molly."
"He can help."
Stiles hears their exchange and says, "Yeah man he can help. I mean the body is with the police."
"What body?" Sherlock asks.
"Igor Jablonski."
"It is not with the police anymore." Molly and Sherlock say so simultaneously.
"What?" Jackson asks.
"A blonde man and a redhead woman stole it."
"Wait those are the same guys who came to look for you again, right?" Stiles cries.
"What guys?" Molly asks, her voice shaking.
Jackson and Stiles explain. All this while Sherlock keeps quiet his mind running at a fast pace processing all this information he is getting. So these three were involved with that death.
When they have stopped explaining things to Molly, they look at Sherlock. Stiles asks, "So you believe us? I mean this?"
Sherlock says, his deep voice a low rumble (Molly nearly melts), "I see what I believe in. But the supernatural is not real."
Jackson says, "How do you explain this?" And with that he changes.
Sherlock looks on with silent awe as his eyes turn an icy blue and claws replace nails on his hand. Sherlock does not miss the teeth as well. Or the tufts of fur on his face.
For the first time in life Sherlock has no comeback. He looks at Stiles who shrugs and says, "Nah man I am still human, like you."
"But-" Sherlock says.
Molly steps forward. She takes his hand and places it over her pulse. Sherlock's eyes widen in surprise when he takes her pulse which is not normal for a human. "See?" Molly says, "I know you also took a look at my blood chemistry. I had a feeling you would do so. This is real. The supernatural is very real. And now I need your help."
Sherlock gulps as he looks down at her soft brown eyes, silently pleading with him. His mind flashes back to that day when he had asked her to help him fake his death. She had helped him, never thinking of the consequences. The problem now is that his logical brain refused to believe this. But his eyes cannot fool him either. He knows what he has seen for the last few days. The changes in her and then the incident at the alley. He knew there must be an explanation and this is it. He nods, "Okay." He finds himself thinking that he cannot really refuse her after everything. He can do this much for her.
Molly sighs in relief. She thought it would be hard to convince him. But she knew the possible reason he had agreed. At least he felt enough gratitude for her.
"So it means Igor was most probably killed by a werewolf then?" Sherlock asks after he releases her wrists. He ponders how she can be so strong yet still look so delicately fragile.
"Yes. But the werewolf packs in this city think I killed him," Jackson says.
"Did you?"
"No he didn't." Molly says.
"How do you know?" Sherlock asks. His pathologist had her head down and she is busy twisting her scarf.
"I was there."
All three of them—Jackson, Stiles and Sherlock—look at her in utter shock. She takes time to look at all three of them and taking a deep breath, she continues, "Whoever turned me killed Igor."
Stiles asks, "How…I mean how do you know?"
"She read the file on Igor. You saw the dates and came to this conclusion. Also you recognized that it was the same alley that you use where the corpse was found," Sherlock says. Molly nods along.
Jackson gasps along with Stiles as Sherlock looks on baffled. Jackson says, "That was Igor's dead body? Who the hell can possibly kill that guy?"
"Why not?" Sherlock asks.
Stiles smiles, "Well Mr. Holmes if you'd like to know, you need to sit down."

Sherlock wraps his scarf around his neck and turns up his coat collar up to ward against the wind. He goes over all the new information he had collected over the last hour. It is all very new to him. And he cannot deny that he is not curious to know more. Jackson had informed him all about Igor Jablonski, Augustus Lowndes and Gustav Akraka. He also mentioned the death sentence on his head. And there was someone coming from Beacon Hills to help as well.
Basically, Jackson Whittemore wants to hire him, the consulting detective, to solve this murder. As Stiles had told him that werewolf or human, murders and wrongful accusations are all the same everywhere.
Well then, the game is on.