When Sherlock woke up the next morning there was dead silence coming from Jo's room. Assuming that his friend was still sleeping, he quietly went about his morning routine, showering, shaving, and getting dressed before checking his website to see if anything interesting had popped up; there hadn't. At nine he decided to go and wake Jo up, knowing that sleeping in any later would mess up her sleep schedule. To his surprise, however, he found her bed empty and already made, a note sitting on the pillow.

Woke up early and decided to go for a walk.
I'll meet you in the dinning room for
breakfast at 9:30
—JW

Sherlock smiled to himself and decided to go down to breakfast early: the hotel provided copies of the London Times and served very good coffee. At nine thirty precisely, Jo walked into the dinning room, her cheeks slightly flushed from the exertion of what was probably a rather brisk walk. He had positioned himself so that he would be able to see her when she came in but didn't waive her over as she scanned the room. The doctor found him soon enough and took her seat across from him with a smile.

"Anything interesting?" She asked, nodding to his paper.

He took his head, folding the paper and handing it to her. "Nothing at all. Here, have your way with the sports section."

"Thank you," she answered, briefly scanning the headlines before looking at the menu. A few minutes later the waitress came by and Jo ordered for them both, silencing her companion with a look when he opened his mouth to protest that he wasn't hungry.

As they waited for their orders to arrive, Jo read the paper, occasionally peering over the top edge to examine her companion, who was staring out the window to his left and fidgeting with his napkin. It was obvious that the impending Moon Cycle was affecting more than he would like to admit; the metal id tags prominently displayed on his chest, instead of safely hidden away under his shirt as usual, were a clear sign to everyone who wasn't blind that he would be affected by the cycle that started the following night. As soon as she caught herself staring at the tags she snapped her eyes back to the paper and forced herself not to look up again.

Sherlock forced himself not to fuss with his id tags. Normally, he managed to forget that he wore them at all, but for five days a month, the three days of the Moon Cycle as well as the day preceding and following the Cycle, he was forced to put them on display for everyone to see. He knew that the effect was strictly psychological, but the little pieces of metal always felt uncomfortably heavy for those five days. He often considered just ignoring the law requiring him to display his tags, but he knew that, while briefly satisfying, it would be more of a hassle than it was worth. Interestingly enough, their presence seemed to bother Jo almost as much as they did him. He didn't know why this was and was and was decidedly unwilling to question her about it out of what he was able to acknowledge, even if only to himself, was simple cowardice.

He was actually rather grateful when the waitress arrived with their orders, if for no other reason than that it gave him something to focus on other than the conundrum that was his flatmate. Jo put aside her paper and smiled at Sherlock before turning to her meal. After a moment of hesitation he did the same, confident that she wasn't expecting him to make small-talk.

Half-way through their meal Jo cleared her throat. "So, the Moon Cycle starts tomorrow." Sherlock nodded and she continued, having learned the hard way that it really wasn't productive to point out that she was stating the painfully obvious. "I was thinking that you might want to stay here. Staying cooped up in our flat for three days can't be particularly pleasant. I was thinking that maybe we could go camping; the fresh air might do us some good."

"Camping, really?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugged. "Yeah, why not? Camping's fun. And we'd be far enough away from everyone that you wouldn't be disturbed. There's a shop in town that rents equipment and the truck we've rented would definitely be sufficient for our purposes."

"And what in all of our association together makes you think that camping would be something that I enjoy?" He asked with a slight sneer. Surprisingly, the soldier seemed to fold in on herself.

"Never mind then," she mumbled. "It was just an idea. I'll go book our train tickets after we finish breakfast." Surprised by the strength of her disappointment, Sherlock quickly reconsidered.

He cleared his throat. "Actually, no. Camping sounds like the perfect opportunity to practice survival skills. You never know when we'll be left stranded somewhere and have to fend for ourselves."

It was Jo's turn to raise her eyebrows. "Sherlock, I'm not talking about survival skills; I'm talking about camping with a tent and sleeping pads and lots of supplies."

"Yes, well, since I've never actually been camping," Sherlock said, fidgeting with his napkin again, "I thought it would be best if we started small."

She broke into a small smile. "Alright then. I thought we could leave tomorrow morning so that we would have plenty time to set up camp before moonrise."

"I shall defer to your expertise," he said, resuming his meal. Jo just widened her smile.

The next morning they ate and checked out early so that they could make it to their campsite by noon. Jo had called ahead and reserved the most secluded site she could find and wanted to make sure that they got an early start because she was almost positive that trying to set up camp with Sherlock was going to be nothing short of a trial by fire. Sure enough, an hour into the enterprise she was trying to remember all of the reasons bashing Sherlock over the head with a blunt object was a bad idea that she would regret very, very much.

"Sherlock!" She yelled, turning to face him. "I need you to help me set up the tent."

"I think you've got the situation well in hand," he answered from a canvas chair, the erection of which had been his single contribution to the set up effort.

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Putting up the tent is a two man job, and I swear to god if you don't get up and start helping me, I will stab you in the fleshy part of your bum with a tent pole!"

"There's no need to get snippy," he replied with a heavy sigh, pushing himself out of his seat. "When we moved in together you failed to warn me of your violent tendencies."

She rolled her eyes. "And you failed to warn me that random body parts would appear in my refrigerator. We all have our complaints."

Sherlock gave her a withering look. "Well, this is decidedly your area of expertise, instruct me." Jo heaved another sigh and bit back a smile before beginning to give him the necessary directions.

Once they had finally finished setting up camp, and had eaten the sandwiches Jo had brought for lunch, Sherlock returned to what he claimed as his seat and glowered into the currently barren fire pit. Jo retrieved the novel she was currently reading and pulled her chair up beside him, determined to ignore the detective's foul mood. After half an hour of pointed sighs and even more pointed avoidance of of eye contact, however, she gave up that plan as a lost cause.

"What is it Sherlock?" She finally asked, narrowly avoiding rolling her eyes at his latest melodramatic sigh.

"I'm bored," he declared, throwing his hands up for emphasis. "Bored, bored, bored, bored, Bored! I don't know what we're going to do stuck out here for three days!"

Jo carefully replaced her bookmark and stood up. "Well it's a good thing I have prepared for this contingency. I know that it is incredibly unlikely that you would ever become bored, but I do like to be prepared for all possible eventualities."

"Is that one of those soldier things?" Sherlock asked as she walked to the truck.

"You would be surprised at how many of the skills I learned in the military are necessary for surviving life with you," she replied, her voice muffled from being inside the car.

He rolled his eyes. "Surprising, yes. Once could almost think that my brother had designed the program with that specific purpose in mind."

"You're sounding a bit paranoid there Sherlock," she answered amidst the rustling of a plastic bag and the slamming of a car door. "And before you start accusing me of being part of a massive government conspiracy, spearheaded by your brother, designed to find you a friend, I would like to remind you that you should be nice to me because I buy you presents." She punctuated her statement by placing the bag in his lap. "Now there are only four of them, so remember to pace yourself."

He frowned, looking into the bag. "There are more than four books in here."

"I'm sure you'll be able to account for the discrepancy," she said with a smile, moving to retake her seat. Sherlock hummed, already engrossed in his examination.

Instead of pulling out of all of the books at once, rifling through them, and then paying closer attention to each individual specimen, Sherlock focused all of his attention on one book at a time, setting it aside before moving on to retrieve the next book from the bag for inspection. Jo had opened her book up to where she had left off, but despite her efforts to appear nonchalant, she was watching her friend with obvious amusement. She saw him look at, smell, and even lick the nineteenth century tome on deductive reasoning, the early twentieth century French advanced chemistry textbook, and a recent compilation of various conspiracy theories about the JFK assassination. Finally, he pulled out the fourth book. She wasn't exactly sure what it was, but the owner of the used book store she found it in had told her that it was a mid-nineteenth century discussion of medical diagnostic techniques in Russia; it was, naturally, written entirely in Russian. She had bought him a nice notebook, a couple of legal pads, and a Russian-English dictionary to aid in the translation.

"Jo," he said, looking over at her after finishing his examination, "this is amazing."

She shrugged. "I picked them all up in a used book store on my walk yesterday morning. I thought they might keep you occupied at least until we get back to London. And I know that you had been looking for an opportunity to increase your Russian language skills; I figured this was easier than moving to Moscow for six to eight weeks."

"This is by far one of the best gifts I've ever received," he said with a genuine smile. "And it isn't even Christmas!"

"Well you're welcome," Jo replied, turning back to her book to try and hide her blush. Sherlock, after a few moment's deliberation, decided to save the translation 'til last and started with the book on deductive reasoning.

That evening Jo built a fire and made them a (surprisingly appetizing, in Sherlock's opinion) dinner of baked potatoes and chili. And while Jo did get him to admit that the meal was more than edible, despite his original, and very vocal, doubts on the matter, she failed to get him to assist in the clean up operation. After she finished washing up, and had set up a lantern for when it got dark, she returned to her chair and her book. Sherlock was just finishing his first book and was steadily becoming more and more restless; Jo waited until he had progressed from restless to downright twitchy before speaking up.

"Moonrise will be coming soon," she said, not looking up from her book.

Sherlock practically growled. "Obviously! I know that it's difficult for you, but please at least try to refrain from stating the painfully obvious." She just hummed in response, knowing better than to try and engage him in conversation when he was this agitated. They both fell back into silence.

Normally, Sherlock handled his monthly compulsory Change with calm grace, viewing it mostly as an inconvenient loss of three nights a month. But occasionally, and for reasons unknown to Jo, the Change would become something offensive to him, causing him to become agitated and snappish, often lashing out at whoever was closest to him at the moment. She probably would have been more concerned by the behavioral changes if Sherlock hadn't showed every sign of being aware of them and dealing with them on his own, usually by locking himself away until he was in a more amicable mood.

Sherlock sighed a few minutes later, snapping his book closed. "I suppose I should just change now - make it easier for everyone. I'll only be a few moments." Jo just nodded, knowing that he hadn't been looking for any more of a response than that.

He entered their tent without another word, reappearing barefoot and in his boxer shorts, and then disappearing into the woods behind their campsite. Jo waited patiently and sure enough, about five minutes later a large black wolf came trotting into camp holding a pair of dark blue pants in his mouth. He loped up to her and dropped them in her lap.

"Thank you," she said wryly. "Just what I've always wanted." She patted him absently on the head on her way to the tent. She stuffed Holmes' pants into his bag, changed into a thicker jumper, and retrieved a small rectangle box from her own bag. She returned to her chair and wasn't at all surprised when Sherlock rested his head on her knee. She obliged him by scratching behind his ears; they both pretended that his tail didn't even twitch, let alone wag enthusiastically. The peace only lasted for a few minutes before Sherlock started getting antsy again.

Jo sighed and waived him off. "Go on, frolic in the woods. The whole point of this was for you to burn off excess energy. I'll be here when you get back." He eyed her for a moment before nosing at her hand and running off. She smiled to herself for a moment before picking up her book and settling in.

Sherlock still hadn't come back by the time Jo went to bed, so she left the door to the tent unzipped enough that Sherlock would be able to get in on his own. Sure enough, she was woken up around midnight by Sherlock coming into the tent. She sat up to close the tent as her friend nudged his sleeping pad closer to hers.

She sighed and allowed him to snuggle up to her. "You're always so cuddly when you're fuzzy." He huffed before licking into her ear in retaliation. She rolled her eyes and pushed his head away even as she wrapped her arm around his shoulders, quickly going back to sleep.

When Sherlock woke up the next morning Jo was already up. He quickly got dressed and went out to see what she was up to. Jo had reignited the fire and was in the process of preparing them a full breakfast. She smiled at him and pointed him to the coffee she had made but didn't say anything.

"How are you so chipper in the morning? It's not decent," he said, flopping himself down at the picnic table where Jo was working.

She rolled her eyes. "Since when have you ever given a damn about decent. And I'm not chipper, you're just even more moody than usual in the morning."

"Whatever you say," he answered, his voice rumbling from the back of his throat. "Please tell me that there's a way to get a real shower out here."

Jo nodded. "Yeah, just follow the road; it's not far. The tokens are in the glove compartment."

"Tokens" He asked incredulously.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, tokens. It's coin operated."

"That is barbaric," he sneered, standing up and heading to the car to get his things together; Jo just rolled her eyes.

"Jo," Sherlock called a minute or so later, "why is there a package of tennis balls in the glove compartment?"

Jo smirked. "I thought that if you got bored we could play fetch." Moments later a tennis ball hit the back of her head; she just laughed. "Don't take forever, breakfast'll be ready in about twenty."

Sherlock got back just as the food finished cooking, his towel wrapped around his neck. "That was beyond tedious."

Jo rolled her eyes. "You are currently growing mold samples under our bathroom sink. You have long since forfeited your right to be picky."

"I know what type of mold I'm growing," he answered. "I have no idea what was growing in that miserable building."

She smiled at him as she dished up their plates. "Here you go. And no complaining; you need to eat a real meal after frolicking through the forest for half the night."

"I don't frolic," he pouted, poking at his food. "And I don't pout, so you can stop smirking." Jo just laughed.

A little while after breakfast was finished and cleaned up Jo set aside her book and got her friend's attention. "There's a lake about a mile and a half away. I thought that we could pack a lunch and spend the afternoon down there swimming and such. It's plenty warm enough."

"I don't even own a pair of swim trunks, let alone have them with me," he answered without looking up. "I'm afraid that you'll be forced to go without me."

She grinned at him. "I had a feeling you might say that, which is why I pick up a pair of trunks for you before we left town."

"I suppose I don't have any objections then," he said, sounding less than enthused.

Jo sighed, her smile fading. "Don't feel obligated; we don't have to go."

"Nonsense," he replied, his eyes still on his book. "You wish to go and I have no objections. I just hope that you remembered to get sunscreen."

She rolled her eyes. "No, I thought we'd run an experiment on how long it takes you to turn completely red."

"SPF 50, then." He smirked and briefly glanced up to make sure she was smiling again; she was.

Jo put together their lunch and supplies in a rucksack before changing into her new swimsuit, covering it with a tank-top and shorts. Sherlock had put on his trunks and a t-shirt while she was packing, so he took the time she was dressing to put his current book (the JFK conspiracy theories) and a couple of tennis balls in the pack. Jo emerged from the tent and easily shouldered the bag before leading the way to the lake. The trail she took was too narrow for them to walk side by side, and since Jo was the one who knew where they were going, Sherlock fell into step behind her. They walked in silence, and Sherlock had to keep reminding himself to look anywhere but at Jo and her legs.

When they reached the lake, Jo set the backpack on the ground before tossing a tube of sunscreen to Sherlock, who chuckled and pulled off his shirt to apply the cream. When he looked up, Jo had stripped as well and was folding her clothes. He froze; she was wearing a dark green bikini and had pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Living together, Sherlock had obviously seen his friend less than fully clothed, but there had never been quite as much skin involved; he was briefly terrified that he would start drooling like an imbecile, but he managed to jump start his brain fairly quickly.

"Do you want me to do your back?" She asked, straightening up.

He nodded jerkily and turned around. "Yeah, sure. Thanks." He forced himself not to clench his fists and to take deep, even breaths.

When she finished, she tapped him on the shoulder with the tube and stepped back. "Alright, you are sun-proof for the next forty-five minutes or so."

"Thanks," he answered, turning around. "Would you like me to do you?" He winced. "I mean your back. Would you like me to put some sunscreen on your back?"

Jo chuckled. "No thanks, the sun will do me good. We're not all as vampiric as you."

"Vampires don't exist," Sherlock scoffed.

She rolled her eyes. "So says the werewolf. There was a time, you know, when Lycans were considered to be just as fictional as vampires."

"I still find the comparison offensive." He sniffed and then had to force himself not to join in when his friend started laughing.

"Well what are you going to do about it?" She teased, slowly backing away. "I don't know if you can let such an offensive comparison slide." They held eye contact and Sherlock couldn't help but smile at how mischievous she looked; moments later she turned and bolted for the water. He laughed before chasing after her. He was up to his waist before he realized just how cold the water was, gasping and pulling his arms into his chest.

He glared at Jo. "Bloody buggering Christ that's cold!"

"You'll get used to it." She laughed, resisting the urge to point out just how high and breathy his voice had gotten. "Suck it up; you'll be fine: a little cold water never hurt anyone."

Sherlock didn't stop glowering. "You're a doctor! Haven't you ever heard of hypothermia?"

Jo rolled her eyes. "You're not going to get hypothermia; stop being so melodramatic."

"If I die, it's your fault," he answered petulantly.

She sighed. "I'm not going to let you die. You just have to acclimatize to the temperature." Before he had the chance to respond she shoved him hard enough for him to lose his balance and fall. He grabbed onto her arms, though, pulling her down with him.

Jo surfaced laughing. "Do you feel better now?"

"No, now I'm wet as well as cold," he grumbled, pushing his hair out of his face. "But I suppose I'll live." Jo laughed again.

Later, after they had finished swimming and eaten lunch, Jo stretched out in the sun with her book. Sherlock found a shady spot that wasn't too far away and tried to focus on his own book; unsurprisingly, his eyes kept wandering to where Jo was laying. He could see all of her scars: the remnants of her childhood car accident, the bullet wound on her shoulder, the knife scars McGovern left, the claw marks on her side, and what he was fairly sure was a bite mark on her hip. She was beautiful, her scars only proving her strength and increasing her appeal. Sherlock didn't notice how long he had been staring until Jo pointed it out.

"If you're so interested you should just ask. It'll be far more productive, I promise," she said, propping herself up on her elbows.

He paused, briefly wondering whether she was talking about her scars or the fact that he desperately wanted to touch them; he decided to play it safe. "Where did you get those scars?" He got up and moved closer so that they could have a conversation at a normal volume.

"Which ones? I've got plenty," she answered with a grin.

He pointed at her side. "Those. The uh…" He trailed off, unsure of what would be the tactful way to describe the scars.

"The claw marks?" She asked, sitting up completely.

He nodded, clearing his throat nervously. "Yeah, those."

"I got them in Afghanistan," she began, keeping her voice purposefully level. "It was the Blue Moon and I had just gotten off a double shift with eight straight hours of surgery. I was exhausted and I collapsed into bed as soon as I could. Liam hadn't quite got off duty yet, so I was alone. We had only been in Afghanistan for a few months at that point and Liam and I kept pretty much to ourselves, so I didn't really know anyone else yet. There was this guy, Aiden Fritz, who worked directly under me; he didn't even like taking orders from a woman, let alone a human; we had already clashed a few times, but I outranked him so I wasn't too worried about it. Apparently he was more disgruntled than I thought, and he came in and grabbed me while I was sleeping." She paused for breath and Sherlock wanted to stop her from continuing; he could see where her story was going and it quite honestly made him feel sick, but he wasn't able to clear the lump out of his throat before she started speaking again.

"I tried to fight back, but I couldn't wake up enough to be very effective. Luckily, Liam came back before Fritz was able to get too far, but as he was being dragged away, Fritz's claws extended and dragged across my side. I was so tired that I didn't even bother getting out of bed; Liam stitched me up while I was sleeping. He still says that it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever convinced him to do." Jo purposefully made her voice lighter as she finished speaking, hoping that Sherlock would understand that she didn't really want to discuss the matter any further.

"And you told me that chasing that cab was the most ridiculous thing you'd ever done." Sherlock felt odd joking after such a sobering story, but he happily took the opportunity Jo offered to change the subject.

"It was," she answered, her serious expression cracking into a smile. "We out-ran a moving vehicle on foot, traumatized some poor tourist, and then ran home. It was patently ridiculous."

He returned her smile. "That it was. 'Welcome to London' and all that."

"You know," she said, her countenance softening even further, "that was the moment I knew that I wanted to keep you."

"Really? Why?" He asked, his heart rate speeding up inexplicably.

She shrugged, her gaze briefly flicking away before focusing on her friend again. "Before that you were just an arrogant, brilliant prick who somehow knew everything about me and left me stranded in strange places. But that was when I knew that chasing after you was going to be fun."

"Well, I'm glad," he answered, his heart still pounding.

She grinned. "Me too." After a moment of silence she asked, "So, how about you? When did you realize that you wanted to keep me around for a while?"

He cleared his throat and focused on some neutral point over her left shoulder. "It was actually when you knew that I was a Lycan. There aren't very many humans that can do that, and I knew that you definitely weren't going to be boring."

"And here I thought that it was the whole murder thing that got your attention," she answered, smirking even as she shifted her gaze away.

He rolled his eyes. "Well, that certainly was attention grabbing. But it wasn't murder — more justifiable violence."

"Whatever you say," she said, snorting. They fell silent and Sherlock's eyes inevitably drifted down to the bite marks on her hip. After a moment she caught him looking and instinctively covered the scar with her hand.

The doctor sighed, deliberately averting her eyes. "That's the only scar I'm ashamed of." Sherlock hummed, not really knowing what else to say. When Jo didn't show any sign of continuing the conversation, Sherlock decided that it would probably be best to drop the subject for the time being.

Jo shook her head to clear it, coughing lightly. "Anyway, did you put those tennis balls in my bag?"

"Yes I did." Her friend grinned. "I thought we could play fetch."

She rolled her eyes, laughing. "You are a ridiculous man, Sherlock Holmes. Absolutely ridiculous."

"Does this mean we can't play fetch?" He asked innocently, making her laugh even more. Instead of answering him, Jo reached into her bag and pulled out one of the balls, tossing it to him. He weighed it for a moment before standing up and throwing it out into the lake. Jo laughed before chasing after it.