Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. A. N. I swear, things keep happening that I didn't expect. Hope you enjoy it.
Sherlock did his best to pretend everything was fine for a while. Act as normal as he'd always been. Enjoy dinner, despite the knots trying to squeeze his stomach. (And still, he was hungry. That was new. Undoubtedly the wolf. Maybe a fully different metabolism.) He had a plan, though. Eventually the trap would spring. He didn't need to stress about the wolf taking advantage of the situation. (He still did.)
Besides, it listened to John. There would be no problem so long as John was at his side, and...the alpha - well, according to them - would not let him make a mess. Not that the detective was entirely sure about what random letters were meant to signify. Ranking, sure, but he needed details. So, so many details. It was nice of John to try not to overwhelm him...but he'd never been very good at going at a moderate pace, about anything in his life.
The unknown variables were driving him half-crazy. Or maybe it was the moon. Tonight it'd be the last full one of the month.
"So, are we going out tonight, for another smells lesson?" John asked, once dinner was done and the table had been cleared. Just like that.
Sherlock wanted it, he wanted all the data right now, but ... "Won't we turn?" He'd learned how to, at will, sure. But he wasn't sure that he was good enough to resist the pull of the moon. That had to be a whole different trick...and the exact opposite of what he'd done the past day.
"That was my idea. But you know, we can turn here in peace and comfort and then leave on our paws. That won't change your perceptions. It'll make them stronger, if anything."
Sherlock liked that idea, but... "Are you sure it's a good idea? They'll be looking for that thief's...current strays." Not that he thought that the police could take John and him down. But it seemed like inviting trouble.
"Are you scared, Sherlock? Of Hopkins?" John's look said that he found it odd...and a little funny.
"More like for Hopkins." Sherlock shrugged. "If we're noticed, and end up on the wrong end of a tranquillizer gun, or worse, a real one...well. I don't want to risk overreacting. I'm still finding my footing, so to speak. And I know you'd stop me, but -"
"I'm not that sure. Because yeah, they wouldn't have silver bullets, but - if they actually try to kill us, is it overreacting? Even if you take off a good chunk?" He sighed. "You know, I assumed nobody would have actually thought twice about us. You're so pretty, and I've never been bothered. At worst, a few people might want to pet you, but you could always slink away. "
Sherlock huffed a laugh. "Sorry. That sounded like the voice of experience. I had a sudden mental image of people trying to convince you to be petted."
"It's not always bad, actually. But I think you might not be keen on it." John shrugged.
"Oh." The sleuth sounded unimpressed. "Did you like it from girls? Really, John?"
All it got him was an eye roll. "Do you really think that's my only aim all day every day?"
That wasn't worth a reply. It wasn't needed. Sherlock's face said "obviously" clearly enough.
"Well, for your information, I wasn't referring to that. Kids can be adorable, though. When they aren't squealing like banshees. In fact, I have something I use when I go out. To make sure people will not be concerned about me, or at least, not overly so. Pity it will do nothing for us tonight. Hell, it could make things worse."
"Why?"
"Because they're looking for someone's pet. Well, former. So, if people mistake us for pets, and no owner is in sight... it might actually be smarter to go out looking like complete strays. Which is kind of lucky, because I've been dumb and not got you one yet. Sorry. You'd think I'd be a better mentor."
"Got me one?" Sherlock wondered.
"Or, well, suggested you buy one. Maybe that would be more sensible, yeah. I admit I have been thinking on and off about it since I smelled your change, and I kinda thought I could get you one, as a - not a new birthday present, or a housewarming present, a welcome to the club present? Maybe? Damn, you'd think I'd have less trouble with words."
John was rambling, and Sherlock couldn't help a little scoff. It wasn't like he didn't take ages and backtrack fifteen times to craft a blog post. Some struggling with his words was not surprising at all, especially when talking about things that didn't make logical sense.
His blogger glared weakly at his reaction, before continuing, "Anyway, yeah, I should have known it was a bad idea. Our styles definitely don't match, for one. You'll want... what do I know. That's the problem."
"Our styles might not match as humans, but as wolves? I'm ready to defer to your expertise." Sherlock cocked his head. "Or I would, if I had any idea what you're talking about. So if you could just give me the details. I would just deduce it, but I am not confident in my reasoning when this is the matter at hand." He grimaced.
"You will be soon. By next month at the latest, I bet." John grinned. "Anyway, sorry. My little secret trick is donning a collar before I go out. Perfect pet disguise, and nobody's unduly concerned. Ok, maybe the dog catcher once or twice. But it's not like they could ever catch me."
John chuckled, and Sherlock joined if they devolved into giggles...Well, what else could they do? As if an idiot with a pole could be a match for John.
When they caught their breath, though, Sherlock's brain backtracked. A collar. John went around wearing a collar. Did he have a tag? What did it say? How had he never noticed it? And, worst of all, John wanted to get him a collar too. He wanted to pick it, even if he hadn't yet.
And yes, it was meant as an introduction to the new life, as a welcome, or something along those lines... But Sherlock's mouth went suddenly dry. No, no, he couldn't jump ahead. He was taking things slow because if he made the wrong move he'd be in John's bed by tonight and his ex by the end of the week, like everyone else, only he'd have to move out and he couldn't move out. Wouldn't. He needed to take his mind off the subject before he did something stupid. Like...like rolling over. Or worse.
Instead, because he was an idiot sometimes (Mycroft would definitely agree), he asked, "Where do you keep your collar anyway?"
"Inside my ugliest Christmas jumper. That thing's bulky, I could hide a few body parts in it if I were a different kind of werewolves. Or you." John gave him a crooked grin. "I'm not putting it on to go out tonight, but I can definitely model it for you...if you're interested."
"I'd love it," slipped out before Sherlock could shrug off the offer. He'd meant to. Now that he knew, he could have investigated it any time. But his mouth - and certainly his brain - kept doing things without his permission. Maybe he needed to leash the mind palace wolf. Yeah, that was it.
John strutted away - there was no other word for it. Sherlock remained very, very still, trying to get a hold of his own...well, everything. He wasn't going to embarrass himself. He wasn't. (Oh, who was he kidding. There was no way he wouldn't. Hell, possibly he already had.)
A few deep breaths couldn't hurt, though.
A minute later John came down the stairs, claws clicking gently. Sherlock looked at him...and there against his throat sat the collar, a shock of red against blonde fur.
John came to sit by him and his nose pointed up, head tilted to show his accessory.
Sherlock ran a finger over it, feeling the soft, slightly worn leather. There was, indeed, a tag - bone shaped, which should be ridiculous but somehow didn't seem so, and aluminium, if he wasn't wrong.
It read simply "John". Apparently, the wolf saw no need to lie. Or perhaps he liked being properly addressed by anyone he'd allow close enough to read it.
Absent-mindedly, Sherlock scratched the fur of his companion's chest, dragging one finger up under the collar.
"Nice" he remarked. "You have much more acceptable taste for your canid self, John. If you really want to, I'll happily let you pick mine. For next month."
John nodded solemnly, then laid his head on Sherlock's knee, once again. Sherlock's hand rose to rub behind his ears. Hopefully John would decide to forego going out. It was a lovely way to spend their time, at least until Sherlock changed himself. And even then...well, they'd follow their whims, wouldn't they?