Disclaimer:I don't own a thing. Obviously.
Sherlock wasn't exactly looking forward to their next outing, but John insisted that there was nothing to be afraid of.
"Besides, your senses are even sharper than usual these days. If you want to further your studies, there's no better option."
Well, that clinched it. There was no way that Sherlock was going to give up a chance to learn. His dark fur would have helped him, too, during the nightly outing. Sure, central London would be bright anyway, but if he was careful, he had no doubt that he could go mostly unnoticed.
John went to leave the doors ajar, and then came back, smiling. "Ready for your class trip?"
Sherlock's huff was already closer to his other self than he expected. Perhaps the wolf wouldn't trap itself during the current moon phase, restless and close to the surface as it was. But afterwards, Sherlock really needed to start figuring out how to push it deeper, leash it or whatever means would lead to better control.
For now, though, he left the full moon to its job, falling easy prey to the creature. John changed right with him, and with a crooked smile, nosed at the door. Sherlock slipped forth, in front of him. That was what John probably wanted anyway, wasn't it? Old habits died hard.
They wandered, and with John nearby, it was like he could focus better. He wasn't hunting, which had always been an easy way to sort through what was worth noticing and what could be binned in the next blink. But he wasn't overwhelmed, like he might have been on his own.
And, to his complete shock, he didn't need to look at John to be taught. This time, they'd get close to someone, and their smell would make sense. John asked him, a low, soft bark, and Sherlock knew. Of course he knew. It was obvious that the man loitering in a corner was anxious, and it would have been if Sherlock was blind and deaf, too. Without John there, in fact, it might have been so overpowering that he'd get nervous in turn.
Before his alpha could devise another test, a waft hit him, making him tense in answer. Fear. He sneaked through the crowd, looking for its source. There. The girl was on her own, walking tense and quick.
Sherlock scanned the area, all senses alight, then turned to John. He couldn't find a predator, of any shape. But if he missed something...
"Wanna help?" John huffed.
Sherlock nodded. Of course he did. But if there wasn't any threat to take down, how was he supposed to?
John took a large turn, and Sherlock followed, observing. He went to the girl, right from the front, and when it seemed like she'd cross the street to avoid him, play-bowed. Then sat down, all prim.
She thought again, and seemed like she'd just move past him. John whined a little.
She sighed. "What's with you, huh?"
John's tail wagged so hard Sherlock wondered for a second if he might sprain it.
She petted him, her smell losing the sharp edge while she relaxed. And Sherlock absolutely wasn't jealous. There was nothing to be jealous about. But he wanted to help, too. (And okay, if he distracted her from John, he wouldn't cry.)
He came forward slowly, crawling, and wagging his tail himself. He nosed at John's shoulder.
"You got a friend too? What a pretty pair you make."
Her other hand came to him, and on the spur of the moment, he licked at it before she could pet him. She giggled, and dried herself on the heavy fur on his chest, then scratched him there for a moment.
If asked before, Sherlock would have assumed that he'd bite any offending hand that tried such a move. But it was...surprisingly tolerable. Almost nice.
"I really gotta go now, sorry darlings."
John, easy and gentle, got up and started trotting...not quite with her, but close enough that anyone would easily mistake him for hers. Sherlock tamped down the twinge of annoyance and went with, close enough that he might be mistaken for his alpha's actual shadow.
They escorted her home. At one point. they passed a policeman, and Sherlock tensed just a little. Would Hopkins have alerted everyone? But the man barely glanced at them - all of them. As welcome as that was, the black wolf couldn't help the surge of contempt. Sure, they weren't exactly rabid. But how was Scotland Yard expected to solve anything when they didn't see what walked right under their nose?
Once she'd gone in, after a last ruffling of their fur, Sherlock felt ready to move towards the next lesson. Before he could pick a direction, though, a different smell stopped him right in his tracks.
Anger. Even if he hadn't learned it already, there was no way he could ignore something so potent. He shared a look with John, and off they were to track it down. Not that they had to go very far. The man on the other side of the street, hidden behind a tree, was glaring at the house their new friend had just entered.
He ignored them, and after a couple of minutes, started walking. It could almost look like he was leaving, but all he did was loop around. When he was at the back of her house, something glinted in his hands. A knife.
He was using it to force open the window at the moment, but neither Sherlock nor John felt like sitting there and waiting to see what he'd do once he managed to get in.
Without a word needed between them, John dived for the bastard's ankle. Sherlock's teeth closed around the wrist of the hand that held the knife.
The man howled and dropped his weapon. Running steps meant that the policeman they'd passed not long ago would come to investigate. Normally, Sherlock would be all for staying put and explaining everything to the man.
Normally, though, his teeth weren't bloodied and he wasn't already wanted for a different crime. And he hadn't brought along any clothes, so switching would do him no favours. He doubted that a stark naked, red-mouthed consulting detective would be taken seriously, even if the man's statement about his sudden change would undoubtedly be discounted as the raving of a madman.
It was a bet, in a way. Leave only when the man was close enough that there was no way their prey could hobble away and hide. Not so close that they'd not be able to escape.
Him and the ARV that was possibly about to be summoned, if Hopkins had managed to make her concerns heard. True, normally they'd be a matter for the dog catcher. But with a dead man - werewolf, not like they'd know - and an injured one (though Sherlock'd argue they'd both shown considerable restraint)...well. Putting them down without a fuss sounded like a rational option.
Finally on the scene, the cop started yelling. As if that'd work to stop them. Well, he'd be busy summoning everything needed - possibly the ARV, definitely an ambulance - so Sherlock leapt away, John in his footsteps as ever.
For a while, they ran randomly, just trying to put as much space between them and their last known location as possible, making sudden turns that should make it more difficult to guess their direction.
Finally, Sherlock started to feel safer, and slowed down, panting.
John's head swiveled around , and he huffed, "Oh, perfect. I know just what I want you to sniff next. Come along!"
Sherlock barked his agreement. He was curious about his alpha's plans, he'd knew exactly where they were, of course, but couldn't imagine what the local attraction would be. John took the lead this time, and the black wolf followed.
They slipped through several alleys, until John stopped in a specific one. "Thought you might want to know this scent...given that you give it off pretty often. Mind, I do too, I'm sure. In case we synchronize...well, it might as well be your move."
If Sherlock could have blushed, he would have. They were behind a club, and the people here...yeah, he didn't need higher brain function to recognize that. Deeply horny smell, and no doubt it'd change to "we're actually having sex" scent in 3...2...or it would have if he didn't complain. His drawn-out, embarrassed, "Jaaawn" startled the couple. Fear was in the air once again before they rushed back inside.
"Was that really necessary?" his alpha replied.
Sherlock's head dropped.