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John was following Sherlock onto yet another crime scene. John didn’t mind going to crime scenes with Sherlock – watching Sherlock’s face light up in excitement as he solved the puzzle was always well worth it – and he rather enjoyed it. Especially when they got to tracking down the suspect and Sherlock would let John chase the suspect. It was fun.
This was the fourth murder of a twenty year old male that had brown hair, blue eyes and tanned skin. There was obviously a pattern, and Lestrade had called Sherlock in after determinedly not calling Sherlock in for the other three murders (which Sherlock had sulked about).
Climbing the stairs of the abandoned house, John’s nose itched and he rubbed at it, glancing up at Sherlock who was bounding up the stairs. Frowning slightly, John made it to the top of the stairs and to the doorway before he stopped, halted by the intense, overpowering smell. It obliterated everything else and his eyes watered. Glancing around at the policemen and Sherlock, he was confused as they didn’t seem to notice. Maybe it was only his sensitive nose that could smell it. It was a disgusting scent, one that made it hard to smell even Sherlock. In fact, that scent was the only thing he could smell.
Sherlock was crouching by the body and didn’t look away from it as he called to John, “John! Come look at this!”
For a moment, John paused, torn between running away from the horrible smell and clearing his nose, and obeying Sherlock. As always, obeying Sherlock won out, and he took cautious steps forward into the far corner of the room where Sherlock was by the body. John held a hand to his nose to try and muffle the scent somewhat, but it didn’t work. It stung his nose, but pleasing Sherlock was more important than any discomfort.
John couldn’t concentrate as Sherlock started rattling off facts about the body and the murderer. It was pure torture to sit there and breathe in that scent with every painful inhale, and Sherlock didn’t notice, at first.
A pause in the deductions made John look up, and he saw Sherlock staring at him intently – no, staring at his hand covering his nose. Sherlock tore his gaze from John and glared at Lestrade. “Honestly, Lestrade, this is a simple case. I’ll text you the rest of the details you need to know later,” Sherlock said, quickly turning and striding from the room, snapping his fingers.
John instantly got up and followed him out of the house, relieved when Sherlock lead them into the fresh air of London and around to an alleyway, where he promptly turned and pressed John up against the wall and moved his hand away from his nose before inhaling sharply.
“John! You’re bleeding,” Sherlock stated, reaching into his coat pocket and producing a portable pack of tissues and tugged a few out, holding them to John’s nose and tipping his head down. “What happened?” Sherlock’s voice was sharp with concern.
“The smell,” John got out, his voice sounding clogged.
Sherlock frowned. “What smell?” he questioned, confirming John’s previous suspicion that the humans couldn’t smell it.
“I don’t know what it was. But it was completely and utterly overpowering and I couldn’t even smell you. All I could smell was that smell. But, it was only in the room. There was a trace of it coming down the stairs, but that was it,” John explained, gently moving his head back and away from the tissues as his nose stopped bleeding.
He inhaled deeply, clearing his nose of the horrible scent.
Sherlock was watching him, still frowning as he tried to figure out this puzzle.
After a few minutes, Sherlock sighed, letting go of the puzzle (for now) to focus more on the case. “Next time, tell me straight away, alright?” Sherlock ordered.
“I will,” John promised Sherlock with a small smile.
Sherlock bent down and pressed their lips together quickly before pulling back and grabbing John’s hand and started running.
*.*.*.
John had been sent out shopping whilst Sherlock thought about the case back in the flat, gathering food they needed for the next few weeks, as well as some things Sherlock had wanted him to get for his experiments.
He’d been distracted, making sure he had everything as he walked out of the store, shopping bags in hand, as he was suddenly grabbed by the face and kissed by lips that were not Sherlock’s. Pulling back, distraught, John caught a glimpse of a women winking at him before she disappeared. Instantly, John started running back to Baker Street, wanting to get back to Sherlock. He didn’t like it. It was wrong. Sherlock was the only person who was meant to kiss him and touch him and that woman was not Sherlock.
Upset, John barged in the door and raced up the stairs. John’s gaze locked onto Sherlock and found that Sherlock was on the phone, pacing and talking, but he instantly stilled at John’s arrival, gaze flicking over the distress evident in his body.
“John?” he questioned, gaze becoming fixed on John’s lips.
He placed the bags down and rushed over to Sherlock, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s skinny waist and pressed close. He heard the click of the call being ended, and looked up at Sherlock. “I was coming out of the shops and this woman kissed me. I didn’t want to. I.. it’s wrong!” John’s voice was quick and sharp with his distress, “Please, Sherlock. Fix it. I don’t like it. No one else it meant to kiss me but you. I feel wrong. Please? Fix it?” John begged.
John watched as Sherlock slipped the phone into his pocket then cupped his face, the thumb of one hand rubbing against his lip and then pulled it back to show John the faint pink smear and making him grimace.
Sherlock lowered his head and John closed his eyes, tilting his head up as Sherlock lapped at his lips for a few moments, easing all traces of the woman before sliding his tongue into John’s mouth and thoroughly caressing John’s mouth, claiming it as his own once more. John sighed in relief and tightened his hold on Sherlock, pressing eagerly into the kiss.
Suddenly, Sherlock broke away, and John opened his eyes to find Sherlock’s eyes wide. “Oh!” he exclaimed, his other thumb absently rubbing John’s cheek. “Oh, of course! It wasn’t another man, it was a lady! She went to the clubs, found her victims and lured them out under the guise that there’d be intercourse! Of course!” Sherlock exclaimed excitedly, giving John another quick, searing kiss, before he released John, picking up his phone again and dialling Lestrade. “Tonight, John, we’ll have a different kind of chase.”
*.*.*.
John was uncomfortable with this, but he didn’t protest. They were in a club, and Sherlock was in disguise to try and lure the murder to get him. Before they had left, Sherlock had come back from his bedroom with a pair of tight dark jeans (John hadn’t seen Sherlock wearing since the human had been in his teens) and his purple silk shirt which had several buttons undone. He’d pulled on a light-brown wig (Sherlock’s hair was naturally brown, but it was such a dark colour that it could be passed as black), and when he’d picked up on John’s discomfort, he’d smiled warmly at his werewolf and assured John that he was counting on him to protect him. Then he’d been ushered into the bedroom and a pair of dark jeans were waiting for him, as well as a brown long-sleeved shirt and a leather jacket.
He was uncomfortable in the clothes, but his gaze was glued to Sherlock as he watched his human mingle and search the crowd for their murderer. Regularly, Sherlock’s gaze would sweep over to him, then he’d turn away once he was satisfied John was still in the same spot and safe.
John watched as a blonde sidled up to Sherlock and lean against him. John had to bite down on a growl. He knew Sherlock wasn’t at all interested in her and that he was just acting, but watching them made a funny feeling run through him. It was kind of like anger, but not. Frowning slightly, John rubbed at his chest, and then sneezed.
Instantly on alert, John tore his gaze from Sherlock and found a brunette staring at him intently. When their gazes met, she grinned at him, and beckoned him closer. She seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place his finger on it. Darting a glance at Sherlock, torn, he didn’t want to leave his spot in case Sherlock got into trouble, but he was curious. Stilling, he took a deep breath. Last time he’d followed his curiosity, he’d ended up losing Sherlock for almost four years.
Glancing at the girl, he shook his head firmly, and then turned his attention back to Sherlock, though now he was aware that he was being watched. He could feel her gaze like it was burning into his skin.
A few minutes later, he sneezed again and glanced away from Sherlock to find a man standing near him. The man smiled at him, and John flinched in surprise. There, peeking out from under his lip, was a fang. Glancing around, John found that he could suddenly see that the room was full of beings like him – a fang here, a gesture there that was reminiscent of wolves.
Stiffening, he felt panic shoot through him as he realised he couldn’t find Sherlock. Darting away from the man, John sniffed around and followed Sherlock’s scent, his panic growing as he realised it was accompanied by a wolf-like scent.
He burst out the back door of the club and found Sherlock and the lady in the alley. She was pressed close to him, and John saw a flash of her claws before John raced forward and ripped her from him, throwing her against the floor and pressed his back against Sherlock’s chest, his body tensed as he snarled.
“John,” Sherlock said, startled, obviously about to say more when the lady snarled in response, flashing her teeth.
John growled threateningly, gaze fixed on hers. She slowly got up and brushed the dirt off of her clothes.
“You’re a wolf, too,” Sherlock stated. “You were the one who made that stink around the murder so John wouldn’t smell you.”
She grinned in response, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Wolf?” she questioned, “we’re more human. You should know from your pet, but it seems you aren’t. Werewolves are a small community thanks to it being a recessive gene, but we are mostly human. Human born, raised and bred.”
John blinked in surprise. But he was born from a wolf family. Pure wolves. He glanced behind him at Sherlock and saw that he looked confused too, but was better at hiding it.
Sherlock’s hand rested on John’s back, just above his arse, fingers tapping there as he thought. “Well, seeing as you’ve already confessed, and we have no further use for you, we’ll take you back to the station,” Sherlock said, giving John a pat.
Pleased, John looked back at the girl and grinned at her. She paled, and before he could blink, she’d transformed and taken off.
“After her, John!” Sherlock commanded, “And bring her back alive.”
John nodded and leapt, transforming and hitting the pavement with four paws, instantly darting after her. She was much bigger than him in this form, but John was faster.
John followed her trail, keeping to the shadows so he wasn’t seen and it didn’t take him long to catch up to her.
John tackled her and easily restrained her, snarling in her face. She fell still, and John grabbed her by her scruff and dragged her to the police station, transforming before he got there and she followed his lead. John pulled out his phone and texted Sherlock, waiting patiently for him.
When Sherlock got there, he rewarded John with a kiss, and John smiled happily, keeping a grip on her.
“Come on, John. We’ll give her to Lestrade then get out before he can try and drag us into paperwork,” Sherlock said with a smile.
John nodded and followed after him, dragging the girl behind him, and followed Sherlock into Lestrade’s office, dumped the girl then followed Sherlock out.
John yawned on the way back and Sherlock wrapped an arm about his waist. “You did good John,” Sherlock murmured, kissing his temple.
“Thank you,” John thanked Sherlock happily.
There was silence for a few moments before Sherlock asked, “Did you know there were more of you?”
John shrugged. “I didn’t really think about it. You’re all I ever need. Though, it would be stupid to think that I was the only one,” John admitted.
“Your parents were definitely wolves, weren’t they, John?” Sherlock questioned.
“Yes,” John answered instantly, no doubt in his mind.
Sherlock hummed softly, nodding, as they turned onto Baker Street.
When they were inside, John went into the kitchen to make tea, and Sherlock went over to the couch to think, palms pressed together.
John came back with the tea and leant against the couch, placing the tea on the coffee table. “Sherlock?” John questioned softly.
“Mm?” Sherlock hummed, but John knew he was listening.
“In the club, when you were with that girl, I felt… weird,” John said, curious if Sherlock knew what had happened to him.
“How so?” Sherlock questioned him.
“It was kind of like anger, but… not. I didn’t want you near her. Or anyone,” John explained, twisting so he could see Sherlock’s face.
Sherlock’s face was soft and he was smiling in amusement, opening his eyes to look at John. He reached out and carded his fingers through John’s hair, which he instantly leant into. “Jealousy. You were jealous,” Sherlock explained, gently scratching his fingers against John’s scalp.
John nodded his head at the word to fit the emotion he had felt. “Oh,” John said.
Sherlock chuckled softly and gently tugged John up, pressing their lips together. “You will never have any reason to be jealous, John. Not ever. You are mine and I will never need anyone else,” Sherlock murmured against his lips.
John sighed in content and relaxed into the kiss, closing his eyes and enjoying the bliss that came from being with Sherlock. “I love you,” John murmured warmly.
“I know. And I love you, too, John. Forever,” Sherlock whispered.
“Forever,” John echoed happily.