As I ran out towards my friend's prone form, I shifted from hound to human. He lay in the middle of the battle, bullets had just been whizzing by. My dog tags were foreverly jingling from an ever present leather collar that I was forced to wear ever since I had taken the serum.
"Ace!" I called out as I fell to my knees by his side. His eyes moved about listlessly.
"Hawk-eye?" He moaned, his voice barely heard through the gurgling of blood that bubbled up from his frothing mouth.
"Oh god!" I grabbed his shoulders and began to drag him away. A sudden blinding pain pierced my right shoulder. I screamed and fell down. I grabbed Ace's hand as the pain slowly took away my vision and Ace died beside me.
***
I awoke in a hospital. Nurses and doctors raced about me, cleaning up after the stitching that I assumed had taken place.
"Ace?" I moaned groggily, though I already knew what had happened. My collar felt tight on my neck. The dog tags were cold against my skin.
"Oh!" A nurse ran over to me, "You're awake."
"Ace?" I grumbled again.
"Ace?" Her brows furrowed in confusion, "I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean."
"Partner." I felt so useless.
"Oh..." A look of sadness flashed across her face.
"Thought so." No emotion passed through me, though I knew that it would hit me later, as I slipped asleep.
***
A few months later I was released from the hospital, mourning the loss of my friend and cursing my shoulder. I was in London. Bloody London. I had no family, no friends, no one to help me out. I groaned and walked over to a park bench. I sat down on it and rubbed at my throbbing shoulder. Ever since I had escaped that hellhole of a hospital I had been living in the cheapest hotel I could find and picking up odd jobs here and there. Today I had just been fired from my third job this week because I kept falling asleep.
"By God, I sure am lucky today, aren't I?" I complained under my breath.
Suddenly a figure sat down beside me.
"John?" The voice inquired shyly. I turned toward the girl. Confusion must've been very easily seen on my face for she laughed and extended her hand.
"It's me, Susan. We went to collage together." She smiled when I shook her hand. A dim memory flickered in the back of my head.
"Oh! Hey Susan!" I tried to be friendly.
"What are you doing here? Last I heard of you was that you were getting shot." She looked up at me through her long eyelashes.
"Oh, well, I was shot and now I'm trying to find a place to live." I shrugged.
"Oh! I know someone who's looking for a guy to split the rent with!" Susan stood up and pulled me along with her as she speedily raced down the sidewalk.
"Well, ummm, thanks Susan!" I replied lamely after a while. She just laughed and walked me into a building. We went up an elevator and into a strange room.
"Sherlock!" She called out. A tall man stood up from behind his cluttered desk. It was covered with important looking science equipment. He had curly black hair and wore a long trench coat. Black shirt and jeans.
"Yes Susan?" His voice was deep and sweet.
"Found you a flat mate!" She shoved me forward happily. I stumbled and held out my hand.
"Umm, the name's John!" I provided as he firmly grabbed my hand and shook it.
"Sherlock." He stared at me quizzically for a second, "Why are you wearing a leather collar?"
"Oh, ummm, there isn't really an explanation that I'm allowed to give you." I smiled and shrugged. He dropped my hand and continued to examine me.
"Thank you Susan." Sherlock smiled at her and she just laughed. The grin did not manage to reach Sherlock's eyes.
"No problem." She trilled as she left. Sherlock returned his icy blue and forest green gaze upon me.
"Can I borrow your phone?" Sherlock looks up and holds out his hand expectantly.
"Er, sure." I reach into my back pocket and hand it to him.
"Thank you." He gets up and begins to stalk around as he starts to type on it, keeping the screen hidden from me.
"Afghanistan or Iraq?" He randomly asks. I frowned slightly.
"Sorry?"
"Which was it- Afghanistan or Iraq?" He briefly raised his eyes to meet mine before they flick back to my phone in his hands.
"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know...?" The door suddenly opens and a small mousy looking girl enters holding a mug of coffee.
"Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you." He shuts down my phone and hands it to me before taking the mug from the girl, Molly. He glares at her for a minute.
"What happened to the lipstick?" His deep voice questioned. I found the question slightly odd.
"It wasn't working for me." Molly smiled awkwardly.
"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouths too small now." He turned and walked back to his desk, taking a sip of the coffee and grimaced before setting the mug down.
"...Okay." Molly sighed, as if used to this. She turned around promptly and quietly made her escape.
"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock asked.
"I'm sorry, what?" I ruffled my hair. Sherlock started to type on his computer keyboard.
"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." He looked up at me, "Would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other." An alarmingly false smile suddenly leapt onto the man's face before he drops it and returns to his typing. I stare at him a moment.
"Wha..." I started, but remembered Susan saying something about flat mates.
"Clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan, wasn't that difficult a leap." He seemed to be talking to himself more than me.
"How did you know about Afghanistan?" He ignored my question and instead wrapped a scarf around his neck and picked up his mobile before checking it.
"I have my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we should be able to afford it." He smiled as he stood by the door.
"IS that it?" I asked incredulously.
"Is that what?"
"We've only just met and we're gonna go look at a flat?" I was having trouble wrapping my head around how quickly this was all moving.
"Problem?" Sherlock asked, genuinely seeming slightly confused at my hesitance to follow him out the door.
"We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we are going." I ticked the reasons off on my fingers. Sherlock gazed closely at em for a moment and moved even closer.
"I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalid home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help- possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife." His face took on that of someone who had just won an argument, "That's enough to be going with, don't you?" I could only stare dumbfounded.
"Jesus." I murmured.
"Well, come one, John, I want to get to Baker Street before the world ends." Sherlock smirked and held open the door. I shook my head but followed him down and into the cab. We sat there for a moment.
"You got question." Sherlock shattered the silence.
"Yes, well, how the hell did you know about Afghanistan?" I asked, once again ruffling my hair.
"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor- obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists, you've been abroad, but not sunbathing. You keep rubbing at your hair but always avoid lifting the right arm above head, even though you're right handed. This says that your right arm is wounded, traumatically so. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan- Afghanistan or Iraq." He heavily clicked the "q" on Iraq. I tried to get a word in edgewise, absolutely amazed at his ability, but he continued on without noticing.
"Then there's the matter of your brother."
"Hmmm?" I smirked, at least he got one thing wrong. Though everyone did.
"Your phone. It's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player, buy you're looking for a flat share- you wouldn't waste money on this, it's a gift then." Sherlock held out his hand and I sighed as I gave him my phone. He twirled it and examined it, "Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. The next bits easy. You know it already." He turned to me with a smile on my face.
"The engraving." I answered, still smiling. The engraving read;
'Harry Watson
From Clara
Xxx'
"Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given who his old phone. Not your father," He didn't catch em flinch at the mention of father, "this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently- this models only six months old. Marriage in trouble then- six months on he's just given it away. If shed left him he would have kept it. People do- sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants to keep in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking." Sherlock grinned widely and seemed inflated as I kept listening.
"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" I asked him about the most obvious thing, wondering if he could possibly out he was wrong about one small detail on his own.
"Shot in the dark," He smiled proudly, "Good one though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them."
"That...was amazing!" I couldn't come up with a word good enough to describe what I had just witnessed. Sherlock's head snapped back and he looked at me in wonderment.
"Do you think so?" Sherlock asked hesitantly.
"Of course it was! It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary." I grinned at me and he slowly relaxed.
"That's not what people normally say..." He trailed off.
"What do people normally say?" I quizzed.
"'Piss off'!" Sherlock smiled briefly and I couldn't help but chuckle at this.
"Not gay." I reminded myself as I stared at his long, pale fingers so lonely on the seat.
"But that's not all, you're hiding something from everyone and it has to do with that collar of your's." His gaze was suddenly completely upon me and I found myself frozen by it. The happy mood was somewhat crushed by this.
"Yes, I am." I replied. The cab stopped and Sherlock was out in a flash.
"Do keep up, John!" He called out as I scampered after him. He raced into the building and up a flight of stairs before he stopped at a door.
"This your flat?" I asked, panting slightly and itching to be dog. I hadn't changed for this whole time, practically five months, and the urges were getting almost uncontrollable.
"No, it's our flat now." Sherlock pulled open the door and shoved me in before he himself entered. Everywhere were new things, which only increased my craving to change. To shift. I stood there paralyzed in a moment of indecision.
"Do you normally whine like a dog?" Sherlock was suddenly in front of me. He was bent over so that his eyes were level with mine.
"Yes...I mean no! Sometimes?" I knew I had botched it and quickly averted my gaze to the floor, waiting for him to tell me to leave. We stood there for a moment before he finally pulled back.
"Hmmm, interesting." He hummed. I had the oddest sense that he would find out about my little secret sooner or later. He slipped out of his coat and hung it on the rack before plodding over to the sofa and reclining on it.
"Shall we watch some telly?" Sherlock stared at me intently. I took a moment to try and subdue my need to shift before walking over and plopping on the other side of the couch.
"Sure." I replied. When he clicked it on it was showing a commercial that had something to do with dogs. That all too familiar electric current was starting to buzz in me. I barked once before covering my mouth and breathing deeply.
"Maybe not actually!" I garbled through my hand as I raced out of the living room and into the bathroom. I leaned over the toilet as I vomited up what little I had had for breakfast. This had never happened before. I grew worried, wondering if the lack of changing was messing with my genetic makeup or something.
"John?" Sherlock stood in the doorway, worry etched on his face.
"I'm fine, perfectly fine." I waved a hand at him and sat up. What a nice way to start the first day off!
"No you aren't." Sherlock came in and sat on the edge of the tub.
"You're right." I turned around so that I faced him, leaning against the wall.
"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked. He was so tall and lanky that his knees were hunched up to his chest.
"I...I..." I so desperately wanted to tell him, "You wouldn't believe me." I whined. Sherlock stared as I covered my face, trying to fight the current of electricity that was coursing through my veins.
"Try me." Sherlock moved so that he sat on the floor in front of me.
"You just might get what you want, I don't think I can stop it for much longer." I garbled as my tongue grew.
"Stop what?" He asked. It was getting painful now. I yipped and finally gave myself over to the shifting. Sherlock gasped and I looked up. I whined again, low and sad. My ears pinned against my head as I sunk to my belly and crawled over to Sherlock, begging him to forgive me. My clothing lay in a crumpled pile on the floor where I had once sat as human.
"John?" He reached out and ran his hands through my fur. I sighed and laid my head in his lap. He continued to pet me and I could feel resistance leaving me.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I'm not normal!" I thought guiltily.
"How?" Sherlock stood up and walked out of the bathroom. I sat up and watched him go around the corner. He whistled suddenly and I shot out and raced to his side, as I was trained to do. He looked down and grinned.
"Let's go back to human now, shall we?" Sherlock walked over to the bedroom and grabbed a blanket off the bed, throwing it over me. Under the heavy blanket in the cover of darkness, I shifted back. I held my breath in a pregnant silence, full to bursting with questions and accusations.
"John?" Sherlock asked after a moment.
"Don't hate me." I whimpered as I peeked my head out and pulled the blanket tighter around me.
"Hate you?" Sherlock seemed genuinely confused, "Why would I hate you?" He seemed to be calculating something as he reached out and scratched behind my ear. I snuffled and leaned my head into his large hand, eyes closing.
"Because that's what people do, hate things that are different." I murmured and rubbed my head against his hand.
"I'm not like normal people though." Sherlock continued to run his fingers through my hair. My ghost tail was wagging up a storm.
"True." I lost control as I lost myself to his petting and my dog instincts. Holding the sheet tight around me I clambered into Sherlock's lap.
"Oh!" He exclaimed, but he continued to stroke me. My eyes shot open.
"Oh God! I'm sorry!" I whimpered and tried to clamber out.
"No, no," Sherlock's arms wrapped around me and pulled me back down, "It's okay." I sighed and changed again. Sherlock gasped loudly as I turned to expose my doggy belly, frantic for human contact after so many years of distance. So many years of having to be professional. Sherlock obliged and scratched and stroked and ran his fingers through my fur as I slowly fell asleep in his lap.
***
Blinking a few times I noticed I was tucked into a nice bed with someone standing by the window. I sat up and yawned, noticing the pajamas I was wearing. They were a bit big but highly comfy.
"Sherlock...?" I asked quietly. I felt slightly awkward remembering what had taken place last night.
"Yes, John?" Sherlock turned away from the window and gazed at me, no emotion present on his face. He wore the exact same clothes as yesterday.
"Did...did, ummm..." I fluffed up my hair as my face heated up exponentially.
"I think what you would like to hear is that you dressed yourself in those pajamas." Sherlock smiled quickly before dropping back into his neutral expression.
"But that's not the truth, is it?" I flinched slightly at his chuckle.
"How observant, no, it is not." He smiled and turned back to the window, pulling the curtains aside to allow sunlight to enter the dim room.
"Arg!" I threw myself back into the bed and covered myself with the blanket.
"Nocturnal, now are we?" He mused. I felt the bed dip as he sat down on the other side.
"No..." I moaned and rolled over to face him, peeking just the smallest amount of my eyes out from under the covers, "Sleepy."
"Being tired during the day can lead one to conclude that you do not sleep at night which indicates that you are nocturnal- meaning you sleep during the day." Sherlock had his back to me, which gave me ample time to study him. He was lean, but did possess muscle. He wasn't scarily pale, just a creamy tan color and his tight fitted black shirt accentuated it.
"Did you even sleep last night?" I yawned.
"No." he answered briskly, "And don't think that I don't notice you studying me."
"Whoops." I hid under the covers more, trying to hide my blushing, "Aren't you exhausted?"
"Now that you mention it..." He yawned as he kicked off his shoes and rolled into the bed, facing me and pulling the covers over him as well. His eyes locked on mien and I found that I was unable to look away from his mesmerizing gaze.
"One of us is going to have to close the blinds..." I stated after an awkward bout of silence.
"I just got in." Sherlock snuggled in deeper, eyes studying my face.
"Fine." I swung out of bed, raced to the window, pulled shut the curtains and flung myself back into bed with an oomph. I quickly resituated myself, avoiding making eye contact with Sherlock. I sighed awkwardly and closed my eyes, drifting back asleep. As sleep claimed me, I felt something wrap around my waist and pull me close, snuffling quietly.
***
I awoke completely ensnared in Sherlock's arms and legs. My back was pressed against his stomach. His legs were looped around my waist and then between my legs. One of his hands had slipped beneath my borrowed pajama shirt and rested on the flat of my stomach. His other arm was wrapped like a sash around my shoulder and chest. My head fit snuggly under his chin, like a puzzle piece. I was so small compared to him, a mere child.
"What the hell am I doing?" I thought, "You only just met this guy yesterday and are already cuddling with him? Maybe you are gay..." I shook my head but froze when Sherlock's breathing became irregular.
"What time is it?" He pulled me even closer. His hand began to move in circles upon my stomach, causing me to cease breathing.
"Uh...uh...the, ummm, clock thing says...ummm...2:30 in the afternoon." I stammered breathlessly. He shot upwards, me still tangled in his arms and legs.
"I've never been asleep this late!" He exclaimed.
"Well, you didn't sleep last night," I reached out feebly for the bed, "Might as well spend the day sleeping."
"Waste the day with inactivity? I think not!" He dropped me as he leapt out of the bed. I snuggled back in, feeling suddenly cold without Sherlock right there. Sherlock was hurriedly slipping into new clothes and scurrying about the room. Randomly, he glanced over in my direction. A look of pure sadness overcame his face.
"Jaaaawn!" He whined, "Get uppppp!"
"Tired." I chuckled.
"You can't be, you slept for at least ten hours!" Sherlock bounded over to the bed and yanked me out.
"Agh!" I stumbled into his chest and just kinda stayed there. Sherlock chuckled before turning serious and holding me out at arm's length.
"What?" I asked, worried.
"I want you to change into a dog." Sherlock stated.
"Why...?" I was afraid that I already knew the answer.
"Because." He stared me down. When standing straight, his lips were right at my forehead.
"A little more specific." I demanded in a wavering voice.
"So that we can move quicker and surprise someone." His eyes seemed to shift between green and blue with splashes of gold and gray. Without even meaning to, I found myself sitting obediently at his feet in dog form. He laughed like a child.
"I thought that would take more convincing." He walked out of the room. I followed right on his heels. My tail swished through the air and I wondered how he wasn't freaking out right now.
"My brother basically is the British government." He randomly stated, "He showed me videos of your experiments, you're the only one who didn't die a tragic death." Now I knew why he wasn't having a heart attack. I whined at the news of tragic deaths, but Sherlock didn't seem to actually notice. Nor did he seemed fazed by the deaths. My dog tags jangled together on my always present collar. Sherlock stopped at the door, turning to me.
"Wanna go for a walk?" He asked, somewhat sheepishly. I bounced up and down, tail whizzing about. Sherlock laughed and opened the closet by the front door, reaching up to the top shelf and pulling down and old box. The smile and laughter fell from his face as he gently rummaged through the box. After a moment he pulled a worn, ragged looking leash out and clipped it onto my collar. He pulled open the door and nearly ran down an old woman.
"Oh my, Sherlock!" She exclaimed. Her gray hair was pulled up into a loose bun and she wore a nicely fitting purple, wool dress. She smelled of vanilla and flour.
"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders, kissing her forehead.
"It's completely fine!" She replied fondly, affection coated both of them. She looked down at me quizzically.
"This is...Ridgely..." Sherlock grinned tight lipped down at me, rubbing my ears.
"Well, hello you handsome dog." Mrs. Hudson patted my head once before allowing us to leave the flat. I bounded down the stairs at Sherlock's side, tongue lolling out and shaggy, brown and splotched fur shaking. Sherlock tightened his navy blue, almost black, trench coat and his blue scarf before opening the door and walking out into the brisk wind. Rain pattered down in icy needles, a thin sheet of it. It brought all the smells to life and I barked happily. It had been ages since I had done this. Sherlock looked at me curiously and chuckled as he turned his collar up. It made him look mysterious. I sniffed at the air, tall thwacking into Sherlock's legs, and pranced obediently at his side.
"We are going to have to come up with a story for why I occasionally have a dog in my flat and other times a man." Sherlock whispered almost conspiratorially. I yipped my agreement distractedly, all my attention mainly focused upon the smells, the people and the other dogs that sometimes trotted by.
"I also need to figure out what to do with you, how often you need to change and everything." Sherlock spoke as if this was completely normal, average everyday news. I looked up at him and tilted my head, one ear dropping down slightly in confusion. He just smiled and hailed a cab. The driver was perfectly fine with me hopping in, so long as I kept quiet and didn't move about that much. I leapt in and shuffled over so that Sherlock could sit down by the door. He quickly reached down and unclipped my collar, rolling it up and slipping it into his pocket. I laid down on the floor as we drove away. All my past training was starting to kick in.
"No barking. Don't move unless told to. Don't wag, this is war, man!" The voices of my commanding officers echoed in my head and I whined, rubbing my paws over my ears, "Don't whine, it makes you look like a sissy. Find the bomb before it 'explodes', honestly John, it's not that hard." Sherlock looked at me worriedly as I forcefully closed the door on my past. My snout was buried under my paws and I kept scratching at my ears.
***
"Made it to your destination." The cabbie drawled through a mouthful of tobacco.
"Thanks." Sherlock paid him and hopped out, me at his heels, "Come on...Ridgely." He snorted. I growled, but continued to wiggle my tail. We walked up tall marble steps and into a large reception area. The carpet was red and plush, smelling of dust and cleansing products. Sherlock signed something to the man at the counter before walking deeper into the building. I sniffed and examined the room as I trotted behind him.
"Do keep up Ridgely." Sherlock smiled as he stood by a large oaken door. I scampered from the chair I was currently sniffing and through the door that he held open. There a man sat behind a desk, a file laying closed upon its organized surface. He had brown wispy hair. He wore a nice suit with a tie.
"Hello brother dear." He drawled, standing up and eyeing me, "I see you got yourself a dog, still not able to make human friends? Is his name something like Redbeard's?" His smile was dry and snake like. I growled and felt my hackles rise slightly. Sadness slightly enveloped Sherlock before he extinguished it with a hot burst of fury.
"Hello, Mycroft." Sherlock ground out between gritted teeth, "This is Ridgely, also known as John." He emphasized my name heavily. Mycroft visibly started.
"John? As in experiment number three-oh-one?" He glanced at me quickly before flickering back to his brother.
"The one and only." Sherlock stood up proudly.
"Change back, John." Mycroft glared at me.
"He'll be without clothing." Sherlock reminded his brother. Older, by the smell of him.
"Throw a sheet on him or your coat or something!" Mycroft grabbed a bell on his desk and rung it angrily. A young man quickly rushed into the room before the bells ringing echoed could die.
"May I be of assistance?" The boy's voice was dry and scratchy.
"A blanket or bath robe would be nice, mostly the latter." Mycroft waved his hand at him as the boy disappeared quickly and shut the door behind him. We all waited a few moments in tense silence. Sherlock's hands held my ears and rubbed them thoughtlessly.
"Here you are, sir." The boy came back in and dropped a large white robe on Mycroft's desk before leaving once again, silently shutting the door. Mycroft threw it over me and I curled up under it, shifting in an instant. I wrapped the robe around me and stood up self-consciously.
"By god, Sherlock! How did you find him?" Mycroft walked over to his brother, he was slightly taller than the already tall Sherlock.
"Susan." Sherlock replied smugly.
"Well, this is a predicament..." Mycroft rubbed his face roughly in his hands. I shuffled on my feet, glancing between the two siblings.
"Yeah, ummm..." I tied the robe around me and ran my fingers through my shaggy brown hair.
"Did not shifting for those months have any unwanted side effects?" Mycroft asked.
"Well..." I looked at Sherlock helplessly, somehow thinking that he would be able to describe it for me, he just shook his head, "I started to not be able to control it and began to have dog like urges to bark and whimper until I finally changed last night." I could feel the fire of embarrassment race up my neck and inflame my face.
"Hmmm." Mycroft hummed. His brown eyes seemed to see right through me and open up my soul, laying me bare.
"It was a life changing experience to see it firsthand." Sherlock sneered suggestively, his voice implying that more had taken place. I could only shake my head, sensing how much he wanted to get under his brother's skin.
"Ah, Sherlock, we both know you don't have a heart, therefore no life is within you to be changed." Mycroft sneered back. Sherlock seemed shaken by this and stepped closer to me.
"What are we here for, Sherlock?" I pulled the too large robe tighter around me.
"Haven't you guessed yet?" Mycroft chuckled, "Sherlock want's to find out more about you." Sherlock opened his mouth to seemingly add more on the subject or object, but only closed it.
"What's there to know?" I asked inquisitively.
"So very much!" With that, Mycroft sat down and beckoned for us to do the same. In front of his desk were two plush chairs. Sherlock rapidly sat in one while I cautiously sat myself in the other. Both brothers just stared at each other, so I took advantage of the time to observe my surroundings. The walls were beige and matched the carpet. Paintings were spasmodically placed about the wall and the only form of light came from a few evenly placed covered lightbulbs. There were no windows. A few bookshelves were placed on each wall.
"How often does he need to change? And how long can he remain in one stage before the side effects become too noticeable?" Sherlock shattered the silence with his deep, baritone and honeyed voice.
"It seems five months are much too long for him to remain in any one form, and the side effects should easily be manageable and should diminish within the first hour after shifting back to human." Mycroft responded, his voice lighter and more velvety than his brother's, "At least that's what one of the Antheas said." I nodded along absently before picking up on his phrasing.
"Wait! Hold up!" They both turned to me with startled expressions, as if they had forgotten I was there, "'One of the Antheas', you mean there's more than the one I know?"
"Of course, John. They are a network of falsely named girls who work for Mycroft." Sherlock stated patiently. They went back to conversing about me amongst themselves. I lost myself in thoughts of the war and my normal life that I had given up. I could feel my eyes closing when Sherlock's hand came out and grasped my shoulder, shaking me awake.
"Time to change and head back, John." His face was only inches from mine. My breathing hitched and pulse quickened.
"Oh, right." I yawned. I hopped off of the comfortable seat and shifted. Sherlock chuckled as I waddled around in the bathrobe, whining for help removing it. Eventually, he bent down and untied the string before pulling my paws out of the arms and throwing it on to his brother. Mycroft muttered something as he deposited the robe onto the floor by his feet.
"Well, guess we best be off, Mycroft." Sherlock clicked his tongue, successfully calling me to his side.
"Goodbye, little brother." Mycroft called out, he seemed to be trying to care for his brother but he was rubbish at it. Sherlock shut the door with a sound of finality as we briskly walked out of the silent building which smelled both musty and dusty and of decaying living bodies. We trotted out into the downpour, the rain had increased since we had been inside that odd building. No one else was crazy enough to be outside in such weather. Once again, Sherlock had his coat collar turned up and his chin pressed into his chest. His hair was quickly plastered to his head, his mane clinging weakly to its former curls. No cabs came by as we hurried on. Sherlock glanced down at me and caught me staring intently at his face, tail wagging and tongue lolling towards the ground. He smirked and gazed at me until I looked away, shaking the water from my fur.
"Guess we better run." Sherlock began to sprint across the sidewalks, splashing in and out of puddles as the small little shops blurred by. I barked once in excitement and easily kept pace. Every leap of mine was a stride of Sherlock's. Once we reached Baker Street we shot into 221B. There we stood in the doorway, dripping onto the floor. Mrs. Hudson peeked her head out from her flat.
"Oh my! Dry you and your dog off, Sherlock! You two are gonna ruin my carpet." She laughed. She scurried into her room and popped back out with two large brown towels before Sherlock and I could race up to our flat. She hustled over to us and handed the towels to Sherlock.
"Can we dry off in my flat?" Sherlock asked, his tone somewhat pleading.
"You aren't going anywhere near those steps in this state!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed in a voice that allowed no room for bartering. Sherlock sighed drastically and pulled off his coat and scarf, hanging them on a row of hooks by the front door. He used one of the towels to rub himself down, fluffing his hair up almost angrily. When he was satisfied, he placed the towel on his shoulders. Then he turned to me. His hair was curled wildly, fluffing and frizzing out from his scalp defiantly.
"Your turn." He bent down onto his knees and began to rub me down with the other towel. I could feel sparks bubble up under my skin at his touch, my fur becoming staticy. Right on the verge of changing I lunged away from Sherlock's hands, fur still damp. Mrs. Hudson gasped as I bashed into her legs, leaving fur and a few dark, water splotches on her wool dress. The charge racing up and down my body, shocking me. I whimpered as I dashed up the stairs, Sherlock quickly apologizing to Mrs. Hudson as he clambered up after me. I rammed into the door and pawed frantically at it. Sherlock came up moments later and opened the door so my spasming form could tumble into the room, already starting to shift between the forms, back and forth. I howled out and managed to force myself back into the dog. Sherlock slammed the door shut as I scrambled on dog's feet toward the bathroom.
"You do know you can change, or shift-whatever you call it- in front of me, right?" Sherlock drawled, leisurely walking behind me.
"No!" I gasped out between barking. I could feel my face shift to normal and then stretching out grotesquely as I tried to hold onto my dog self.
"You already have." Sherlock stated the obvious.
"Just...help me," I was interrupted by uncontrollable barking as I shifted back and forth, "get to the...BATHROOM!" I hollered out the last bit, much to the amusement of Sherlock. Sherlock then walked in front of me, opened the bathroom door and shut it after I had crawled in. I finally allowed myself to shift to human and stay in that form. I leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. I concentrated on staying in this form, separating from the hound. I imagined a knife coming between the two forms and cutting the stitching that held me and the hound together. When we were successfully sliced apart, I locked the hound up in the back of my mind.
"Jawn!" Sherlock's voice was muffled by the door.
"What?" I panted.
"Come out!" He responded.
"Why?"
"I have a case, you should come!" He knocked on the door.
"A case?"
"I'm a consulting detective."
"I've never heard of that occupation..." I replied in befuddlement.
"Of course you haven't, I invented the job." I could hear the pride filling his voice.
"What do you do?" I yawned, changing always left me exhausted.
"It means whenever the police are out of their depth—which is always—they consult me." I listened as he plopped himself on the opposite side of the door.
"Do they actually ask for your help?"
"Lestrade does." Sherlock huffed, "And he did just five minutes and 32 seconds ago so we have to leave now, Jawn!"
"Fine, fine, just...get me some clothes." I coughed into my hand, clearing my throat, "My old ones would be okay."
"The ones you came in?"
"Yeah those ones." They were the only clothes I had with me, I had been meaning to buy new ones but didn't want to waste my money on a new outfit when food and board was more important.
"Those are ugly, John." Sherlock sighed, his voice shrinking away.
"Wow." I murmured, this man had no people skills. I sat there for a minute more before Sherlock began to try to beat the door open.
"Hurry!" Sherlock groaned as I clambered up from the floor and wrapped a slightly damp towel around my waist. I pulled open the door and was greeted by an explosion of clothes smacking into my face and chest. I stood there for a moment, blinking in befuddlement.
"That was a successfully attempt at trying to make me hurry." Sarcasm dripped from my words. Sherlock's phone pinged twice.
"Even Lestrade says to hurry up, Jawn!" He suddenly glared at me, "I will leave without you." His voice dropped in octaves, sending a shiver racing up my spine.
"I think I'd almost prefer that." I mumbled as I pulled on the shirt and slipped the underwear and pants on under the towel.
"No you wouldn't." Sherlock raced toward the door as I hung the towel back up on the rack. I groaned and followed him. He was already pulling his scarf on and his coat. He fluffed up his hair, staring intently at his reflection in the mirror. I grabbed my rugged and patched up jacket, sluggish getting stuck in it in a vain attempt to pull the ratty thing on. I mumbled curses under my breath as I only managed to get more tangled in my traitorous jacket. A slight chuckle drew my attention away from my dilemma. I looked up to see a small smirk on Sherlock's angular face.
"Let me help." He easily stepped around me and straightened me out, slipping the jacket onto my shoulders. His rested for a moment on the base of my throat before pulling away.
"Thanks, mate." I cleared my throat, begging for the blush I felt to go away, "By god, I am not gay!" I thought angrily. I quickly moved to race out the door, but Sherlock quickly cut ahead of me, glancing at my face as he did so. His smirk still hadn't left.
"Now we can actually go to the scene of the crime!" He sounded like a child on Christmas. He bounded down the stairs, me struggling to keep up.
"Another murder, dearie?" Mrs. Hudson called out as we raced past her.
"Yes!" Sherlock called out gleefully, holding open the front door for me. I could feel my face scrunch up. A murder? Sherlock slammed the door after me and hailed a cab, which quickly pulled over for him.
"Come on, John!" He called out giddily, sliding into the cab. I quickly shook myself of my reverie and shut the door after me.
"Where to fellows?" The cabbie asked.
"Scotland yard." Sherlock told the cabbie.
"Right-o." He drove off through a puddle of rain water.
***
"That has to be a record! Took you ages, Sherlock!" A man stood up from behind a large desk. He had prematurely silver hair and looked slightly haggard.
"John." Was Sherlock's only explanation.
"Hi." I waved quickly. The man nodded in my direction.
"I'm detective inspector Lestrade." He had tan skin and wore a black jacket with a gray button up shirt under it.
"Yes, yes, now that all that is out of the way..." Sherlock sounded bored with all the pleasantries.
"Yes, the murder." Lestrade led us back out the door and to his car, "To the crime scene." He kept eyeing me like I was some foreign creature. My skin crawled under his odd gazes.
***
"This is exactly how we found her." Lestrade pointed out her body. The corpse lay on the floor on her stomach. She wore a black shirt and sweats and her black hair was tangled about her head. A slight foam covered the corners of her mouth and her eyes were still open, glazed over with death. The room we were in was completely empty except for her body. We had arrived at the crime scene only a few minutes earlier. A dark skinned girl with black curly hair kept glaring at me, and a man with brown greased back hair just stared dumbly between me and Sherlock.
"The Freak has a friend now?" The girl sneered. Sherlock visibly stiffened as he examined the body and the room. He suddenly pulled a phone from the deceased's pocket and typed something into it.
"Donovan!" Lestrade reprimanded. She just shrugged and the greased man chuckled. My blood boiled quietly and I breathed deeply to calm myself down. I barely even knew the guy and was already on the verge of beating up officers for him.
"Obviously her spouse." Sherlock stated after a moment, "This one's barely even a three, even Scotland Yard should've been able to piece this case together!" He sounded disappointed.
"What?" The pale officer looked bewildered, "It couldn't be! The husband said he didn't! He called us in!"
"Shut up Anderson," Sherlock growled, "You lower the IQ of the entire block." I snorted softly, earning a shocked expression from Sherlock and a glare from both Donovan and Anderson.
"How?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock sighed deeply before explaining, as if the whole thing was entirely obvious and tedious, how he knew this based on her ring, her clothes, her perfume and text messages. Also her lipstick. I stared dumbfounded.
"Have you not even seen the foam at her mouth?" Sherlock snapped at the sight of everyone's confused expression.
"Fantastic." I whispered, not noticing that I had spoken aloud. Sherlock beamed before going back to examining.
"You know you do that out loud?" He asked distractedly.
"Oh, sorry, I'll stop." I replied sheepishly.
"No...its fine." He seemed absorbed in something else. Everyone chatted amongst themselves for a moment.
"Let's go, John." Sherlock scampered down the stairs and out the door, Lestrade and Anderson following shortly behind. When I moved to go down the stairs, Donovan stopped me.
"You're not his friend. He doesn't have friends. So who are you?" She said when I turned to her. Her voice was slightly accented, though I couldn't put my finger on it.
"I'm...I'm nobody. I've just met him." I stated truthfully.
"Okay, bit of advice then. Stay away from that guy." She glared at me.
"Why?" I pondered.
"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there."
"Why would he do that?" I asked.
"Cause he's a psychopath. Psychopaths get bored." She grinned maliciously. I stared at her for a moment before just walking out, leaving her alone with the corpse. Sherlock stood by the caution tape, tapping his feet impatiently. When he saw me, he seemed to scan me completely.
"Shall we head back to the flat?" I asked, avoiding his eyes. His stare was just too intense and I was afraid of what he might see if he saw my eyes.
"Donovan tell you something about me?" Sherlock ask.
"Kinda." I shrugged. Sherlock lifted the tape for me and I ducked under it.
"She told you I'm a psychopath." He stated.
"Yeah..." I trailed off, for some reason embarrassed by the turn of events.
"She's wrong." I looked up and noticed that he refused to look back at me.
"I know." I answered reassuringly. A hint of a grin flashed on and off his face.
"Dinner?" He asked randomly.
"Starved." I replied. We walked through the cold dreary weather.
"I know just the place." The moon and stars that managed to peek through the clouds gave Sherlock's pale skin an ethereal glow. With that he took off sprinting. His coat tails flapped behind him haphazardly. I laughed and ran after him.
***
"Table for two." Sherlock told the waitress. She was truly flirting as hard as she could with Sherlock, though he didn't seem to notice.
"Right this way, sir." She drawled it out. When she led us to our table, her hips moved in inhuman arcs and loops. Sherlock's eyes were shining with an inner light as he seemed to dissect her. When we reached our table she pulled out Sherlock's chair, leaving me to fend for myself. I grumbled about it and pulled my seat out for myself, sitting down and pulling me and chair back to the table myself. The waitress doted heavily upon Sherlock, who seemed entirely oblivious.
"Yes, well, I'd like the usual." He stated, "What about you, John?"
"Ummm, what would you recommend?" The waitress seemed mad that I had actually gained Sherlock's attention, leaving her to fume at his shoulder.
"Judging by your attitude and what you have been eying I would say you would like just a piece of toast with...jam? Yes, jam, on it. But since this is a more formal restaurant I would say it'd be best if you went with some noodles." He guessed exactly what I would love without me even knowing I had wanted it.
"Yes, that would be spectacular." I replied in awe. Toast and jam had always been my most favorite thing, reminding me of when life was good and my childhood hadn't been crushed by...I quickly stopped the train of thought with a firm shake of the head.
"Okay, one bowl of noodles for the man, and the usual for the gentleman, Mister Sherlock Holmes." She batted her eye lashes as she swayed off to place out orders.
"God, she was a heavy flirt!" I exclaimed when she was out of ear shot.
"Was that what she was doing? I thought she had something in her eyes." He stated matter a factly, glancing out the window to our left. I laughed at this.
"For a man who can tell my most beloved thing to eat in a blink of the eye, you sure are blind to some things, now aren't you?" I joked. He stared at me for a moment, as if unsure of what his reaction was supposed to be. Eventually he cracked a grin. I chuckled again. We stared at each other for a while. Sherlock opened his mouth as if he was about to say something but the waitress came back. In one hand she held a steamy plate full of noodles with a bowl of tomato sauce and a bowl of Alfredo on the side. In the other hand a much smaller plate of buttered bread and a miniature salad resided. She set my noodles down in front of me with a clatter before graciously laying out Sherlock's food right in front of him, "accidently" dragging her hand across his shoulder when she retracted it.
"Smoker." The word slipped from Sherlock's tongue.
"Excuse me?" The waitress seemed slightly surprised at this.
"You can tell by the stains on your fingers. And you just took off your wedding ring, not a very good marriage. You are constantly removing it, from the indents on your finger and the smoothness of the inside of your ring. It fell from your pocket." Sherlock looked up, holding the ring in two of his fingers in front of her nose, and saw the look of anger on her face and the look of warning on mine.
"Good god, sir!" She hissed, snatching her diamond ring from Sherlock's long and pale fingers before stalking away.
"Something I said?" He actually looked confused.
"Bloody hell, you really aren't a people person, are you?" I could feel the corners of my lip turn up slightly.
"That's what they normally do..." He mumbled. He picked up his bread and nibbled on a corner. Then ate a few leaves of his salad. I dug into my pasta and looked around at the dainty little restaurant. Almost all the tables were occupied by couples, candles burning dimly in the center. The lighting was on the verge of nonexistence, giving the diner a romantic feeling. A large man wondered between the tables, seeming to check up on everyone. When he spotted Sherlock, he beamed. He quickly hustled his round body over to us.
"Ah! Sherlock!" His voice had a heavy Italian accent, "How are you?"
"I'm fine, thank you Angelo." Sherlock replied dryly.
"I'll get a candle for you two, it'll be more romantic, no?" He grinned mischievously.
"I'm, I'm not his date!" I called out feebly, but it was no use. Sherlock just stared before chuckling quietly to himself. He had only taken a few bites but seemed already finished. The round man came back rather quickly with an ignited candle. He left just as quickly as he had come.
"So, uhh," The silence was too much for my wandering mind, I couldn't let it go down memory lane, "you don't have a girlfriend then?"
"Girlfriend?" Sherlock looked up curiously, "No, not really my area."
"Alright..." I was praying that this didn't sound as awkward to him as it did to me, "Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine by the way!"
"I know its fine." He smirked
"So you got a boyfriend?"
"No." His smile diminished back to his mask.
"Right. Okay. You're unattached. Like me. Fine. Good." I could feel myself rambling but I had lost control.
"John, erm...I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any..." He started, blushing.
"No!" I cut him off, desperate to amend my mistake, "I'm...not asking. No! I'm just saying it's all...it's all fine." I huffed.
"Good. Thank you." Sherlock smirked and laughed quietly under his breath. We sat in an almost awkward silence after the conversation. After a moment of me actually eating something, Sherlock stood up.
"Let's go, John." He beckoned in that deep, baritone voice of his.
"What?" I looked at his plate, only a corner of the bread and a few leaves of the salad had been eaten, "Aren't you going to eat your food?"
"Digestion only slows me down." He sounded impatient.
"But you paid for it, it'd be a shame to let it just go to waste." I tried to get him to sit back down. He was already pretty skinny and now I thought I knew why. People were casting glances our way.
"It's on the house, John! Now can we please go?" His foot tapped with anxiety as more and more people began to openly stare at us.
"No." I continued to leisurely eat my noodles.
"What?" Sherlock replied, shock thick in his voice.
"I refuse to leave until you at least eat all the bread." I desperately hoped this tactic would work. He stood behind his chair for a moment, hands tapping out a beat on his thighs.
"I'll leave without you." He threatened.
"Then I guess I'd have to somehow find my way back to that lousy hotel I was staying in from a part of town I don't even know." An involuntary shudder raced up my spine at the prospect of that adventure. A look of pity and worry fluttered across Sherlock's face before quickly resolving into his emotionless mask. He took a few steps toward the door so that he was out of my line of sight. I just continued eating. I could feel his intimate gaze settle upon the back of my head before he issued a huff of defeat and flung himself back into his seat.
"If I eat the bread we get to leave?" He held up a piece of the said bread, staring at it dejectedly.
"Both slices, yes." I smirked at the sigh that escaped his lips. He began to eat the bread as if it physically pained him. Maybe it did though, maybe he hadn't eaten in so long that his stomach had actually shrunk and couldn't even handle two slices of bread. I shook my head to clear the worry. After an infinite amount of grumbling, Sherlock finally finished the two slices of bread and leapt up victoriously.
"Now can we leave, John?" His face was back to its emotionless mask as he stared down at me. I sighed and heaved myself up, wincing at the strain on my shoulder.
"Yes, we can." Sherlock's face briefly brightened up at my words before he flew out of the restaurant, coat tails flapping. I looked around and pulled my wallet out from my back pocket, wanting to tip Angelo and cringed at how little money was in there. I caught sight of Angelo weaving between the tables and held up my wallet in a question. He just smiled and shook his head.
"Go before you lose him!" He called out. I happily obliged, racing after that tall, mysterious figure.