Summary: The first time John Watson met Sherlock Holmes, it didn't register with him what the man truly was. In all fairness, he was still getting the hang of things. The sharper senses, the extra awareness of everything all at once, it was overwhelming. Werewolf AU.

Spoilers: All of series one.

Author Notes: A prompt from the BBC Sherlock Kink Meme on livejournal that ran away from me and took on a life of its own. Not entirely what the anon wanted, I think, but keep in mind that I have a crap-ton of ideas for a sequel which will, in fact, address more of what they prompted. (And just to warn you, this has not been Brit-picked, so let me know of any glaring ones.)

The first time John Watson met Sherlock Holmes, it didn't register with him what the man truly was. In all fairness, he was still getting the hang of things. The sharper senses, the extra awareness of everything all at once, it was overwhelming.

Sherlock would tease him about it much later, with a glint in his eye and a smirk that would make John cuff him playfully and defend his honor.

But now, he was limping curiously around 221B Baker Street.

He looked around the sizable sitting room, took in the tall, double windows, cluttered mantle over the fireplace, chairs and boxes staggered haphazardly about on the slightly worn carpet.

"Oh this could be very nice. Very nice indeed," he commented, hobbling toward the flat's small kitchen for a better look.

The fact that the kitchen smelled more like a lab than a place where food could be safely stored and later eaten was a little concerning, but considering the somewhat eccentric personality Sherlock Holmes was proving himself to be, not entirely surprising.

"Yes," Sherlock seemed pleased to hear him think so, "Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely."

John opened his mouth to speak at the same moment Sherlock added, "So I went straight ahead and moved in."

"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleared up- Oh."

Great. Just go and put your foot in your mouth, John, really. This isn't a great flat or anything.

"So this is all, uh-"

"Well, obviously I can straighten things up… a bit," Sherlock offered awkwardly, grabbing a couple stacks of papers and throwing them into a box, then pinning a few more to the top of the mantle with a pocket knife.

"That's a skull," John observed, pointing to it questioningly with his cane.

"Friend of mine," Sherlock said, glancing at it, "Well, I say friend…"

"What do you think then, Doctor Watson?" Mrs. Hudson asked as Sherlock stepped away, pulling of his coat and scarf to lay them over a chair, "There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

"Of course we'll be needing two," John replied, taken aback.

"Oh don't worry!" Mrs. Hudson was quick to reassure him, "There's all sorts around here. Mrs. Turner, next door's, got married ones," she said in a loud whisper, as though it were a dramatic secret.

He looked questioningly at Sherlock, who didn't comment, only went about shuffling papers and books to and from various locations.

"Oh Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson scolded gently, stepping into the kitchen, "the mess you've made!"

John shook his head with a bemused grin, turning around and straightening the Union Jack pillow on the chair before sitting down heavily.

The chair gave a weary exhale as he sat, the air around him suddenly filled with Sherlock's scent, a scent that hadn't yet permeated the little flat, and he hadn't really stepped close enough to take in from the man himself.


He gave a little startled gasp as his wolf leapt to the forefront of his mind, the realization hitting so hard it was like getting smacked square between the eyes. He could practically feelthe excited quivering of his wolf inside him, curious and anxious at meeting another like them.

He screwed his eyes shut for a moment, focused entirely at keeping his wolf tucked away inside before opening them again, scrambling for something to say.

Sherlock gave him a small, knowing smile before turning to pull his laptop from a box and open it gently on the desk.

He knew.

Say something Watson.

He glanced toward the kitchen and Mrs. Hudson's bustling.


0 0 0

"That was ridiculous," John panted, leaning heavily against the wall, heart racing, "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

"You invaded Afghanistan," Sherlock quipped, making them both giggle stupidly, adrenaline still pumping through them from the chase.

"That wasn't just me," John justified, tipping his head back against the wall, breathing deep; the scent of their sweat and adrenaline and endorphins thick in the air.

He looked over at Sherlock, plucked up the courage to ask, "How long did you know I was, you know…" he waved his hand imploringly, and Sherlock looked at him with a raised eyebrow, "I mean, how long did it take you to figure out?"

Sherlock smirked and chuckled, tilting his head back and letting his eyes slide shut, "Pretty much the moment you walked into the lab," he confessed.

"Right," John nodded, then frowned, "Is that why you asked me to see the flat literally five seconds after you met me?"

Sherlock laughed breathily again, looking at him with amusement, "Partially," he admitted, "It would be nice to have a flatmate who understands why the dates of the full moon are circled on the calendar."

John started laughing again and Sherlock joined him, the two of them still leaning shoulder to shoulder in the hallway as their hearts started to even out.

"Fair point," John acknowledged, "Could have said so earlier, you know."

"What a conversation starter, 'I notice you're a werewolf too, care to be flatmates?'"

They dissolved into breathless laughter again, and John commented, "Can you imagine what Mike's face would have looked like?"

"Or poor Mrs. Hudson, the cab driver, Lestrade, the other dinner patrons…" Sherlock added.

John chuckled, nodded in agreement.

"Speaking of, why aren't we back at the restaurant?" John suddenly wondered aloud.

"Oh, they can keep an eye out," Sherlock waved dismissively, "It was a long shot anyway."

"So what were we doing there?"

Sherlock gave a little grin as he shrugged with another little wave of his hand, "Oh, just passing the time. And making a point."

"What point?"

"You," Sherlock replied with a little grin before calling down the hall, "Mrs. Hudson! Doctor Watson willtake the room upstairs!"

"Says who?" John couldn't help but challenge, even though he knew, in every fiber of his being, that he was already doomed to stay with this impossible man.

Sherlock's expression softened a little, and he gave a little smile, "Says the man at the door."

John's brows creased questioningly for a moment before there was a sharp knock on the door, and Sherlock nodded for him to get it.

"Sherlock texted me," the man, Angelo, said as John stepped down onto the stoop, "said you'd forgotten this."

John looked with surprise at his cane in the other man's grasp. He looked briefly back over his shoulder at the grinning Sherlock before turning back with a smile of his own.

"Thank you," he said earnestly, "Thank you!"

0 0 0

"So, dim sum?"

It should have been weird, walking down the street, talking about dinner after Sherlock had just nearly poisoned himself and John had just gunned down a serial killer cabbie.

Somehow, it was the best John had felt in a long time.

"Mm," Sherlock replied, "I can always predict the fortune cookies."

"No you can't."

"Almost can. You did get injured though."


"In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound."

"Oh. Yeah," John replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. He hadn't talked to anybody about this since it had happened.

"Good Lord," Sherlock suddenly said, and John looked at him with surprise, "Afghanistan was where you were bitten. You really are new at this."

"Yeah," John said, frowning.


"Where, what?"

"Where were you bitten?"

"Oh. Shoulder."

"Shoulder! I thought so."

"No you didn't."

"The left one."

"Lucky guess."

"I never guess."

"Yes you do."

"What're you so happy about?"

Sherlock was smirking, his whole being seemingly alight with a secretive sort of gleeand it was strange, compared to the sulking huff he had just been toward his brother.

"Moriarty," Sherlock answered, his grin growing a bit wider.

"What's Moriarty?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Sherlock replied, and even John could tell he was absolutely thrilled at the prospect of finding out.

John was grinning too by now, he and Sherlock stepping in time toward the main road.

"What about you?" John asked, curious now.

"What about me?"

"When were you bitten, where, all that stuff?"

"Oh. I was born, not made."

John stopped, surprised, but Sherlock kept walking.

"Wait, what?" he exclaimed, and Sherlock stopped, turned to look at him with raised eyebrows, "Really?"

"Yes," Sherlock drawled, as if it should have been obvious, "My whole family, going back generations. There are dozens of packs all over the world."

"You're kidding," John said, starting to walk again. Sherlock waited for him to catch up.

"Not at all. Lots of pomp and circumstance around it too, depending on the family line. Unfortunately," he sighed, "my family is one of the higher-ranking ones. Hence Mycroft's," he sneered his brother's name, jabbing a thumb back over his shoulder, "over-baring attitude toward me. I'm a disappointment to the family name, refusing to take a mate, refusing to take a position of power, like Mycroft, pulling away from the pack politics," he popped the "p"s disdainfully, sighing again, "It's all rubbish as far as I'm concerned."

John's head was reeling, trying to wrap his brain around all this new information.

"Wait, so Mycroft too? Wouldn't that be, I dunno, noticed? He's involved with the government… And why didn't I smell it on him?"

Sherlock scoffed, throwing John a look that clearly said, Are you serious?

"Mycroft can manipulate every string in the web of the British government, you really think full moons are going to be a problem?"

"… yeah, fair point."

"As for detecting it, Mycroft is very careful to mask that particular part of himself, you never know when you'll run into another wolf, and doesn't due to show his hand too soon, of course," Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes, "Taxi!" he called out at the corner, raising his hand and waving down a black cab.

"Sure you don't want to take the tube?" John asked with a little grin as Sherlock opened the door, "Haven't you been ruined for cabs?"

Sherlock gave him a look as he slid into the backseat and John laughed, following close behind.

A/N: Any dialogue you recognize is from A Study in Pink, and as such, all the credit goes to Mark and Steven. All the werewolf-y bits are mine, of course.