Chapter Text
The first time, it scared the bejesus out of John. He came home after moonrise, having been out playing football with Lestrade and a few mates. The flat was an absolute mess, with Sherlock not in his usual spot on the couch. Fearing the worst, John rushed about to look for either Sherlock or clues as to what had happened. He found a shaggy, black-furred wolf on his bed, surrounded by a mess of cloth. Upon seeing John, it sat up to wag its tail rapidly and pant happily at him.
“Jesus Christ!” John shouted, backing into the hall and gripping the doorframe like it would save him if the wolf charged.
The wolf hopped off the bed, still wagging its tail and appearing to smile. Panicking, John slammed the door and rushed downstairs to check on Mrs. Hudson.
“Mrs. Hudson! Mrs. Hudson, there is a wolf upstairs!” he yelled as he ran down the stairs two at a time.
“Oh, that’s just Sherlock, dear!” she told him, waving her hand as if it were nothing. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”
“Tell me what?”
“He’s a werewolf, dear. His whole family is, you know. He forgets to tell people. It’s why he can’t keep a flatmate. They come home to a big black wolf, assume it’s some mad experiment of Sherlock’s and move out the next day.”
“That…that wolf is Sherlock? But I’ve lived here for months!” John protested, waving his hand in the general direction of his bedroom.
“You haven’t noticed that he gets a bit odd around the full moon?” Mrs. Hudson asked, ushering John into her kitchen. “He isn’t home, or actually goes to bed for a few days?”
“He’s always odd, Mrs. Hudson.”
“Well, I have to give you that, dear. Come on now, let’s get you some tea. Once you’ve had a nice cuppa, you can go back up and sort out things. I’m sure he’s got some plan if you’ve seen him.”
After tea, John returned to his own flat and stood in front of his door. He took several deep breaths before opening the door. The wolf – Sherlock – was on the bed again, surrounded by John’s jumpers. He stayed where he was this time, though his tail wagged furiously when John entered the room.
“Sherlock, this is you, yeah? Not some wolf you got to freak me out?” he asked.
The wolf glared at him with blue-gray eyes and growled quietly, clearly disapproving and trying to tell John he was a twit. Definitely Sherlock.
“We’re going to have to talk about this in the morning, okay?”
Sherlock nodded.
“Do I need to take you for a walk or something before bed?”
Sherlock barked excitedly and jumped off the bed, tail still going a mile a minute. He brought John a leash attached to a collar, then dropped it at his feet and waited for approval. Sighing, John picked up the leash.
“Just a quick one, okay?” he said, unclipping the collar as he kneeled in front of Sherlock.
While he waited, Sherlock barked excitedly and sat. The damned wolf looked like he was preening as John clipped the collar around his neck and grabbed the end of the leash.
“Alright, you. A quick walk, then we go to bed.”
By the time they made it back to the flat, an hour had passed. Sherlock bounded about the neighborhood in a better mood than John had ever seen him as a human, making it a bit hard for him to make the furry bastard cut the walk short. Eventually, Sherlock had marked his share of trees and tugged John home, tail still wagging furiously. It hadn’t stopped since John had opened the door after tea with Mrs. Hudson.
Once they were back in the flat, John set a bowl of water on the floor for Sherlock. While the wolf drank, John took his collar off.
“Sherlock, I’m going to shower and get to bed. You can sleep in my room tonight if you like.”
When John wandered back to his room after his shower, Sherlock was on his bed in the jumper pile again. Sighing, John shooed the wolf off his bed and moved the jumper pile to a spot on the floor next to his bed.
“Sleep there. You’re washing those in the morning, by the way,” John ordered.
Sherlock glared at him as he slunk off to the pile, turning around three times before settling in and yawning. John did much the same in his bed, without the turning.
In the morning, Sherlock and the pile of jumpers were gone from John’s floor. When he went to the kitchen for breakfast, John noticed that the mess in the rest of the flat had been cleaned up as well. Sherlock never left a note when he left (or sent a text) unless there was a case, so John assumed he’d gone off to clean the jumpers and blankets from the night before. Well, fervently hoped, really, as he settled in his chair with the morning paper.
Around lunchtime, John was startled awake by Sherlock returning. He’d dozed off during some trivia show and hadn’t heard Sherlock come in until he purposely made noise to wake John.
“I see you’re back to being human now,” John grumbled, stretching and trying to wake up more.
“Since moonset, naturally,” Sherlock said, settling into his own chair. “I have cleaned your jumpers and blankets as you requested, by the way. They are on your bed.”
“Thank you. Now do you want to explain yourself?”
“What is there to explain? I’m a werewolf, John. I come from a very long line of them, so it is only natural that I am one. Mycroft is as well, but he has an easier time hiding it because of his position. Once a month, I become a wolf for three consecutive nights. I am told I’m much more agreeable that way.”
“You really are. So, what, for three nights every month I get a pet wolf?”
“Basically. Are you alright with that?”
“It’s honestly one of the least bonkers things that have happened in this flat. It’s fine, Sherlock. It’ll take some getting used to, but I’ll manage.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear that. If you could go shopping to pick up a few things, I’ve made a list.”
“Why couldn’t you do it while you were cleaning my jumpers?!”
Just to be spiteful, John stopped at the pet store on the way home. He brought back a bed, dishes, and toys for Sherlock, determined to embarrass him one way or another.
“Sherlock!” he called as he came in the door, hoping Sherlock wasn’t running another experiment.
Sure enough, Sherlock poked his head out of the kitchen, covered in some kind of mess John didn’t want to know about.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing a goo-covered hand at the pet store bag.
“I bought you a bed. No more sleeping on my jumpers.”
“I’m not a dog, John.”
“And my jumpers are not a bed, Sherlock.”
By sunset, the kitchen had been cleaned and Sherlock’s new bed set beside John’s. They’d made sure to have an early dinner, after which Sherlock retired to his room to await his transformation. Perhaps thirty minutes after he’d hidden away, there was howling, whining and scratching at the door from Sherlock’s door.
“Sherlock, enough!” John shouted, getting out of his chair and walking down the hall.
Once the door was opened, Sherlock bolted out and into his chair, tail thumping against the arm. John joined him with a sigh, returning to his reading as Sherlock settled in his chair. Every time John looked up from his novel, Sherlock was looking at him with pleading eyes. He gave up after a few pages, setting the novel aside and standing.
“Fine, we’ll go for a walk,” John said, going to get Sherlock’s leash.
Sherlock bounded after him, wagging his tail furiously as he waited. Once John got out the leash and kneeled down, Sherlock sat and waited for the collar to be clipped on. He wriggled excitedly, making John laugh softly.
“I like you much better like this, you know,” John told him as the collar went on. “I know what you’re thinking and you actually look happy.”
Giving the wolf equivalent of a huff, Sherlock lifted his muzzle in a superior manner and pranced off to the door. As John grabbed the end of his lead and walked out with him, he couldn’t help but laugh. Sherlock’s leash and collar were in the same colors and pattern as his beloved scarf.