Of werewolves and vampire's

Untitled Part 4

Sherlock glanced at the shifter who was to be his flatmate. An optimist, oddly enough, going by the fact he brought a few things over, unexpected. Sherlock wondered how long he would last, maybe he could put on a good impression. He needed to clean for a bit longer before gaining access to his funds once more. They quickly small talk before knocking on the door. Ms. Hudson opened it, wearing a purple house dress. the brownie welcomed them in. Sherlock noticed her eyes quickly shift from John Watson to him, a gleam in her eyes. She smiled warmly at them and gestured them inside.

"Oh, Sherlock." she hugs him, one of the few people who are allowed to do so. "It's so good to see you found someone."

"Ms. Hudson this is Doctor John Watson. "

"Oh, how lovely, a doctor. Maybe he will keep you out of trouble." She spoke with a gleam in her eyes before wrapping him in a hug once again. "Come in, come in." She led the way upstairs.

Sherlock watched the shift's arse, it was hugged nicely in the man's trousers. It wasn't a common thing for Sherlock to pay attention to, he needed his mind clear to focus on The Work. Unfortunately the good doctor hit quite a few of the items on Sherlock's checklist when it comes to sexual attraction: he was blonde, muscular without being grotesque, a doctor, and a soldier.They reached the top of the stairs, john politely waited for him to door. Sherlock watched John as he glanced about the flat.

"Oh, this could be nice, very nice indeed." John nodded, sounded pleased.

"Yes, yes, my thoughts precisely." Thusly, things were going smoothly.

"As soon as we get some of this cleared up." John spoke just as Sherlock did.

"That's why I've already taken the liberty of moving in."

They glanced at one another, Sherlock should have seen this coming. He felt himself begin to panic slightly. John was interesting thus far and Sherlock really did not want to look for another potential flatmate. He quickly began to attempt to tidy up, moving stacks of papers, stabbing his mail in the fireplace with a small dagger.

He turned his back to John. "Obviously, I can tidy up a bit."

"That's a human skull."

Sherlock turned to see the other man pointing at the skeletal remains of a head. "Ah, yes, a friend of mine. Well, I say friend. "

Thankfully, Ms. Hudson interrupted them before things got to stuffling and awkward. Sherlock took his coat and scarf off while she spoke to John.

"Well, what do you think, Doctor?" Ms. Hudson asked.

"John if you please." The blond man corrected.

"John. Thires a second bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing it. " The gleam was back in her eyes.

"Yes please actually. "

"Oh, don't worry, dearie, there's all sorts near here. Ms. Turner next-door has married one once."

"We've only just met Ms Hudson." He told her kindly while putting his stuff down, and draping his dress uniform over the red armchair.

Already claiming it as his own, which was fine since Sherlock preferred the black leather one. Sherlock watched John open the box and take out a carefully wrapped mug and a wooden box that smelled of tea. Sherlock could tell by the way he handled the box it meant a lot to him and by how worn it was, it was no surprise the shifter smelled permanently of tea.

"Oh, Sherlock, the mess you've made." Ms. Hudson spoke, tutting a bit as she went to tidy up the kitchen pots, pans, and some of his equipment that went flouting about. As she started cleaning, her magic filled the kitchen with her motherly warmth. It had not taken long for Sherlock to see her as a second mother, despite trying hard not to.

"I looked you up on the Internet last night." John spoke, sitting on the red chair, his box and mug balanced on his knees, most likely he didn't wish to disturb Ms. Hudson's cleaning.

"Anything interesting?" Sherlock asked, eager to hear what John thought.

"I found your website The Science Of Deduction I believe that's what you call it."

"What did you think?"

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and a pilot by his left thumb?"

"Yes, and I can read your military career in your face and the way you hold yourself. I can read your brother's drinking problem in your mobile phone. The fact your a coyote shifter by your hair color, lack of a place to stay, the scent of fur you carry with you and the lack of any on your clothes."

Sherlock turned his back to stare out the window at the police car that had just pulled up. The snow leopard shifter- DI Lestrade got out. He could feel John's eyes on him.

"How?"

"What about these suicides, then? Sherlock thought it would be right up your street. Three. Exactly the same." Ms. Hudson spoke, a newspaper rustling in her hands.

"Four. There's been a fourth. There's something different this time."

He turned and headed for the door hearing Lestrade footsteps on the stairs, excitement was beginning to stir in his veins. He quickly opened the door before Lestrade could knock. His cat eyes looked a might frantic, not even glancing at John.

"Where at?" Sherlock kept his face cool and composed, he didn't want to give his eagerness away.

"Brixton. Lauriston Gardens."

"What's different about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave a note? Well, this one did and it's odd. Will you come? It's got to at least an eight."

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock hoped he wouldn't have to deal with that incompetent wizard.

"It's Anderson." No such luck then. "Does that even matter? You'll just insult whoever's working, as always."

"But I need an assistant."

"Sherlock, don't be difficult. Will you come?"

"Yes, yes, but not in police car. I'll be right behind."

"Thank you." He quickly headed out the door.

As soon as he was gone, Sherlock grinned and leapt for joy. He had been itching to get in on this case for months now.

"Brilliant! Yes! Four serial suicides and now a note! It's Christmas, but better." He grabbed his coat and scarf.

"I'm off, Ms. Hudson." He gave her a peck on the cheek. "John, make yourself a cup of tea and make yourself at home. Don't wait up. I'm sure Ms. Hudson has something for you to eat."

Sherlock quickly headed downstairs and was about to hail a cab when he remembered something. John Watson was an army doctor. He could be useful, and, unless he was wrong- which he rarely ever was- John was starved for adrenaline and excitement. He quickly headed back up the stairs. John was putting his mug and tea box in the cupboard, but turned around when Sherlock re-entered the flat.

"You're an army doctor, in fact you're a surgeon."

"Yes."

"Any good?"

John's chin tilted up with pride. "Very good."

"Seen a lot of injuries then, a lot of violent deaths." John's full attention was on him. "Bit of trouble too, I bet."

"Hmm, yes, of course, enough for a lifetime. Far too much." John replied in dull tone that spoke of the fact he knew what was expected to be said, but didn't mean a word of it.

"Want to see some more?" Sherlock said with a smile, knowing what the answer was.

"God, yes. " Sherlock watched the shorter man's eyes brighten to a bright silver blue for a second before darkening back.