Hi Folks! Just a few notes before we get into the story. First, this is an Alternate Universe of the supernatural sort. Werewolves are born, not made, and they have some interesting rituals and beliefs. I am toying with the idea of adding more creatures, like Fae people and such as well as alternating between John's perspective and Sherlock's.

When you are leaving review, please do so with the knowledge that I am taking some artistic license with this story. There is only so much research I can do for this tale as I am also researching for a Steampunk novel I am working on. I just want to keep this story fun. If you have serious concerns, please message me directly and we can talk it out.

If there is anything that you would like to see happen, let me know! So far, this will be a Johnlock story and will have some male on male sexy times. If you don't like, don't read.

Thanks and enjoy!

It all started with a plate of bacon and eggs.

John knew Sherlock was a werewolf. Of course he knew about that since Sherlock wouldn't stop talking about it. He recalled the day at St. Bart's when Sherlock claimed the worst trait he had was playing violin at odd hours and not speaking for days on end.

And then once John agreed to move into 221B Baker Street, Sherlock had come clean about his lineage. For some reason, Sherlock launched into a thirty minute monologue-complete with pacing between the kitchen and sitting room- about the rich history of his werewolf kin immediately after dropping that hairy bomb on John. As John sat on the couch and struggled to come to grips with the notion of supernatural creatures, he was only able to get snippets of Sherlock's ramblings.

"…full moon rumor is just ridiculous, I can change whenever I want but sometimes…"

"….don't worry about dead bodies, I stay with Mycroft, the annoying git, when things get….."

"…odd mating ritual. But I doubt you'll see anything remotely like that. In the event you do, be aware that I present a…."

"…..you might want to invest in quite a few lint rollers as I cannot control the shedding."

It took John a full minute to realize Sherlock had finished speaking and was now looking at him expectantly. "Well?"

John blinked and tried desperately to recall what his question was. "Um, what?"

Sherlock heaved a gusty sigh as he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "I do hate repeating myself."

Shrugging, John tried to appear nonchalant. "Then I guess you won't be getting an answer."

"I merely asked if this had changed your mind about being flatmates." Sherlock's voice was dripping with irritation.

John bent forward, putting his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. How on earth was he supposed to answer that? From the gist of what John recalled, Sherlock was essentially harmless and would flee to his family estate when….if…..shit, what did he say? John could practically feel Sherlock's annoyance at his lack of response, so he came up with the best answer he could. "What exactly do I need to do?"

"Nothing." Sherlock spat out. "Weren't you even listening or was I speaking at too high of an intellectual level for your simple mind to keep up?"

Sherlock's condescending tone was really beginning to chip away at John's patience. "An hour ago, I thought humans and animals remained in one general shape." John snapped. "Now you are telling me there are fucking werewolves out in the world. Didn't you think that I might need a moment to come to terms with this before you just ramble on?"

"Don't be daft. Surely you knew that a caterpillar goes through a large transformation to become a butterfly. Same general concept." Sherlock said dismissively.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, Sherlock. Not the same concept at all."

The only response he received was an absent wave of a pale hand. "Fine. To answer your question again, you needn't worry about a thing except for explaining the extra fur that might attach to your clothing."

Several months later, John was kicking himself for agreeing to stay. Yes, Sherlock essentially saved his life by breathing some excitement into it. Yes, he managed to cure John's limp within a day. And yes, Sherlock quickly became John's best friend. For some time, John nearly forgot about Sherlock's werewolf side. Sherlock kept to his word and would escape to the country every so often to indulge in his wolf predilections. John nearly believed that Sherlock meant what he said that first day.

But the motherfucker lied.

John should have never agreed to care for Sherlock after a particularly bad case led to Sherlock shifting into a wolf for a week straight. Apparently, the scent of another werewolf tended to rouse the wolf inside his flatmate. Sherlock managed to solve the case within a day or two, though he declared it was hardly more than a 4 and had it not been for the wolf, he wouldn't have bothered. As soon as they had arrived to the flat, Sherlock stomped into his room. John made himself a cuppa and walked to Sherlock's door to offer him one when he noticed the large creature in the middle of the bed. Though John had an inkling that this would happen, he still was startled. Sherlock made a handsome wolf, John had to admit. John could see the outline of muscles through his fur, which was the exact shade of his dark hair and even had a hint of curl. Sherlock's startling blue-green eyes had grown larger, but otherwise remained the same. At that moment, wolf Sherlock looked absolutely mortified that John had seen him in this state. John finally broke the awkward silence.

"Didn't see that one coming, eh?"

Wolf Sherlock whined and tried to bury his face in his paws. John laughed. "Don't worry about it. Are you hungry? I can make you something."

At John's offer, the wolf looked up hopefully. The only other time John had seen Sherlock look so innocent was when he was trying to bribe John into buying him a pack of cigarettes. He took it as a yes and walked back into the kitchen. Unfortunately, Sherlock had been busy with his experiments. There were fingers among the one or two apples that John bought out of guilt over his rather bachelor diet. The milk had long since disappeared. What the hell does a wolf eat anyway? John thought idly. He opened the freezer and peered at the not-quite identifiable red meat. "Good enough." He whispered as he set out to defrost the lump.

About twenty minutes later, John had finished cooking the meat, which he was beginning to think it was some sort of beef chunks. Keeping it on the rare side, John dumped it into a bowl and walked back to Sherlock's room. Sherlock was no longer curled up in the middle of the bed. Rather, he decided to spread out on his back in a rather sunny patch of the floor. John set the bowl down. "I thought only cats did that."

Sherlock's stare was nothing short of imperious until he managed to look at the contents of the bowl. He turned his head, sniffed at the contents, and looked back at John with an expression of disbelief . John had never realized how expressive canine features were. "What? You don't want it now?"

John grabbed the bowl with the intention of taking it back to the kitchen. Sherlock instantly rolled onto his feet and took a hold of the same bowl with his teeth, growling. John rolled his eyes in annoyance and sat on the mattress. "Fine, you do want it. Eat up."

Sherlock thrust his face into the bowl and inhaled the meat within seconds. John watched in sick fascination. Sherlock then curled next to John on the bed, falling asleep instantly. He watched the wolf breath deeply for a moment before leaving, feeling relieved he managed to handle Sherlock when he was in wolf form.

If he only knew what floodgates opened with that small act of kindness.

For the next month, Sherlock had gone from slightly annoying to nearly unmanageable. He often strolled about the flat in wolf form. And John had to kick him out of his room more times than he could count. How the hell would he have known that Wolf Sherlock obsessively preferred to sleep at the foot of John's bed? John never thought Sherlock was one for cleaning, but compared to the excessive mess that lay around the sitting room every day, John would have thought Sherlock to be a neat freak beforehand. The constant mess and broken boundaries paled in comparison to the constant excuses.

"Jaaawn! I have to follow you to the loo. It's a wolf thing."

"Don't be so upset. I had to chew up those shoes. It's what I do!"

But then for as many times as Sherlock was nearly suffocatingly close, he had just as many days where he holed up in his room and if John asked after him, Sherlock's response would just be an icy glare.

And then came the bacon and eggs incident.

It all started innocently enough. John woke to the smell of cooking. Curious, he walked out of his room and down the stairs. Sherlock stood at the stove, a look of intense concentration marred his features. With careful precision, Sherlock scooped up the contents of the pan and transferred them to a (hopefully) clean plate. Once the food was safely on the table, Sherlock looked up brightly. "Ah, John, if you hadn't been standing there for the last two minutes and forty three seconds, I would have thought your timing to be impeccable."

Instead of walking the rest of the way into the kitchen, John hesitated. Sherlock immediately noticed and his once perked up expression faltered. "I know that I have not been myself lately. There has been a lot going on, but I expect that you have known this. I thought you could have some breakfast and we could, um, talk."

Sherlock looked nervous. If it had been two months ago, John would have felt concern for his friend. Now, he was just anticipating what Sherlock had done now and how long would this good mood-was it a good mood?-would last before John would have to start hiding his good shoes and locking his door. This small gesture was frankly too little, too late. John sat at the table while trying to figure out how to phrase his intentions to move out. Sherlock, still picking up on John's hesitations, timidly pushed the plate forward. John absently smiled as he accepted the plate. Once he took his first bite, Sherlock heaved a gusty sigh, smiled, and sat down next to John.

As John ate, Sherlock began to speak at a rapid pace. "Now that we've gotten this figured out, things can go back to normal. Well, as normal as I can get. There's obviously some odd behaviors that I cannot help, because of, you know, the wolf part of me."

Again with the wolf excuse, John thought. I cannot deal with this anymore. Between bites, John spoke in measured tones. "Now, Sherlock, this is hard for me to say." Bite. "I think you are quite brilliant and you have helped me in ways that I cannot accurately describe." Bite. "But how you've been acting the last month has been just too strange for me to comfortably." Bite. "Live here."

Tearing his gaze away from the breakfast, John saw Sherlock staring in confusion. He waited patiently for Sherlock to respond. The man had a response for everything, why is he silent now? Sherlock just glanced between John and the half-eaten plate. "But you….I gave you…and you…." He dropped his head. "I don't understand." Sherlock's words were barely above a whisper.

Before John could say anything, Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Lunging forward, he cupped John's face in his hands and pressed his lips to John's mouth. John was too stunned to move. He gasped as he began to feel the warmth of Sherlock's lips moving against his own. Sherlock took advantage of John's open mouth and slid his tongue inside, flicking it against John's tongue and dragging the tip across the roof of John's mouth. Sherlock tasted of tea and cigarettes, the flavor exploding on John's palate.

John heard a strangled groan and realized with a start that the noise came from his throat. He pushed Sherlock away, who tried to duck his head back towards John's in an attempt to prolong the kiss. Breathing heavily, John tried desperately to regain control of the situation. During the kiss, Sherlock had managed to plaster himself against John. John's eyes widened at the feeling of Sherlock's crotch pressed into his side. John was not sure if he wanted to blush or congratulate Sherlock at his considerable size.

A discrete cough at the door sent both men flying away from each other. Mycroft was leaning against the frame, his eyes cast towards the floor and a hand was pressed against his forehead to further prevent him from seeing his little brother practically on top of the odd ex-Army doctor. "Please disengage immediately. I have seen many horrible things in my life, but I fear this might scar me."

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock growled out.

Mycroft barely raised an eyebrow at him, choosing instead to keep his attention on John, who was still seated at the table. "Sherlock, perhaps you should let me talk to John. I believe I might have walked into a large misunderstanding and think it would help for him to talk to someone who is, shall we say, unbiased?"

Sherlock started to walk back towards John, sneering at Mycroft as he wrapped his arm around John's shoulders. "I sincerely doubt you can provide any help…"

"Actually, Sherlock, that might not be a bad idea." John mumbled and tried to avoid Sherlock's face.

Sherlock slowly dropped his arm. "Fine." He bit out. "When you two are done discussing what is clearly John's and my business, let me know. I am absolutely dying to hear."

He stalked to his room and slammed the door.

Mycroft shook his head at Sherlock's petulance. "My deepest apologizes for him, Doctor Watson." He walked closer to the table and noticed John's uneaten remains. "Sherlock made that for you?"

"Um, yeah. I think he was trying to apologizing for acting like a right git lately." John tried to decide if he wanted to finish the food. It would probably be considered bad manners, but it tasted quite good. "I was just telling him that I wanted to move out and he just overreacted."

Mycroft smiled sadly. "I'm afraid his reaction was quite reasonable, considering the circumstances. You see, John, when a wolfkin wishes to court another, they present a plate of meat to their intended. If their feelings are reciprocated, the intended will accept the meat. You basically agreed to be Sherlock's mate within the same breath of telling him that you were leaving him."

This was a courting ritual? John began to panic. Wait, a plate of meat? "Does it have to be Sherlock to initiate the courtship?"

"Of course not, Sherlock can be approached with an initiation. If he wants to proceed with such a person, he just returns the favor. In our world, the pair then begins courtship and the eventual mating process." Mycroft's tone was very matter-of-fact.

"Erm, Mycroft? I might have made Sherlock some meat the first time I saw him in wolf form."

The look the came across Mycroft's face would have been comical had John not been on the verge of a panic attack. His eyes bulged and his jaw dropped. In an instant, the shock was gone. Mycroft shoulders began to shake as he tried desperately not to laugh. He waved his hands at John in an attempt to excuse himself from the room. As Mycroft's cackling rang out from the stairs, John sat in front of the now offensive plate.

What the fuck just happened?

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