So uh, it's been a while friends. I'm not dead, this fic is still (somehow!) alive. Happy 2020!

TW: None for this chapter. (As always, please correct me if I've overlooked a needed TW).

Fenrir stared darkly at the kitchen where John's pack-mate, Sherlock, kept his stinging chemicals. Huffing out an explosive sneeze of air to clear his nose, Fenrir stalked over to lie at John's feet and deliberately turned his back on the mess.

The lab had been full of stinging-chemical-plastic-acid-poison. The white coats and their poking-prodding-pain- tests had never been far away from them. Even now, Fenrir could not escape it. Sherlock was tall-sharp-chemical-nicotine and his eyes tested every tiny detail. Fenrir could feel that gaze no matter where he was. It was annoying.

The man looked at everything, like the white coats did, like idiot-Tony did except idiot-Tony had burned and worked and needed Fenrir to ground him. Whereas that stinging-chemical-nicotine Annoyance was simply exhausting. Sherlock would swing wildly; as like to cut at Fenrir's attempt to ground him – if Fenrir ever made that attempt – than to be grounded by it.

Sherlock did not like Fenrir and Fenrir didn't trust Sherlock, so Fenrir played twice as dumb as he was; dumb as any other dog Fenrir had ever crossed paths with.

If it weren't for John, Fenrir would've done something about it long ago. It was only because the Annoyance was John's packmate that Fenrir restrained himself to a disdainful curl of the lip at him

He huffed to himself as he stretched out on the plush rug on the floor by John's feet. The radiator pushed a little heat at him and he shifted in place, enjoying the warmth and quiet. The Annoyance wasn't there and Fenrir was enjoying the evening's peace. John was eating Chinese takeout for dinner and if Fenrir was lucky, John would give him the leftovers without the Annoyance getting any.

Except- there it was, the slam of a taxi door, then the front door. He was back. Fenrir sighed again in resignation but refused to move from his comfortable position as the Annoyance's feet slammed up the stairs.

It had been such a nice evening too.

#

'Stop glaring at him Sherlock,' John said calmly to Sherlock, who'd just come in to the unit. 'He's not going anywhere and it's not helping. It's been a month – shouldn't you be over this by now?'

'I'm not glaring,' Sherlock snapped. Tearing his gaze from where he'd definitely been glaring at Fenrir, he went back to texting rapidly on his phone. 'Besides, he's staring at me. Staring is a sign of dominance in canines. I googled it, John, googled it.' Sherlock repeated, as if to reinforce the fact that he'd had to stoop to google for information.

'You've never owned a dog have you,' John sighed, wishing that Sherlock would just give it a rest already. The man had barely been home two minutes for Christ-sakes.

John prodded at the Chinese takeout dinner with his fork. The sweet-and-sour pork had started to congeal in the box; the sticky sauce clumping in a distinctly jelly-like fashion. 'Are you going to eat any of this?'

'Don't ask stupid questions,' Sherlock said.

John took that as a no.

'Knock, knock!' Mrs Hudson called, her voice echoing up the hall as two sets of feet clomped up the stairs. 'Boys! I've got Detective Lestrade here,'

Fenrir, who had been lying quietly on lounge, jumped off and went to the door wagging his tail as the door opened and Mrs Hudson poked her head through.

'Hello Fenrir, hello lovely boy' she cooed as Fenrir prodded his nose into her hand for ear rubs. 'have you been good? Of course, you've been good, lovely boy. I've got a bone for you if you're around tonight. A big one from the butcher, yes! John,' she said straightening up, 'I've got a bone for Fenrir if you're around tonight.'

Fenrir wiggled his head under her hand as she spoke to him – the shameless beast.

'Thanks Mrs Hudson,' John replied, collecting his plates, 'I'm sure Fenrir will slink by your flat later on before your show's on.' He restrained a small smile at the sight of Fenrir turning Mrs Hudson into a puddle of bone gifiting goo. The wolf had very quickly wormed his way into her good graces after Mrs Hudson's initial tremulous quails about his size, his fur, and his smell. The way he carried her shopping up the stairs whenever she had some might've had something to do with it; very neatly between his teeth with no slobber at all – the brownnoser.

'Lestrade, Mrs Hudson,' Sherlock said shortly. 'Let him in.'

'Oh yes, well.' Mrs Hudson said as Fenrir lingered for one last pat before stepping back and out of the way. Unlike Mrs Hudson, Lestrade was not given anything other than a cool stare of acknowledgement as Fenrir retreated to sit at John's side.

'I'll leave you boys too it, then.' Mrs Hudson said and promptly retreated down the stairs.

'If you want my help with a case, I've already got one.' Sherlock said, whipping himself up off the chair.

Lestrade ignored Sherlock, looking at John and Fenrir with a considering eye.

'A kid's been taken,' Lestrade said. 'We know they're in London's underground tunnels, but they could be anywhere.'

Sherlock shot Lestrade a sharp, stunned, look. 'Oh, don't tell me you want the dog's help.'

'John…' Lestrade started, 'In the army, exactly how good of a tracker was Fenrir?'

John couldn't restrain his grin. 'Very good.'

Lestrade nodded to himself whilst in the background Sherlock looked positively murderous.

'It'll take longer than I want before our tracker dogs can make it out here. John, would you…'

'Of course,' John said, 'It'll be good to work a job again.'

Despite himself (a bloody kid being taken was not a cause for celebration), John couldn't help his excitement. It'd been too long since he and Fenrir had worked together as a team like this.

Fenrir was already waiting at the door by the time John levered himself off the chair; the wolf's level of understanding was unnerving.

'I'm coming with you,' Sherlock said, flinging his scarf back on in a way that managed to communicate just how put out he was.

John had to hide a smile when Fenrir shouldered his way in front of Sherlock as they went down the stairs. Cheeky bugger.

#

Later, after Fenrir tracked the child and their kidnapper down, Sherlock turned to John and said, 'I could've figured it out.'

'I know,' John replied giving Fenrir some well-deserved scratches between the wolf's shoulder blades, 'but you're capable of accepting –' John broke off when he saw Sherlock's mutinous stare. 'You can't be serious, right?'

'I just think –'

'Oh my god.' John barked a disbelieving laugh. 'Are you actually jealous? Oh, you are! The great Sherlock Holmes is actually jealous of a – well a – a Fenrir!'

'Yes. Fine. There's no need to sound so pleased, John,' Sherlock said snippily, turning to sweep his coat dramatically and stalk away. 'It simply feels like cheating, that's all.'

John had the sense that Sherlock still wasn't telling him something – there was a deeper cut there – but this was too good to let go.

'Oh no,' John replied, hurrying after Sherlock, 'I'm never letting you hear this end of this - hear that Fenrir, he's jealous of your nose!'

Fenrir turned his face up to John's, grinning up at him with a wolfish lolling tongue, as if he was sharing in the joke.

'Just because my brother fixed you up, doesn't mean you have to take it everywhere.' Sherlock retorted.

'Oh no, I definitely do. Besides Sherlock, didn't you have a dog as a child? Even I had a dog as a child.'

Sherlock didn't even answer, merely strode ahead, coat streaming out behind him.

Sherlock was even more insufferable about Fenrir for the next few days, and John had found the whole thing hysterical – but because Sherlock was his friend and John didn't make a point of picking at sore points, he didn't bring it up even when Sherlock got particularly insufferable about the amount of fur Fenrir shed.

It wasn't long after this that Sherlock's meteoric rise to notoriety began. Even though John couldn't complain about the extra income or the fact that Sherlock relished each case with almost manic glee, he began to worry if the media attention would overpower Mycroft's ability to uphold their deal. It was, after all, hard to keep Fenrir's true nature quiet. Add to the pressure from Moriarty's upcoming trial – suffice to say that anxiety worried at him in the dark hours of the night. He would wake to find Fenrir pacing at the foot of his bed, turning in tiny circles, wearing the carpet bare. Then he would call Fenrir up on his bed and stroke the wolf's soft ears until the both became too exhausted for consciousness.

No. John didn't like thinking about it, but he couldn't stop it. This … thing … that he, Sherlock, and Fenrir were riding – this dizzying wave of fame and fortune – was bound to come crashing down.

Of course, when the wave inevitably crashed, not even John could have dreamed of the outcome. When the dust had settled. When the fall happened. No. John had never imagined it ending the way it did.

Nor could he have predicted what followed.

So firstly, I apologise that it's been so long since the last update. This fic has always been something that i've dearly wanted to continue - and it's because of you, all of you, who comment and tell me that they still want to know where this fic will head that I'm even still going. So thank you. Thank you to all the people who still care about John and Fenrir's journey. This chapter, and all the ones that follow, are for you. What's next for John and Fenrir after that cliffhanger? Well, we'll see ;)

Drop me a line; comments and faves all make my day. You want author's commentary? headcannons? drop me a comment because I love answering them.