Author's note: Shade and Shackles is a Grimmlock (Grimm/Sherlock) Crossover written as part of Case Story 2014 with artwork by mella68.

Spoilers: This story contains references to events and characters from both shows. In general, there are spoilers for all episodes of Grimm through 03x16 "Once We Were Gods" and for all episodes of Sherlock through 03x03 "His Last Vow."

"The huntsmen said, 'A wondrous beast is lying in the hollow tree; we have never before seen one like it. Its skin is fur of a thousand different kinds.'"

- Allerleirauh

Portland, Oregon. Missy Simmons pulled over oversized coat tight, wringing her hands. She was at an all-time low.

"This is a youth shelter," the man at the door said stubbornly. "Unless you're a youth, or with a child, you can't stay here. Adults go down to the other shelter on third."

"I'm only seventeen," Missy replied. "That makes me a youth."

"You have an ID?"

"No."

"Well, we gotta cut it off somewhere. And you don't look seventeen."

"She's with me. She's my sister."

Missy turned to see a teenage boy, about fourteen years old.

The man at the door shook his head and waved them both in. "Fine, fine."

"Thanks," Missy whispered to him. "I'm missy."

"Call me Ian," he said. "Nice to meet you."

She watched as Ian made the rounds, shaking hands and chatting, like he did this all the time. She decided he must be a local. Missy managed to squeeze in a goodnight to him before he settled down on a cot in the boy's side of the shelter.

It was just after lights out that she heard a crash of something being overturned. Shouting erupted, followed by audible panic. Everything escalated. Everyone was out of bed and thrashing. It was like an expanding field of frenzy covered the shelter.

Missy grabbed her stuff and ran.

Nick Burkhardt walked into the precinct early. He found Hank Griffin already at his desk, working.

"Anything good?" Nick asked.

"Nah, just putting this paperwork away while I've the chance," Hank replied.

"The more you do, the less I have to."

"You wish. You've got half to do just like always."

"Hey, a call came in," Wu interrupted.

Nick asked, "We got a body?"

"Yes. And no. Yes because seven people are in the hospital. No because none of them are dead," Wu replied.

"Seven?" Hank asked.

"Yeah. Looks like a second riot," Wu said. "This one was at a coffee shop during their early rush."

"Second riot?" Nick asked.

"First one was at the youth shelter last night. Similar reports. Everyone just started going crazy. Smashing things up, throwing things around. That kind of thing."

"They give a reason?" Nick asked.

Wu replied, "Nope."

"Guess we'll find out," Hank said.

As soon as they arrived, Hank and Nick saw that the word 'riot' didn't quite cover it. It was like the Zombie Monster Mash all over again: property damage, injury, and general mess. Tables were overturned; chairs were broken. A brittle combination of coffee and blood spattered the walls.

A stout man in jeans and a button-up shirt approached the two detectives.

"Portland PD, I'm Detective Griffin. You in charge?"

"No, that'd be Mr. Evans," the man replied. "I'm Steve. Steve Freedman. I was running the floor when this happened."

"Were you injured?" Nick asked.

"Luckily, no. I went to call nine one one as soon as the first scuffle started."

"This all started from one scuffle?" Hank asked.

"Mostly, yeah."

Hank said, "All right. Tell us what happened."

"I was in here, the middle of the shop, helping a few patrons with their bags. There were two people, don't think they were together, but they just started screaming at one another. A guy from over there joined in, then someone else... the woman just yanked the guy out of his seat. And I don't mean a hand up, I mean a violent grab. I gotta tell ya, at first I thought it was like a flash mob thing because it seemed to all be on cue. Then fists started flying."

"So the two people involved in this first altercation, they didn't start the fight?" Nick inquired..

"No, no, not at all. They were just the first ones I saw."

"You remember what the first yells were about?" Hank asked. "Animal? Vegetable? Mineral?"

"Sorry, I don't. I think they were both talking about someone, though. Something like, 'He's mine' maybe? But I didn't see anyone with either of them."

"Could you identify them?" Hank asked.

"One was in blue, the other was in gray. Shirts, I mean. Sorry, there was a lot going on," Steve replied.

"Do you remember if they interacted with anyone or anything before they fought? Maybe a staff member?" Nick asked.

"Actually, no," Steve replied. "'Cept for whoever rang 'em up. Oh, and that kid in the hoodie."

"Got a description on him?" Hank asked.

"Just a dark green hoodie. Matched his eyes, you know? Not very tall, maybe five four. Probably a teenager, but it was hard to tell, " Steve said. His eyes slide out of focus suddenly, like he hopped into a daydream.

"Mr. Freedman?" Nick prompted. "Mr. Freedman?"

"What? Sorry. Are we done?" Steve asked. His features carried a heavy haze.

"How about we have an officer take your statement?" Nick suggested.

Jeffrey Smith walked slowly towards the stern frame of the Glades. He glowered at its newest pile of rubble.

"Hey Keith," Jeffrey said.

"You staying the night?" Keith asked.

"Nah, just need to get out of the damn sun for a few hours."

"Good, we got a new guy with us for the night. Do me a solid, show him the ropes?"

"Sure. Which one is he?"

"That guy, green hoodie."

"Got it," Jeffrey said before approaching the stranger.

Hank asked, "Is it just me, or was that weird?"

"Definitely," Nick replied.

"Maybe we should test the food. See if that cafe was serving special brownies or Irish coffee," Hank joked.

Nick considered for a moment. Hank was right. It wasn't just the one interview; everyone they spoke to seemed a little off. All of them drifted off while talking or snapped into a daydream-like haze.

"Maybe something did affected them," Nick suggested. "Caused the fight, then the escalation, and then the residual affects leave them, well..."

"Slightly high?" Hank suggested. "What would cause that? You thinking my hash brownie idea is right?"

"Dunno. But Wu told me none of the people they've processed so far have records or any history of violence. It's not too crazy to think maybe they were exposed to something."

Hank shook his head as he got behind the wheel. "Not in this town it's not."

Nick was ready to ride shotgun, but something caught his eye. A young woman stood across the street from the coffee house. She hovered by the bus stop, but Nick could tell she was more interested in the cafe than the traffic.

"You got something?" Hank asked.

"Yeah, give me a minute."

Nick crossed the street as casually as he could, but she tensed up when she saw him coming.

"Wait!" Nick said as she turned away. "I'm with Portland PD!"

She stopped and let him catch up. "Can I see your badge?" she asked.

"Nick Burkhardt. You seemed to be looking for something. Or someone, maybe?"

"I guess."

"What's your name?"

"Look, I was just looking for someone," she said. "He dropped something."

"That's a long name."

"We both ran out of the shelter last night, and he dropped this. I picked it up," she repeated. "I asked around. Found out he works that shop sometimes. I'm not a stalker, I just want him to get this back." She held out an id.

Nick glanced at it: a California license for one Ripley Meador, age sixteen.

"I am not a creepy stalker, okay?" she said. "But he told me his name was Ian, not Ripley. Which makes me think he wants that back. Okay? So. Yeah."

She began to pace, and her eyes went out of focus, just like the coffee shop interviewees. But her behavior went from timid to aggressive in just a few seconds.

"Got it," Nick said as he pocketed the id. "Have you ever been downtown by the walking park? The non-smoking one."

"I know where it is."

"There's a Tea and Spice Shop. You know which one I'm talking about?" She didn't respond. "I know the shop owner. And if you go there and tell her Detective Burkhardt sent you, she could help you out."

"With what?" she snapped.

"You keep going like you are right now, with the pacing and the shaky hands and the loud voice, and someone's gonna notice. And not in a good way. Listen, listen," he said as he grabbed her arm to stop her. "Can you hear me?"

"The Tea and Spice Shop, downtown," she repeated, as if coming out of a deep sleep. "That's not far."

"No, do you need a ride?"

"I can walk."

"You sure?"

As if suddenly realizing who she was talking to, the woman became alert. She pulled away as she replied, "Yes, I'm sure."

Nick took out his phone and called Rosalee.

Rosalee wasn't sure what to make of her current phone conversation.

"You want me to treat someone?" she asked.

"Yeah, she'll tell you my name. You'll probably know her as soon as she's there," Nick replied.

"What do you think is happening?"

"I don't know. But all the people we interviewed? They all seemed really... off. Reminded me of how people reacted to Ziegevolk," Nick replied. "And she seemed very animated, agitated. Not aggressive or dangerous, but really odd really suddenly."

"Did it seem like a reaction to something?" Rosalee asked. "Or more of a withdrawal symptom?"

"As far as I could tell, nothing happened for her to react to. Something came over her," Nick replied. "She fought it, though. And after it passed, it was like how you were when the Ziegevolk lawyer used his pheromones on you. A little ill maybe?"

"Look, I can treat any symptoms she has, but without knowing what caused it, I can't be sure I'm doing any more than that," Rosalee replied. "Monroe is on his way in, so he can help me with research. But Nick, Ziegevolk don't cause riots. Not like the one you described."

"We saw one influence a jury," Nick replied.

"Twelve people is a lot for one Ziegevolk. And no one on the jury became violent," Rosalee replied. "So maybe this is Wesen, but plenty of Wesen can affect behavior."

"And plenty of drugs and gases can, too," Nick added. "But this girl, she's been on the streets and she's in bad shape. So even if it's not related..."

"No, of course, I understand," Rosalee replied. "I'll call you when I know more."

"Thanks."

Nick hung up.

Hank asked, "You think this Ripley Meador might be causing this?"

"He was at both riots," Nick replied.

"Wu texted an address," Hank said.

"Witness?" Nick asked.

"Nope, third riot. Abandoned building nearly burned to the ground. Possible bodies."

"A riot with a fire? Is your radio working?" Nick asked.

"Yeah, but the call came in while you were talking to our witness," Hank replied. "Problem is, we can't run down this kid and check out the new crime scene."

"Okay, drop me off. I can get someone to drive me back to the station."

"Sounds good to me."

"So, what are we doing?" Monroe asked as Nick pulled up to the scene. "Is that smoke?"

"Yeah, arson was involved in this riot," Nick replied. "Whatever's going on has a big area of affect. I thought maybe you could... you know?"

"Pick up a scent?" Monroe asked. "Dude, normally, maybe. But if they're ingesting something, depending on their metabolism...probably not. If it is like a pheromone hormonal surge influence thing, then that's... if I can smell it, chances are it will affect me."

"Okay, stay in the car, text me if you get anything," Nick said as he ducked out.

The smoke lingered in the air, and the forensic techs swarmed over the scene.

"Detective?" Sergeant Thomas Rider asked upon approach.

"Burkhardt," Nick said. "My partner is back at the station. Can you fill me in?"

Rider lead Nick into the scene as he spoke. "This place has been used by organized squatters for the past couple of months. Fire broke out about three hours ago; luckily, it was contained before the entire building went up. Two bodies, not identified. Paramedics took six people in, status unknown."

"We got anything on what started the fire?" Nick asked.

"According to the people I've spoken to? Nothing," Rider replied. "The fire spontaneously happened."

"Ah, reluctance to speak to police," Nick said. "When you were speaking to witnesses, did they seem..."

"High?" Rider prompted. "All of them were crazy-spacy. But that could've been the shock and the fumes."

"Was there a young man here in a green hoodie?"

Rider nodded. "Yeah. Said his name was Ian James. Too young for an ID."

"Where is he?"

"He's with Officer Spicer," Rider pointed. "You need anything else?"

"No, thank you," Nick replied.

Officer Spicer was about thirty with a spindly build. He paced as he drank his coffee, and Nick noticed no one was standing with him.

"Officer Spicer?" Nick asked. "You were speaking to a young man. Where is he?"

"Who?" Spicer asked, agitation bubbling up.

"Green hoodie, called himself Ian," Nick said. "Where is he?"

Spicer shook his head rigorously and pointed towards the woods beyond the south end of the building. "Said he needed to bleed the lizard. Didn't need a buddy."

"You let him leave?" Nick asked.

He didn't wait for a reply. He spotted a bit of green ducking into the tree line, and he ran for it.

"Stop! Police!" he yelled as he closed in.

The runner tripped and woged as he tried to get back to his feet. Nick didn't have a direct line of sight, but Ian James seemed to be an Eisbiber.

"Ian James! Stop!" Nick repeated.

Before he could get his feet under himself, Nick closed in on him.

"Ian James?" Nick asked. The boy didn't reply. "Ripley Meador?" Nick tried.

The jolt of recognition was all he needed.

Nick wrangled Ripley Meador back to the car, and as soon as he pushed him into the back seat, Monroe exited the front.

"What are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" Monroe asked. "You can leave me in a car with that guy! He's too potent."

"You've never had a problem with Bud," Nick said.

"What's Bud got to do with this?"

"I didn't get a good look a the kid, but he's definitely something like an Eisbiber."

"No way."

"Monroe, I know what I saw," Nick replied.

"And I know what I smell, as in presently. I can't be near that guy for long, let alone be in a confined space with him."

"I can't just leave you here," Nick pointed out.

"Well, then, make someone else take him in!"

"Or, I've got some stuff in the trunk: nose plugs for swimming, medical masks. Will that work?"

"Promise me you will drive fast," Monroe replied. "And he is not an Eisbiber."

"Then what?"

"Nothing I've ever met before."

After dropping off Monroe, Nick tried to get the kid to talk.

"You said your name was Ian James. Where did you get that?" he asked. When Ripley didn't reply, Nick continued, "Look, whatever's going on, you've been at three riots in the past day. You should really talk to me here."

His phone rang.

"Burkhardt," Nick said.

"It's Hank. You're not gonna believe this."

"Hit me."

"Just got off the phone with Seattle PD. Maxwell Meador, Ripley's father, was murdered a week ago."

"But his license is from California."

"That's where his mom is," Hank replied. "I called her and she's coming out."

"Right, I'll be back at the station in fifteen," Nick said as he hung up.

"My partner is looking for a next of kin. Mom, dad, anyone," Nick said to Ripley. "You have someone we can call?"

Ripley replied quietly, "No."

Despite Nick's efforts, he refused to say another word.

Hank and Nick took a moment before joining Ripley Meador in the interview room.

"So, this is the kid that started the riots?" Hank asked.

"Only guy at all three," Nick said. "And he tried to make a break for it from the last one."

Ripley sat back in his chair.

"Ripley, I'm Detective Hank Griffin," Hank said. "I was trying to contact next of kin, since you're technically a minor."

"He found your mom, she's flying up," Nick said.

"What? No, you can't!" Ripley said quickly, standing up. He moved so fast that his hoodie fell back. "Tell her you made a, uh, mistake or something! Tell her to turn around right now!"

Ripley woged, his face changing into the beaver-like Eisbiber, but curled horns erupted from his head.

"He's a Grimm! And... you... you can't just stand there, he'll kill me!" Ripley yelled as he plastered himself to the wall, trying to escape Nick.

"Calm down," Nick said.

"Wesen?" Hank asked.

"Yeah."

"What kind?"

"Dunno. Looks like a really weird Ziegevolk."

"Shut up!" Ripley shouted. "You don't know!"

"Then tell us," Hank said.

Ripley froze and didn't respond.

"We know about your father," Nick said. "Seattle PD connected his death to fourteen other people. Up until Hank here gave them a call, they thought you might be the fifteenth."

"You can't let my mom come! You just don't get it."

"We can help you, Ripley," Nick insisted. "Hank and I might be the only people who can. In terms of explaining your effect on other people, anyway. Part Eisbiber, part Ziegevolk. Am I right?"

Ripley kept his distance, but he replied, "Yeah. I went to live with my dad so he could... help me figure it out."

"Figure out what?" Hank asked.

"Being an Eisbiber? It's so simple. You've got the family and the lodge and the community. But Ziegevolk? Solitary. At least, the guys are. And most of us – them... whatever, when puberty hits... it's..."

"That's when the hormones start to surge, I've been there," Hank said.

"Most Ziegevolk have a parent to teach them how to handle it," Ripley said. "But my mom and dad, they were never really together. He only agreed to help when I showed him what was going wrong."

"So you're starting riots with teenage hormones?" Hank asked. "That's a new one."

"Pheromones," Nick replied. "Ziegevolk can influence people with them, but I thought you needed to eat toads to get that kind of result."

"Ew! No!" Ripley replied. "Toad-eating... that only happens after you peak. At least, that's what my dad said."

"Peak? You mean like, after you... peak? Really?" Nick asked.

"Dad said that it happens around twenty-one," Ripley said quietly. "Then I'd have to try to make people go crazy. Instead of doing it by just showing up. My mom can't take me home! I can't control it! I can't be around anyone, let alone my family."

"We know someone who might be able to help with that."

"Yeah, right."

"It's true. A friend of ours helped us neutralize a Ziegevolk who tried to sandbag a jury," Nick said.

"For serious?"

"Yeah, for serious," Hank said.

"Can you tell us about your dad?" Nick asked. "You were in Seattle when he was killed."

"I didn't... see it happen, if that's what you mean," Ripley replied. "But I found him. I had gone out for a run and when I got back, he was on the kitchen floor."

"The kitchen floor?" Nick asked.

"Yeah."

"The body was found in the living room," Nick said. "You sure you saw him in the kitchen?"

Ripley nodded.

Hank cottoned on quickly. "You didn't see him die, but you did interrupt the killer."

"I didn't see anyone else. I felt a sharp pain along my side and I just ran for it."

"Will you show us?" Nick asked.

Ripley nodded before lifting his top to reveal a long, thin gash from his rib almost up to his armpit.

"Whoa," Hank said.

"It wasn't deep," Ripley replied. "But this is why you can't tell my mom. I can become... a non-minor. Early adult. That's a thing, right?"

"You mean emancipated?" Hank asked.

"Yeah, I can do that," Ripley said.

"Ripley," Nick said. "Seattle PD is going to want to question you. You'll probably gonna be set up in protective custody. Trust me, you're gonna need your mom."

The door opened.

"Excuse me. Nick? Hank?" Captain Renard said sharply. "A word."

Nick and Hank nodded to Ripley, who finally took his seat again, before leaving the interview room.

"You wanna tell me why you were questioning a minor without parental consent?" Renard asked.

"He needs protective custody," Nick said. "He's the only witness in a serial homicide. An international serial homicide."

"You do not question or talk to minors without the parent's go-ahead," Renard said.

"He's Wesen," Hank added.

"Trying explaining that to a judge."

"No, but his circumstances... they're unique. We should probably isolate him until we can get Rosalee to help him out," Nick suggested.

"You better start from the beginning," Renard replied.

After an exhausting conversation with the Captain, Nick and Hank met up outside the precinct and waited.

"You think Ripley might be in danger?" Hank asked. "Or was he just in the wrong place?"

"Killer didn't mind slicing him down the side," Nick replied.

"But this guy killed at over a dozen people. If he wanted to kill some skinny kid, he'd've done it," Hank said.

"That's true. Maybe he just wanted to scare Ripley off."

Monroe's yellow Beetle pulled up. Rosalee, riding shotgun, rolled down her window.

"Hank, Nick," she said. "Take these."

She held a small sack out the window.

"We've got reservations for like, now," Monroe added from his seat.

"What are these?" Nick asked as he took the bag.

"Salamanders," Rosalee said. "They substantially reduce his pheromone production."

"But he wants that thing you did with the... whatever, the pheromone vasectomy," Hank said. "He told us that."

Rosalee shook her head. "He's in puberty. That would have devastating effects on his development. So until he's older, he'll need to take measures to prevent his – "

"Seriously, though, we need to get to the restaurant," Monroe said quickly. "Not to interrupt. Sorry."

"Okay, thanks," Nick said.

"Instructions are included," Rosalee said as she rolled up the window.

"On how to eat salamanders? There's a tutorial on that?" Hank joked.

"They probably... wiggle," Nick suggested.

"Gross. Come on, let's fill the kid in on his new dietary supplement."