Greg cursed as he stubbed his toe on a rock that had no business being there. He picked the damn thing up and hurled it into the unkempt bushes surrounding the small dilapidated house just to relieve some of the stress that had been building up since Sherlock told him to get better pictures of the bloody floorboards, because Anderson had not taken any close-ups of the bloody things, and of course, Sherlock needed them right now because it couldn't wait until the bloody morning, so it was up to him to do all the legwork for the lazy ponce. Never matter that Greg was so deep in overtime, he'd been wearing the same clothes for two days straight and would probably fall asleep if he blinked a second too long. Who cared? He was just a worn out, divorced copper, with a sociopath of a drama queen as his only friend. And even calling him "friend" was a bit if a stretch. Greg was actually kind of pathetic if he thought about it... which is exactly why he buried himself in work in the first place.

Besides, the case involved a child, so he couldn't very well say no, and he felt too guilty returning home when the poor kid was still out there somewhere. Greg pushed the yellow police tape aside and opened the door to the house, weary that it would fall down on his head at the smallest gust of wind. The ominous creak of the door gave him pause, but the old building held fast, and he took a step in, swiping his torch all around him out of habit to clear the area, although he seriously doubted anyone would venture in this old ruin. The place could be used as a haunted house, complete with spiderwebs, no additional Halloween decoration needed. Once into what had been a living room, a long, long time ago, Greg searched for the spot Sherlock was so interested in, right beneath the rusted chandelier, then knelt, doing his best to keep the torch directed there with one hand and take a picture with his other before he found himself momentarily blinded by the flash. Blinking away the spots dancing in front of his eyes, he checked the picture very minutely. Sherlock was a bit finicky about the quality of pictures, to say the least, and he'd be damned if the madman sent him back here in a few hours for a better picture. This one looked fine to him, and he doubted he'd manage any better, not in these conditions. He was about to send it off after typing a snide remark when he felt a lurch beneath his feet, as if the whole building was hiccuping, and before he knew it, Greg was crashing down into the dark in a deafening cacophony of creaks and whines.

The house had swallowed him after all.

He coughed, feeling like dust covered him inside and out. It was as dark as a grave down here and both his torch and phone were MIA, but if he had to venture a guess, he'd say the feeble glow from up ahead was a fair clue that both his tools had somehow escaped the fall where he had not.

"Just fan-fucking-tastic," Greg muttered and then coughed again at the dust tickling the back of his throat.

Could be worse. He wasn't hurt too badly, except for a bruised bum and an equally bruised ego. He'd actually been damn lucky, considering, but mostly he thanked God he'd managed to take a picture of the bloody floorboards before he'd unintentionally destroyed the evidence. He was going to get an earful for that from the Super. He could just picture the man's red face with spittle flying through the air as he shouts abuse at him. It was not going to be pretty. That man was way too easy to anger, but admittedly, Greg did get into more trouble than most DIs. Maybe he should stay in this godforsaken hole after all…

But once the shock of falling through the floor had worn off, Greg pushed himself up, intent on finding a way out, and sooner rather than later. He froze and winced at the aches shooting up his body. Maybe he'd gotten more hurt than he realized. Honestly, he was getting too old for this shit. It only took a few minutes to explore the small cellar, and all he found was a staircase missing half its steps. He had to give up on that exit after he fell through the rotten wood for the second time, but only because there weren't enough steps to rally the surface anymore. Unless he sprouted wings, he was well and truly stuck.

Greg let himself slide down to the cold cellar floor, staring up through the hole. His eyes had gotten used to the dark by now and he could make out more of his surroundings. He could even see the moonlight shining bright through the windows upstairs and through a small hole in the ceiling two floors up. It had to be a full moon and the sky was so clear, it cast a blue hue on everything. It also meant it was colder than usual. Shivering, he made a mental note to tear this rotten shithole down once the investigation was closed, because it was little more than a deathtrap. Maybe he should leave Sherlock a derogatory note in case they found his body down here. He could scratch insults in the stone walls with his fingernails, that would be properly dramatic for the twat. But no, someone was bound to find him before it came to that… Fuck, maybe not. Only Sherlock knew he was here and he wasn't the sort to worry about other people's whereabouts. No use calling for help as there was no neighbours around this godforsaken place. He wasn't even sure his fellow Yarders would worry before well into the next day, and they had no reason to come checking this place out again. Fuck, fuckity, fuck.

Greg pushed himself up again. Sitting down felt like admitting defeat. Besides, it was damp and cold in the cellar, and the late hour was making it worse, so he paced around the empty cellar to keep himself warm. He was deep in thought, alternatively cursing Sherlock and thinking about the case, when he thought he heard something… unusual. He stopped and held his breath as he tilted his head...there! A low, sorrowful howl, the sound drawn out, long and beautiful. He had no idea dogs could howl like that? Did they? Greg frowned. Although there were any number of dogs in the city, he couldn't ever remember having heard such a sound before, not in real life, only on the telly.

Greg chuckled, berating himself at the impossibility: there were no wolves anywhere in, or near London. He wasn't even sure there were any in the whole country. His mind was just playing tricks on him, seeing the full moon, making ridiculous associations. Sherlock would no doubt say as much if he told him about it. Greg resumed his pacing, rubbing his arms that were starting to erupt in goosebumps. Because of the cold. Not because of imaginary wolves.

Then, he stilled again, listening intently. There was movement upstairs.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Hello? Someone up there? I fell through the floor, be careful! Hello?"

There was no answer so Greg stepped right under the hole in the feeble halo of light, then peered up to check if he could see anyone. It couldn't have been a rat, or even a cat. It had to be someone, heavy enough to make the ancient floorboards creak. More movement. Greg waited patiently and then all the blood drained from his face when the outline of a huge wolf appeared: larger than any dog he'd ever seen, with pointy ears and thick fur. Greg stepped back, slowly, trying to disappear into the shadows but that beast had to know he was down there by now. It had heard him, probably smelled him too, and judging by the movement of its head following his retreat, it could see him too.

Greg's heart was beating frantically, his mind drawing a blank. This was impossible. How could there be a wolf in London? A wolf! Impossible. Impossible! The beast took another step forward, the floorboards creaking dangerously under its weight. The last thing Greg wanted was a hungry, wild wolf stuck in a small cellar with him.

"Go away, go away," Greg prayed under his breath, not daring to look away from the wolf.

He thought someone finally heard his prayers when the beast took a step back, but it started circling the hole instead, whining.

Frustrated it can't get to the tasty food.

Greg snorted. He probably wasn't all that good, to be honest, since nicotine and coffee made up most of his diet. He must smell terrible too, what with being on the job for two days straight, so the poor thing had to be starving. And God, Greg must be exhausted for sympathising with a bloody wolf. Maybe it escaped from the zoo, although he was fairly certain those wolves had been moved someplace else a few years back. The wolf whined once more, the sound sharp and anxious, then wandered off. Greg let out a sigh of relief and his knees buckled under him.

The thump thump of his heart diminished and Greg closed his eyes, thinking he might just fall asleep now that the adrenaline rush had passed. Then he started to feel a bit ridiculous because it couldn't have been a wolf. What was it Sherlock always said? Eliminate the impossible… something something… Well, it just couldn't be a wolf, so it had to have been a dog. A large dog. Maybe a husky. They looked enough like wolves, and it's not like he got a close look at it. Greg chuckled at his own irrational fear. This was the exact reason eyewitnesses were so unreliable. He should know better. But his relief was short lived when he heard scratching from near the collapsed stairwell. His body went into overdrive again, because it's not the small, almost inaudible scratches a rat would make. It was strong and frantic, like a dog digging for a bone, and Greg knew it was the wolf again. He scrambled forward to grab one of the stair's rotten planks, because that's all there was in the empty cellar to defend himself. It wouldn't help much but he felt better for having something in his hands, then he quickly dove back into the furthest corner from the scratching sound. If he ever made it out alive, no one was going to believe him. No one.

After a few more minutes that felt like an eternity of hell while he waited to be eaten alive, the wolf's muzzle appeared: long and lined with sharp teeth. It pushed the rest of its body through, the hole it had dug widening until it managed to wriggle through a small space. The damn thing was fucking huge but apparently as supple as a cat. Greg held the plank up, but couldn't get his legs to work anymore. This was just too much. He had never prepared for something like this. He knew squat about animals and he'd rather face a vicious serial killer anyday rather than this. This was completely unnatural.

Greg watched transfixed as the wolf slowly approached, its nose close to the ground. It almost looked meek and tame like that, but maybe it liked playing with its food. As the beast walked under the circle of moonlight, Greg let out a small gasp. The damn thing was actually beautiful and he doubted it was a wolf now that he'd had a better look, because he thought wolves were gray. This one had a mostly golden coat with some grey and white patches mixed in. Could it be some kind of dog? A breed mixed with some wolf? So maybe… maybe it really was tame!

A tiny flicker of hope rekindled in the depths of his chest and Greg lowered the plank a couple of inches while the wolf looked into his eyes, and they too seemed strange. He would have expected yellow, or brown, but its eyes were blue and disturbingly human-like. Maybe telly wolves were very caricatural and there was actually a lot more diversity in real life, but what did he know? He wasn't a bloody forest ranger. He didn't even like camping.

Greg's grip on the plank tightened again and the wolf whined, lowering its head. Greg didn't know what to do anymore, beyond confused at the beast's actions. If it was a wild animal, shouldn't it have attacked by now? Greg tentatively lowered the plank all the way down and the wolf still didn't attack, so he dropped it on the floor.

"Good boy?" he asked, just as he would with the Met's sniffer dogs.

The wolf lifted its head and wagged its bushy tail a couple of times before taking another step forward. They were very close now, and Greg couldn't help but notice once more the sharp teeth that glinted in the moonlight. A long row of pearly white daggers that could rip his throat out in a second. Greg gulped and forced himself to keep still when the wolf took another step forward. It whined and suddenly, it was close enough to nudge Greg's forehead with its wet nose and he could feel its hot breath on his cheek.

Greg thought his heart might just explode with the speed it was hammering at beneath his ribs, but he did his best to remain immobile and breathe steadily in and out so he wouldn't spook the animal. The wolf was bigger than he'd expected too, taller than him in his sitting position on the floor. Well, more like collapsed, but who could blame him?

Then, out of nowhere, the wolf licked his face and Greg laughed, because he was surprised and it was warm and wet and tickled.

"Stop it, stop it," Greg pleaded, trying to push the wolf away but it was strong and heavy and he had no leverage, so he just laughed and suffered through the unexpected attention, giggling when the soft tongue hit a ticklish spot at his temple.

He realized the beast was licking the cuts he got in his fall when it licked his hands. Greg blinked owlishly at the thing. He had no idea if that was very sanitary, but he doubted it, although the scrapes did seem to sting and itch less than before.

"Okay, okay, I think that's enough," Greg huffed and patted the thick golden fur, letting out an appreciative hum. "You're warm."

Greg felt like burying his head in the wolf's soft coat and fall asleep, but the stubborn animal apparently had other ideas because it tried nudging him towards the hole it had dug. Greg looked at it dubiously.

"I don't think I can fit through there," he said, although he had no idea why he bothered explaining himself. "You might be all nimble, but I'm about as supple as a tree."

Greg looked through the hole which seemed to connect to a smaller cellar that presumably had an available exit, but when he tried dislodging another stone from the wall to widen it, the whole thing threatened to fall down on them and Greg stopped immediately. He didn't want to have the whole house to come crashing down on top of him.

"You'd better go," he told the wolf, pointing at the hole. "It's not safe here."

The wolf whined as if it could understand every word he was saying and disagreed with his suggestion. Or maybe Greg was just too bloody tired and imagining things.

"If you can just throw down my phone on your way out, that would be great," he added with a tired smile.

He was a bit disappointed when the wolf left although he didn't know what he'd been expecting, but he listened as it scrambled out, wanting to make sure it got out safely before returning to the circle of moonlight where he was less likely to have a part of the house fall on him, when, just to prove him wrong, something did drop on him: his phone. Greg looked up, half expecting to see the wolf, which was just plain silly, but, despite an ominous creak from the floorboards, there was no large animal to be seen. Just a coincidence then.

As his continuous streak of bad luck would have it, his phone didn't work, the battery lost somewhere, ejected when the floor opened up to swallow him. The relief that had flooded through him seconds ago turned cold in his veins. He was just so tired… Greg curled up on himself, trying to save as much warmth as possible. Just a few hours. Surely someone would come looking for him in the morning.

Greg felt hot, too hot. He tried throwing back the blankets but there were none, only a cuddly furnace which smell like earth and plants. He blinked awake, confused, until he saw the dismal little cellar and his friendly wolf snuggled up beside him.

"Hey," he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I thought I told you to leave?"

But Greg was grateful it had come back for him and he hugged the warm fur around its neck, chuckling when the wolf didn't even protest or try to push him away. Instead, it nudged something with it's large nose to push it in his direction. Greg narrowed his eyes at the object, not quite believing what he was seeing: a phone. It was covered in globs of saliva but it was definitely a phone. He cautiously picked it up and wiped it as best he could on his coat, then checked whether it worked. With one press of the button on the side it turned on and he almost whooped with joy. Not only did it work, but it wasn't locked. He immediately dialed the Yard's number and demanded to be transferred to Donovan's phone, explaining in a few words what had happened. She was pissed and blamed 'the freak' of course, as if he'd been there to personally push Greg down the hole, but he would still rather deal with her bad temper than have to deal with anyone else at the Yard, not that it would stay quiet for long, but it would be slightly less embarrassing.

Greg hung up and examined the phone more carefully in the dim light. It was very girly, colour-wise, and there was a flowery strap attached to it as well as a glittery butterfly stuck on the case. A teenage girl's phone if he had to venture a guess. Greg looked suspiciously at the wolf who just so happened to be staring at its enormous paws right then.

"Did you steal this?" he asked.

He didn't see the wolf bring him the thing, but how else could it have arrived there, and it had nudged it towards him, not to mention it had probably been the wolf who had pushed his phone down the hole, so… it realized it didn't work, stole another one for him and brought it here? No. Greg shook his head. No, he was losing his mind… That was just insane.

Greg petted the wolf absent-mindedly. It was thrilling to be able to touch such a massive beast so casually when it could turn on him any second and rip his throat out with his sharp rows of fangs. That it not only accepted his touch, but leaned into it was even more satisfying and Greg was almost lulled back to sleep when the wolf suddenly jumped to its feet, knocking him over.

"Oi! What's the matter?"

The wolf looked at him, licked his face, and then disappeared through the hole in the wall. Greg was still gaping at it when he heard sirens in the distance and some time later, movement upstairs. Heels and heavier footstep: the cavalry had arrived. Greg shouted out a warning about the floor's instability and soon, he saw Donovan's face appearing along with a couple of other uniformed officers.

"Hey, boss," she said. "Didn't know you enjoyed speleology."

"Quit being a smartass and get me out of here," he growled, trying to hang on to what little dignity he had left for the night.