Interlude: "Sibling Rivalry" or Werecreatures

Mycroft Holmes is able to admit his faults and the fact that he is prejudiced, in some cases, against werewolves. He supposes most of that comes from working with Americans and their odd views on werewolves or werecreatures in general. He grew up in a fairly normal if conservative house - his mother had stopped working to have her children and raise them, to be there for them, and at times, he supposed that it had been the expectation of her stopping work and Father continuing that allowed things to go as they did, instead of vice-versa. Father was far better at care-giving than Mother had been, but expectations had meant that he work and she stay home. She still worked, kept up with mathematics and taught them all she could, but until school and other socializations, Mycroft and Sherlock had been fine with each other. Where Mycroft found the politics that had created cliques in school fascinating and learned from it to work in politics, Sherlock had not prospered as well until much later in life...well, until he finally accepted John into his life. The separation from his wolf had not been pleasant for either, and Mycroft was willing to admit that it was perhaps because the two worked so well together. John was happier with the thrill of the chase, with being useful as a medical and fighting wolf than anywhere else. Henry had worked for the short time there, but he doubted the two would ever really work together for longer periods of time.

Still, Mycroft was not one who thought of werewolves or werecreatures as anything beyond another species on this planet, and one that were only easier to understand. Humans may be social animals, with a few variations, but werecreatures fell more into their animalistic nature than anyone else ever did. Werewolves needed a 'pack', needed to have at least two others to rely on. Werecats depended on their situation - werelions were often in prides, weretigers were territorial and hardly relied on others, save maybe one other, werejaguars and werecheetahs were harder to spot but also moved more towards solitary creatures. Werebears, as hard as they were to find, tended more towards immediate family members or smaller groups, and were solitary for the most part, though some could live in smaller towns so long as they were allowed privacy. Any other werecreatures fell into that spot as well, falling with their most basic instinct of their animalistic side but with touches of other bits that made them so like humans in odd ways, giving way to some normally social weres that were better alone, or solitary were that enjoyed the city and being part of a group.

Their odd duality and classification should have made them easier to predict and deal with than humans, but it often only made situations harder to read instead. If anything, werewolves like John and other werecreatures who considered their 'pack' to consist of humans, or a mix of humans and weres, showed a high range of unpredictableness that made them harder to figure out, and made their cultures made it even harder to deal with when they mixed with human ones that were more used to treating weres as wild animals or pets. Even in groups, they were unpredictable, but within a government of any sort, they could at least be figured out to a point, so long as you knew what their culture was like…which required knowing quite a bit of cultures, and rules, and treaties that had occurred within the Americas and African continent. But that didn't stop them from being so unpredictable and a group that Mycroft always dreaded dealing with, no matter if in a group or just one of them, while they're in charge or in distress.

Take, for example, the werefox that had slipped into his home and was hiding in one corner, trembling visibly until he sent out his men upon realizing the intrusion and what was there. They were well trained enough to just be outside, waiting, and many of the cameras were now picking up the disturbance and location of the intruder. Mycroft had nothing to worry about if the werefox, afraid as it was, decided to attack him instead of turn back into a human, as he demanded of it the moment they were alone. He had expected it to transform into any number of people, but Todd Melas was not in that number. Melas was a young linguist Mycroft knew and who he sometimes brought in on situations, and who was a dark-haired Greek fellow that was as far from the stereotype of the Asian or Native American werefoxes that normally showed up. His fearful features, not to mention his lack of a tail or any werefox features, spoke to his mostly-humanness, but Mycroft was more focused on the blue-black bruises near his eye, the cut on his cheek, and the way he was shaking so badly it almost reminded Mycroft of someone having a seizure, his large, dark eyes under the curls of his hair full of fear as Mycroft looked at him in surprise.

Melas' prowess with languages was something to be marveled - he could and often did serve well against Anthea's own technical abilities, but there had been no hint of him being any part werefox, not even within his immediate family. Werefoxes were harder to detect at times – they specialized in their ability to blend in, but also had very long lives. The longer the lives, the more powerful they were, to the point of being above the law. Any werefox who looked like a normal one, such as Melas, was obviously young. If he had any werefox in his family, they were probably old enough to have mostly-human children or hide their true nature. However, that wasn't something Mycroft was focusing on. What he was, as he removed his coat, put his umbrella down and draping the coat over Melas as he let out what sounded like a strange whimper, like a cross between that of a scared cat and cornered dog. "I'm going to call the medics. They'll be here in a moment. I'll stay with you, if you want."

"…please…please, Mike, they…I…" another shiver quieted Melas as Mycroft turned, in time for his man look in, nod, and get Mycroft to move Melas to the nearby bed and get him to rest and calm as they waited on the medic.

Melas remained curled to one side, shivering and obviously not used to transformations or having been fairly traumatized by whatever events he'd been through, remaining near Mycroft and calming when he had a hand on his back or was having his hair petted lightly. Melas lets out small yips of pain for a brief period of time, startling when he'd fallen asleep and woken suddenly. He didn't speak again until he's been examined and given a spare track suit, finally letting out a few breaths before he says to Mycroft, "'m sorry. I...I didn't know who else…"

"Calm down," Mycroft says, softly but firmly in a voice that he'd practiced after seeing how useful it had been when Sherlock was being unruly and Mummy wanted to keep him in line, "start from the beginning."

Melas is quiet for a long time, finally taking in a breath before he said, "Two men who said they were from an embassy wanted to talk to me. I agreed to a meeting and they tested me to see about what languages I knew. When they were sure I was the...right one, they picked me up and drove me somewhere else. They drove me around, didn't know I…I pass, and that I knew where we were after they drove around for so long, then went to that big house."

"What did they want you for?"

Todd shakes briefly before he continues, "I needed to translate for them. They had a few people in there, kept against their will. They were trying to get something from them...the rights to someone, or something. I managed to get out some information about the man and his work, but not enough before they decided to take me away. I got afraid, and jumped out of the car. When they tried to follow, I managed to change. I was just...I had to...I knew here was safe, and I came here."

Mycroft remains quiet as he considers the implications of taking a werefox, even one who was passing for human, into a place they were trying to hide. Werefoxes were notorious for finding their way anywhere, and while they could be very independent, were also known for how powerful and dangerous they could be, especially those with multiple tails. One in particular was rather well-entrenched in China, holding a great deal of power over the area, and being able to destroy anything or anyone it felt was a threat to its reign. However, multi-tailed werefoxes were either very hard to find, or very rare, that regular ones were simply considered fairly interesting when found, and watched carefully when identified. Mycroft is still amazed that Todd, passing werefox or not, was able to get away on his own and change, finding himself a safe place with Mycroft. He's even more amazed that he was considered safe by a werefox. It's amazing in a way, and makes him seriously consider how he treated his brother's wolf, during the time Sherlock was gone and taking care of the remainder of Moriarty's group. He found himself slowly petting Melas, and happy when the werefox relaxes and seems able to have a few others near him and make sure he's ok or ask him about the location of the place he'd escaped.

"We'll stop them, Melas, I promise."

Finding two men who kidnapped a linguist proves to be fairly hard, but finding the house proves far easier. The two apparently hadn't seen Melas transform, as they left enough incriminating evidence in the area, according to Sergeant Donovan, to pick them up for any number of charges, but had not left enough scent-markings of any sort for some of the wolves to track them.

The worse, it sounded, was kidnapping and torture. One person in the house was half-dead from malnutrition, others showed signs of having been brutally beaten. All were from other countries, a few were prisoners who were kept to clean house or answer the door, and while Melas was obviously afraid, he still joined Mycroft and the raid group to help with translations. The werewolves looked like they could tell he was a fox, but overall did their job and apparently were a bit fond of him for his ability to work through his fear and anything else they could smell that Mycroft couldn't notice through his own, human senses. Most trained werewolves could ignore others if there is a job for them to focus on, and foxes and wolves tended to have various strange relationships. Some were not friendly, especially hunting werewolves, but others were perfectly fine. Some even joined together in small groups in the wild, though such groups were more often in areas that had werecrows and were often charged with patrolling the edges of territory or scouting out for their family or group.

Still, Todd stays very close to Mycroft, and Anthea makes the very snide comment that he probably had wrapped his non-existent tail around Mycroft's leg. Mycroft choose to ignore those observations, and instead focus on the raid and the report, as well as on the various people coming out and in need of translations or help. Though at least once, he appeared to have his ears moving up a little, the tips turning darker and elongating as he became more upset or wanting to escape. Mycroft frowned at the move before reaching up to touch his back, offering a steadying hand as Melas drew in a shaky breath before moving forward with more translations and helping the wolves and the police with the people inside.

On the plus side, Sergeant Donovan seems to harbor no ill-will towards Mycroft for any of the misgivings, though some of the werewolves give him glares, saying that Donovan is actually being very professional about the whole thing. Though she was not someone he would have particularly tagged as knowledgeable in anything, she seems to know how to deal with people and weres alike, and thus his inability to deal with any of them besides Todd is obviously a failing. But his ability to keep him together until they'd gotten the last person out, gotten the translation, and then gotten everyone to human hospitals or to the RSPCA hospital, was fairly good. He didn't turn back into a fox until he, Mycroft, and Anthea were back in the limo with tinted windows, the sudden change from human to a black-furred fox that proceeded to curl up in Mycroft's lap, hiding his face under his tail and only relaxing more when Mycroft slowly put a hand on his head and rubbed some of the ears before petting him.

He glared over at Anthea and her silent smile as she continued to type on her Blackberry.

"I didn't say anything," Anthea muttered as he continued to glare at her.

"You don't have to. When you have a break, check on my brother and his wolf, then call back Lestrade. I'm sure he'll want to hear how well his sergeant did on such a large bust."

Anthea still smiled as he continued to pet and scratch Melas' soft fur, and Mycroft had no other real way to retaliate besides leveling a glare at her as she worked.

"I'm not actually on your payroll, you know," Lestrade said as he came to speak to Mycroft, two days later and after Sherlock had opted to remain and wait to see how John recovered, though it was obvious John wanted to return with him. Not that Henry Knight was going to make things easy for him, but then again Mycroft isn't surprised at that.

"No, but you are under enough stress to have a cigarette about an hour before you came here," Mycroft pointed out as he looked at him, "So, I assume you found something that warranted your break from patches?"

"Your brother is enough stress I'm amazed we both haven't started smoking again…or are you going to deny your own habit?"

Mycroft is both impressed by Lestrade's perceptiveness but also annoyed by his attempt to deflect the question. "That doesn't answer the question."

"Answers mine," Lestrade said with a shrug before telling him, "Sally filled me in what's going on, and about an interesting report we got late-night a day ago. I'm sure you'll get it soon enough, if you haven't already."

Mycroft gave him a look before saying, "I wouldn't waste your time if I had."

Lestrade gave him a small smirk that never failed to make Mycroft grateful for all the exercise he'd been doing to keep his shape. "Right. Well, the short of it is that two men were running away towards Russia and got caught by a fox with at least three tails. Only way to describe the remains of one of them, or that the other one jumped out of a bullet train and didn't aim to actually do much but go straight down into the tracks."

Mycroft did his best to not wince at the image that brought up. "I see. And you believe they were chased by more than just a three-tail?"

"There was mention of others, most of them immigrants or diplomats that we can't trace without raising some issues. So I'm guessing that's why you haven't gotten much about it."

Mycroft suspected that, but he also suspected that Anthea had left it out so he'd speak to Melas again. He'd finally managed to not remain at Mycroft's side after yesterday, and while this information might put him at ease…

I am right, at least, to know that I was dealing with one linked to tailed fox. But anything at three or above is problematic, especially after whatever Lestrade read to know right away it was a three-plus tailed fox.

"Thank you, Detective Inspector. I take it there will be little issue with my brother coming back to help out with cases?"

He gave a pained expression. "The Chief isn't exactly happy with how things are going, and truth be told, I think a break would be better for Sherlock and John. John needs to know his limits, after everything, and so does Sherlock."

Mycroft couldn't help but agree with Lestrade's take on the situation, but he's also grateful that Lestrade said it in such a diplomatic way, and that he was honest and didn't just tell Mycroft want he wanted to hear. He'd deal with that enough times when it came to werecreatures that he'd been blindsided twice, and now had to reorient his whole world view. That would take a moment, and possibly mean he'd need to go and speak to Lestrade about it. If he knew Lestrade, the detective inspector would demand pints in exchange, and that would only make Mycroft's dietician upset.

"Thank you, Lestrade. You have been helpful."

"'Course. Tell that nice werefox of yours that he's safe…whoever got them, they're gonna make sure their own is safe."

Mycroft made a mental note to do something not-nice but not career ending to Sergeant Donovan when he had a chance.