Moon Song
Prelude

The Wolf was not a beast, except in the most literal sense of the word. It was not mindless; It was not evil. It did not hurt for hurt's sake, It did not hunt for the hunt's sake, and nor did It mate just to prove that it could. The moon sung to the blood in Its veins, and It sung right back.

Of course, there was always a part of the Wolf that was John, but there was also a part that Wasn't. It wasn't so much that he and the Wolf were separate, just that they thought in slightly different ways. John was able to see an open-mouthed smile without leaping backwards into a defensive stance, though he made sure always to smile with his lips together unless it required it. Mycroft was often treated to John's sharp, clean smile that showed off his blunt human teeth. The smile that said look at me, Mycroft Holmes, and tell me what you see because appearances can be deceiving and I am very much a wolf in sheep's clothing. No matter what he said or did, John and the Wolf were of one mind regarding the interfering, untrustworthy man.

And then there was Sherlock. Sherlock – his brilliant, mad, disaster of a flatmate who had everything of the wolf but the moon song in his blood. Who never looked twice at John's odd habits because neither of them had any sense of 'normal', and who followed the path of blood and violence and didn't (wouldn't, couldn't) ever stop. He was perfect for both John and the Wolf, moon song or no, and neither of them had any intention of letting him go.

Naturally, that was part of the problem. Because even if the Wolf wasn't mindless, wasn't evil, didn't hurt or kill or mate because it could, it was still very much a Wolf. Its instincts and urges, coupled with a human's often irrational feelings, were strong. The urge to love and be loved in return, the urge to protect what it deemed as its own, and to show off that claim to the entire world, like holding up an enormous flashing neon sign that said 'I have staked my claim, and to all those that would challenge it be warned, for I will not only lay down my life, but fight for it because my future is not complete unless it has this brilliant madman in it'. And any and all who challenged that claim would be shown what exactly it meant to have something (someone) to fight for.

Obviously it wasn't all so dramatic. The moon song only came once a month for one or two days, and John usually managed to avoid Sherlock for those few days (or it would result in him pinned under the heavy weight of a full grown werewolf who wanted nothing more than to keep him there forever). For the rest of the month, John was remarkably good at passing for completely and totally human. He dated when he could, because he craved companionship and affection more than was probably healthy, if he was entirely honest with himself (which he rarely was), and didn't when he couldn't. His dates were usually women, because they were soft and gentle, and there was a bit more normality in cuddling with a woman on the sofa then there was with a man. But every so often there would be a man who didn't mind being hugged voraciously and John would be more at home with him than any of the women (even when the Wolf in his head shouted that it was wrong wrong wrong because it wasn't Sherlock and it should always be Sherlock even when it wasn't).

Being a werewolf didn't mean that he conformed to all of the myths and legends – if only because they contradicted each other all over the place. The mismatched tales of people who had seen glimpses of the change, or seen them howl at full moon, or fired a lucky shot with a silver bullet that hit the place that would kill any animal, silver or not, always contained a small sliver of the truth, but were covered with so many exaggerations even a werewolf would have trouble discerning the true facts. John and the Wolf came as a package deal. They were not two separate entities that warred within the confines of the mind, and they agreed on most things, particularly on both the annoyance of Sherlock and the irrational desire to hide him away and (love him, claim him, worship him, keep him) protect him from the world. John was always aware of what the Wolf was doing, and retained some control over Its actions – at least enough to discourage it when it was thirsty and came across Sherlock's experiments, or saw the door to Sherlock's room open on the rare occasions he slept and was overcome with curiosity and possessiveness. The moon was not responsible for the change. John could change at will, though he rarely did and it was less a horrible battle of identities, and more of an exchange – as though he were handing over the reins to the Wolf for a short period of time. The moon made him more rambunctious, it was certain, though it did not hold supreme power over John's body. The feel of the moon song in his veins was like a low thrum all over his skin, making him vibrate, and it was natural to let the Wolf out and turn that gentle hum into a soaring melody that rose and fell and began and ended with the sky.

John was a part of the Wolf as much as the Wolf was a part of John. And Sherlock, who knew nothing about the so-called 'supernatural' and so completely disregarded their existence, never knew of, never even suspected the circumstances of John's true existence until many moons had passed.

This is the story of how he found out.

A/N:

Rawr, I'm back. Reichen-back! (oh, too soon?)

Anyway, I mentioned in another author's note that I wanted Wolf!John. So this happened. I've written part of another chapter, but I wanted to see reactions to this before I went ahead and dedicated myself to writing the story. A part of me really likes this style of writing, and another part of me says, "Um, this is all very dramatic. And overdone. Are you sure about this?" So that's why I wanted to check with you guys!

Cheers,
fbt97 :)