221B BAKER ST

Behind closed lids she remembered...
- "Thank God it's the final night of the full moon cycle," Lestrade muttered to Holmes, who was currently inspecting the wounds on the deceased woman.
- The viciously ravaged body of the young woman in the alleyway.
- The creature that transformed into Sherlock Holmes.
- Running for her life.
- Being caught.

And then...
- A carriage emerging through the fog.
- Being bundled inside.
- Finally overcome, and everything going dark...

With the greatest of reluctance Molly's eyes flickered open, to find herself lying on a sofa. She then became aware of voices, some she recognised, others she did not. Although she strained her ears to hear what was being said she could not make out the detail, but it was clear that whatever the disagreement it had descended into a heated, if whispered, argument.

But if she hoped to remain unobserved she was to be disappointed.

"It would appear your 'damsel in distress' has deigned to rejoin us," remarked the pompous, heavily-set, official-looking gentleman sarcastically.

"Enough Mycroft," the familiar baritone of Holmes growled.

"How exactly brother mine do you intend to explain to your mate what it was she witnessed?"

Mate? Molly's brow furrowed at its implication, while at the same time noting the undisguised loathing with which Holmes, the elder all but spat the word.

"Mycroft," this time the growl was more pronounced, animalistic in its intensity as the detective took a threatening step towards his brother.

"Oh shush you two. Doctor Hooper has more than enough to deal with without you two going all Alpha," admonished the blonde-haired women, clearly confident that she was more than a match for the bickering siblings.

She made her way over to where Molly lay and assisted her in sitting up.

"How are you feeling my dear?" she asked kindly, with a friendly smile that instantly put Molly at ease, despite the bizarre circumstances she found herself in.

Molly took the opportunity to survey her surroundings. Given the practical nature of the furniture and the sparse, simple furnishings, with an assortment of books, papers and medical instruments that littered the place, it was clear she was in the private rooms of a gentleman, or as her eyes came to rest on Holmes, now suitably reclothed, one gentleman in particular.

And her breathing immediately became more rapid. "Who..?" she choked out, fear once again threatening to overwhelm her. "What are you people?"

"Werewolves," the woman responded airily.

"Mary!" the outraged exclamation came from Holmes' associate and chronicler, Dr. John Watson.

"Oh pish, she has already witnessed Sherlock in his were-form. There seems very little point in beating around the bush," Mary tuttered impatiently.

Before Watson could attempt reprimanding his wife, Holmes smoothly stepped in.

"Quite right Mary," the detective acknowledged warmly."Any attempts to conceal or deny what Hooper...," he paused briefly, a light tinge of pink highlighting his perfectly sculptured cheekbones. "...what Hooper witnessed is pointless. She is an intelligent, astute and resourceful young woman, who herself is well-versed in the art of disguise, and understands the need for concealment. We therefore have no option but to throw ourselves at her mercy, and beg her to listen to what we have to say before making any judgement for or against us."

The request was made with such earnestness, with none of Holmes' usual arrogance. Throughout the impassioned plea he maintained eye contact, a surprisingly intimate act for one known to prefer to remain detached from all forms of sentiment. Though Molly now knew that this reserve was not shown within that small exclusive group of those he regarded as his nearest and dearest. So where did that leave her? What in particular was she to him?

Mate.

The mere implication of the word, not to mention the way he continued to watch her caused violent shivers to race up and down her spine, though whether a sign of fear or awakened desire she was not willing to speculate.

"There's no need to fear Sherlock," Mary assured her.

Certainly to look at the now impeccably dressed gentleman before her it was difficult to believe that he was anything other than what he purported to be, in this case the world's only consulting detective. The man with an extraordinary brain, capable of finding details and clues that others either didn't see, or failed to comprehend there importance until the great detective placed all the facts before them, leaving them dumbfounded that they had not been able to deduce what had been right in front of them all along.

But it was all a deception, a mask of civility that hid something far more powerful, and primitive...

"Tea, that's what we need right now," Mrs Hudson, Holmes' erstwhile landlady announced as she headed out the door to make the necessary preparations.

Molly raised her cup to her lips, grimacing with distaste when she found the contents stone cold. On reflection there hadn't been much time to drink the tea, overwhelmed as she had been by what she was being told.

Even now she found it all so fantastical. It was the stuff of fairy stories, or nightmares. And yet she had witnessed with her own eyes that which should not have been possible. She felt the weight of responsibility, as those before her watched her closely as they waited to see how she would respond to all she had learned.

"It's a lot to comprehend," Holmes noted in a rough yet gentle tone.

She put her cup and saucer down, as she nodded in acknowledgement.

"So, if I have this aright," she began. "Werewolves have always lived among us. Living and working with the human population, a few of whom know your secret. And you have managed to remain hidden for centuries, until recently when a new breed of werewolf arrived."

Molly paused. She knew she should be more concerned with the details of what made these werewolves different to the new arrivals, but for the life of her there was only one aspect that she wanted answered, the one that Holmes had been at pains to avoid at all cost.

But all throughout the explanations, Molly had been aware of his constant regard. His eyes remained fixed upon her, and what she read in their depths had her head filling with thoughts that had her pressing her legs closely together

It was only when he inhaled deeply, his gaze turning positively molten, that she realised he could scent her arousal, and that it was increasing his own.

Mate. The word hung between them, pawing frantically at them, refusing to release them from its hold.

With Hooper's renowned forthrightness, Molly decided to take the plunge into the unknown.

Turning her gaze to meet Holmes' full on, she inquired. "Why is your brother is under the impression that I'm your mate?"

It was clear that the conversation was about to turn to more delicate and private matters, so the others quietly withdrew, giving the couple the privacy necessary for such an explanation.

Mary Watson paused as she made to follow her husband, catching Molly's eye before remarking as she nodded towards Sherlock, "He's a puppy dog really... when he's not howling at the moon."

With an impish grin she took her leave.