(no subject)
John's minds been racing, his body has felt almost as if on fire, he was angry, hurt, confused, frustrated, guilty, and generally had almost no idea what was wrong with him. Other than he was messing up his life on an epic scale. Developing feelings for Sherlock's sister Eurus. Punching Sherlock for something that was not his fault but Johns.
He paced his room trying to get his mind in some sort of order.
When it didn't work he took a seat and tried meditating.
When that didn't work he grabbed his jacket to go for a walk. In case Sherlock or Eurus was about he called out an abrupt "going out" as he left.
He started to walk with no real intent. Soon finding himself walking into a park he started to run. He had no idea where he was, where he was going...
With a growl he nearly burst out of his skin turning into a wolf he was running like the beast he were inside until he skidded to a panting halt by a trio of trees. To human eyes they were nothing important, just trees. But to the wolf-
John could see and smell the marks left by all the all the animals of the park. But as well as that he could see wolf. He padded slowly up to the trees sniffing, before quickly backing up again. That scent, he knew that scent but he couldn't quite place where.
He sat staring at the tree occasionally sniffing before the memory struck him like a blow. Pack. The wolf that made him. This was the last place he'd been with the wolves before his memory loss. Focusing as hard as he were able he was finally able to remember something. A vampire he didn't recognise telling him to forget, to forget hid life with the vampires and wolves. To go home. Go home to Sherlock Holmes.
With a whine he fell to the floor panting.
He lay there, waiting.
Finally forcing himself to his feet, he started the long walk home.
By the time he was back at Baker Street night had long since fallen. Johns paws were sore and slightly cut from the long walk. So tired he was limping slightly. He sat on the door step and gave a slight whine, scratching at the door hoping someone would let him in.
He paced his room trying to get his mind in some sort of order.
When it didn't work he took a seat and tried meditating.
When that didn't work he grabbed his jacket to go for a walk. In case Sherlock or Eurus was about he called out an abrupt "going out" as he left.
He started to walk with no real intent. Soon finding himself walking into a park he started to run. He had no idea where he was, where he was going...
With a growl he nearly burst out of his skin turning into a wolf he was running like the beast he were inside until he skidded to a panting halt by a trio of trees. To human eyes they were nothing important, just trees. But to the wolf-
John could see and smell the marks left by all the all the animals of the park. But as well as that he could see wolf. He padded slowly up to the trees sniffing, before quickly backing up again. That scent, he knew that scent but he couldn't quite place where.
He sat staring at the tree occasionally sniffing before the memory struck him like a blow. Pack. The wolf that made him. This was the last place he'd been with the wolves before his memory loss. Focusing as hard as he were able he was finally able to remember something. A vampire he didn't recognise telling him to forget, to forget hid life with the vampires and wolves. To go home. Go home to Sherlock Holmes.
With a whine he fell to the floor panting.
He lay there, waiting.
Finally forcing himself to his feet, he started the long walk home.
By the time he was back at Baker Street night had long since fallen. Johns paws were sore and slightly cut from the long walk. So tired he was limping slightly. He sat on the door step and gave a slight whine, scratching at the door hoping someone would let him in.