Wolf!Lock + Dark!John verse

[noangel_nothero]

The wolf pads nearly soundlessly through the house. He's trying to find someplace quiet to lick his wounds.

Sold. Prisoner. He keeps his head down as he shuffles though the house. The five days before always hurt the worst. His body always wavering between his "natural" humanity - and the Wolf. Well, if he could be called that.

Please. Nobody

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[captainwatson]

"All five of them dead, a single bullet each - all by your hand." Jim grins as she fondles the wads of cash from the safe; "That is simply a word of art there, Johnny Boy."

"Just doing the job." He retorts back in an almost bored monotone.

That is all it is after all. A job.

Something to keep him occupied. To stop his mind from spiralling into torturous boredom. The day he admits to getting genuine satisfaction out of it is the day he loses his mind completely.

The day he makes Jim Moriarty more happy than he'd like.

The boss chucks him a set of keys; "Help yourself to my private wine cabinet in the lounge. You've earned it after what you've done for me tonight."

He catches the keys and gives a twitch of a smile; "You read my mind."

He wouldn't be surprised if Jim was capable of that. God knows what he wasn't capable of.

Watson pockets the keys and exits the boss' office, padding down the house and towards the lounge.

His first port of call is a washroom. The blood on his hands won't rinse itself off.

[noangel_nothero]

He licks his wounded paws and the scratches on his flanks. Then Quinn noses in and he knows better than to fight, and so, wearily, he crawls out of his hiding place in search of another.

He pads softly downstairs. Trying to avoid anyone but Fabian gives him a kick for crossing his path.

A part of him likes being human...except. His distinctness is more obvious then.

When "Master" is at his worst.

[captainwatson]

A few of the others dogs try to get him to play with him as he exits the bathroom.

He bats them away as usual. Filthy, annoying things. Moran had offered to give him one when he'd been hired but Watson had "politely" declined. His gun was his pet. His best friend. He didn't need anything else getting in the way. Becoming an inconvenience.

Watson unlocks the Boss' cabinet and pours himself a large glass of brandy. Yep. Definitely earned it after tonight.

He throws his jacket over a chair and goes to the open window, standing on a balcony, looking out over the boss' impressive stretch of land and to the waxing moon shining down through the clouds. He sips his drink, wishing he could go to his own apartment. Or even a hotel room.

But no. It's all in the contract. The Boss likes everyone to be together under one roof.

One big happy dysfunctional family.

And after getting to know them all, Watson was more than ready to commit fratricide on the lot of them.

[noangel_nothero]

He notices the new hire's scent as he crosses the hall. They call him Bladdwyn here - but his poor, dear Mummy had named him Sherlock.

His ears prick at the noise of brandy being swirled in the glass. He watches the stranger, sniffing.

The man isn't yet accustomed to Master's House. But he'll learn. Everyone did. In time.

The man doesn't like the other dogs, otherwise he'd have one. Because he's the last of the Pack, Bladdwyn is everyone's.

And right now the cellar is an alright place to hide. Until he's found.

He'd managed to fight off Alfie - but the upcoming transformation will wane his strength. When he's human, he's nearly defenseless, but it doesn't mean he doesn't try to fight them off. Except Master. He knows better than to fight Master in either form.