Yes, Alicia has been reading too many loup-garou stories, and this is the rather strange outcome. Enjoy, m'dears.

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Lestrade stretched her arms, waiting for the bloated full moon to rise over the horizon. What a night it would be; the sun was already sinking in a furious blaze of fiery reds and golds, its colours smearing the sky like blood. Licking her lips, Lestrade wriggled on the couch in an attempt to be more comfortable, though she knew it wouldn’t help. She was mentally itching, waiting for the change. The last full moon seemed an eternity away and just the thought of running wild was making her hysterical.

She choked back a giggle as her bones started popping, elongating and rearranging. Grinning her ironically wolfish smile, she rolled onto the floor on all fours, her skin furry and her ears pointed. Through the window she could see the moon hanging low in the sky, a cold, beautiful palace for the beautiful goddess of the night. Laughter bubbled up her throat, but she was no longer able to speak, her skull now long and thin, her eyes glowing and slit. Her smile was fearsome now, a real wolf smile, with pearly sharp teeth and a lolling red tongue.

Shaking off the shredded remains of her loose T-shirt, she padded to the kitchen window, her claws clacking rhythmically on the linoleum floor. She had been extra careful to get this night off, as usual, imagine what would happen if someone saw her like this. Every full moon, she was noticeably missing from the Yard, hiding away in her apartment on 'sick' leave. Though how anyone could call her gift sick in anyway at all was a mystery to her. But if it excused her for the night, it would have to do.

Jumping from the window, Lestrade landed gracefully (cats aren’t the only ones who always land on the feet) on the rusted dumpster, that was never used but never moved, so conveniently placed there. Now outside, she broke into a run, flying through empty alleys and the blackest shadows, careful not to be seen. You never know what people might think they saw on a night like this.

The park was deadly silent, everything still and dappled silver, like ornate statues. Here she was safe, running with wild abandon through the shrubs and along the gravel paths. (Though she preferred the grass to gravel as the rocks stuck between the pads of her feet.) Moonlight shone on her thick fur, it was the only thing watching the ecstatic loup-garou during her midnight dance.

The night whirled by, and all too soon the moon became pale, falling towards the horizon. Lestrade clambered back into her apartment, only half changed, drunk with happiness. Oh, if only there was a full moon every night.

Flopping into bed, Lestrade was struck with a sudden thought. What if Holmes figured it out? She sat bolt upright. It would be all too easy, for someone as nosy as him, to check her records. Even supposedly secure ones. If he did, would he give her away? Lestrade lay back, frowning, her good mood slashed to ribbons. But wasn’t that always the way?