The Hunt || Johnlock
They had arrived in the countryside with the presumption that they would have until the next full moon to gather evidence and narrow down the pool of suspects. Another crime scene, however, popped up just a few nights after the consulting detective and his doctor settled in. It was the same MO as all of the other murders: three campers slaughtered in their sleep. Sherlock had to proceed with the presumption that this was in fact their man killing early. Just two nights after the three campers were found, another couple was found in the woods. It seemed their werewolf was acting more quickly than usual-- the consulting detective decided that he would have to do the same.
Which explained why he and the good doctor were now huddled up around a dying fire in the middle of the woods at night. Of course John had vouched against the idea, finding it ludicrous that they should lure out a killer by putting themselves in a situation where they could be killed. It was the best way to do things in Sherlock's eyes. Lure the bastard out and see the shocked look on his face when they got him. That was what Sherlock craved the most in these cases; that look, that feeling, that shock that someone had outsmarted the crafty criminal. Sherlock would always outsmart anyone. He and the werewolf were perhaps the same in that they both savored the hunt for their prey.
He watched the fire die down now, excited to set themselves up for their fake sleep. He looked over at John, less than impressed with the way that the man was huddled up in his sleeping bag, shaking. "I understand you were based in a desert during your service but surely you've dealt with harder elemental conditions than this," he pointed out skeptically to the man.