you've always been here, haven't you?

If some wolf had taken Dahmer aside a month ago and told him just how amazing things would be for him in the future, he would have questioned the guy's sanity. And then probably punched him in the face for telling lies and teasing him. Yet here he was. He leaned back in his chair, letting the book slide further down his lap as his attention became fixated elsewhere. Sherlock's violin was propped carefully in her chair, where the female had left it a few hours earlier before taking off for her daily walk. She had asked if he wanted to accompany her, but Dahmer politely declined. The male had spent the morning reading while Sherlock played, and he found himself in the middle of a very compelling chapter and had no interest in putting the book aside. Besides, she'd never say it; but Dahmer knew that Sherlock looked forward to her solitary walks. Sometimes the male would go along with his partner, and the two would spend a pleasant hour or two strolling along with no particular direction in mind, just the fits and bursts of conversation to follow their progress. But today their conversations were put on hold, with the promise of them meeting up later in the evening. It didn't matter what went on during the day, whether it was spent together or passed with their solitary pursuits: the two of them always met up before the end of the day, right beneath the tree that had bore witness to their fight so many weeks before. Dahmer had vowed never to go near that place again, at least not without chopping down the offending tree and maybe setting the rest of the area on fire. Which just went to show how completely things could change. The place was sacred to him now.

Dahmer gave the violin an appreciative, fond smile before pushing the book off his lap. It fell between the cushion and the chair's arm rest as the massive male got to his feet. Running a paw over his head and scratching the back of his neck, he slowly made his way to the window. As he gazed beyond the glass and into the snow, Dahmer briefly regretted opting out of the walk. He studied the path that Sherlock had taken, debating whether or not he wanted to go after her. It was odd. Being with her didn't lessen how much he missed her whenever Sherlock wasn't around. Even though he knew he wouldn't go a day without spending time with her, the female's absence still caused a sharp ache somewhere in his chest. It remained until she was by his side again. It used to be almost impossible to ignore (and face it, he'd had a lot of practice trying to over the duration of their partnership), but now he found it a little easier to put aside in order to go about his own business.  Spending time with her was no longer a happy coincidence, or a result of Sherlock just being bored, needing someone to bounce ideas off whenever her skull wasn't enough. She wanted to. She had chosen him. She loved him. It was still unbelievable. Every morning he expected to wake up alone with nothing but the crushing realization that it was all a dream, but she was always there. He would move closer, gently nosing the spot at the bottom of her ear and side of her neck. She'd stir slightly, and he'd nudge her a few more times before giving in to the increasingly threatening grumbles his behaviour elicited. Sherlock did not like being woken before she was ready. But he couldn't help himself, it was impossible. The novelty of being the one she woke up with every morning was something he didn't think he'd ever get over. Looking at her wasn't enough. He had to be as close as possible, he had to touch her just to make sure that it was all real. It was. So were the threats she made that became increasingly violent and theatrical as the mornings passed.

A soft laugh broke the silence as he went over this morning's threats, and Dahmer decided that maybe some time alone was best for the black female. It wasn't easy for her, he knew that. As amazing as the last few weeks had been, they weren't entirely perfect. He was aware of how hard this all was for her. She was desperately trying to make it seem easy, and a part of Dahmer was heartbroken that it was so difficult for her. But that was who Sherlock was. It was her nature. He knew that. It would have been so much easier and simple for him to have fallen in love with any other wolf. Basic relationship things that were trials for Sherlock would come natural with any other couple. But it didn't matter. He didn't want any other wolf. He wanted her. She was the one.  She had taken his hand back in the woods, trusting him to bring the both of them through whatever this was. He could see that she was terrified, and yet she followed, allowed him to take the lead. Then she spent the night with him, and everything was changed forever.

They were taking it day by day, and slowly but surely, Sherlock was adjusting. Dahmer wasn't expecting a miraculous change. He knew he wouldn't wake up one morning to find her completely different and willing to express her love for him in simple, easy ways. Rome wasn't built in a day. The empire's progress was measured in millimeters, over eons. And while he wasn't exactly expecting Sherlock to take a million years to come around, he was willing to wait. Besides, she wasn't supposed to change much at all. He loved her, his Sherlock. So he waited. He was understanding and calm, willing to take whatever she was capable of offering. What mattered was that she tried. She no longer saw her love for him as a weakness, as some sort of illness she needed to get over. She acknowledged it and was willing to move forward. But as much as the female made sarcastic quips and jokes about it all, he could tell just how hard it was for her sometimes. Dahmer Oriel wasn't adept at reading others like Sherlock, but he was an expert at reading her. Whenever it seemed as though she was becoming overwhelmed with it all, he would pull back and give her the space he knew she needed. He was nonchalant and played it off, determined not to let her know how much it hurt him sometimes. He understood, but it still stung. Still, as difficult as it could be some days, he had no regrets. He just hoped she felt the same way.

He turned his back on the window and headed back to his chair, intending to plunge back into the world of his book. Sherlock's violin caught his eyes instead, and he gently removed it from its resting place. He ran his finger along the highly polished instrument's neck. A rueful smile pulled at his lips as he remembered the one time he had attempted to play the instrument himself. The look on Sherlock's face was priceless and he hadn't known whether to laugh or find himself intensely offended. Sherlock did not mince words. And apparently being played badly was almost as bad for the violin as not tuning it...or smashing it against a rock. The male shook his head at the memory, returning the violin to Sherlock's chair for a moment while he grabbed its case. With his luck, he'd somehow manage to break the damn thing while just sitting there. And there went his happy ending. She'd be finished with him in seconds. He packed the violin away carefully, placing it in its felt home alongside the bow. The male made sure both instrument and case were safely put in their place before returning to his chair.

Once he gave the book his undivided attention, Dahmer became completely unaware of his surrounding for the next few hours. The afternoon passed quickly in this manner, what little sun the winter days possessed slipping behind the trees. As the cottage fell into darkness, and he could no longer see the pages, Dahmer slowly emerged from his reverie. He glanced up in surprise, confused as to how quickly the time appeared to pass. He sighed softly and lifted himself out of his chair. He stretched his cramping muscles as he moved to the front door, side stepping a table he didn't remember being there before. A quick glance outside told him that he still had a little bit before he needed to head out to meet Sherlock. Just enough time to start a fire, maybe tidy up a little.

After a trip out to the wood shed he'd built before the snow came, Dahmer had enough lumber to last the next day or so. He stacked it carefully against the wall, then turned his attention to the fireplace. With expert ease, the former assassin piled a mixture of kindling and scrap paper before lighting it with a match. He watched the small fire carefully, blowing gently and feeding the flames small bits of wood. Before long it was hungry and big enough to manage a decent sized log. He placed it carefully and when that, too caught fire, the werewolf's job was complete for the time being. By the time Sherlock and he returned, they'd have a warm and inviting fire. Speaking of returning with Sherlock... His thoughts trailed off as he gazed about the cabin's main room. It was a little cluttered, he had neglected to tidy it the last few days. While Sherlock didn't really mind the mess, it was almost unthinkable for Dahmer to have left it so long. Sherlock preferred to have an uncluttered mind. While the male appreciated that, he also preferred to have a clutter-free home. He sprung to his feet, and gathered the books that had been stacked on the table beside his chair. He placed them on his bookshelf and moved toward Sherlock's own table. Grabbing his books that were left there, he returned to the shelf and began returning each volume to its place. Soon the entire shelf was full and the male still had several books still in his arms. That was odd. He hadn't gone looking for any books as of late, had he? If anything, he realized, there should be quite a few open spaces on the shelf. He remembered lending Ghost at least ten or so books the other day. Where were they all coming from? As he turned to look about the room for any other books, Dahmer's eyes fell on the table he had almost run into earlier. Since when had that been there? And...why was it full of Sherlock's chemistry stuff? She didn't do her experiments here. At least, she never had before. It was true that she had been spending a great deal of time here – now that he thought of it, the two of them had spent every night here fore the past few weeks. He had just assumed that Sherlock stopped by her own place to do her own things every time she went away for the afternoon.

But what was she going home to do? All of her essential stuff was right here! Her books, her old Bureau gear, her notebooks and all the chemistry equipment. Hell, even the microscope he had modified for her was right there on that table! The large male shook his head, pale blue eyes studying his home with wonder. How long had this been going on? And why hadn't Sherlock said anything? He was baffled. No, no. Maybe it was just because she was spending so much time here. He really was taking up all of her time. No wonder she brought her work here. How else was she supposed to get it done? Well, he could fix that. He'd give her more space and then she'd be able to pursue her work back where she was comfortable. Sherlock needn't uproot her entire life just to keep him happy. He could help her bring all her stuff back tomorrow, assuming the decent weather remained. Even if it didn't, he'd do it to make her happy. It shouldn't take long. With her help, maybe one trip? They could pack away her science equipment in the sled he had built and there'd be plenty of room for  her books and her....mission slips? Wait, what? Dahmer crossed the room in a flash, perusing the wall with intensity.

From the beginning of their partnership, Dahmer had kept souvenirs from every mission the two of them went on. Sherlock followed soon after. Dahmer did it in order to remember the time he spent with her, while Sherlock enjoyed keeping mementos from a job well done. Whether it was the original assassination order written about their target or some random object that represented a break in the case, Sherlock meticulously collected her souvenirs. Dahmer had made her frames and displays for all of these possessions and now here they were, a multitude of memories in boxes. There was no need for Sherlock to have them here, even if this was where she was doing all her work and research. Unless...Dahmer felt as though his thoughts were moving through molasses. It was baffling. He had his hypothesis and evidence to back it, but the male just couldn't come to a conclusion. It never occurred to him to ask Sherlock to move in with him. He hadn't even thought it was an option. She needed her space. She needed a place to retreat to, to gather herself and pursue her research. As much as Sherlock loved Dahmer, he always assumed that she'd prefer to live alone. And he had come to terms with that as best he could. He understood how it could be. But now....it appeared as thought he didn't understand at all!

Several moments of deep thought later, and Dahmer still couldn't decide what he made of it. As he ran along the path that would take him to their place, the male decided that it was probably best just to straight out ask her. He arrived a little while later, slightly breathless as a result of shifting. He had been late leaving the cabin and traveling on two legs wasn't quick enough. Fully in his wolf form, Dahmer paced through the snow as he waited for Sherlock to arrive.