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I can honestly say I have never seen a mythical Shape-shifter like this before. She stands in the centre of our living room, her mirrored skin reflecting the sunlight from outside to an almost blinding intensity. Sherlock doesn't seem to mind though, In fact I don't think he has taken his eyes off the Shifter since she entered the room and asked for our help. Apparently she has been having problems with the gang of Manticores who have invaded the East End (her and half of the city of London if the newspapers are anything to go by). It is something Sherlock has been trying to find a solution for for weeks because he has become unwillingly to rely too much on his Shifter form after what he suffered at the hands of Culvington Smith.
Eventually my curiosity gets the better of me and I politely interrupt their conversation by loudly clearing my throat. Our visitor turns towards me, allowing me a clear look at her strangely angular features that resemble shards of shattered mirror. Her green eyes watch me with an intensity that makes me feel uncomfortable and I find myself shifting beneath her gaze. "I'm sorry but I wanted to ask you something if that's ok?" I ask, waiting for her to nod before I continue. "What type of Shifter are you? I've never seen anybody like you before."
Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Really John, I would have thought it was obvious." He says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. "Surely anybody can tell she's a Glassite."
Thanks Sherlock. That really clears things up. I shoot Sherlock a look but it the visitor herself, obviously taking pity on me, who ends up answering me. "I'm a glass spirit, Mr Watson. Many people mistake us for Shape-shifters but we're actually a seperate species." She says, smiling at me gently.
Well, that makes a little more sense. "Oh. I don't think I've ever come across a Glassite before. Are there many of you living in London?"
The Glassite lets out a twinkling laugh. "Thousands, thanks to the humans and their love of tall, glass buildings." She says, her attention sliding back to Sherlock once again. "Now, Mr Holmes, what do you plan to do about the Manticores?"
Sherlock doesn't answer for a moment, appearing to be deep in thought as he considers the problem. "We'll have to alert the Metropolitan Police to their presence of course. They'll have to evacuate any humans in the area before we move in."
"Wait a second, what do you mean by we?" I ask, getting the feeling I am probably not going to like the answer.
Sherlock gives me a look, a serious expression on his face. "You, me, Mycroft and the rest of London's mythical Shifters. A pack of Manticore's are not to be dealt with lightly. We'll need all the back up we can get." He says, reaching out to take my hand and squeeze it gently.
I feel a shiver run down my spine and I suck in a breath. Why couldn't we just have one week where we didn't have to expose ourselves to a dangerous situation? I wish the Glassite had never turned up on our doorstep. "So," I say, swallowing hard, "When do we leave for the East End?"
"Tomorrow, once I've managed to summon the others. Besides we don't want to face the Manticores at night if we can help it." He says, letting go of my hand and leaning back in his chair. "Miss Glassite, we will be very pleased to help you."
With a sigh I head towards the kitchen where I'm sure I left my mobile phone on the worktop. I guess it's up to me to let Greg and Mycroft know what's happening. Maybe one of these days we'll be able to have an easy life. I really don't want to have to fight a gang of vicious Manticores...
To be continued...