The night was cool and I found myself standing upon the roof of 221B Baker St. with my new companion Doctor John Watson. Mr. Hudson had shouted something about us catching our deaths by doing something so foolish as we’d passed him in the hall but regardless there we stood. From his coat pocket Watson produced the small metal case that I’d seen him stash there only moments before. With a smirk he reached out and placed it into the palm of my gloved right hand.

“What is it?” I asked. It was not mine nor had I ever seen it before.

“More importantly is what is in it.” the doctor replied.

Not wishing to waste any more time than necessary standing upon the cold roof of my apartment, so warm and comfortable below me, I flipped the latch and opened the little box. White powder...surely it was not...

“Cocaine, Holmes.” Watson chimed. The wind picked up and ruffled the whiskers of his moustache, the very ones which nearly concealed his grin.

“Are you serious man?” I begged.

“Extremely, and you’re going to help me test a hypothesis.”

“What precisely...”

“Holmes I already know very well that you partake on occasion.” he wagged his finger at me, “I found residue in the drawer of your table.”

I sighed. “You’ll have to forgive me Doctor, I did not expect anyone to be rummaging through my things.”

“You’re forgiven.” he smiled, “Now please, just humor me.”

“How so Doctor?”

“At this very moment do you see me as a man or as a Mor?”

“Why a man of course.”

“Ah, yes, but we are standing under moonlight. You should be seeing me as a Mor.”

I looked up at the moon, it was not full but still managed to light the rooftops quite well.

“My good man only moments ago you yourself laid out to me that my habitual opiate use has prevented my abilities from manifesting.”

“Yes,” he said, pointing at me, “but I believe the problem to be mental, not physical. I can see you for what you are just fine under the moonlight.”

I smiled and nodded.

“I see, and you believe that a drug with stimulant properties might be the key to unlocking my hidden talent?”

He could be correct. I’d been under a minor influence the evening before.

“Precisely!”

“Well then, I cannot say that I am opposed to indulging in a bit of cocaine...under the supervision and even encouragement of a physician no less, but I’ll be needing several items from my desk.”

“Why so?” he looked puzzled.

“Dear doctor I consume the extract of the coca plant exclusively in a 7 percent solution injected intravenously.”

“Oh come on Holmes.” he waved his hands at me in frustration, “It’s freezing out, can’t you just sniff a little of it and be done.”

I eyed him derisively.

“Watson if we were to do this in the parlor we could both conduct your experiment and not risk the future ability to use our extremities.”

“No, I want as much of the moon’s light as possible. We need to exercise the parts of your mind that have lain dormant for years and we should do so starting with the best chance for success.”

Rather unhappily I decided to give in to his request. I held some doubts that what he suggested would even work and I wished to return to the comfort of my room. Very unceremoniously I lifted the container to my left nostril and drew a bit of the fine powder into my nasal cavity. Rather uncertain that I’d managed the proper dosage we decided to give the drug a few moments to take effect before going any further; five minutes according to the doctor’s watch to be precise. At the conclusion of that duration I reported to him that I was certainly feeling its effects, though not as strongly as with my normal, and carefully prepared, amount.

“Do I look any different Holmes?”

“No, though you would not regardless since the moon is currently behind a rather large cloud.”

Watson detected the jocularity in my voice and commented on it.

“It would seem that cocaine brightens your spirits Holmes.”

“Indeed it does Doctor Watson. As a matter of fact I believe that to be the primary reason that it is so frequently indulged in by those who can afford its charms.” and with that I lifted the container to my nose and took another small sniff. I expected the act to draw a look of contempt from my new friend but instead he appeared to trust my judgment. “Of course I do not typically imbibe to heighten my spirits but rather to sharpen my focus so that I do not fall into a malaise when there is no case to be had.”

Wind currents, far above where we were standing, slowly freed the moon from its prison and I watched intently as its light once again began to stretch out across the rooftops. As it fell over the form of Doctor Watson, standing with his hands in his pockets and exhaling copious amounts of steam as he breathed, I scrutinized him for any changes. There were none.

“It’s not working Watson.” I declared, ready to head inside and have Mr. Hudson prepare us some hot chocolate.

“Dammit Holmes your eyes are lit up like lanterns. The physical aspect of whatever makes your ability work is certainly doing its job...”

The intensity with which he was speaking sharpened my attention, a small change at first, but it was there. The eyes! I dropped the container from my hand, which luckily slammed itself shut as it hit the roof, losing only a small amount of the powder inside in a brief puff that was carried away by the cold night air.

“What is it Holmes?” he queried.

“Shhh!” I exclaimed as I held up a hand to silence him. “I am trying to concentrate.”

Slowly, before my very eyes, fur, then teeth, then claws were revealed. Then as suddenly as it had appeared it began to fade away again. Had I lost focus? No, a small wisp of a cloud had passed through the rays of the moon and once it moved on I could again see Watson as the Mor that he was.

“May I assume,” I asked, “that you are not doing this on purpose?”

“You can see me?” he smiled through sharp teeth.

“Oh yes I can Watson. Come!”

“Wait where are you...?” he posed the question as I bent to retrieve the container of cocaine then hurried to the stairs.

“Are you gentlemen alright?” a concerned Mr. Hudson asked as we passed him a short moment later in the hallway.

“Indubitably Mr. Hudson, indubitably.” I pronounced happily as I grabbed my hat and walking stick.

Watson’s only response to the bewildered old man was a brief shrug before taking off after me. He caught up with me halfway down the stairs.

“Holmes where on Earth are you going? Perhaps my little experiment was not such a good idea after all. You should return to your room and I can give you a sedative.”

“Nonsense!” I punctuated my statement with a lifting of my walking stick into the air, then turned so unanticipatedly to face the doctor that he nearly walked right into me. “I am simply conducting a little experiment of my own.”

He tried to protest but I paid his words no heed. I was through the front door and out onto the street in a dash.

“This way.” I shouted back at my companion before turning left at the road and walking briskly and with much determination toward my destination. There were few people out in the street and my eyes scanned them cursorily but found none of them to be very interesting. My jaunt ended precipitously standing in front of 103 Baker St.

“A hotel?” Watson asked.

I turned and gave a wicked smile.

“Yes Watson. I’ve suspected the commissionaire of this building of being a Vinterrotte for some time.”

“I’ve not heard of that one.” the doctor admitted to me.

“It is a little known Norwegian myth. A creature that exists as both man and rat. They are said to be covered in a pelt as white as snow and normally quite timid, unless given no other recourse. Some legends say that they are irresistibly handsome when in human form...but if Mr. Molloy is any indication that part of the myth has little basis in reality.”

I charged forward and as I approached the door it swung open. Before me, in his impeccably clean uniform, stood the balding, white haired, and round-bellied commissionaire. The smile that had been intended to greet me quickly metamorphosed into an expression of terror and with that the man fled back into the building.

“Well?” Watson raised his hands questioningly.

“Vinterrotte, most assuredly.”

“Well he obviously recognized you as a Versieht.”

I chuckled. “Of that there can be no doubt whatsoever. I shan’t think that Mr. Molloy will be keen to greet me with his usual tip of the hat when I walk down this part of Baker street again.”

“I didn’t see him change though Holmes. When you and I met in the garden I was stuck in my animal form and could not change back.”

“An effect of the adrenaline coursing through my veins at the time Doctor, enhancing my abilities? Or perhaps it was you who was so frightened that you could not transform.”

“I suppose that either is a possibility. That shall mean more tests...but we will leave that for another night. This December air is terribly cold, we should return indoors.”

“Agreed Watson.” I said, my mouth feeling somewhat numb from the effect of the cocaine.

After that little adventure, as both physician and friend, John Watson ordered me back to my apartment where I was commanded to ingest some hot chocolate and a warm cup of soup before retiring for the night. That was the first of our evenings practicing my abilities but it was far from the last. We made good use of the remaining evenings in which there would be moonlight. The cocaine was necessary, at first, but by the fifth night, despite the ever-waning light of the moon, I began to be able to function without its stimulant effects.

My days, in contrast, were spent going over Lestrade’s information regarding the plot. He’d managed to make some meaningful connections but much of it I found to be flawed. Still it was something to start with and considering the intertwining nature of so many events untangling the web would not prove to be an easy task.

To assist me in my endeavors I’d quite purposefully convinced Lestrade to enlist Graham Roth as our go-between. The young man was bright and enthusiastic, and also I knew that he annoyed the inspector to no end and I found that quite amusing. My good humor, however, was not to last. As I connected piece after piece of the puzzle it became apparent that the threat which Lestrade had spoken of presented a much more imminent danger than he had reasoned.