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holmesticeTitle: A Series of Unfortunate Experiments (Or, The Baker’s Dozen of Pets Sherlock Is Definitely Not Allowed to Keep, part the first)
Recipient:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
goldvermilion87
Author:simplystars
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mrs. Hudson, OFC
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: John comes home to a crime scene – or does he?
Author’s Note: I hope you like it! If you do, there will be more parts to accompany it; if not we can just pretend it never happened and let the series die on the vine... o_O
John Watson had been a soldier; more importantly, John Watson had been the flatmate of Sherlock Holmes for more than a year. So when he came home to a ransacked sitting room after a long day at the surgery, it wasn’t a difficult leap to tell that something a bit-not-good had happened. What was, perhaps, slightly more impressive was that he’d noticed the ransacking in the first place, given the general clutter of (I don’t even want to know so don’t tell me, Sherlock, never tell me) experiments past and present, and significant quantities of case-related detritus that passed for interior decorating at 221B Baker Street.
John paused in the doorway, blocking Mrs. Hudson who was hovering at his elbow, clutching a parcel that had been delivered for Sherlock - who was currently absent from the sitting room.
“Stay here, Mrs. Hudson,” John said in a low voice, quietly setting down his Tesco bags (spoils from an altogether-too-rare victory over the chip-and-PIN machine) before advancing to investigate.
On the kitchen table to his left (where they rarely actually ate), a path of scattered and broken glassware – Sherlock would not be best pleased about that. Papers strewn about from the sofa table to the floor; but that might just be Sherlock’s general sense of filing run amok. The Union Jack pillow which usually adorned John’s armchair had been flung across the room; its trajectory having impacted the desk lamp and knocked it to the carpet where it lay, unbroken and still burning brightly, but missing its lampshade. Books from Sherlock’s extensive collection had been pulled from the shelves and – oh, no - several long, vertical slashes ripped along the bottom of Sherlock’s skull poster. John pursed his lips. Pity that it had survived Sherlock “the wall had it coming” Holmes’ boredom only to fall victim to – what? Nothing so ordinary as a simple break-in…
His mobile buzzed with an incoming text – but it wasn’t from Sherlock.
Nothing untoward to worry about, Doctor Watson; but that is not to say that nothing happened. I will make the surveillance footage available for you later, if you desire it. – MH
John’s palms began to sweat, remembering the last time he’d been caught between the brothers Holmes, but what he heard next eased his anxiety even as it piqued his curiosity.
“Miaow,” came a displeased wail from under the sofa. John crouched down to have a look.
“Mind your face,” came an equally displeased shout from down the hall. “It scratches. And bites,” Sherlock added petulantly, finally making his appearance. At Mrs. Hudson’s stifled giggle John looked up and had to chew his lip hard; Sherlock looked like he’d lost a valiant battle with a cactus, but to snicker at the myriad of tiny nicks would only add to Sherlock’s ire. And it was probably best not to mention the tufts of fur clinging tenaciously to the sleeves and pant legs of Sherlock’s indecently-tailored suit…
“Oh, it’s only a baby!” Mrs. Hudson cooed, having made a beeline for the sofa. Shouldering John out of the way, she plucked an orange ball of fluff out from under the furniture and cuddled it.
“Miaow,” it said again, even more pathetically. Clearly, it sensed an ally.
“What a dear wee thing! Wherever did you get it, Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson asked, between coos.
Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms. “Won it in a poker game.”
John stifled another laugh at the sight of Sherlock’s plaster-covered fingers, and raised an eyebrow in the direction of a neatly-labelled cat-carrier which had been half-hidden behind a meter-high stack of Sherlock’s scientific journals. “Poker at Bart’s, really? Who with?”
Sherlock’s scowl deepened, as if he found John’s grammar physically painful. “Irrelevant.”
John crossed his own arms in return. “Can’t think that it would be common practice for lab animals to be used as poker chips.” He grinned a bit evilly at Mrs. Hudson’s appalled gasp. “Just think what Molly would say… She’d revoke your morgue privileges, I bet.”
“I had no intention of hurting it,” Sherlock shot back, annoyed. “In fact, as you can clearly see, I took rather the brunt of mistreatment.”
The kitten, which by now was curled contentedly in Mrs. Hudson’s arms and purring up a storm, narrowed its eyes and hissed.
“What, this tiny scrap of a thing?” Mrs. Hudson fussed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Who’s a love? You are!” she said reassuringly, kissing the kitten between its ears and bouncing it gently. “There, you see how sweet? You must have scared it.”
John tried, but couldn’t, repress a guffaw at Sherlock’s wordless indignation, and by the time he thought to snap a photo with his mobile it was too late and Sherlock had closed his dropped jaw with an audible snap.
“Round and round the sitting room,” John said cheerfully, as he retrieved his Tesco bags and headed for the refrigerator. “Would’ve paid good money to see that.”
“Really, John, how utterly predictable,” Sherlock said with a touch of spite. “Which is why I was at the poker game and you were not.”
“Low blow,” John said through gritted teeth as he shoved the eggs in more forcefully than was probably wise. “But just this once, I’ll forgive you. It can’t be easy knowing you’ve been bested by a kitten.”
Mrs. Hudson intervened before the bickering escalated into full-scale-domestic. “Right, I’ll be keeping this little fellow.” She rolled her eyes at their expressions. “I’m your landlady, not your housekeeper, and definitely not your pet-sitter. So he might as well come live with me.” She rose carefully to her feet, muttering softly. “And who would feed you when they’re out at all hours, days on end? Or in hospital again?” The kitten bumped her chin with his head and mewed in agreement, little jaws widening into a yawn.
John had no quarrel with that pronouncement, and stepped hard on Sherlock’s foot when he opened his mouth. “What will you name him, then, Mrs. Hudson?”
“Well, given the way he led our Sherlock such a merry chase – he’s an Artful Dodger, isn’t he? So Dodger, for short.” She flapped a hand at the abandoned parcel on Sherlock’s chair. “Post for you, dear.”
Distracted, Sherlock pounced on it. “Finally!”
“Sherlock,” John said with equal parts resignation and trepidation (having spied the return address), “What did you order from ThinkGeek this time?”
“…Nothing,” Sherlock replied evasively, sidling toward the door. “Not much at all. Just a few necessities to keep the boredom at bay…” his voice trailed off down the hall.
John sighed, and put the kettle on for tea.
*****
Recipient:
goldvermilion87Author:
simplystars Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mrs. Hudson, OFC
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: John comes home to a crime scene – or does he?
Author’s Note: I hope you like it! If you do, there will be more parts to accompany it; if not we can just pretend it never happened and let the series die on the vine... o_O
John Watson had been a soldier; more importantly, John Watson had been the flatmate of Sherlock Holmes for more than a year. So when he came home to a ransacked sitting room after a long day at the surgery, it wasn’t a difficult leap to tell that something a bit-not-good had happened. What was, perhaps, slightly more impressive was that he’d noticed the ransacking in the first place, given the general clutter of (I don’t even want to know so don’t tell me, Sherlock, never tell me) experiments past and present, and significant quantities of case-related detritus that passed for interior decorating at 221B Baker Street.
John paused in the doorway, blocking Mrs. Hudson who was hovering at his elbow, clutching a parcel that had been delivered for Sherlock - who was currently absent from the sitting room.
“Stay here, Mrs. Hudson,” John said in a low voice, quietly setting down his Tesco bags (spoils from an altogether-too-rare victory over the chip-and-PIN machine) before advancing to investigate.
On the kitchen table to his left (where they rarely actually ate), a path of scattered and broken glassware – Sherlock would not be best pleased about that. Papers strewn about from the sofa table to the floor; but that might just be Sherlock’s general sense of filing run amok. The Union Jack pillow which usually adorned John’s armchair had been flung across the room; its trajectory having impacted the desk lamp and knocked it to the carpet where it lay, unbroken and still burning brightly, but missing its lampshade. Books from Sherlock’s extensive collection had been pulled from the shelves and – oh, no - several long, vertical slashes ripped along the bottom of Sherlock’s skull poster. John pursed his lips. Pity that it had survived Sherlock “the wall had it coming” Holmes’ boredom only to fall victim to – what? Nothing so ordinary as a simple break-in…
His mobile buzzed with an incoming text – but it wasn’t from Sherlock.
Nothing untoward to worry about, Doctor Watson; but that is not to say that nothing happened. I will make the surveillance footage available for you later, if you desire it. – MH
John’s palms began to sweat, remembering the last time he’d been caught between the brothers Holmes, but what he heard next eased his anxiety even as it piqued his curiosity.
“Miaow,” came a displeased wail from under the sofa. John crouched down to have a look.
“Mind your face,” came an equally displeased shout from down the hall. “It scratches. And bites,” Sherlock added petulantly, finally making his appearance. At Mrs. Hudson’s stifled giggle John looked up and had to chew his lip hard; Sherlock looked like he’d lost a valiant battle with a cactus, but to snicker at the myriad of tiny nicks would only add to Sherlock’s ire. And it was probably best not to mention the tufts of fur clinging tenaciously to the sleeves and pant legs of Sherlock’s indecently-tailored suit…
“Oh, it’s only a baby!” Mrs. Hudson cooed, having made a beeline for the sofa. Shouldering John out of the way, she plucked an orange ball of fluff out from under the furniture and cuddled it.
“Miaow,” it said again, even more pathetically. Clearly, it sensed an ally.
“What a dear wee thing! Wherever did you get it, Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson asked, between coos.
Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms. “Won it in a poker game.”
John stifled another laugh at the sight of Sherlock’s plaster-covered fingers, and raised an eyebrow in the direction of a neatly-labelled cat-carrier which had been half-hidden behind a meter-high stack of Sherlock’s scientific journals. “Poker at Bart’s, really? Who with?”
Sherlock’s scowl deepened, as if he found John’s grammar physically painful. “Irrelevant.”
John crossed his own arms in return. “Can’t think that it would be common practice for lab animals to be used as poker chips.” He grinned a bit evilly at Mrs. Hudson’s appalled gasp. “Just think what Molly would say… She’d revoke your morgue privileges, I bet.”
“I had no intention of hurting it,” Sherlock shot back, annoyed. “In fact, as you can clearly see, I took rather the brunt of mistreatment.”
The kitten, which by now was curled contentedly in Mrs. Hudson’s arms and purring up a storm, narrowed its eyes and hissed.
“What, this tiny scrap of a thing?” Mrs. Hudson fussed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Who’s a love? You are!” she said reassuringly, kissing the kitten between its ears and bouncing it gently. “There, you see how sweet? You must have scared it.”
John tried, but couldn’t, repress a guffaw at Sherlock’s wordless indignation, and by the time he thought to snap a photo with his mobile it was too late and Sherlock had closed his dropped jaw with an audible snap.
“Round and round the sitting room,” John said cheerfully, as he retrieved his Tesco bags and headed for the refrigerator. “Would’ve paid good money to see that.”
“Really, John, how utterly predictable,” Sherlock said with a touch of spite. “Which is why I was at the poker game and you were not.”
“Low blow,” John said through gritted teeth as he shoved the eggs in more forcefully than was probably wise. “But just this once, I’ll forgive you. It can’t be easy knowing you’ve been bested by a kitten.”
Mrs. Hudson intervened before the bickering escalated into full-scale-domestic. “Right, I’ll be keeping this little fellow.” She rolled her eyes at their expressions. “I’m your landlady, not your housekeeper, and definitely not your pet-sitter. So he might as well come live with me.” She rose carefully to her feet, muttering softly. “And who would feed you when they’re out at all hours, days on end? Or in hospital again?” The kitten bumped her chin with his head and mewed in agreement, little jaws widening into a yawn.
John had no quarrel with that pronouncement, and stepped hard on Sherlock’s foot when he opened his mouth. “What will you name him, then, Mrs. Hudson?”
“Well, given the way he led our Sherlock such a merry chase – he’s an Artful Dodger, isn’t he? So Dodger, for short.” She flapped a hand at the abandoned parcel on Sherlock’s chair. “Post for you, dear.”
Distracted, Sherlock pounced on it. “Finally!”
“Sherlock,” John said with equal parts resignation and trepidation (having spied the return address), “What did you order from ThinkGeek this time?”
“…Nothing,” Sherlock replied evasively, sidling toward the door. “Not much at all. Just a few necessities to keep the boredom at bay…” his voice trailed off down the hall.
John sighed, and put the kettle on for tea.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-06-07 05:31 pm (UTC)Which was all there was to say until you brought ThinkGeek into this. HAHAHAAHAAAHAAAAAA. What in the world did he buy? XD
no subject
Date: 2011-06-07 05:36 pm (UTC)Sherlock versus kitten... oh, man, no contest! LOL
no subject
Date: 2011-06-07 06:22 pm (UTC)Uh, something.
(This was pricelessly funny.)
no subject
Date: 2011-06-07 08:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-07 11:18 pm (UTC)sigh... Should have guessed that Sherlock would mange to mess up having a cat. Probably tried to make it clear he was in charge. (Which is just asking for trouble- we ARE felines' staff you know..)
This was very funny and most enjoyable.
<3
no subject
Date: 2011-06-08 01:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-08 01:03 am (UTC)Thank you very much!
no subject
Date: 2011-06-08 05:00 am (UTC)(Captcha!Mycroft says ovesses tendency - and he would know, wouldn't he? :D)
no subject
Date: 2011-06-08 01:38 am (UTC)And what did he get from Think Geek, I wonder? ;-)
no subject
Date: 2011-06-09 12:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-10 06:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-11 04:29 pm (UTC)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
THE CUTENESS!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kitten! Sherlock sulking! ThinkGeek! Union Jack pillow! Kitten! x_x *ded*