sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXVI

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Prompting Part XXXVI

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Update to prompting guidelines.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Omega Sherlock gives birth to a baby. When he sees the baby he, sort of, freaks out and rejects him/her. Suddenly, he's not sure he can deal with having a child, be a parent and change his life so dramatically. He thinks he can no longer be Sherlock Holmes, that he's lost himself and that he was right, refusing to have a relationship, let alone start a family before he met John (maybe he even starts regretting their bond, even though he loves John deeply. And how could Sherlock let it happen, he, who had always rejected those hateful social expectations for an Omega?!)).

When the baby cries, it sometimes breaks Sherlock's heart, making him feel even more worthless and depressed, but at other times it gets him irritated or completely indifferent; he won't approach him/her anyway.

John tries to deal with the situation, both taking care of the baby and trying to understand and help Sherlock. Sherlock breaks down and maybe even lashes out on him. Maybe Sherlock, while he was pregnant, somewhat expected that something like this would happen, but, no, they all told him repeatedly that his Omega instincts would kick in (bonus if the pregnancy was a result of failed contraception, but I don't mind if the pregnancy was planned).

I would love to see them dealing with this whole angsty situation and Sherlock's depression, maybe find compromises, find a way for Sherlock to keep doing what he needs to do, while someone helps with the baby (Mummy, John's mum?). If it works, only when he sees that he can be himself and use his brilliant mind like he always has, he accepts the baby and bonds with it.

man this place is deader than dead. But here's a fill.

John can sometimes talk to animals. Sometimes, this is helpful.

Other times, it is really, really not.

Five times John talked to animals and one time he talked to Sherlock

--

1)

See, the thing with being able to talk to animals is that animals aren't used to being talked to. In John's experience, there was one of two reactions. The first is elation. Many animals were ecstatic to finally find a human with a head on its shoulders. They would express that excitement by following John around constantly, making an absolute pest of themselves. The second reaction is anger. The animal was disgusted by the “filthy mind beast” that dared approach them, and they would make this displeasure known as clearly as possible.

Funnily enough, John found the majority of stray cats to belong in the latter category. Of course, it wasn't surprising. God, John hated cats. Even the house cats liked to straddle the line between both options, jumping to one and the other as it suited their mood.

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man this place is deader than dead. But here's a fill.

John can sometimes talk to animals. Sometimes, this is helpful.

Other times, it is really, really not.

Five times John talked to animals and one time he talked to Sherlock

--

1)

See, the thing with being able to talk to animals is that animals aren't used to being talked to. In John's experience, there was one of two reactions. The first is elation. Many animals were ecstatic to finally find a human with a head on its shoulders. They would express that excitement by following John around constantly, making an absolute pest of themselves. The second reaction is anger. The animal was disgusted by the “filthy mind beast” that dared approach them, and they would make this displeasure known as clearly as possible.

Funnily enough, John found the majority of stray cats to belong in the latter category. Of course, it wasn't surprising. God, John hated cats. Even the house cats liked to straddle the line between both options, jumping to one and the other as it suited their mood.

<Mind beast! Talking mind beast! On my territory!> The scraggy, pole thin tortoiseshell from the alley one street over yowled in his head. Of course, it wasn't a physical voice. But the mental projection always came off so high and grating that it might as well be from the cat's actual voice box. John stoically ignored the hell beast, nicknamed Harpy. She always did that whenever John walked by. And it was close to the flat, so he did that often.

<Don't you dare ignore me! I know you can hear me!> Harpy hissed and spit. <Get out of my territory!>

John sighed, finally relenting. <I am, you twit. I haven't even paused by your alley.>

<You never leave! Set up a cozy lair, right under my nose! In one of those mind beast fortresses!> John paused at the accusation, snorting lightly.

<That would be my flat. Those 'fortresses' don't belong to you, so you have no claim to them> He would have mentioned that Harpy didn't have any claim to her alley either, but that would be useless. John had gone down that path before, and it only led to even more incessant screeching.

<I'm expanding my territory> Harpy's speech came almost like a huff. John rolled his eyes. <And if you don't leave, I'm going to go after your mate.>

That made John pause for a moment. Go bloody figure. Even animals loved to misinterpret his relationship with his flatmate, it seemed. John was hit with a wave of smug contentment. Harpy thought she had won with that line.

Well, John mused. We can't have that. <Do your worst, Harpy.> She was just one cat, after all. What could she do? Take a swipe at Sherlock the next time she saw him? He never went anywhere nearby, always managing to hail a cab right from the doorstep.

Naturally, John was wrong. Of course Harpy was able to enlist the help of nearly every stray in the city to harass both of them at all times spent outside of building or vehicle. When they weren't scrambling up Sherlock's belstaff to dig claws into his hair, they were dashing under John's legs at the last moment and yowling up a storm. Never mind that cats were supposed to be solitary creatures. Nevermind that this primarily happened at crime scenes, where the entire department it seemed would start to give them baffled looks.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Sherlock gave John increasingly suspicious and accusatory looks, as if he'd somehow managed to deduce that this was his fault. Who was John kidding? Of course he had.

welp I'm dumb, didn't know livejournal did that to the lesser than/greater than symbols. I'll try a different separator. :maybe this?:

“John. This is your fault.”

John looked up from his laptop. The cat thing was old news, and Sherlock hadn't said a word. Of course, his looks had said something on their own, probably that he knew something but didn't quite have enough evidence to outright accuse. So, it was something else. “What is, Sherlock?”

“This!” Sherlock huffed, annoyed. He waved about a small, rectangular piece of wood. It was a mousetrap. “Mrs. Hudson spotted a rat. She's been putting these up all over the place.”

“And how is that my fault?” John was genuinely curious.

Sherlock glared, but not with any real heat. It was more of a pout really, for all that his lips didn't even twitch. Not that John was thinking of Sherlock's lips, of course. “You've been buying more good. It's obviously attracted the rats.”

John raised his eyebrows. “I always store food properly. How do you know it's not all your experiments that's doing the attracting?” John pointedly glanced at the table, where one of the older experiments was sitting. It was getting quite ripe, but Sherlock had insisted on not moving it.

“Obviously John, because I've never gotten an infestation. That, and I always abide by health regulations when it comes to pest control.” John snorted loudly. “You doubt me?” Sherlock sounded genuinely offended. “Infestations can ruin everything, John! They completely change the system, adding variables and completely destroying any control!”

Of course he's worried if it puts his science in danger. John stopped himself before he could grin. It wouldn't do any good to make fun of Sherlock now. Even if it was funny, John had to concede that Sherlock's experiments meant a lot to him. Therefore, they should matter at least a little bit to John.

“Alright, well, I still don't think it's my fault.” Sherlock scowled and opened his mouth. “But!” John interrupted. “ I'll see what I can do.”

“See what you can do? I have a hard time seeing what you could do with your skillset, besides call pest control. And I know you can't afford that. Luckily, I-” Now John really did grin, and Sherlock cut himself off in favour of staring, eyes slightly squinted in suspicion.

“Don't worry about it, I'm rather good with animals.” Was John's only explanation. Sherlock looked like he wanted to call John out on the obviously inadequate answer. Probably to say something along the lines of 'being good with animals does not extend to dealing with a rat infestation, John'. But he didn't, instead turning away and back to his work and letting the subject drop. It was the Sherlock equivalent of 'I don't believe you but I'm willing to see where you're going with this one'.

Just to be safe, John waited a day before he acted. Sherlock was thankfully out, pestering Lestrade for cases. ::Excuse me?:: He called out, projecting his mental voice. It was a bit of a challenge to do when the animal, or animals in this case, weren't within view. But John had plenty of practice, and sure enough only minutes went by before several little grey shapes scurried out from god knows where.

Or rather, John realized, the shapes weren't so little. He'd forgotten how large rats could be, espcially rats fat on human food. He controlled a shudder of sudden revulsion as the several rats grew to at least a dozen, scurrying about his feet excitedly. ::Talking mind-beast! Mind-giant, it speaks to us, to us!::

The voices where staggered, not quite unified but not quite separate. Things always got a little funny when multiple of the same animal were talking to him. Animals just didn't have the same sense of self, their consciousness tending to blend together. It probably had something to do with why every animal always referred to humans as 'mind beasts', as if they themselves didn't actually have minds. Most people would of course agree with this, but John found it hard to wrap his head around, given that it turned out that animals could all speak fluent English, apparently. Even the ones in Afghanistan. Or maybe his mind just translated it as such.

Sherlock would be downright scandalized with the complete lack of research or any real investigation into his strange little ability. Frankly, John thought it was just a little too weird, better left as a mystery. He wasn't a scientist, after all. And he also didn't really want to know if there even was a scientific explanation or if it was magic after all just like his grandmother had insisted.

::What is it, mind beast? Talking beast? What does the talking beast say to us?:: John grimaced. There looked to be a good two dozen. And he had been sure to only extend his voice a few building's radius.

::Well, as you know, I live here.:: John started.

::Live live here, yes! We live here too! Would have come, will come now that we know! Speaking one will speak for us, yes?:: Far too many beady eyes stared up at John. ::Will get us things? Talk to us? Explain stupid mind beastspatternsways, help us?::

John had to shake his head. ::Calm down, there are too many of you.::

::Too many? There is us. Too many bodies? Not enough!:: And John had confused them.

::Sorry, nevermind. I wanted to ask you something.:: They perked up at that, shouting various affirmations and questioning notes into John's mind. ::I would like for you all to leave this building.::

Immediately John was swamped with confusion and anxiety. ::Home, safesharecozy, why? Our home, den, is warm and there is food and comfort and breeding. We prosper.::

::Yes, however, one of the mind beasts has put out traps for you. It's not safe for you, they will drive you out.:: John purposefully did not mention the fact that rat poison was most likely next. He wouldn't be responsible for that method failing due to an accidental warning.

Instead of immediately speaking, they swarmed John with alarm and mental images of dead rats along with an intense questioning. ::Why are mind beasts cruel to us?:: They finally spoke after gathering their thoughts.

::Because::, John thought quickly. ::We can not prosper when you are here. You spoil our food and spread illness. Our houses are shut down and destroyed.::

The response was surprisingly sheepish, even a bit guilty. ::We can not leave. Mind beast homes are our haven.:: It sounded downright apologetic.

::Could you move to a different home?:: John pondered, trying to stall for a better idea. But instead, the rats latched onto that.

::Yes, yes! As favour to talking mind beast! Can not, will not be responsible for talking suffering. Not competitor, not food... plenty of room. Will move!::

John blinked. And blinked again. ::Thank you, then.::

::No problem, no problem, gift for talking one! You warn us of danger, we will help!::

And that, apparently, was that. When a month went by with no further sign of any pests, Mrs. Hudson took the traps down, clear relief in her shoulders. Sherlock, who had probably been paying extra attention to the situation, narrowed his eyes into slits as he considered John. But still, he didn't say anything. And John wasn't about to start the conversation either. The way he figured, it wasn't worth mentioning until a verbal confrontation. The ability to talk to animals was far too bizarre to just bring up out of the blue. If Sherlock wanted the information, he could always ask.
--

a/n for the record, i despise LJ character limits. Seriously, they suck

OMG! I already love this so much! Harpy rocks. >:)

This is genius!
It's great that Sherlock doesn't ask questions, trying to deduce everything instead; how typical of him. It's like a new, interesting case for him, isn't it? :)
Maybe they could bribe Harpy with food?
Can't wait to read what happens next.

Even cats know that John and Sherlock belong together.

More please!

...and John is a science teacher.

Sherlock is really, really bad at his job.

There was a lovely, lovely, heart-breaking prompt a while back about Mycroft being so lonely he'd hire prostitutes just to spend some time with him. I'd like to take that a step further and have it be that one time he accidentally gets Sherlock somehow. How does Sherlock react to realizing his brother is so desperate for companionship he'll pay a random stranger for it?

I'm looking more for the angst/comfort than the sex and so am fine with either a gen brotherly love fic or Holmescest if you want them to actually sleep together. It's all fine. ;)

John stepped through the doorway, glad to be back home after a particularly long shift. And then he stopped in his tracks.

“Sherlock.” John muttered, staring at what could only be his flatmates fault. “Sherlock!” He called more loudly, accusation in his voice. “Why are there pigeons here?” And there were quite a lot of pigeons, too. All milling about and pecking at piles of bird treats strewn all over the floor.

“Experiment, John. Obviously.” Sherlock called from his position on the couch. He had a laptop out- John's, of course. John held his breath for a moment, exhaling in a large sigh. Calmly, he hung his jacket and picked his way over the milling birds- all sending impressions of confused contentment. At least John wasn't the only confused one here.

“And what experiment could possibly require covering our flat with birds?” John accidentally stepped on a pile of the bird treats, sending them skittering. “And seeds? Honestly, do you have any idea how big a mess this will make? Has already made?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “If I told you, it would alter my results. Introduce bias. You do know what bias is, I hope.”

John was incredibly unimpressed. “Look, normally I'm all for your experiments, but this-”

“No you're not.” Sherlock cut in, his expression petulant. John furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “You are never 'all for' my experiments.” He clarified.

“Okay, you're right about that,” John conceded. “ But you have to admit I'm fairly tolerant for the most part. I mean, sure I don't appreciate having the microwave taken out of commission-”

“I replaced that!” Sherlock huffed.

“Regardless,” John's voice raised over the interruption. “ I've long since accepted your experiments as a matter of fact, regardless of my fondness for it. But this is ridiculous, Sherlock. I'm putting my foot down, here.” He gestured around him. The room was already cluttered in normal situations, but now it felt downright claustrophobic with so many feathered intruders.

“But John, this is important! I found where the rats had been nesting, there was evidence of dozens living under the house. But they all left at once, coinciding right when you dealt with the problem, and with nothing to show how you managed it! And consequently, after that the residents of nearby buildings started purchasing rat poison and traps, coinciding perfectly with the amount of time it would take for that size of a colony to resettle.”

John blinked, and opened his mouth. “Don't you dare say a word, John. You'll ruin everything.”

“Excuse me!?” Ruin everything? John was used to Sherlock's dramatics but this was a bit much.

“Yes, John. Ruin. I don't have enough information. But mark my words, I'm getting to the bottom of this.”

“Oh my god Sherlock.” John groaned. “You had to get out flat covered in pigeon droppings for that? You couldn't just ask? “

A withering glare was Sherlock's only response. Of course, stupid question. “So what, you want me to get rid of them, too?”, John rubbed a hand over his eyes. Honestly, he'd rather eat something and watch the telly, but that wasn't much of an option right now.

“Like I said, that would alter my results. Do keep up, John.” Sherlock snapped. That was another stupid question, then.

“Well,” John straightened. There was nothing for it, when it came to unreasonable flat mates. “If you want to know more about it, you can do something that doesn't ruin the flooring. I'm telling them to leave anyways.”

“Wait, no-John!” Sherlock flailed in some bizarre attempt to stop John from saying anything else, nearly falling off the couch and actually dropping the laptop onto the ground. It hit a pigeon's foot, causing the bird to squawk and burst into the air and smack right into Sherlock's face in a flurry of wings. Sherlock yelped, and John couldn't help cackling at the sight.

“You see why they need to go now?” John chuckled. Sherlock glared murderously, but they'd been friends long enough that it had no effect.

“Right, then.” John coughed. He hadn't done this in front of an attentive audience before. Then again, when it was all in your head, there was hardly anything for an audience to notice, no matter how attentive. But of course, if there was anyone who could pick up on mind reading, it was Sherlock.

::Excuse me, pigeons?:: John extended his voice. He could tell that he had reached far enough to get more than just the birds in the house. Thankfully though, John knew by now how to make sure he targeted only the species he wanted to.

::WHAT WHAT WHAT MIND SPEAK MIND:: the voices clamoured, and John had to bite back a groan. This was why he hated dealing with groups of animals. The questions and accusations and excitement bled directly into his mind.

::Shut! Up!:: John projected forcefully. It wasn't their fault that he was being rude. But John couldn't help it, he was just not in the mood for a pleasant chat. ::You will all leave this building immediately!:: That the pigeons were shocked was an understatement. The sudden fear was nearly palpable as every bird in the flat froze.

It wasn't that John could control animals, per se. Rather, he could suggest. Many, like the rats, were content to follow simple requests. Others required a bit of mental force. Even others, Harpy chief among them, were so resistant that all but John's strongest suggestions washed off. Pigeons, thankfully, were prey creatures accustomed to living in flocks. They followed suggestions easily, and John was pressing rather hard.

Even Sherlock had stopped in place, staring wide eyed at the absolute stillness. John broke the moment by stepping over to the doorway and stomping down the stairs. He yanked the door wide open. ::Leave, now!:: The flat erupted into flapping wings as the birds fought over themselves to pile out and tumble down the stairs. They crowded at the bottom before scrambling out the front and taking off into the sky.

Sherlock had whipped around the corner at the same time as the birds so he could get a better look at what John was doing. As a result, he was covered in stray feathers. Sherlock gave John a squinted look that was ruined by the fluffy white down feathers caught in his curls.

Now that the building was quiet once more, John felt somewhat sheepish as he closed the door and walked back up to their flat. Sherlock crossed his arms in irritation, but didn't say anything.

Of course, when John got another look at the mess that had been made, his anger sparked again. “You're cleaning this up, I hope you realize.”

Instead of confirming or denying it, Sherlock huffed. “Those pigeons were not trained. I caught them myself. When you've eliminated the impossible..” Sherlock sighed. “But that doesn't tell me what to do when nothing possible even remains!” Sherlock whirled, pointing an accusatory finger at John. “This isn't drugs, it isn't an elaborate trick! There is nothing of any probability left that I can think of, and I can think of quite a few things!”

Sherlock looked so frazzled that John couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. It was almost cute, really. Okay fine, it was downright adorable. But also sad. “Just get yourself cleaned up, Sherlock. I've always been able to talk to animals, and I've never figured out how it works either.”

He actually gaped in response, and John had to hold back a giggle at the expression. “Talk to animals? John, do you have any idea how-” He cut himself off at John's raised eyebrow. “Fine. I'll clean up. But this is not over.”

Sherlock stomped towards the bathroom, pausing once more before he entered. “And you cheated, John! You weren't supposed to tell me!”

“You never would have gotten it!” John actually laughed now, picking his way through the pigeon refuse to the kitchen. Tea would be more than welcome at this point.

“..You don't know that!” But the slight hesitance in Sherlock's voice was telling. John was sure he'd regret revealing anything soon enough, there was no way Sherlock would just leave a mystery like this until it had been fully mapped out, explored, and turned into something boring. But for now, he would sit down and enjoy his tea and the memory of Sherlock getting brained by a pigeon. Maybe John should invest in a mind palace exercise too, if it meant that he could make sure he never forget that particular moment.

-

thanks for the comments! It's nice to know people are reading and enjoying, even if this is practically a crackfic!

and once again. I'm a dumbass with livejournal and forgot to change the subject line. Oh well. Seriously though, I didn't know people were actually tracking this meme since the prompting is rather slow. I'm glad people enjoy it! This is actually my first Sherlock fic, I avoided the show for ages because of just how much people make fun of the fandom on tumblr. Like, I get that superwholock or whatever has a very large young teen following, and that's going to introduce a lot of embarrassing behaviour, but it kind of sucks the sheer amount of scorn there is, because it prevented me from seeing something that, while not my favourite show ever, is rather nice. Even now, I feel almost guilty, more so than on being on any other fandom's kinkmeme.

Of course, Sherlock would do something as crazy as this. :)

i look forward to reading more of this.

Sherlock is so mind blown, lol. =))

He can't be worse than somee of the 'professional' ones i have seen. One of mine once told me it was my own fault if i felt suicidal, so...

(Also, Mycroft thinks he is a timelord...)

4)

It figured that John scarcely got a day before being descended upon.

“John. John, no. You don't understand how impossible that is.”

“Believe me, Sherlock. I'm well aware. That doesn't stop me from being able to do so.”

“No, but John.” Here, his name was stretched. “Animals do not have the mental capacity for speech, verbal of otherwise. The communication centres in their brains are NOT advanced enough.” Sherlock huffed, looking actually tired for once. “Even if psychic mind links existed, which I also doubt but am forced to include as a possibility, animals can not reason like that. The closest we have are gorillas with sign language, but even they are unable to comprehend past a toddler's level and that's with extensive training on our closest evolutionary relative...”

“Yes, I know.” John finally looked up from his laptop. “I am a doctor, remember? I may not be a brain surgeon, but I am aware of what factors set us apart from other species.”

“But John” Sherlock wheedled. “It doesn't make any sense! Either animals are excellent actors and always act below their capabilities even in the face of death, or you just bestow some temporary state of sentience when you 'communicate'” Sherlock laced his voice with disgust at the term. “Either option is completely ridiculous.”

“Look, as far as I've been aware, there's some sort of shared network or something. Animals in a group of the same species tend to bleed together. They can have differing opinions, but it's more like one person who can't make up their mind, than an actual gathering.”

“That's still... wait..” Sherlock paused, eyebrows furrowing. “Quantum physics, perhaps? Entanglement is a recent discovery. I don't know enough about the subject, though. Laptop?”

John raised an eyebrow. “I'm using it now.”

“I need it, John. To research quantum physics.”

“You can research later, then. It's my laptop.”

“But I need it now, John. It's already been too long since I've been able to deduce anything. I need more information, and since you won't let me run any more experiments, I am forced to research.” Sherlock stared at John blankly, as if stopping just short of reaching out and making grabby hands.

John sighed. “Why don't you take a case? There has to be something more interesting than this.”

Immediately, Sherlock looked affronted. “Never. What could be more interesting than this? This is easily past any scaling system, and plus..” Sherlock cut himself off, looking sharply away. John was about to ask what it was, but then Sherlock coughed and came back on track. “There hasn't been anything above a four in the past week, you know that.”

He continued to stare at John. Sadly, they both knew who would cave first. John finally saved his draft and closed the web page, wordlessly handing it over. He still didn't know why Sherlock always seemed to refuse using his own computer. It was frustrating, but by now John was used to it.

Instead of worrying, John watched the telly. Sherlock remained a silent statue, only moving to type something, or to scroll and click. Then John left for his shift, and came back to Sherlock in the exact same position. The only proof that he had moved at all were the fresh nicotine patches.

“Have you eaten anything? Or at least had something to drink?” John didn't expect a coherent answer, and didn't receive one. He barely even managed to get some tea into Sherlock before winding down for the night. Naturally, Sherlock made no attempt to go to bed.

It was sometime two days later that Sherlock eventually emerged from his research binge. Very suddenly, he stretched his back out like a cat and stalked to the doorway. John didn't notice right away, assuming that he had gotten up for another patch or to use the washroom, as rarely as he did so. But then, “Come on, John. Let's go.”

John looked up to see Sherlock pulling on his coat. “Where to? Finally taking a case?”

“Of course not. I've exhausted the internet's resources, and as loathe as I am to admit it, we don't have the facilities for quantum research. Even if we did, the field is not advanced enough to be able to confirm or deny my hypothesis.”

“And that has to do with.. what?”

“Really, John.” Sherlock levelled him with one of his looks. The one that said he may or may not be unfavourably comparing John's intelligence with a rock. Or worse, Anderson. “We're going to run some tests with your communication abilities. You did say not to do anymore inside.”

Well. “I suppose I can't argue with that.” John stood up, making for his own jacket. There really wasn't any option when it came to Sherlock and a case.

“So, what' the test you want to run, anyways?” John asked once they were in the cab.

“Simple. You've told me about the difference between talking to one subject versus multiple. I've witnessed a group event twice, even if once was after the fact. All the subjects have been feral as well as generally stupid. I need to see how different it is when you talk to something more intelligent, as well as domesticated. Something with experience listening to humans and an individual.”

John raised an eyebrow. “If it's just an individual, there's this cat named Harpy down the street-”

“It gave you an actual name? From a past owner?” Sherlock perked in excitement.

“Er, no, actually that's just what I've been calling her. She's the one responsible for the cat problem we had a while back.”

Somehow, Sherlock became even more interested. “Cat's are solitary creatures, they shouldn't be able to organize themselves like that, or listen to anything as specific as 'harass these specific humans'. Crows have that ability, so it's not impossible, but they are flock creatures. Cat's simply don't work together like that.”

John quirked his lips into a wry grin. “That's what I thought. But where there's a will there's a way, when it comes to all this. From my experience, anyways.”

“John.” Sherlock gave him and offended look. “How can you be dismissive at a time like now? This is another piece of evidence showing that you manage to somehow bestow sentience onto unintelligent creatures! Or at least, you engage more of some nonphysical shared mental interface that lives through and controls animals. The possibilities are-” Sherlock cut himself off as the car rolled to a stop. “Ah, we're here.”

“Right, where is here, again?” John asked as he clamoured out of the taxi. Only to see the front of Scotland Yard standing in front of him.

“I'd hope you would recognize the place by now.” Sherlock grinned. John snorted, it was obvious Sherlock was teasing him.

“Fine, I walked into that one.” John gave the building another look over. “Why are we here, then? You said you wanted to test the.. animal thing? I mean, if you want to take a case anyways, I'm all for it-”

“Don't be ridiculous, John. You of all people should realize I don't change my mind so quickly when it comes to interesting topics. Now come, we need to get Lestrade to give us a police dog.”

“A-what- Sherlock, no!” John protested, even as he automatically started trailing after Sherlock's long strides. “We can't just bully Lestrade into lending us a dog!”

“'Bullying' is such a vulgar term. I prefer 'convincing'.” Was all that John got from Sherlock.

Predictably, Lestrade protested, loudly. Even more predictably, Donovan strolled by at just the right moment to butt in with confusion and yet another “freak” comment. John sighed, resisting the urge to press a hand to his brow when Sherlock shot back with his usual overly personal deductions.

The only not predictable thing about the exchange was that Lestrade caved quicker than usual. “Look, for what might be the first time, I actually do have sniffer dogs in my division. But you have to take a few cases, yeah? We're swamped here, and if you want to be there for the exciting cases you need to take something less glamourous once in a while.”

Sherlock sniffed, squaring his shoulders. “One, then. Hand it over.” John's eyes nearly bulged with how quickly he had acquiesced. Lestrade was worse off, actually gaping. Wordlessly, he passed off the report currently in his hands.

Sherlock looked down at the folder, eyes scanning quickly. His lips pursed slightly, the way they often did when he was focused. John tore himself from the sight, realizing that thinking too much on his friend's lips was a bit not good.

((a/n Mycroft just told me "check your coat" maybe he's been spying throughout the whole fic lmao))

“It's the boyfriend, the male friend, or male friend's boyfriend. Check the home again. There should be beer in the fridge. Check the fingerprints for your best suspect. For better proof, check the saliva of a recently used bottle, most likely in the recycling. Typical violence case, the killer isn't normally a drunk, most likely came into recent hardships. Can't confirm anything else with the pathetically small amount of information gathered here. Now, the dogs?”

Lestrade paused for a moment, recovering in the face of familiarity. “A-alright then.” He took the folder, jotting down a quick note. “I still don't know why on earth you need to see a police dog, certainly not for a case since you haven't taken any..”

“I just took one now, that was our deal, was it not?” Sherlock scowled. “You never said I had to tell you why.” He cocked his head slightly. “I'm not planning to harm them, if that is the concern.”

“No, no, of course not!” Lestrade protested. “I don't think you're the type to abuse animals, or if you were it wouldn't make sense to go after police dogs. I'm just.. confused.”

“Obviously.” Sherlock scoffed under his breath, and John held back a snort of laughter. He was usually more sympathetic to Lestrade, but the exchange was just funny. Rolling his eyes, Lestrade reached for the phone on his desk. After dialing a number, he picked it up.

“Hey Sam, it's Greg.” Lestrade paused. “No, don't worry. I have someone here who wants to take a look at the dogs..” A longer pause. “Well, you know Sherlock, right? Or at least, you've heard of him?” Lestrade wrinkled his nose after a moment. “Oh, he is not THAT bad, and you must know how hard it is for me to say something like that... he just needs to see them for a bit, he's not going to murder them-” Lestrade let out a long sigh. “Unstable, maybe, but not like that.”

John wanted to frown at the obviously negative things being said, but Sherlock looked hardly offended. In fact, he had a little smile on, clearly finding the ordeal amusing. Or maybe he just thought Lestrade being in the position to defend him was funny. “Look, am I the type of man to work with someone who would do that? If he wanted to do something to your dogs, I'd think he'd be a little more creative than asking to see them first. Now would you please just cooperate for now, the sooner this is done with, the sooner he'll stop pestering me.”

Now Sherlock really did laugh, a quiet but deep chuckle that sent a stutter to John's heart and a faint blush to his cheeks. Lestrade hung the phone up with a groan. “Go ahead, I assume you know where they're kept. Sam promised not to do anything, but for the love of god please make it quick.”

Sherlock made no such promises, instead merely nodding and sweeping off, smile still on his lips. “I'm sure we'll be quick,” John promised before turning to follow.

The actual dogs ended up being a delight. The officer in charge of them, presumably named Sam, only allowed them near a pair of German Shepherds. “They aren't show dogs, mind.” The officer glared at them both with mistrust.

Sherlock completely ignored the man, instead relaying the questions he wanted to John. John did his best to translate to the dogs, and report back. They were a bit wary at being contacted, having absolute loyalty to their handlers. At the same time though, they were happy to answer questions.

It was a bit interesting, talking to trained animals. Dogs were clever, and noticed more than other animals, but they still didn't notice things quite like a human would. When John asked them how they compared scents and kept them separate, he was only given blank confusion in response.

::Can you give the other dogs a message?:: John asked at Sherlock's insistence, much to the great confusion of the officer.

::Message? Yes, we can. Why, though?:: John repeated dutifully.

Sherlock almost jumped with excitement. “He just asked a question without prompting! He wants to know why, John! That's extraordinary! And they can spread information through to different bodies in the network?” His eyes narrowed in thought. “Tell them to tell every dog possible to harass and bother Anderson whenever they come across him.”

“Sherlock!” John admonished. Then he remembered how awful Anderson had been when they were dealing with the cat problem. He had been absolutely incessant in his teasing, somehow becoming even more rude than normal. “You know what, never mind.” And John did just that, providing a complete mental image. When the dogs responded with familiarity, returning a memory of Anderson's scent, John knew the message had been received.

“Good, let's go. I need to compile my data.” Sherlock nodded to the dogs rather than the officer. John sent them a mental farewell.

“You know Sherlock, that might be the first time I've ever been given a scent over the mental link. It was rather interesting.”

“A scent?” Sherlock whirled on him. “Fascinating. How is it processed? Do you perceive it in the same way the dogs did? But humans don't have the same complexity with scent processing. It should have come in a way that is compatible with human abilities. But, what equivalents would be made? A dog's scent processors are so much more advanced, that whatever you got might be wildly different..” And he started grilling John.

As he answered to the best of his abilities, John couldn't help but grin. Sherlock was happy, excited and engaged- his emotions were infectious. And they hadn't even needed a serial killer this time.

Awesome!
Anderson is in sooo much trouble now. :D

I really want to write this.

OP here: It would make me very happy. Thank you! :)

I love to see these two so happy.

<3

5)

“Now Sherlock, please remember what I asked.” John nervously looked to his flatmate and back to the rather unassuming country house in front of them.

“Yes, of course John. They are not clients and I should be as courteous as I can manage with them. That means no strings of deductions unless prompted, and even when prompted I should stop as soon as they seem visibly uncomfortable. Failing all else, I should shut up and follow your lead for once.” Sherlock repeated John's words perfectly. “Really, John, I'm not a toddler incapable of politeness.”

“No, that's true,” John admitted. “You just never seem to want to be polite, and I just wanted to make sure you were for today. These are relatives that I don't know very well.”

“Obviously. I'm the one that tracked them down. I'm lucky you even had names to go off of.” And that was true enough. It figured the second John commented on his communication ability being a family trait, Sherlock wanted to track down whoever else had it to compare notes. “Stupid,” Sherlock had said to himself before, for not thinking to ask in the excitement. To be fair to him, he'd asked John if Harry or their parents had the ability- which they hadn't. John hadn't thought to mention at the time that his deceased grandmother and living great aunt had the power as well, being the ones who instructed John. Of course, John barely thought of them at all, and the teaching hadn't been much more than explaining a few basics and calling it magic.

So, with trepidation John stood in front of his great aunt Penny's house, where she lived with her husband. There were even a couple children that John had never known about, long since grown up and moved out by now.

Of course, Sherlock had no such hesitations, smoothly walking up to the front and knocking. There were several shouts and stomping before the door finally burst open. “This better not be some Jehova's Witne- ohh.” The elderly woman gave them a double glance. “Well, I certainly hope handsome men such as yourselves aren't a part of that crowd.”

John nearly choked on air, even as Sherlock calmly shook his head. “I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my partner, and your relative, John Watson. We are here on an investigation, if you recall.”

Aunt Penny stared into space for a moment, considering. And then she suddenly beamed. “Ah yes, I remember that call. Come in, dears. And oh John, look at you. I didn't recognize you at all.”

“Err, that's alright. We haven't spoken in ages.”

“And such a shame, that!” aunt Penny smacked a friendly hand on John's back, ushering them in. “Dear! You wouldn't mind going for a short trip, would you? I've magic business with my relative here.”

An older man set down his newspaper, glancing up. “Magic business, eh? Haven't had any of that in years. Still private as ever, innit?” He was complaining, but in a clearly light hearted manner as he hauled himself up. “The things I do for you, honey.” He grumbled fondly.

Aunt Penny stepped over to kiss him on the cheek as he pulled on a jacket. “I'll make it up to you dear, cross my heart. Why don't you check on the Pickett's? If you make a big enough nuisance of yourself, I bet they'll take out the cookies.”

The man laughed and waved his goodbye. Aunt Penny shut the door behind him, suddenly turning more serious. “Right then, on to business. Take a seat, if you'd like?”

Gingerly, John sat on the nearest couch. With impeccable grace, Sherlock settled in beside him, while aunt Penny took the loveseat facing them. “First of all, I need to apologize, John. I knew you had the ability of course, but I never considered that your training would need to be picked up after my dear sister Betty passed.”

“That's.. quite alright. I remember the basics, and it honestly isn't something that I've used often.”

“yes, I can understand that. Going to the city, fighting a war, there wouldn't be much cause to. But that brings me to the other thing...” She trailed off, looking John straight in the eyes. ::I'm certain the one thing you did know was not to tell anyone. Why did you let this man find out?::

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