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.
5 times John talked to animals and 1 time he talked to Sherlock 1/6
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.
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.