Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is owned by BBC and was created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

Warning(s): Stupidity due to my lack of sleep and inability to stop this plot bunny. Small use of the word 'bloody' and abuse of the natural predator instincts of our poor werewolf John.

Sherlock

One-Shot

Squeaky-Squeaky

Summary: Sherlock, consulting vampire, is tracking down a murderer. This leads him and John, his werewolf companion, to a pet store of all things. Sherlock starts becoming annoyed until he discovers the squeaky toys.

Honestly, Sherlock should have known he'd be going to a pet store of all things. Lestrade had called them earlier in the week saying he had a case that would have been open and shut had it not been for the evidence refusing to match up. A young man had been murdered in his flat and it looked like a simple human on human murder. Until they noticed too much dandruff that couldn't have been from the victim nor a dog they owned, seeing as the victim didn't own a dog or cat. However, despite the dandruff, there were no indications of an animal or a were having been in the flat, let alone being the killer. The killing had been too clean, for starters, plus the fact that the victim was known for being terrified of weres and would not have let one into his flat without a through search.

(This revelation slightly pissed Sherlock off having become quite attached to John, his own werewolf friend. Not that he'd ever admit it. Bad enough John knew he had a weakness for blood sweets and blood jam. He didn't need his cold exterior being compromised as well.)

The dandruff, after analysis, showed to be from some sort of canine, but it was too contaminated to tell what from. That, and the severe lack of the victim's pet sort of indicated a murder slash pet napping. Either the killer was a were somehow, unlikely since weres weren't known for keeping pets and the severe lack of signs, or the killer had a companion that was a form of canine, were or otherwise that had been in the flat before, or had helped in the murder of the victim.

So here he was, being followed by his own canine companion (though he'd never say that aloud lest he want John to order garlic bread. Again.) through a pet store for information on the possible snake that was taken.

"Tell me again, why is a kidnapped snake the key?" Said canine asked, eyeing a bag of dog biscuits. (Minor bags under the eyes, slight growl to the voice, hunched shoulders, and visible frown marks. Another break-up. Sherlock wondered if he should get teriyaki or beef flavor this time.)

"Because, there's obviously a reason the snake was taken, John," Sherlock said,"I just need to find out what."

"You don't think maybe it's because he or she just liked snakes?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Though it is on my list, it's only about halfway up. I highly doubt it." John raised a brow.

"And how long is that list, exactly?"

"I have a list of about fifteen reasons. Him liking 'just liking snakes' is number 7.5."

Sherlock wasn't sure if John's silence was because he couldn't even fathom three other reasons why a person would take a snake much less fourteen, or if it was understanding. Sherlock was betting more on the former than the latter, and he never made bets unless he was right (which was always).

The two of them continued down the aisle and Sherlock had to wonder why there was so many dog products. He wasn't even sure werewolves had this many choices. What did it matter if the shampoo used organic herbal essences or contained a 'special chemical' for 'extra floof'? The dogs were just going to go back outside and roll around in the mud and unknown excrement anyway. Where was the bloody reptile aisle? Perhaps an employee could tell him, heaven forbid he actually need one, but Sherlock was starting to get annoyed by this point.

Sherlock gave a growl and spun around intending to rant at John because John was a better sounding board than his skull ever was. However, he didn't notice his coat flaring out and hitting some wayward balls, causing them to roll along the floor. A certain were watching them with intent eyes.

Squeak!

Sherlock stopped before he got to speak. He stared as he looked at his friend, who was now hunched on the floor, his hands covering something and holding it there like prey. John's hands came up revealing a little, red ball. John's blue eyes watched it closely, as if daring it to move. Sherlock was surprised by how predatory John looked. The doctor then took one hand to pick up the ball and clutched it. The poor toy let out a patchetic wheeze, probably used to the weaker jaws of pet dogs rather than the crushing force of a werewolf.

"You need to be more careful," John chastised, throwing the toy back into the basket,"We could get into trouble if you make a mess. Especially since, last I checked, vampires would make terrible pets." Sherlock said nothing. Instead he observed John picking up the runaway balls (and clearly ignoring the way a certain vampire did not offer any help). He seemed to be doing it very carefully, taking his time to grab a toy, one by one, and giving a firm press. Curious, Sherlock grabbed a toy out of the basket, crushed a small noise out of it, and tossed it before John could turn his back.

Immediately the werewolf's head perked at the sound and his eyes tracked the little rubber ball as it bounced lightly in front of him. Sherlock also caught the sight of enlarged pupils and the shifting of John's haunches and gave a grin.

John was a little more aggressive picking that one up, so the detective waited. Once all the balls were picked up, John wiped his hands on his pants, satisfied.

Squeak!

John froze. His eyes darted to the blue, polka-dotted ball, then up to the face of Sherlock. He gave another squeeze, ensuring he had John's attention.

"You like these." It wasn't a question. John stiffened.

"No. Their squeakers just annoy me, is all." Then Sherlock squeezed the damned thing again, and John had to look at it.

"No. Your pupils are dilating, John. Legs adjusting, like you're ready to hunt." Sherlock could practically hear the blood beginning to pump faster through his friend's veins but decided to leave that out. He wanted John's focus on the ball, not his deductions for once.

John opened his mouth, no doubt ready to deny it, when Sherlock threw the noisy piece of rubber.

The werewolf darted after it, a blur of oatmeal jumper and blond hair. John launched himself at the toy and pounced. The poor ball gave a tiny noise of peril before John's jaws snapped over it. Small little squeaks of death rolled out as John growled in playful victory, tossing his head to ensure the abused toy was properly subdued.

Then he heard a snort and reality crashed back down on him.

John turned and glared. The effect was very much ruined, though, by the ball of blue, spotted rubber in his mouth.

Sherlock, meanwhile, was too busy cackling to even notice the attempt.

For those who are curious, they did eventually find the reptile aisle, but only after Sherlock had stopped throwing squeaky toy after squeaky toy at John, just to see which ones he went after. After Sherlock harassed an employee for their books on who bought what snakes they were back to rushing around to find the killer. After the case had been concluded and Sherlock had come home to the sounds of John giggling and bouncing a familiar rubber ball off his bedroom walls, well, Sherlock wasn't going to say anything. He did wonder if he should ask Mrs. Hudson if she wanted a video, though.

So, here's another story set in the same universe as my other one-shot Don't Go!, but you don't have to read that one, obviously, to understand this one. Just another silly little thing I wrote since I couldn't get this universe out of my head. Hopefully you all enjoyed it as I had fun writing it. Yes, I abused John's predator instincts for the sake of humor. I thought it'd be funny. Don't worry, seeing as I'm liking where this universe is going, Sherlock will be getting his pretty soon if John has any say in it. ;)

Don't know when, but sometime. Perhaps I'll start bringing the rest of the cast in on the hijinks as well. We can't leave poor Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson out, can we? Any and all comments and critique welcome, as usual. Now if you'll excuse, I'll be going to sleep.

Sincerely,

Fallen L. Angel