For my dear friend, Aishwarya.
It really wasn't a big deal to John whether Sherlock was standing on the furniture. He always ignored it when the detective would perch on the back of his designated chair, his feet, barefoot or otherwise, resting on the seat.
He did, however, find it grating on his nerves when Sherlock, straight faced and fluid in motion, suddenly stood, backed onto his chair, turned, and lunged to the sofa.
"Sherlock," John said at length. "What are you doing?"
The man bounced to the edge of the sofa, preparing to leap to the door. "Use your eyes, John. There is a rat. There is a rat on the floor." He heaved himself over the arm of the sofa and tumbled into the hall.
As soon as Sherlock's twisting, flying, form was out of sight, John heaved out a great breath and shut his laptop, sliding it into the gap between his cushion and the arm of the chair. A small squeak from the far corner of the room and he remembered exactly what his flatmate was on about.
Really, John thought as he stood and made his way to the kitchen, a rat was nothing to get so worked up over.
He reached for one of the yellow gloves under the sink.
Correction: a rat was nothing to get so worked up over if you were Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective and by far the most intelligent man that John had ever met.
John carefully rinsed the rubber glove under the tap, positive that any chemicals left over were diluted enough to be harmless. He slid it over his hand and retreated back into empty the sitting room. Sherlock still hadn't reappeared to see if John was doing anything about the rodent, then. He only stopped in the doorway long enough to wonder if Sherlock was even in the flat, but the sound of a cupboard door clipping the wall told him that, no Sherlock hadn't left. Actually, it seemed that he had retreated into the bathroom.
"All right, Sherlock?" John called.
The shifting of items under the sink stopped for a second. What was he doing now? "Have you got it yet?" Sherlock responded.
John looked over at the corner where he had pinpointed the rodent. It had chosen the corner that housed their small Christmas tree - the very same tree that Sherlock had commanded John not to bring into their home and remained adamant that it was ruining his thought process with its pine smell. John still didn't understand that excuse, but he still managed to talk his friend into allowing it. So it stood small in the far corner next to that blasted smiley face and had a tiny string of lights wrapped around it.
"John," Sherlock snapped, pulling him back to the situation. Right. The rat.
"Not yet. I'll let you know."
He could hear Sherlock huff an impatient breath as he returned to rifling the contents of the sink cupboard.
John weaved his way around the coffee table and the stack of books that Sherlock had insisted they would need to solve their last case. He was correct in thinking that, of course, but it would be wonderful if he could move them somewhere where John wouldn't trip over them when going to charge his laptop.
John bent to his knees and peered under the tree. Another squeak from the far corner, and he saw it. The russet fur of the rat and it's round black eyes gleamed with the colors of the Christmas lights as they faded in and out on the tree above.
"You've given my flatmate a bit of a scare," John told it. The rat just continued to hover around it's corner. "Let's see about getting you outside, shall we?" As he said it, the thought of such a small animal outside in the winter weather made him think of just taking it to the shelter. He mentally shrugged to himself. He had to go out and purchase some food for Christmas eve before tomorrow, anyway; may as well get it done in one night.
Slowly, making sure that his right arm was blocking off any chance of escape from the other side of the tree, John reached out with his left hand and gently dragged the animal toward him. It didn't react much - didn't even try to evade the grasp of his fingers - so he pulled it close enough to scoop it up and sat back on his calves. The rat just rested in his glove-clad palm and stared around.
John didn't know much about animals, but he at least assumed that one like this would try to keep away from him, wouldn't it?
"For-" John heard Sherlock mutter under his breath as he stormed into the room, his robe fluttering in behind him. "Have you got it yet? Ah." His demeanor went from peevish to interested in an instant.
"How did you get it to be so pliant?"
John blinked back down at the creature. "I don't know. Just doesn't seem to care." He looked back up at Sherlock. "Why?"
"Rats are often used in experimental testing, John," Sherlock said and John shifted so the rat was slightly out of Sherlock's sight.
"No, Sherlock. You do enough experiments on me and the poor officers at the Yard as it is; no rats. No live test subjects that aren't... human. Okay?" John could only imagine what the detective would be willing to put an animal through. He wouldn't torture it, of course, but God knew he wasn't against putting it through some horrible mind games, at least.
Sherlock watched John for a few seconds and huffed his "You are John and I listen to John sometimes but I don't have to like it" sigh for what must have been the thousandth time.
"Fine."
Accepting the clipped agreement for what it was, John stood, rat still in hand. "If I didn't think that you would let the temptation get to you, I might even suggest keeping it." He examined the creature's ruffled fur. "After getting it looked at first."
"Should I be insulted by your lack of confidence in me, John?" Sherlock didn't sound offended.
"It's not a lack of confidence, Sherlock. It's that I have more than enough confidence that you would find a way around any ground rules I could set if we kept the rat."
His friend just smirked up at him from where he had sprawled across the couch.
So, the story behind this one... Well a few months back I saw a gif set on tumblr depicting Sherlock jumping around the flat, nattering on about a rat. I believe that the set was made in honor of the "Rat, Wedding, Bow" keywords that were released a while ago. I would give a link to the post, but the one that I saved for it was deleted.
The lovely girl that I wrote this for has been so kind to me since we started talking, and I felt that I should show her my gratitude in some way. Thus, my fic of holiday-fluff-that-isn't-fluff-or-very-holiday-related-and-has-no-plot. I hope you enjoyed it a little.
Happy Holidays, my friends. Merry Christmas, Aishwarya.