Hallo! This is a Pocket!lock RP that me and the lovely SherlockianReaperess have been working on for a while, and is still a work in progress. Updates should be fairly quick, so if you like, follow or favourite, as I'll probably be updating it several times a week. It gets a bit dark, I must warn you, but is in essence a mix of crack, angst, humour, and fluff. Chapters involving darker themes will be labeled at the beginning as a warning, so if you'd like to skip to the end of those chapters, there will be a summary posted. Rated M to be safe, as we don't quite know where it will go.

Anyways, enjoy! :)


Sherlock was immensely glad that John had left for what he had at first deemed a 'pointless and dull' medical convention taking place outside of London. The doctor would be gone for a few weeks, and while at first Sherlock had been rather annoyed that he wouldn't have his flatmate as an assistant on his cases he was now glad he wouldn't be around to chastise the detective for the latest mess he was finding himself in.

He'd been experimenting with unidentifiable chemicals he'd found on a previous case he and John had been working on prior to the latter's departure. They'd infiltrated a facility for his brother to investigate the threat of a rat possibly having wormed his way in, and in retaliation of having been forced to take the case Sherlock had swiped several of the chemicals from the facility to test and study later. For once he'd actually been cautious as he'd experimented as he'd honestly not had a clue what the compounds were as they were entirely experimental, but a mixture of the chemicals had ended up spilling onto himself despite his efforts. The combination of fumes and splashes of the various liquids had the detective passing out soon after. The real problem, however, was the state he found himself in when he woke...and found everything quite a bit larger than himself.

In theory, it should have been impossible, but Sherlock knew that standing around and claiming that the chemical mishap couldn't have reduced his size to doll-like proportions was pointless when the evidence was clear. After doing a quick patchwork job to clothe himself and with some physical effort of getting up to where he'd placed his phone on the arm of his chair. He was planning to text /someone/ for assistance as he couldn't very well remain alone in such a vulnerable state when he might as well be some toy for anyone who walked in to play with. So when he heard the steps coming up the stairs, ones that he'd heard on a very limited number of occasions before, the detective's eyes widened as he quickly scrambled for a place to hide.

Jim's contact had informed him of Sherlock's confiscation of the chemicals. And he knew exactly what would happen when Sherlock experimented. So as he walked up the steps to 221B, he was wearing a wide grin. He knows what he'll find, and playing with the man in this state will be simply wonderful. He pushes open the door, eyes immediately taking in the flat's state of disarray. Sure enough, the chemicals are out and no one is in sight. "Sher-lyyyy. Come out and pla-ay," he singsongs, stepping further into the flat and looking around for the no-doubt minuscule detective.

Sherlock didn't like fear. It was an awful emotion that dulled the mind and meant a loss of control. Which really was a bit of a vicious cycle because the detective feared losing control. He swallowed, heart racing in his chest as he watched on from under the sofa. It was the only place he'd been able to scamper off to before Jim had sauntered into the flat. Judging by the other's obvious glee, Sherlock had a fairly good idea that the man already knew the state that he was currently in and fully intended to take advantage.

Jim walks over to the table, smirking at the sight. Small little footprints in the chemicals, going down the table legs and over to the couch. Bingo. He walks over leisurely, flipping the couch carelessly so as not to give Sherlock an out. His eyes immediately find the detective, who's merely centimetres tall. He grins, crouching and grabbing Sherlock by the collar, picking him up. "Hello, darling."

There's absolutely nowhere to run, and utterly no way to actually escape given his doll-like proportions. A small sound escaped him when he was easily picked up and he could do nothing about it but stare at Jim with wide eyes. For once utterly silent as his tongue felt like lead. The whole situation was enough of a shock without the criminal of all people there to make it all the worse.

He sets the man down on his other palm, examining him with obvious amusement. A fingernail scratches Sherlock's scalp, and he grins. "Oh, aren't you just adorable?" he purrs mockingly. "So tiny. It's cute."

It took a brief moment to get his balance before Sherlock was ducking away from the finger -or attempting to- with an indignant hiss. "This is above you, isn't it Jim?" Sherlock finally said, voice deceptively calm though a light tremor had subtly snuck its way into his tone. "This will hardly be much of a game if one of the players isn't fit to actually play." He was trying to buy himself time to figure out just what he could do to help himself out of his current situation.

The criminal doesn't miss the slight trembling in his voice and the ill-concealed panic in Sherlock's eyes. He chuckles, bringing the man up closer to his face. His clothing is made out of scraps, and he looks far less intimidating without his usual dress shirt and Belstaff. "Oh, well. You made this move, it's my turn now. How much /fun/ we're going to have."

Sherlock made sure to maintain his balance given his position. "I really doubt that we are going to have the same level of enjoyment." he said, watching Jim with his still wide eyes as there was little else to do. He was silently calculating the odds of survival were he to jump from Jim's hand at this height, then of course how long it would take before the now larger man caught up with him... The numbers weren't in the detective's favour.

Jim arches a brow in acknowledgement. "True. But I'll have fun," he replies, dropping Sherlock neatly into his breast pocket with a tilt of the hand. "Do try to hold still, dear," he hums, righting the couch before heading down the stairs and out the front door.

Its a miracle that Sherlock held in a yelp when he tumbled into the other's pocket. He blinked and settled himself enough to not hurt himself before stilling. The only reason being that he didn't need anymore people seeing him. Silently, he wondered how long it would take before someone noticed something was wrong. Before Mrs. Hudson came into the flat and called his brother about the chemicals and the detective's absence. How many seconds it would take Mycroft to figure out what had happened and who had taken him.

Hopefully, soon.


As usual, reviews are greatly appreciated. Even if it's a short comment about kittens.