A whale. A whale! "Sherlock, how the hell did a whale get into the morgue?" Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade considered himself one of the most ordinary of men, with extremely unordinary cohorts. Sherlock Holmes was no doubt at the top of that list. Lestrade stood in the doorway looking, awestruck, at the considerably small whale. With Molly Hooper on one side of the steel table and Sherlock on the other, the whale looked as if it were just another one of their little gang of friends.
Sherlock didn't answer Lestrade's question. Instead, he let the silence of the room develop for a few seconds before killing it. "Well, I must be off now. John has requested me back at Baker Street." He pulled out his phone. "Something about a… an excess of skin in the freezer that I need to take care of." With that, he strolled off as he normally did.
Lestrade opened his mouth, but before he could ask for Molly's assistance with that… whale… she had her own excuse. "Sorry… erm, Greg, I actually have a date tonight. Not a psychopathic one that wants to kill Sherlock, oh, um… sorry, that was insensitive. I mean, yes, he's nice. I-I should go now." Then, Molly walked out.
So there he was, D.I. Lestrade, Mr. Ordinary, underground in a hospital morgue at two in the morning, with a whale.
"Whale meet again!" a voice called after Sherlock. Lestrade turned around to see Sherlock raise a hand in response. "Whale, whale, whale. What do we have here?" Lestrade turned towards the empty room again. At least he thought it was empty. "Over here…" Lestrade turned once more to the steel table, and upright, leaning on both fins, was that improbably small whale.
"But how…"
"Now sweetie, no need for questioning. It would only further confuse you." The whale was like no other Lestrade had seen before, not that he had seen many whales in his lifetime. It was a soft, periwinkle blue, and was wearing a scarf and a fez of all things.
"You're a whale! And you're talking!" Lestrade rubbed his eyes to make sure the sight in front of him was actually there.
"Why yes, and I can walk, too!" With that, the whale sort of hopped and rolled off the table, and started squirming around on the hospital floor. "It's more of a flop than a walk, but really, who's keeping track?"
Lestrade was still confused as to why the whale was wearing those horrid accessories. "But… that scarf," he started, "looks just like-"
"Sherlock's, I know. He gave it to me. Wouldn't want his old pal Moriarty to be cold now, would he?"
I realize I am not nearly as fantastic of a writer as most of the people on this site, so I would really appreciate it if I was given some CC. Please and thank you!
-IW