Title: You Were A Sociopath This Morning!
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Pairings: JohnLock – if you squint, but I don't think so.
Rating: K+
Genre: Friendship, Humour
A/N: I think this is a lot lighter and fluffier than my first fic XD haha I hope you like it and I hope it isn't too OOC :/ I wanted to explore Sherlock's sensitive side and it manifested itself in my favourite animal ^.^ SQUEE!
For Amy and Georgia, you know who you are and you know why. I love you both very dearly and am ever grateful for you both! I don't say it enough or show it either :/ LOVEYALOTS!
Mistakes are mine.. However ENJOY! :) and please feel free to leave a review :)
Summary: Sherlock becomes a Mother. Yes, you heard right. A Mother.. John can hardly believe it.
YOU WERE A SOCIOPATH THIS MORNING!
When John woke up that morning, he had assumed it was going to be the same day he had been experiening for the past week. No, it wasn't Groundhog Day, but it felt like it. It was April, Spring had arrived in London. Not that the Capital knew that, of course. No, for the past nine days, John was subjected to ashen coloured clouds, light showers at inconvenient times and sharp winds, despite weather predictions dictating otherwise. What could he expect? It was London after all. And to be fair to the weatherfolk, it was only just Spring.
He let out a long exhale, readying himself for the disappointment that he would feel when he opened his curtains to see more clouds and rain. He turned himself in his bed so that after he sat up, his feet rest on the floor. He pushed himself out of bed and ambled groggily over to his curtained window, focused on this task in hand. John slowly peeled the navy coloured curtains back and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.
It was sunny!
He opened his window and was afforded the smell of morning dew and a freshness that the day offered to bring. He smiled widely, nodding as the just blue sky lacked a single cloud. He turned his back and began to get himself to get ready for the day.
oOoOoOoOoOo
Sherlock looked at the sky from his favourite window and he huffed. He did not like the sun that was currently trying to darken his day. He preferred the rain and the silver clouds that came with it. If he were to actively care, he would say that the abymsal weather added a lot to London and its character. With a sigh, he padded across the living room to pick up his violin and bow, his silk dressing gown swished against his legs as he walked and pressed his violin to his chin. He placed his bow onto the strings, pausing a second as he heard John moving around upstairs. Hm, that was one less argument for today. He began playing a melody that reflected his feelings for the sun, fully aware that John would be unable to refrain from commenting on his choice of music.
He bit back a smirk. He was not disappointed.
"Doesn't match the day, Mate." said John, walking into the kitchen. He pulled a mug from the cupboard after flicking the kettle on. He laughed as he was met with a low screech in reply. He opened the fridge, ignoring the tongues pickling in a jar of vinegar and pulled out the milk. "Has Lestrade called in yet?"
Sherlock looked at John like he had grown two heads. As if you just asked a question like that. When he was met with a blank expression, he rolled his eyes and ceased his playing. "Obviously not."
John stirred his tea and sat at the kitchen table. "How do you feel about that?" he asked, before taking a sip from his mug.
"I don't." stated Sherlock, resuming his dreary sounding piece.
"'Course not." muttered John, slightly annoyed at Sherlock's mood. It was the first time the sun had shone this brightly in weeks, maybe even months and Sherock's mood was threatening to eclipse the happiness it brought. "Not today, Sherlock."
Sherlock watched John through slitted eyes, a brief look of confusion flashed across his face before a look of indifference settled in its place. He wasn't due in the surgery, there was no case, the milk was fine. John had no reason to leave. Oh, the sun. That blasted sun. John was in a good mood and whenever he was, he always deemed it necessary to try and palm that mood onto Sherlock, as irritating as it was. John disappeared upstairs for a second and returned with a light jacket. If Sherlock had a hand free to facepalm, he would have.
"Let's go for a walk." suggested John.
"And why-" Sherlock lowered his violin and bow to completely face John, "would I do that?"
"Sunshine is a good source of Vitamin D." When Sherlock continued his blank, annoyed stare, John carried on. "It'll do you good to get out. Feel the air. I'll even listen you deduce about people." he offered, appealing to Sherlock's ego.
Sherlock let out a long sigh and deposited his violin and bow into its case. "Fine." he conceded petulantly. "But when we get back, you're helping me dissect the tongues in the fridge."
John's brow furrowed for a beat before he shrugged his consent to Sherlock's terms. John moved into the living room and lowered himself onto the sofa as Sherlock retreated to his room to get dressed properly. He honestly had not expected Sherlock to join him on his walk. He figured that the curly haired detective had finally reached the pinacle of his boredom and was prepared to do anything to distract himself from that, even if it was doing something as mundane as talking a walk. Then again, John had been the one to press the activity onto Sherlock, even compromising with him. A walk in exchange for an hour or so of his time. John shook his head at himself. He had no idea why he had been so insistant for Sherlock to join him.
He thought hard and smiled when he eventually found the answer. While he wasn't the person who knew Sherlock inside and out, he was slowly getting there. Despite the cold, hard exterior, Sherlock occasionally slipped up every now and again to reveal a soft interior that John loved to see. He liked to remind himself that Sherlock was human, like everyone else, despite his almost Godlike qualities. He looked up to see Sherlock standing in the doorway, watching him intently.
"Finished thinking about me?"
John shook his head in annoyance and got up. "That's the funny thing about private thoughts, Sherlock. They're private."
Sherlock stopped abruptly, making John walk into him. His head tilted as it often did when he tried to work something out. His curls bounced in the motion. "Why am I in your private thoughts, John?"
"Oh for God's sake, move!" exclaimed John, pushing Sherlock out of the door and towards the stairs.
OooOoOoOoOo
The two managed to walk quite quickly to the park, which thankfully wasn't too far from 221B, but once they reached the park, they slowed to a stroll. John, so he could take in the sun and the scenery, Sherlock so he could deduce the myriad of people they walked past.
"I am glad you suggested this." said Sherlock quietly.
John looked at the taller man and smiled. "Why's that?"
"It's excellent practice for my deductions. If it's possible, I think I'm getting even quicker."
John lost his smile and rolled his eyes. "Typical Sherlock."
Sherlock stopped walking. "Not good?"
John turned to look at him, but before he could, he hesitated. Sherlock was looking at him, an almost hurt expression on his face, his ice like eyes wide. "It's fine." insisted John. "But if you could stop being-"
Sherlock began to walk quickly, past John, his eyes fixated on something.
"If you could stop being an arse and enjoy the walk... That'd be great! Any time today, actually! No rush though." called John, as he followed Sherlock off of the path towards the lake they had been walking next to. "I know what you're like when you get your thinking cap on. God forbid if someone actually-" John came to a halt and he wished he had brought his phone.
Sherlock was currently crouched at the water's edge, his eyes focused on a small nest in front of him.
"Sherlock?"
"John, look." Sherlock waved John over, his voiced hushed.
John made his way over to Sherlock and squatted next to him and he smiled as he observed Sherlock. As much as the man next to him drove him up the wall and wound him up to no end, these were the moments he looked forward to, as seemingly silly as they were.
"The other eggs have hatched and they're gone." reported Sherlock, pointing at the broken shells in the nest. "This one was the last to hatch." He pressed a long digit gently to the egg, there was the tiniest breath of warmth on the egg shell.
Sherlock stood. "Ah, there it is. Can you hear that John?" Sherlock began moving slowly and carefully, as if afraid he was going to step on something. "Well, what have we here?"
John watched with a poorly hidden smile as Sherlock bent down to pick something up. When Sherlock stood up straight, his hands were cupped in front of him and John could hear what Sherlock had been hearing the whole time. A quiet peeping sounded from Sherlock and John could have died at the cuteness before him. Sherlock had found a baby duck and was currently holding it and looking at it as if it was the crucial clue that solved the case.
"Anas platyrhynchos." said Sherlock, raising his cupped hands so he could look at the duckling closely.
"Sherlock...?"
"It's a mallard, you can tell by the colouring."
"Sherlock," John walked closer to the supposed high functioning sociopath, "you need to put it back." John's suggestion fell on deaf ears as Sherlock held the duckling closer to him with one hand and used the free one to stroke its head with one long digit. "Sherlock? Did you hear me?"
"It's adorable." whispered Sherlock, smiling as the duckling peeped.
John's eyes popped out of his head. Seriously? "Sherlock, you can't keep it. You need to put it down."
Sherlock looked at the exArmy doctor, his eyes wider than what they had been before. John's gut twisted. The infamous puppy dog look.
"That's not gonna fly with me, Holmes. Put the duck down."
Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, but closed it promptly. He sighed and lowered the duckling to the floor and gave John a look. "The duck was lost. I wanted to help."
"I get that." accepted John. "But you can't keep it. Mrs. Hudson will go mental. Not to mention, I'd be the one to actually look after it."
"Fine." shrugged Sherlock nonchalantly.
John frowned and fixed the detective with a stare. "What are you up to?"
"Nothing. Just trying to enjoy our walk in the park." stated Sherlock, giving John an overly cheerful grin. He began walking and John quickly followed suit, trying to figure out what Sherlock had planned. He didn't have to wait long because the plan showed itself to him less than ten footsteps later.
"Sherlock?"
They both turned to see the that the duckling had followed them. Its tiny webbed feet slapped the pavement as it waddled as quickly as it could to catch up, a tiny peep sounding with every webbed step it took. John tried to fix Sherlock with a glare, but found it was currently impossible to.
Sherlock had crouched and the duckling waddled the rest of the way to sit itself in Sherlock's outstretched hand.
"What did you do?" demanded John, a minute trace of a smile on his features.
Sherlock offered an embarrassed smile. "Ducklings assume the first living thing they see to be their mother..."
John snorted before straightening his face, thoughnot successfully. "You're a mother now? You were a sociopath this morning! A grumpy, moody, miserable, high functioning sociopath..."
"That was this morning, John." said Sherlock seriously, even with his lack of social awareness he could see the humour of the situation.
Amused, John shook his head. "Alright, but when Mrs. Hudson starts, you're on your own."
"She won't. Ducks are her favourite."
John's eyes narrowed. "You sneaky-"
"No fowl language in front of my duck, John."
"You're making jokes now? Really?!"
Sherlock nudged John to begin walking, a victorious smirk on his face. That, apparently, was all that could be said on the subject.
When John woke up that unknowingly sunny, Spring morning, he had assumed it was going to be the same day he had been experiening for the past week. He was so wrong, he had woken up to take a walk in the park with Sherlock and in that short space of time, Sherlock had found an orphaned duck, persuaded John to let him keep it, named it Felix Figaro and sat with Felix on the couch as he thought. The duck sat comfortably on the hard plain of Sherlock's chest and Sherlock stroked Felix's head with his forefinger.
The pickled tongues stayed in the fridge, forgotten as John marvelled at his flatmate. Sherlock really was brilliant, but not just for the reasons he assumed himself to be.
A/N: Hope you liked it :)
If you're interested, I might write a second part where Sherlock has to say goodbye to Felix, ofc there'll be some JohnLock to look forward to! Hmm, what do you think?