It was a rare moment of quiet that fateful day, a rare type of quiet that hardly ever happened; either Sherlock was bored, cases were being solved, or there was generally some ruckus going on between the two occupants. Even after he had confessed himself to the detective and found the feelings reciprocated, quiet had been hard to come by (and there were more ways to make noise being discovered, unsurprisingly). However, John mused, it wasn't a bad kind of quiet. It was actually quite nice, and Sherlock had even asked when borrowing his laptop this time around.

He should have known it wouldn't last. However, he didn't expect how the silence would be broken.
"I have decided you're a hedgehog."
John started at the calm, collected voice his flatmate had and stared at him in confusion.
"Sorry?"
"You're a hedgehog, John."
"A what?"
Sherlock grumbled in annoyance at having to repeat himself and sighed dramatically.
"A hedgehog, the small mammal with spikes on its back that waddles around?"
"Yes, but what…how did you come to the conclusion I was one?"
"You have a face rather like a hedgehog, with a somewhat buttoned nose, turned up slightly when you scrunch it, and bright eyes that while not exactly beady don't detract from the overall comparison; your short hair could be attributed to the spikes on the back of the hedgehog and are nearly the same color in some cases."
"…And that makes me a hedgehog."
"Yes."
John stared in disbelief, Sherlock evidently serious about this; before they both burst into laughter and John set down the book he was reading and hugged the younger detective with a grin.
"God, I love you."
"I l-love you too, John."
The man's face lit up hearing the words; simple words, so hard for the man to say. He tried so hard. His smile, however, turned into a cheeky grin as an idea came to mind.
"What would you be then?"
"A cat. Independent, lithe, smart, agile, elegant, and able to defend themselves—or others."
John chuckled at the quickness of the reply, then blinked.
"What about Lestrade?"
Sherlock had evidently not given this question thought, so John pulled Sherlock and the laptop back to the sofa and the two thought it over.
"Maybe a squirrel?"
"No, he's not small enough."
"Not bushy enough either."
Giggles pervade the room conspiratorially.

"A badger?"
"And why, my dear John, would Lestrade compare to a badger?"
"Well he's always sniffing around for things…and his hair's got that salt-and-pepper to it, like the badger's black and white fur. Plus he's tough, but casual."
"Good, good! Badger it is then!"
The two exchanged glances, and burst out laughing until tears came to their eyes and they were left gasping for air.
"A-and D-d-Donovan?"
"R-rat, always getting into things!"
"Anderson?"
"A flea."
They couldn't seem to stop laughing, and John was finding it rather difficult to catch a breath.
"Molly would be a mouse!"
"She is rather mouse-like, petite and high-voiced."
"She's timid too, rather like a mouse."
"Alright, Molly the mouse."
"What about Mycroft."
The two looked at each other, and Sherlock's face split into a slow grin at his next words.
"Definitely a pig."
John lost it, and Sherlock joined in, again, their laughter echoing slightly. They couldn't seem to stop, now they were onto this topic; seemed appropriate to keep naming off everyone they knew, Mrs. Hudson becoming a rabbit with her gentle demeanor and ability to seemingly hear a lot, and Irene became a songbird; interesting, beautiful, but flighty.

After their list was finished and they had calmed down, they heaved a collective sigh, John leaning against Sherlock and the detective wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He placed a soft kiss onto his doctor's head, with a crooked smile and a soft murmur into his hair of, "I love you, my hedgehog."
"Please don't make this a thing."