FIRST SHERLOCK FIC!
With luck, this'll probably be my shortest story ever.
So wish me luck.
(I don't own)
"Sherlock!" John Watson barked, bounding up the stairs of 221b. He burst, still shouting, into the sitting room.
"Sherlock, where are the photographs from the-" he stopped abruptly, standing stock-still in the entryway as he laid eyes upon his flatmate, who was scooping some sort of kibble into a hamster crate with his bare hands. Inside, instead of a hamster, was a small, spikey creature. It was maybe five inches long, with a fluffy belly, a spiny back, and a face like a mouse. It's shiny black eyes seemed to bore into John's very soul as the creature nibbled away on a cardboard toilet tube.
"Johannessen case," John finished. "Sherlock, what the hell is that?" he said, gesturing to the animal.
"It's a hedgehog," Sherlock replied causually, without looking up. "Johannessen files, on my desk," he pointed vaguely to the mountainous pile of assorted papers and clutter that occupied the space.
"But don't bother," he followed, "I've already finished it. Hardly was worth my time at all. Johanessan's butler did it - cliché much?. Though I'd've thought that'd be obvious - didn't you see what he left in the room?" [a]
"Ah, amateur killers," Sherlock said with a sigh, "they're so funny."
Sherlock delivered this speech theatrically, all the while continuing to scoop kibble into the hedgehog's crate. The heap of food was beginning to resemble the man's desk.
"So," said the detective, clapping hands once and standing to face John, "now that case is wrapped up. Why don't you run over to the Yard an tell them to close the investigation? I'm sure Lestrade will be delight-"
"No, Sherlock, stop," John said. Up to this point, he'd tolerated his flatmate's divertive drivel, but now he rushed into the room, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "Why on earth do you have a bloody hedgehog in the flat?"
"Oh, this?" Sherlock said innocently, "for a pet. At least until I experiment on it." He eyed the cute little hoggy almost hungrily.
"Like a Baskerville freak?" John replied incredulously. "No Sherlock, you won't."
"Why not," Sherlock pouted.
"Because it's cruel." John replied, sternfaced. He crossed the room in three quick strides and plucked the cage off the coffee table.
"What's wrong with you?" he said, struggling with the weight and inconvenient shape of the crate, "I didn't think you much liked animals."
"Ah, you're right, John! I must have forgotten," said the detective as he recalled the fact. John rolled his eyes.
"In that case," continued Sherlock, "he'll have to stay in your room."
"What?!" John cried, "NO! It will most definitely not stay in my room - it does nothing but stink. I'm taking it back to whatever petstore you got it from."
"Who said anything about a petstore?" Sherlock countered. He put his hands on his knees and peered into the hedgehog's crate. Sucking in a thoughtful breath, he stared straight into the spikey creature's adorable eyes for the longest time.
Just when John was beginning to feel uncomfortable, Sherlock straightened suddenly.
"He doesn't like you," he said to John.
"What?" John replied. "He doesn't like me?"
"He doesn't trust you. And he thinks your fat. And ugly." Sherlock said coolly.
"And how exactly do you know this?"
"He told me so," Sherlock deadpanned. John looked at the hedgehog through the bars of the cage in his arms.
"Did he now? Well listen here hedgehog - "
"John, don't tell the hedgehog off," Sherlock interrupted, trying to hide his smirk, "just accept the fact that you two won't get along, and move on."
"Won't get along?" said John, rational thought escaping him for a moment. "He better get along with me, because he's apparently staying in my room!"
"Is he now?" Sherlock replied, raising an eyebrow. "Well, if you insist..." A smug grin spread across the detective's face. Sometimes John's ignorance could have it's benefits.
"Wha - no!" John moaned, "I was just - ugh." Defeated, John sighed, muttering some unkind words about his flatmate under his breath.
"What was that, now?" A new voice joined the conversation, coming from behind John.
He whipped around to see Mrs. Hudson standing in the kitchen doorway, a frown decorating her elderly face.
"Language, John."
Recovered from the shock of her sudden appearance, John rushed up to his landlady.
"Mrs. Hudson! Sherlock brought a disgusting smelly hedgehog into the flat!" He raised the cage an inch or two, offering it for her to see.
"John, dear, don't tattle," she scolded him in reply, as one might a misbehaving child. Then, spying the cage she immediately brightened.
"Oh!" she cried happily, bending down, "And who's this little lovey?"
"It's a hedgehog. Sherlock's hedgehog," John said pointedly.
"Is it now?" Mrs. Hudson replied dreamily, still captivated by the adorable creature scuffling around in the fluffy hamster bedding.
"Yes," John said, exasperated, "Its. Sherlock's. Disgusting. Pet." He emphasized each word for her old ears.
"Is it now?" the landlady said again. John sighed.
Suddenly, Mrs. Hudson looked up at Sherlock, who had been standing silently behind John.
"Sherlock. What's it's name?" she said.
The world's only consulting detective looked confused.
"Pardon?"
"It's name, Sherlock. Pets need a name."
"A name?" he replied hesitantly, thinking. "Yes, it's got a name..."
"What is it, dear?"
Sherlock's eyes flicked from the hedgehog, to John, then to Mrs. Hudson.
"John," he said finally.
"What." said John.
"No, not you. It's name is John."
"John? Why name it after me?" John inquired.
"Because you're a hedgehog." Sherlock replied simply.
A pause. John let that sink in.
"What?!" he said after a moment, genuinely befuddled, "I'm a what?"
But he was preaching to empty space, as Sherlock had already crossed the room, and was rifling through the papers on his desk. The detective did not respond.
"Right then!" Mrs. Hudson said cheerfully as she put on her scarf, "John it is. Now you boys have fun with your hedgehog, I'm off to the supermarket."
"Bring back chloride." said Sherlock ordered from the back of the room.
"The supermarket, Sherlock. Anyway, I'm not your housekeeper," Mrs. Hudson reminded him.
With that, the landlady left, leaving her two tenants alone in the sitting room.
Everything was quiet, except for the ruffling of papers, the assorted sounds of a hedgehog, and John's incessant mutterings of "Hedgehog. I'm a hedgehog. I'm a what?"
Then John shook himself.
"Y'know what?" he started awkwardly, "I'm just. . . just gonna take John, here, up to my room like I said, and, ah, maybe head over to the Yard to deal with the Johanness - y'know what, bye."
Then he was gone, up the stairs, leaving Sherlock smiling to himself.
[a] Sorry I couldn't give you one of Sherlock's deductions - I'm quite lazy as it stands.
Anyway,
Sorry if this fic was a waste of your time
But it's kind of auspicious for me, seeing as it's a oneshot.
Which I can never normally write.
SO THERE.
JOHN THE HEDGEHOG SAYS: THANKS FOR READING!