Have a Hedgehog John Watson
Rated K
[Sherlock H., John H.W.]
Summary: John and Sherlock venture outside the flat the day following the media sensation of their new relationship while the reporters do nothing but infuriate him a gift from a young fan ends up making his day. No plot because hedgehogs are cool.
Inspired by my friends and I roaming the internet and completely flipping our shit over how true and adorable the otter!Sherlock Hedgehog!watson meme was. Utter bullshit in story form. Any attempt at flaming will result in s'mores.
Sherlock Holmes scowled out the second story window of his and John's shared flat at the crowd of reporters simply waiting for them at their front door. They had been there since dawn and nothing, neither Mrs. Hudson's bid for them to leave nor Lestrade's threat of arrest could get them to give up and go home. Sherlock leaned on the window frame, wishing that he could simply will them away with the power of his mind, but he wasn't Mycroft, such things didn't work for him. From where he stood he could faintly make out the sound of Lestrade shouting orders to keep the journalists at bay as he and a few yarders attempted to form a path for John and Sherlock to escape their home over the constant rumble of the crowd; not a single one of them moved, probably hadn't even heard him.
The detective groaned again, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat and turning on his heel, away from the terror that stood outside his door. They were supposed to have left twenty two point seven minutes ago, and if John had not insisted the previous night that announcing their relationship on his blog was a good idea they would be well on their way to a triple homicide locked room murder that simply caused Sherlock's mind to hum with delight. But nope, he was stuck in his flat with little hope of getting to his case and John had cleaned all of his experiments out of the refrigerator, there was nothing to do!
So as to not throw himself out the window for some semblance of excitement Sherlock ventured into the front room to see if his blogger was faring any better.
"I hate this." Said John as Sherlock entered the room. The blogger peered from the windowsill at the throngs of microphone baring men and women below, "If I had thought about this happening I never would have posted to the blog." He huffed his annoyance and stood. As he turned to Sherlock his expression became one of sheepish embarrassment.
"Guess I should have listened to you last night, huh?"
"As you always should," His blogger scoffed. The detective grinned a bit at his partner's sudden and blatant disapproval of his ego and crossed the room in two measured steps to envelop John in a hug, "I forgive you, anyway, a day in with you is beginning to sound better by the second," he turned them both to look out the window again, "Look, more are arriving."
John sighed dejectedly and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's back. "The next time I try to gently supply the media with information about our lives, kindly kill me."
More people flocked from the surrounding alleys and climbed out of cabs, personal cars, and busses to join the crowd, obviously not reporters, so they must have been tourists acting on a sudden tip that the Baker Street detective and his blogger were about to exit the flat. Someone call the Queen! In the moment John and Sherlock had not been watching the entire street was filled. From downstairs he heard Mrs. Hudson's window slide open and then shut dramatically the second later. He let go of John as he heard her pad up the stairs and throw their door open without knocking.
"Sherlock! All these people, what is it you've done now?"
Sherlock let out a short laugh, noticing how John had suddenly disappeared into the kitchen even though he already had a mug of tea waiting on the coffee table.
"John decided that it would be a good idea to –"
"Oh, hello!" John interrupted, having emerged from the kitchen with a plate of unnecessary biscuits to chase the rather large full English he'd already had that morning. He gestured to the window, "Lestrade's either waving us out or starting a flash mob, they've got a path cleared!"
Sherlock grinned and bounded over the coffee table, nearly missing John's mug to grab his scarf and hat; brushing past Mrs. Hudson he gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
"Might be home a bit late Mrs. Hudson, won't need dinner, depending on when George manages to clear this lot out so we can get back inside."
"His name's Greg, Sherlock –"
"I'm not your housekeeper, boys; you can very well make your own dinner." Mrs. Hudson interrupted. John gave her a quick hug before following Sherlock down the steps to the front door.
"Some fresh biscuits would be nice though!" he called before shutting the door.
As soon as he was outside John wished he had stuck closer to Sherlock so that perhaps he could coast along behind the detective and deflect any interest in him onto his partner, but Sherlock was already in the cab on the other side of the gauntlet of microphones and tripod cameras. He was on his own. Despite the terror that he might say something wrong and bullocks up the whole situation, Watson put on his best "Trust me I'm a doctor" smile and took the first step. Immediately, the reporters realized that, while they may have missed out on their big interview with the more important partner, they still had their backup, his blogger.
John was barraged with questions that he wouldn't mind answering smattered between inquiries that made his ears ring and his stomach churn. What business of theirs was it was his partner's hair felt like or what kissing him felt like, among other things. A microphone was thrust at his head, no doubt meant to collect his answer to a particularly raunchy question, but thumped him in the temple. He thanked god for Lestrade and the yarders who lined the periphery of the crowd, keeping them back. John peered through the crowd at the waiting cab and impatient Sherlock waving at him from the window when his foot caught on the outstretched leg of a journalist who was suddenly asking him the most infuriating things, hoping that John's trip would prompt him to talk. It didn't. John began to lash out, intending on giving the guy a couple new black eyes when a high pitched voice from the other side of the path caught his attention. He turned to find a young girl, maybe nine or ten, bouncing on her feet excitedly and clutching in her arms a bright pink gift bag.
"Mr. Watson! Mr. Watson!"
Suddenly realizing that he had been about to assault a man when he was surrounded by cameras and in front of a little girl, John collected himself and turned his attention to the little girl instead. He thought her face would split because of how wide her grin grew when he approached her.
"Hello there." He greeted.
"I made this for you!" she squealed, shoving the gift bag into his hands. John blinked, not quite sure what to make of the situation.
"She just means she bought them for you." Whispered the woman next to her with a smile, John assumed this to be the mother. John thanked the girl for her gift, promising to open it as soon as he could and dashed to the cab, very well aware that his dawdling would mean a heftier fee for running the meter. As soon as he shut the door they were off.
The crime was a disappointment, the witness obviously the murderer, it was all in the way she carried herself. She'd been proud of herself for committing the perfect crime and it showed. Sherlock was finished and over the case within the hour and sulked the whole cab ride home.
As the duo neared Baker Street Sherlock forgot his sulk in favor of John's gift.
"What's in the bag?"
"What?" John looked down at the pink gift bag cradled in his lap; he'd forgotten it was even there.
"The bag, John, what's in it?"
John tugged at the tape sealing the top and reached inside. "It was a gift from a little girl outside the flat; honestly I'd forgotten all about it."
One of John's eyebrows as well as both of Sherlock's rose suddenly at the otter John pulled out of the bag. He set it to the side and then retrieved a hedgehog, stranger than being gifted an otter and hedgehog by a nine year old girl was the deerstalker on the otter's head and the fact that the hedgehog was wearing an impressive replica of John's favorite jumper.
"I'm… a hedgehog." John murmured. Sherlock picked up the otter, holding it with only two fingers as though it were a bomb.
"I am not an otter," he tossed the plush toy back in the back, "the next time a child presents you with a gift, don't accept it. If I'm not allowed to clutter the flat with science you aren't allowed to bring home toys."
John snorted, as if he was actually going to heed his partner's demand. As he went to replace the little hedgehog John in the bag he felt a sharp scrape against his finger. He recoiled immediately to inspect his bleeding finger, a paper cut was nothing he couldn't handle, he was sure. Upon retrieving the offending scrap of paper he could not help but to smile. The little girl had left a note.
"Dear Mr. and Mr. Holmes," Sherlock snickered at the introduction, John rolled his eyes and continued to read, "You are my most favorite celebrities because you help people. You both are very cute and so are otters and hedgehogs! Love, Lucy." Once John finished the note he glanced at the toys, in awe that there was actually a store in London that sold them, then at his partner out of the corner of his eye, now that Lucy brought it up, Sherlock did hold some sort of resemblance to an otter, tall and rather expressive. Of course he knew that Sherlock wouldn't stand for John likening him to the small mammal and so he replaced the note in the bag and made no further mention of it until they reached Baker Street. Much to their relief the place was not crawling with reporters and Mrs. Hudson seemed to have gone out.
John followed Sherlock up into the flat and as his detective was putting away his coat and scarf, John fished the stuffed animals out of the bag and set them on the mantle where Sherlock's skull had once sat. Sherlock frowned once he noticed.
"You're not putting those there." He said, no doubt he would try to hide them or throw them out as soon as John wasn't paying attention.
"Of course I am," John answered, adjusting the toys so that it looked like they were holding hands, "they were a gift from a fan and I'm keeping them." He nodded at the arrangement with a sense of finality and retreated to the couch to boot up his computer to check his blog. Without looking up he knew that Sherlock was glaring at him, and that suited John just fine. He thought it was cute. He was overcome with a sense of victory when, rather than trying to talk him into getting rid of the otter and hedgehog Sherlock merely sighed disapprovingly and disappeared into their bedroom without a fight.
Before he joined his partner in bed John checked his blog, thanking everyone for their support and Lucy for the gift.
All in all, it was a good day.