Title: Seasonal Allergies
Rating: pg
Warnings: fluff? possible choking on fluff balls?
Summary: mini-fill for sherlockbbc_fic prompt - John is a wercat and trasforms at the most inoportune times.
/
"Really, John, this is most inconvenient." Sherlock grumbled, shaking the loose asphalt from the wrinkled pair of jeans. The small bulge in the discarded oatmeal jumper near his feet flailed about as if possessed by a particularly clumsy ghost.
"Mwaooh~" it warbled fretfully. The detective released a put-upon sigh and scooped up the squirming pile of cableknit.
"I mean, really!" He shoved a searching hand down the mouth of the jumper. "How am I supposed to work if you change into a useless ball of fur everytime your sneeze? OUCH!" the detective yelped, whipping his hand out of bundle, a fluffy orange tabby kitten attached to his finger like a fish on a hook. The detective shook the angry furball off, and nursed his wound.
"John! That was completely uncalled for!" The kitten, who had landed safely on the ground, glared up at him, completely offended.
"Mrrowrr!"
"I'm well aware that you can't control the seasons or the flowers, but how am I supposed to work, John?" He whined, aggrieved.
The kitten seemed to shrink in on itself, embarrassed and rather hurt. It mewled pitifully, hung its head, and began to slink off down the alley for the long trek home.
"Oh, come back here you idiot!" Sherlock snapped as he folded up John's clothes. "You're in no condition to go by yourself. Either the dogs will get you, or some hapless child will snatch you up to bring home to Mummy." Tucking the clothes under his arm, beneath his coat, Sherlock stalked over and plucked the tiny kitten up by his scruff. He held John up to his face and sighed.
"You might as well come along. Perhaps your perspective will be of use. If not you can at least crawl into small places and fetch things for me." The kitten took a half-hearted swat at the detective's nose before Sherlock buttoned up his coat and tucked John into the space between his scarf and lapels.
For a moment, they made a rather amusing picture: The tall imposing detective with a disembodied kitten's head peeking out of his chest. But neither put even a fleeting thought to it.
Sherlock straightened his clothes, gave John a light pat on his fluffy little head...
and then they were off.