Chapter 2

John smiled to himself as he heard Sherlock enter the room. Sherlock hadn't been to bed in the past three days and it was showing on the man's face: his eyes were blood-shot and puffy and his skin was even paler than normal, indictating his lack of sleep. Maybe some of Sherlock's observation skills have rubbed off on me, thought John to himself. Sherlock stepped infront of his flat-mate and blocked his view of the TV. John knew there was no point in arguing about it so he looked up at Sherlock. He towered over the sitting army doctor and wore his purple shirt and black trousers.

"Why?" asked Sherlock, his gaze settled on John. He was frowning.

"Why what?" John was trying desperatly to surpress a grin.

"Don't bother acting like you don't know. The bath. The thing in the bath. Why is it there?" John finally gave in. He started giggling. Sherlock stood with a solem expression on his face.

"It...reminds me...of you!" gasped John between fits of laughter. Understanding finally showed on Sherlock's face. He silently left the room but John didn't even notice. He was too busy laughing. Sherlock returned with a wet, brown, squirming animal in his hands. He held it at arms' length, clearly not comfortable with holding the creature. Its webbed feet kicked at him and its soft nose poked at his long hands. Sherlock dropped it in John's lap where it rolled onto its back and steepled the tips of its front paws, much like Sherlock does when he is deep in thought. John looked at the otter. The otter looked at John. He sighed. "Time to take you back home, Sherly."