Sherlock & Atalanta
The quiet hum in the lab was broken only by the sounds of Sherlock working diligently at the far end of the table. Adjusting the magnification on the microscope, he examined the petri dish while Atalanta watched him work. She spared a glance at the door as Mike entered the underground lab with a plain looking man following.
"Well, a bit different in my day," the plain looking man stated, limping around the table as he took in the equipment. Sherlock glanced up from examining the culture before losing interest quickly.
Military type, probably a dog daemon, loyal. Just returned from overseas, familiar with the room, but not the equipment. Old medical student, an army doctor then, retired early because of injury. Boring.
Atalanta huffed in annoyance as Asta climbed onto the table, knocking over equipment and trying to gain her attention. Turning away in disinterest, she made her way over to Sherlock where he sat upon one of the stools and started to jot down his observations. "Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."
"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike asked, patting his pockets.
"I prefer to text."
"Sorry," he replied as his daemon gave up on trying to get Atalanta to acknowledge her. "It's in my coat."
The ex-army doctor pulled a mobile out of his back pocket, holding it out to him. "Er, here…use mine."
"Oh," Sherlock replied, surprised and yet not at the gesture. The man seemed the sort to help someone out just because he could. "Thank you."
Glancing over at Mike's smug look, Sherlock stood gracefully; posture straight, as he approached the shorter man. Atalanta easily maneuvered around and over the delicate equipment and chemicals. Sherlock felt her surprise as she perched at the end of the table to examine the man's daemon.
"It's an old friend of mine, John Watson and Kato," Mike supplied as the consulting detective accepted the phone, quickly glancing to the floor as he turned. Societal norms dictated the unspoken law of scrutinizing another's daemon. In layman's terms, it was rude to stare. Most considered it taboo, though it was not actually illegal. Thankfully, Sherlock only needed a second. The doctor's daemon was not a dog after all, but was in fact a Neofelis Nebulosa, commonly known as a clouded leopard. Interesting.
"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock asked quickly, examining the phone and drawing 'John's' attention away from Atalanta's scrutiny of his daemon. Societal norms would not let him examine another's daemons; there is nothing against daemons scrutinizing each other. It is considered rude, but not taboo.
The man's daemon seemed curious, large gold eyes examining the arctic fox, not at all bothered by the attention. After it became apparent that Atalanta would not be introducing herself, the clouded leopard turned away, stalking around the room and sniffing various equipment.
Doubly interesting.
"Sorry?" John asked, seemingly oblivious to the daemons strange interaction. It was a common reaction then.
Fingers flying over the small keyboard, Sherlock briefly took in his curious but not offended expression. "Which was it: Afghanistan or Iraq?" Atalanta snapped, looking at the soldier like he had done something monumentally stupid.
John looked briefly surprised to be addressed openly by someone else's daemon, but he recovered quickly, unlike Mike and Asta who looked affronted. Preposterous really, it was not like Atalanta had spoken to Mike, or worse Sherlock addressing Asta.
"Afghanistan," John replied, speaking to the daemon directly and seeming unbothered by it. Mike and Asta's expressions went from affronted to downright horrified.
Sherlock glanced at his daemon as he snapped the phone shut. Atalanta was looking back, approval written in her smug expression. It seemed John was not so plain after all.
"Sorry," John began, eyes darting between the man and daemon; unsure as to whom he was supposed to be speaking with. It was not a situation one usually finds himself in. "How did you know-"
"Ah, Molly," Sherlock interrupted as the pathologist entered the room. He thanked her as she handed him the steaming mug of coffee. Reaching, he handed John his mobile while accepting the mug and examining the young woman over the rim. "What happened to the lipstick?"
"It wasn't working for me," Molly replied, trying to smile flirtatiously but it ended up just looking awkward instead.
"Really?" He sounded surprised, walking back to the microscope. "I thought it was a big improvement."
"Your mouth's too small now," Atalanta informed her and Molly flushed crimson, visibly fighting not to look at the daemon as she fidgeted uncomfortably. It was considered rude to do more than glance at another's daemon, ruder still to talk to one that was not your own or your significant other's. Even then there were rules and protocols, tedious things neither he nor Atalanta paid much mind too. John seemed to be of the same mindset because he was looking directly at Sherlock's daemon and giving her a pointed look. His expression clearly stating he thought she was being impolite.
Sherlock bent over his notebook, hiding a smile as Atalanta and John had there stare-off. Mike looked pale from where he was standing, trying hard not to look at the two but unable to look away. The door clicked softly shut as Molly quickly left and Sherlock glanced down as movement caught his eye. The clouded leopard had made its way around the room and now stood several paces away, studying him intently. A thrill raced down his spine, never before had he been scrutinized by another's daemon.
The feline moved closer as Sherlock turned back to his notes and started to add the last few observations. Kato moved with no limp, contradicting John's own need for the cane. Psychosomatic then, but they already knew that. Stopping just shy of a foot, the leopard stretched up on its hind legs, front paws tucked to its chest and tail out for balance as it examined the table without touching it. Sherlock silently approved as he glanced over at the mess the raccoon had made.
"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock asked as the clouded leopard sat regally on the floor, tail flicking in a disinterested sort of way.
John broke his stare with Atalanta, gazing at Sherlock in confusion, but it was not he who answered. "We don't feel one way or the other," a distinctly male voice replied and Sherlock turned to John's daemon, John's male daemon. Sherlock fully retracted his earlier judgment of boring.
"Kato!" The raccoon hissed, jumping onto the floor as she scolded the younger daemon. "Don't speak to him!"
"Why not?" Kato asked, ear flicking as he turned large golden eyes to Asta.
"Because," she spluttered. "It's…it's just not done! It's rude!"
"Oh, don't be boring, Asta," Atalanta admonished her.
"Don't be-"
"Why?" Kato cut Asta off in the beginnings of what could have been an epic rant. He turned back to the Sherlock, looking up at him as Atalanta trotted back over. At his questioning hum, Kato clarified. "The violin, why did you ask?"
"I play the violin when I'm thinking, sometimes we don't talk for days on end, Atalanta rarely interacts with anyone. Would that bother you?" He asked the rather calm looking John Watson as the other man studied him. "Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."
John blinked owlishly at him before turning his befuddled gaze to Mike, who was trying desperately to look unbothered as they not only breached human/daemon etiquette but ignored it all together. "You…uh, told him about us?"
"Not a word," Mike replied awkwardly.
The ex-army doctor then turned to back to him, curious and defensive. Sherlock wondered which would win out. "Who said anything about flatmates?" Curiosity it was then, Sherlock was not disappointed.
"I did," the detective replied, pulling his coat on and grabbing the blue scarf. "Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, just after lunch, with an old friend – clearly just home from the military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult of a leap."
"How did you know about Afghanistan?" Kato inquired of him as he moved back to his human. Now would have been a good time to reestablish etiquette; daemon to daemon, human to human. Sherlock was silently pleased that they had not even bothered.
Atalanta turned to Sherlock, bored with the turn the conversation took. Grabbing his own mobile and checking for a signal, the detective continued as if no one had spoken at all. "We've got our eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it."
John shifted back, left hand trembling as Sherlock and Atalanta approached them. Dropping from the table, the detective thought the daemon, Kato, would approach the fox for proper introductions, but he did not. Both Sherlock and Atalanta were unsure if they were pleased by this or disappointed. Instead, he acknowledged that it left them feeling unsettled. Moving to the door, Sherlock sent a mental note in his mind palace to examine the duel sensations on a later date.
"We'll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o'clock. Sorry, gotta dash…I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." Pushing past John, he purposefully walked closer to the man's daemon then common etiquette dictated to study the reaction. He was pleased to note that there was not one, neither from John nor Kato. The clouded leopard did not even move to create more space, even though he was inches away from brushing against the feline. A most curious response.
"Is that it?" John's question halted them before the door.
Turning his collar up, Sherlock shifted to face them. "Is that what?"
"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?"
"Problem?" Atalanta inquired smugly.
John's blue-grey eyes flicked to her, but he addressed Sherlock when he spoke. "We don't even know a thing about each other. I don't know where we are meeting…we don't even know your names."
Sherlock studied them intently, eyes darting between man and daemon as the endured the scrutiny as only soldiers can: unflinching and unyielding. "I know you're an army doctor," Sherlock began, tone smug as Atalanta stood taller, tail flicking in a haughty way. "And you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid."
John shuffled awkwardly, glancing at his leg and cane before looking at his daemon. Kato gave him a reassuring look as he rubbed gently against the man's calf. Sherlock gave him a grin that was not humble in the least. "That's enough to go with, don't you think?" Grabbing the door handle, Atalanta sauntered out of the room when he opened it.
Turning back to the stunned pair, Sherlock self-righteously leaned against the door. "The names Sherlock Holmes and Atalanta, and the address is 221 B Baker Street," winking at them as he bid Mike goodbye and let the door click shut behind him, chuckling softly as Atalanta pranced beside him. He had the feeling that this was the start of something amazing.