A/N: All my thanks to Tigzzz for having betaed this chapter!
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221B PAW STORIES
«(o.o)» . «(o.o)»
Chapter 9
Twinkle, twinkle, little star...
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His eyes were cast down as he entered the compartment, and so he did not see what was lying on the seat before he closed the door behind him. When he did see it, his jaw dropped. He was about to run away and shout for help when he remembered that this was Sherlock.
Oh God.
He was stuck on a train with a tiger, and supposed to get off at Victoria station in less than ten minutes.
"Sherlock! Wake up! Oh, damn this..."
He ran to the window and pulled down the curtains. Then, grabbing the fluffy striped back, he gave the tiger a shaking-up.
"Sherlock! You've turned into a tiger and we are on a bloody train!"
The tiger's eyes snapped open and he sent John a lost look. He blinked, gazed around him, and suddenly jumped to his feet on the seat, which only resulted in him slipping down and crashing onto the floor.
"Sherlock! What the hell are you doing? There's no time for your clowning!"
The tiger puled and John had to look behind him to check the door. If anyone came in now...
"What did you think you were doing?"
Confused, Sherlock tilted his head to the side.
"A tiger, Sherlock! You're a bloody tiger!"
Sherlock gave John a sullen moue. It's not like I did it on purpose!
But John wasn't paying attention, and was now pacing in small circles nervously.
"What can we do? We can't possibly get off the train with you looking like this."
He was interrupted by the tiger coming up to him and suddenly putting his paws on his torso.
"What the... Sherlock! Are you stupid, or what? This isn't the time to play!"
Not playing! Sherlock snarled, miffed. Hug me, you idiot! It might just work!
But John was too preoccupied to get his message at all. He just glared, and his temper flared up.
"Do you even realize the situation we're in? You'll end up in a cage, in a zoo! And I... They'll probably bring me to the police for keeping a tiger on a bloody train!"
That's the third bloody, Sherlock noted grimly, staring at John pointedly.
The doctor looked around him, checking if there was anywhere Sherlock could hide for a while – under the seat, or on the luggage tray... But there was no way such a big feline could hide anywhere in such a small room.
"I could set the alarm somewhere so the train would stop. But then we'd still be stuck. It's not like we can hide on the rails or anything, not with you looking like this."
John sighed and rubbed his temples.
"Mycroft. We've got to call Mycroft."
At this, Sherlock literally jumped on him and growled threateningly. No! Never!
"Don't be childish, Sherlock! He's the only one who can come with a huge case or something, and guys built like a tank to carry you! Hell, he could even arrange a car and everything, and just say it's some secret government matter or whatever."
You are NOT calling my brother! the tiger snarled. Call Mrs. Hudson, or Molly, whoever! But not Mycroft.
"Sherlock, there is no time! Get off me! NOW!"
The detective was so startled by his flatmate's outburst that he did get off and sat in front of him miserably with pleading eyes. John looked away and took his phone. Sherlock groaned.
"Enough! Or do you want to spend the rest of your life in a zoo?"
I don't want you to call him, Sherlock whimpered, giving John the most pitiful and adorable pout he could manage. It didn't work.
John was fidgeting as he dialled Mycroft's number, praying he would answer right away; he did.
"Mycroft? Oh thank God you're not ignoring my call."
"I never ignore your calls, Dr. Watson. What's wrong?"
The 'with Sherlock' didn't even need to be said, but suddenly John realized he couldn't possibly tell Mycroft about the transforming. Who knew what he could do to find out why, how, when? He cared for Sherlock, but for exactly that reason, he would certainly not be against using him as a guinea pig so he would never transform again. Into a tiger, that is.
"I..." John sent a panicked look to his friend, and the tiger snorted scornfully. I told you.
"I need your help," John blurted, and Sherlock's eyes widened. Mycroft's probably did, too, for the ex-soldier wasn't the type to voice such thoughts.
"I know," came the smug reply. "Now what about getting to the point?"
"I'm on a train compartment with a tiger and we're arriving at Victoria Station in less than ten minutes," John said precipitately. This time, Mycroft's eyes surely did widen.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me, Mycroft!" John snapped. "I'm on a bloody train with a bloody tiger and I need your help to get us out of here, or I don't know what will happen when we get there!"
"Are you saying you are on a train compartment alone, with a tiger on the loose?" the elder Holmes asked, disbelief in his voice. Even if he knew John wasn't really a normal man, since he stayed with Sherlock, he hadn't expected him to end up in such insane a situation.
"I... It's a long story, I can't tell you right now. This is urgent! Please, you really have to come and help – bring a box or some huge suitcase or... I don't know! But I need to get out of here with the tiger safely."
A pause. John waited anxiously, clenching his fists unwittingly. Sherlock was glowering.
"And what will you give me in exchange, John?" Mycroft finally asked in a honeyed tone.
John froze. One should never answer "anything" to such a question, especially when asked by Mycroft Holmes. So John said, gritting his teeth, alarmed at the urgency of the situation:
"What do you want?"
"I will think of something."
"What!? But I won't just do anything!"
"Well, that's too bad, then..." Mycroft trailed off, ready to hang up – or wishing to make John believe so anyway.
"No, please! All right, I'll do any–"
But Sherlock jumped on him and stopped his conversation short before he could promise anything. John let out a cry of surprise and fell, dropping his phone, which smashed to the floor. Just to be sure, Sherlock stepped on it again and crushed it to pieces. John stared, bewildered.
"Sherl... Sherlock, that was our only chance!" he exploded, furious with his friend's irresponsible attitude. "And you just smashed my phone! God, I should just leave you here and let you handle this alone, since you're so smart."
Sherlock whimpered pathetically.
You're the type of foolish man who has only one word, and you would abide by it at all costs! You really don't know Mycroft, what advantage he would've taken out of this.
But there was no way John could've understood all of that only through a lamentable moan.
"Stop it! Just stop it, will you? What can we do, now? Couldn't you have swallowed your damn pride for once?"
Sherlock pouted. But I don't want...
"Fine, it's the zoo, then. And I am not going to wait here so I can get arrested as well."
The tiger stared in shock. You're leaving me? Here? Alone?
John felt something break in him and his resolve waver. He averted his gaze so he would no longer see the look of betrayal in Sherlock's eyes.
"I won't be of any help if I'm being interrogated and kept under surveillance, Sherlock! Can you imagine the type of questions I would be asked? How do you expect me to answer them, huh?"
But you still can't leave me! How will I ever turn back? the tiger whined.
John really wanted to answer 'Not my problem', but he couldn't bring himself to. It was, after all, his problem too. And not only because if he ever turned into a manul, he would need Sherlock to hug him. But because he couldn't just let Sherlock live in a cage for the rest of his life.
Wait... Need him to hug me?
John's eyes widened as realization hit him. He checked his watch – still five minutes.
"Of course!"
Turning to Sherlock, he fell on his knees and wrapped his arms around him, stroking his head and neck feverishly.
"If we cuddle, perhaps you'll turn back!"
That's what I was saying, but you weren't listening... Sherlock growled, snuggling up closer.
In fact, he was well aware that this was very unlikely to work. For one thing, they could only hold each other for a few minutes, and it usually took an entire night for them to transform back. Then, there was also the fact that they were always sleeping when they became felines or humans again – and it was highly improbable that any of them would fall asleep now, considering the amount of stress and pressure they were under. Still, Sherlock did not complain, and decided against pointing out to John how futile his attempt was: if he was going to leave him there to be caught and put in a zoo, Sherlock might as well enjoy the petting while he could.
"Turn back, turn back..." John was murmuring like a mantra, oblivious to his friend's depressing thoughts. "God, why isn't it working? Turn back, please!"
The begging is nice, too, Sherlock mused absent-mindedly. He had been quite annoyed at John for begging Mycroft a few minutes before, so he was glad to hear it for himself now. Even if that was a small consolation, considering his gloomy impending future.
So John fondled him, hugged him, stroked him desperately for the few remaining minutes, mumbling prayers and whatnot. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.
"Oh please, Sherlock, turn back now! I don't want to leave you here but I will have no choice! Please transform back."
Sherlock blinked in astonishment. He would never have guessed that John would be so concerned about such a silly thing. To be fair, even he wasn't very reassured, not knowing what would happen to him after his friend had left.
"Ladies and gentlemen. We will be arriving shortly in London. Thank you for travelling with us today, and–"
"No, no, no! Sherlock! Please...?"
Sherlock was never so sorry he couldn't do anything to assuage his colleague. John stood and stepped back, his brow furrowed, worry filling his face.
"I promise I'll come back. I'll find out in what zoo you are, and come at night so we can..."
His eyes met Sherlock's, and all his soldier determination crumbled to pieces. He fell to his knees again and hugged the tiger in a surge of despair and affection.
"Why isn't this working when we need it to? Do you think you were wrong for the cuddling? Or maybe you have to hug me back?" he babbled frantically.
The tiger shook his head, knowing John wouldn't understand his answer anyway, and just put his paw on his friend's back, squeezing lightly, embracing him and resting his head on his shoulder morosely.
The train had stopped now, and Sherlock could see the shadows of passengers queuing to get off behind the door. John was seeing other shadows too, abounding in the station, behind the curtains. He tried to ignore them, and shut his eyes as he tightened his embrace.
Soon however Sherlock did not see any more shadows, and the passengers were getting scarcer and scarcer on the platform. The tiger tentatively patted John's back with his paw, indicating that it was time to go if he didn't want to be found here with him.
As he felt the touch, John knew he would never be able to leave Sherlock behind.
"I can't," he murmured, distraught. "I can't do it."
For once, Sherlock did not feel like telling John how stupid he was being.
So they stayed there, cuddling, unsure as to what was awaiting them when they were found. When they heard footsteps coming closer in the corridor, they unwittingly tightened their embrace, almost imperceptibly, and Sherlock pricked his ears. He growled.
"Shh! They'll think you're dangerous!" John whispered urgently.
Suddenly Sherlock had one of the craziest ideas he ever had: he thought that, perhaps, if John kissed him like in fairy tales, he might well turn back into human form. Before he could give it too much thought, he straightened up and tilted his head back so he would be facing John, and quickly leant in again, pressing his mouth to his flatmate's.
John froze. He was so shocked he didn't even have the reaction to jump back. At this very instant, the door was slid open and the noise snapped John back to reality. He jolted, turned crimson, and looked up at the silhouette of the man who had just entered.
"Mycroft!" he exclaimed.
Sherlock groaned. He had recognized the steps already, but seeing his brother's face really was the last straw. Furthermore, the kiss hadn't worked, and it annoyed him that he'd been wrong about it.
"You... You came!" John stuttered, completely lost. I kissed a tiger. God, I kissed a TIGER! Wait... I kissed Sherlock. SHERLOCK!
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah... Thanks for coming."
Mycroft simply nodded, resting his hands on his umbrella. Only then did John notice the two huge men in suit waiting by the door, carrying a very large aluminium case on wheels.
"Let's put the tiger inside, if you don't mind. I have a car waiting for us outside, but first we have to get the tiger there."
"Thank you! But... How is this going to fit in a car?" John inquired, pointing at the huge case.
The elder Holmes smirked.
"It is a very big car."
Sherlock growled, but under John's death glare, he scoffed and went to stand proudly inside the case. Mycroft stared.
"Will he be able to breathe?" John asked worriedly.
As the two men closed the case and rolled it down the corridor, Mycroft arched an eyebrow and observed John closely.
"It will be fine. We can open the case once we are in the car. You seem awfully worried for this tiger's comfort, though. May I ask where you found it?"
John shifted nervously as he packed his things. He realized too late that Sherlock's clothes were still lying on the seat. He paled, jumped on them and quickly stuck them in his bag – there was no time to open Sherlock's suitcase.
"Is that Sherlock's coat?" Mycroft inquired innocently. "Is he with you?"
"No. He... He lent it to me," John lied with a very unconvincing smile. Mycroft looked at him pointedly. "Shall we go?" John added with a silly, nervous giggle.
When they opened the case once they were in the car, the poor tiger was completely dishevelled and glowered at John. Without thinking, the doctor looked at him tenderly and reached a hand towards him, petting his fluffy, disgruntled face.
"It is incredibly tame, isn't it?"
John jumped, remembering Mycroft was sitting just in front of him – and how could he have forgotten that? Cursing the stupid mirrors that allowed people to see everything in stupid cars, even what was going on behind their backs, John plastered a grin on his face and replied:
"He is. I mean it. It's tame, yes."
They remained quiet for the rest of the ride – Sherlock, sulking in his case, and John, trying not to squirm under Mycroft's scrutinizing gaze.
He was relieved when they finally got to 221B Baker Street and the two men brought up the tiger in the flat, leaving with the case just as soon – not asking any question, as if they'd been doing that their whole life. To be fair, whatever their official job was, they were probably used to dealing with such oddities, if they worked for Mycroft.
"Thank you," John told him sincerely. He had no idea what would have happened to them if Big Brother hadn't intervened, for once.
"Are you going to stay here with the tiger? In a flat? Alone?"
John laughed stiffly.
"I'm fine, really. It's not just any tiger, it's... useful for one of Sherlock's cases, and he'll be here soon anyway."
"Indeed, where is my brother? I would've thought you would turn to him first."
John slapped himself mentally for not having thought of that.
"He's busy right now. I can't even contact him. But he should be back tomorrow."
"So you're just going to spend the night in 221B with a tiger?"
"Yes. If worse comes to worst, I have a gun."
They held each other's gaze for a moment before Mycroft finally turned away, dropping the staring contest.
"Fine," he said somewhat haughtily. "Let me know when Sherlock is back, so I can have a little chat with him."
"You'll know when he's back, Mycroft," John remarked. You have CCTVs in the whole city. Then he realized that Sherlock would not appear on any of those cameras. He shivered.
Mycroft simply smiled at him knowingly, and with those last unsaid words, left the flat. John waited for his steps to die down the staircase. When he heard the front door close, he let himself fall into his armchair, exhausted.
«(o.o)» . «(o.o)»
Sherlock was brooding in his room, still not coming to terms with the humiliation of having been transported in a case back home. Now that they were back, too, he wondered whether John would be cross with him and refuse to cuddle tonight just because he considered it was his fault to have turned into a tiger at such a bad moment – which truly was unfair, because John should know by now that Sherlock didn't have any say in it. At all.
He too wondered what could possibly trigger those transformations. They hadn't quarrelled or anything this time, and John had just gone for a walk because the air was too tensed in the compartment. Was that it, then? Unresolved tension? Well, then they were never going to stop transforming. John was so stubborn it was nearly impossible to resolve any tension at all with him.
Slouching on his mattress, he played with these thoughts for the rest of the day, not daring to make an appearance in the living-room, for fear of annoying John even more. When he heard him stop typing on his laptop and go to the kitchen to prepare what was most probably supposed to be dinner, he had a small flicker of hope that he'd call him to eat something. John had hugged him very tightly on the train, after all, so obviously he cared for his well-being.
So Sherlock was not surprised when his friend called from the kitchen: "Sherlock! Dinner!", but even though he'd expected it, he was very happy about it, and even decided to ignore how mother-like the call truly was.
Joyously, he jumped off his bed and joined John at the table, resting his head on it and sending his flatmate the largest grin. John smirked.
"You look so silly like that, you know?"
Sherlock scoffed and turned away, but John caught his tail with one hand, while putting a plate of grilled beef on the table.
"Hey, I went out of my way to cook something for you, so you'd better stay here and eat it all."
Sherlock gave him a churlish pout and came to sit in the chair majestically. John chuckled, and served him.
"Here, your highness."
The tiger frowned, which only made his face look fluffier and more adorable. But this time, John repressed his laugh. He did not think Sherlock would be the type to enjoy being considered cute – and to be fair, neither was John.
So Sherlock made an effort and ate the meat John had prepared for him, and John made an effort as well and tried to be pleasant without being too patronizing. Now that the troublesome events of the morning were passed, he was in fact quite content to see Sherlock in tiger-form again. It meant the case was on hiatus for the day and the night, and John thought that, after all, those transformations were quite handy: they did not prevent them from doing cases altogether, which would've been boring and would've killed Sherlock, but they happened just often enough to make the cuddle times necessary, and more and more frequent.
That's right, he mused, how come are we transforming more and more often?
Because you're being so stubborn, Sherlock replied mentally.
Fortunately, he could not voice his thoughts, and so the atmosphere remained warm and peaceful. Sherlock lazed around the living-room while John was washing the dishes, pensive, and the tiger wondered what could possibly be on his flatmate's mind – well, what exactly, for he had a general idea of what was troubling him now: in one word, Sherlock.
Just in case John was stupid enough to freak out and change his mind at the last minute, the consulting detective thought this was a good time to be sweet and lovely. He certainly did not mind some coaxing, if it meant he could have John as a pillow for the night.
So up he went to his flatmate, nuzzling his hand and meowing softly, tilting his head to the side to point at his room. It was the most endearing and the most oblivious way John had ever been asked 'Please sleep with me tonight?' – the most disturbing, too, considering this was a tiger, and his male best friend. But precisely because of that, John told himself it should be fine. It was just Sherlock, after all. Even if he woke up naked in the same bed as John, he would probably be blissfully unconscious of any sexual or romantic implications, and study his scar for further possible use in cases.
"All right," he said with a smile. "Just let me shower and change, and I'll come to your room."
He tried to ignore how ambiguous such a statement sounded, too.
And so the tiger waited patiently – or not so patiently – in his room, until John came wearing his silly striped pyjamas, and he couldn't help but give his Cheshire-cat grin.
"Hello there," John said with a tentative smile. For the first time, he was rather self-conscious, and he did not like it at all. But once he'd got under the cover and snuggled up to the warmth of the tiger's plushy chest, all doubts vanished from his mind, and he fell asleep peacefully, lulled by the low, regular purring his presence elicited from Sherlock. Before he was completely gone in the land of dreams, John wondered absent-mindedly whether the tiger wasn't aware of it, or was now comfortable enough with him to not feel foolish purring in his arms.
«(o.o)» . «(o.o)»
It was very early in the morning when Maggie finally decided to give up trying to fall back to sleep, and thought it was high time she called John to solve their problem. Namely, Sherlock Holmes, which was, in fact, John's problem. She'd been thinking about it for days now, and had concluded that if the consulting detective was so important to the man she loved, she should make an effort. Either she dumped John Watson altogether, or she learnt to deal with Sherlock Holmes as well. Considering she'd been overly depressed these past few days, she picked the latter option.
And so she put on her most lovely dress, the one she knew John liked the best. She let her hair down, because she also knew that was how her boyfriend found her prettiest, and put on the lipstick he'd bought her for Christmas. It matched the dress perfectly. Satisfied with her appearance, she took her bag and went to the bakery nearest her flat – a French one she'd gone to once with John to have cakes and tea. She bought three croissants, determined to befriend Sherlock Holmes in some way. He didn't strike her as the type to have a sweet tooth, but she still thought he'd appreciate not to be left out when she burst in on her boyfriend at their flat.
Happily, she hailed a cab and announced: "221B Baker Street!"
Never had a cab ride seemed so long to her. She felt stupid for not having texted John earlier, and having wasted so much time brooding when it was supposed to be the time of the year for celebration. She paid the cabbie and jumped off the car joyously before ringing the bell to the landlady's flat. She didn't have to wait long before the good Mrs. Hudson came to the door and opened it for her, a friendly smile on her lips and a question in her eyes.
"Good morning. What may I do for you?"
"Hello! I'm sorry to bother you so early, but I'm Maggie."
This did not seem to ring any bell in the dear woman's mind, even though John had talked a lot to Maggie about his landlady – 'not his housekeeper'. Trying to ignore the slight bitterness at not being recognized, Maggie gave a sweet smile and explained:
"John's girlfriend. I've come to surprise him... them, with breakfast."
It occurred to her that this wasn't very tactful, since she hadn't brought anything for Mrs. Hudson herself. But the landlady did not seem offended in the least, and stepped back so she could come in.
"Oh, that is a lovely thing to do! I'm sure he'll be delighted," she commented, leaving out what she thought Sherlock's reaction would be.
Maggie thanked her and walked up directly to the second floor, where she knew John's room was. A bright grin on her face, she knocked on the door and pushed it open carefully, popping her head inside. She was surprised to see that the bed hadn't been slept in, and that the room was empty.
"John?" she called dumbly, for obviously no one was there. She closed the door and went back down to the first floor, entering the living-room. John wasn't sleeping on the couch either – and why would he have?
It seemed a little strange to her that the landlady wouldn't have known that her lodgers were away, but it appeared to be the most likely explanation. Still, Maggie could not shake off the sense of unease that had dawned upon her when she had seen John's empty room. Quietly, she walked down the corridor to the only door that was closed, and that could be nothing else but Sherlock's bedroom. She paused in front of it hesitating. Suddenly, she wasn't so sure she wanted to know.
Don't be silly, girl, she told herself. You've come all the way here to make up with him, and now you're imagining the worse? He did say there was nothing between them. Nothing at all.
Emboldened, she pushed the door open. Her eyes widened in shock, and she dropped the croissants to the floor.
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«(o.o)» . «(o.o)»
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tbc
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