A/N: So this is a little bit OOC I think, but it was the only thing that I could think of that is kind of funny! I really loved writing it, so I hope you enjoy reading it! I wouldn't mind if you let me know what you think (it would be helpful actually!) :)
Ways We Can Deal With Our Fear.
A high pitch shriek was omitted from the kitchen which made Dr. John Watson look up from the medical journal he had been deeply immersed in. The cry was immediately followed by the sound of shattering glass, an indicator that whatever the reason for Sherlock to shout out like that had also caused him to drop at least one of his test tubes… John rolled his eyes, not making any movement from the chair in his bedroom which he was comfortably settled in. No doubt Sherlock was now raging at himself for dropping a test tube and ruining the results of a whole day's work… Maybe he had caught his hand on the side of the cabinet handle again, or brushed his hand through the Bunsen flame forgetting that the liquid in the test tube was highly flammable. There were several options that could result in the scream and dropping of glass, none of which particularly merited John's interest – for that reason he turned his attention back to the paragraph of the article he had been reading.
"John!" Sherlock's voice called up from the floor below, but it was dissimilar to the normally strong voice of Sherlock. The strangled tone caused John to rouse from his concentration immediately. "Jo-ohn!" The call came for a second time, with a distinguishable break in Sherlock's voice – it perturbed John so much that he placed down his book and made his way down the stairs to find out the reason of Sherlock's vociferation.
Upon entering the kitchen where Sherlock had set out his makeshift lab, John was confronted with one of the most unusual sights he had ever witnessed. Sherlock was perched precariously upon the bar stool he used whilst doing his experiments, his feet on the seat and his hands gripped to the edges so tightly that his knuckles were white.
"What?" John asked, surveying the peculiarity of the scene with a smile on his face.
"I saw a – a rat." Sherlock replied, his voice wobbling as he swallowed visibly. John stared at the detective with a touch of astonishment.
"I'm sorry… what?" He inquired, unable to take in the situation without laughing.
"There is a rat in the room!" Sherlock repeated, placing particular stress upon the word 'rat'.
"So?" John asked shrugging nonchalantly, feeling a tiny bit annoyed at Sherlock having dragged him down from his room away from his revision.
"It's a fucking rat!" Sherlock replied as though this explained everything. "Can you get rid of it?" He glanced around into each of the corners of the room trying to locate it.
"Are you actually serious Sherlock? It'll have run away into its hole because it saw you!" John exclaimed, but Sherlock seemed to refuse to let his grip on the stool go.
"I…" He started then stopped abruptly and took a shuddering gasp in. "I don't like rats." John stared at Sherlock, completely agog for a few seconds. From the very uncomfortable expression on Sherlock's face, John could tell that he wasn't joking around.
"You use them all the time when you're doing experiments!" John pointed out.
"I use mice… Tiny little white lab-bred mice!" Sherlock refuted, his breathing was rather erratic now and he appeared to be forcing his knees to stop shaking. "Please John?" He pleaded. John shook his head slightly and, suppressing a smile, bent down onto his hands and knees and began examining the skirting board of the kitchen to see if there were any signs of a rat.
"Why don't you like rats anyway?" John asked, trying to sound as though he wasn't purposely prying into Sherlock's private business.
"I just don't." He answered curtly. "Mycroft played a trick on me when I was six and… I've just never liked them since!" His voice sounded far away as he remained on top of the stool. John felt slightly stupid as he made his way around the kitchen floor on his hands and knees, tapping at the skirting board to try and find any hollow spots where a rodent sized creature might be able to reside in.
"Fair enough – ah!" As John was moving towards the corner of the kitchen something had caught his eye. There was a very slim break in the skirting board that looked like it could be slid back.
"What?! What is it?" Sherlock cried as John made a noise that heralded his finding something.
"I think, I've found something." John got to his feet and looked at Sherlock, whose eyes looked like saucers because they were so wide and his pale face had turned colour of slightly off milk.
"Wh – what are you going to do?" He stammered.
"Do we still have the rubber gloves?" John asked, Sherlock unhooked one hand from the edge of the stool and pointed mutely towards the sink; John strode over and picked them up.
"J-John?" Sherlock watched as John pulled the rubber gloves onto his hands. "John! What are you doing!"
John paused in the back of bending back down close to the gap in the skirting board; "I intend to reach my hand in, grab its tail and yank it out of there."
"And then do what with it?!" He breathed.
"Throw it out the window… Will you open the window for me?"
"But!" Sherlock started and was cut off.
"What Sherlock?" John put his hand on his hip, Sherlock quelled under the stare that John was giving him.
"Do I… have to hold the window open?" Sherlock seemed to be very slowly moving from the top of the stool.
"It would be very handy, yes." John agreed.
The crack in the sideboard was just big enough for John to reach his hand into; luckily the rat didn't seem to have moved any further into the hole and was resting with its back to the opening. This meant that it wasn't too difficult for John to slide his hand in and very quickly he had secured his grip around the tail of the animal – which began to screech and struggle against this force which was pulling it out of its home so unceremoniously. Holding the writhing beast at arm's length, John headed straight for the small window that Sherlock was holding open to dispose of the creature. But as John came within two feet of Sherlock the presence of a live rat became too much for the detective, as he let out a high pitch squeal and let go of the window, flapping his hands in a disturbed manner. There was just enough time for John to throw the animal out of the window before it slammed shut; and then he turned to Sherlock. He was about to reprimand Sherlock for letting the window slam shut until he saw Sherlock's face; it was incredibly pale and he was breathing heavily whilst leaning on the counter behind him.
"Sherlock?" He removed his rubber gloves and dropped them into the rubbish bin. "Sherlock, are you alright?" Sherlock shook his head briefly, still taking rather deep breaths.
"I really… really don't like rats." He answered, shuddering. "Uh… I feel a bit sick." He certainly looked it so John poured water into a glass that had been resting on the draining board and handed it to Sherlock, his hand was trembling as he took it. "Sorry…" He mumbled.
"It's alright," John said reassuringly, resting his hand upon Sherlock's upper arm. "I'll fill in the gap in the skirting board tomorrow morning so that we don't get any other unwelcome visitors."
"Thanks." A fragile smile passed over Sherlock's face. "It's stupid, I know… IT's just a bit bigger than a mouse, but even still-" He shuddered once more, seemingly trying to throw off the shaken feeling that it was clear he was experiencing.
"Everyone is afraid of something…" John replied with a smile.
A/N: The next installment will be called: Stories of Horses