Luck

John found the leprechaun in the parking garage. It was tiny and smoking a little pipe, but other than that, it didn't have any of the stereotypical features cartoons, horror movies, and cereal boxes had popularized all through his childhood. It didn't have a green outfit, a red beard, a buckled bowler hat, or even a walking stick. The little thing had been completely distracted and John was able to grab him off his perch on the concrete ledge.

He peered at the struggling creature, wide-eyed. It flailed and cursed in his grasp. The little man was dressed in a soft, sturdy looking outfit with patches of reddish fur around the collar. John correctly assumed it was squirrel leather. The small man was utterly furious about being nabbed, thus evinced by his vitriolic, high-pitched cursing.

"What is this?" John asked, turning the thing in his hands and inspecting it. "Ouch, motherfucker. You bit me." He gave the thing a quick, angry shake and it stopped struggling, dazed.

"Let me go!" the tiny man demanded, an edge of fury in his squeaking tone.

"A leprechaun?" John marveled, his brain surging into overdrive. Attempting to make sense of what was happening. He looked all around, making sure no one was playing a trick on him.

The impossible creature wiggled against John's thumb which was pressing too hard on his belly, "Figure that out all on your own, Sherlock?"

"You don't have an Irish accent," John accused.

"I'm Irish-American," the leprechaun spat.

John wondered if he was losing his mind as he opened the door to the cruiser and slid inside. He had to swing by Rudy's to pick up Dorian who had spent the night in the lab for some maintenance. Fumbling his eyes over the dash, he looked around for somewhere to put his new treasure. Ah-ha! He grabbed his travel mug from yesterday's coffee and dumped the remaining liquid out the car window.

"Don't you fucking dare-" the tiny man shouted as John stuffed him inside the cup and screwed the lid on tight. He opened the sip slot on the lid so the little sprite could breathe and shifted the car out of the garage.

John was fevered over the discovery. He didn't believe in mythical creatures but the tiny teeth marks on his finger were hard evidence.

Dorian planted a kiss on him as he got into the cruiser and muttered something about missing him last night.

There was too much going on for John to respond adequately. He said, "Y'aren't going to believe this, Dee. Look!" Unscrewing the cap on the coffee cup, he yanked the little man out. The squirrel leather clothing was damp and stained with coffee grime.

Dorian took the tiny man from John and held him gently. "John…" bewilderment dressed his voice.

"Careful, that sonavabitch bites," John warned. He pointed at the abused-looking critter.

Dorian looked upset. "Did he hurt you?" he asked tenderly, apologetically.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine-" John said, holding up his finger to show the bite before realizing that his boyfriend was talking to the leprechaun. Fucking figures.

The pipsqueak wove a tale of woe for Dorian that made John seem like the giant at the top of the beanstalk. John scoffed all the way through, avoiding the angry sidelong looks Dorian was throwing at him.

When they stopped at a red light, Dorian opened his door and set the poor thing down on the sidewalk with an apology. In the blink of an eye, the leprechaun disappeared into the nearby park.

John looked at Dorian in shock. His mouth hung open. His eyebrows knit in fury. "You just fucking let him get away!"

John didn't notice that the light had turned green until the cars behind him started honking.

It would forever be remembered as the St. Patrick's Day where Dorian became indebted to John for one pot of gold.


Sorry to post twice in one day, but it's St. P's day, people!