Fandom(s): BBC Sherlock/The Borrowers Crossover
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes
Genres: Humour, gen, friendship
Rating: Depends on the drabble, but a PG-13 as a blanket rating for now...
Warnings: I have not read the books of The Borrowers series, only seen some film adaptions, so there are bound to be faults. English isn't my first language either :)
Notes: Slightly shorter, Sherlock PoV :)
Again, thanks to my dear friend EclecticRegard (Shizuka-Ame) for kindly proof-reading :)
221B Borrower Street
2. A Thousand Christmases
Of course Sherlock would notice anything missing, and since he never misplaces anything and there are no signs of robbery beyond strange mouse-sized trails (not human, not the usual rodents, then what?)… Sherlock is beyond fascinated. Cubes of sugar, teabags, and Mrs. Hudson's delightful biscuits (unforgivable!) all but disappear into thin air. Pages from the few medical books he owns are crooked, some torn. A pencil from IKEA (small, useless) and several leaves of post-it notes, a cup and a thumbnail (why did he have one of those?)... all nowhere to be found. His syringe (injectable cocaine - old, it's been months, almost a year - unused but still potentially useful) sabotaged, and odd socks under his bed all but swallowed up by the floor.
Someone, or something, was stealing things from under his nose. Things he wouldn't miss, had he not been who he was. He was sure enough with himself to know, without question, that he was right. Something was wrong.
It was more exciting than the dull double suicide the police seemed to think was homicide, or the hit-and-run on some high-profile politician. Dull, dull, dull.
No, this was different. Very different.
And so one day, having located most of the hollows in the walls and discerned possible entrances to fit the approximate size of the being who left such small fingerprints (impossible, but so clear under his loupe he could not deny it), Sherlock secured his flat accordingly. All but once possible entrance had been innocently blocked, leaving one socket in his bedroom (which had been tampered with; screws undone for easy removal). He then settled back to wait.
Three days later, the faint noise of metal against metal reached his ears. Had he not been waiting for it, it would not have concerned him enough to acknowledge. As it was, Sherlock quietly rose from his bed, slipping a roll of tape out of his pocket, and carefully secured the socket (more dust had been removed, it was slightly wonky; it had been moved recently, perhaps 10 minutes ago. Whatever it was, was silent. Deadly so; he had been awake the whole time and noticed nothing). Lying back down on the bed, he waited, again.
A noise which could've been a quiet creak in the old building alerted him 7 minutes later. In a fluid motion, he had rolled up out of bed and snatched a hold the the gleaming metal of a teaspoon. A surprised squeak was heard and as he brought the spoon up for inspection he found….a tiny man holding on for his life (most probably shocked into strengthening his hold of the spoon when grabbed, and now the grip continued because for someone that size, letting go so far above the floor would indeed be unwise).
"So this is where everything is disappearing to! Fantastic!" he exclaimed. A heartfelt "Bullocks…!" was his only reply.
Oh, this is like a thousand Christmases!
End notes: Thanks for reading, please review! :)