Day #11: Insect boy
Nectar
(Rated K)
Sherlock had always been fascinated by bees. They were a magnificent creature, powerful to behold. Their single mindedness should have bored him, but it just made them all the more interesting. They worked endlessly to satisfy one bee, the queen. Day in and day out the served her, feeding her and making sure she procreated on a regular basis. Sherlock, who had been studying about them since he was just a boy, thought he knew everything there was to know about bees. Of course, he really couldn't have expected an anomaly like John, however. No one could.
The case at Baskerville had been tedious, really. If the people had just answered his questions, he wouldn't have had to sneak into the secured base. It hadn't been difficult to do, either. Mycroft was easy to pickpocket right before lunch time; the hunger distracted him so. With the use of his key card, he had complete access to the base. Everything seemed to be fairly standard, though he got a bit side-tracked in the genetic splicing department. Dr Stapleton, one of the main researchers on the base, told him about her goings on at the lab, describing the sort of insects and animal splicing they performed. Only one creature caught his interest, however, and he ignored the rest of her prattle in favour of visiting the bees.
There weren't a lot of them. Perhaps a few dozen, but no more. They had been testing to see if they could splice human DNA with that of the common honey bee. Over ninety percent of their test subjects died, and the rest didn't appear to be doing much better. Sherlock glanced over the bees, most of them were almost entirely bee, with a few human fingers, or perhaps an arm. There were a few that were half human, half bee, a gruesome sight to see.
"Failure." Dr Stapleton said, approaching from behind. "There were a few that looked healthy, but they've all died in some capacity or another. Last week a group of them tried to escape."
"You killed them?" Sherlock asked, his eyes glinting.
"Had to, I'm afraid." Dr Stapleton sounded regretful. "They may be created from honey bees, but their toxin is extremely deadly. A few sprays of bee killer did the trick."
"A shame." Sherlock said, shaking his head, turning away from the glassed enclosure, adjusting his scarf as he went.
The case was solved not long after his visit to Baskerville. It had turned out better than he had expected, though he didn't take kindly to being drugged.
Arriving home at his small flat on Baker Street, Sherlock immediately tosses his scarf and Belstaff on the floor, falling onto his chair ungracefully. He was preparing to enter a truly glorious sulk when he heard a faint buzzing sound coming from his coat. Standing from his chair, he walked over to the coat, unfolding the fabric until he reached a pocket. He reached in, carefully pulling out what at first appeared to be a sad little honey bee. It took a second for Sherlock to realise what he was looking at.
There, in his hand, was one of the bee/human hybrids they had been creating. Unlike the other, failed ones, this one looked to be in fairly decent health, though he was on the skinny side. The creature was mostly human in appearance, though a stinger was very obviously sticking out from his back end. The little bee had been properly clothed; a pair of jeans and a black and yellow striped jumper keeping him warm. Two tiny wings popped out of his back, complementing his compact muscles. The top of the bee's head was covered in soft, blond hair, two antennae peeking through.
The bee buzzed weakly in Sherlock's hand, two small arms clutching his stomach. Sherlock carried the small creature over to the kitchen table, setting him down before rummaging around his kitchen, pleased to discover that he had some leftover nectar from an experiment a few weeks previous. Sherlock dumped the nectar into a small bowl, carrying it over to the little bee.
The bee looked up at Sherlock, a mixture of hope and distrust flitting across his face. The bee apparently decided he had nothing to lose from drinking the nectar, however, and he began to drink, wings fluttering happily as he did so.
It wasn't long before the bee had gotten his fill, and he resumed studying Sherlock, seeming confused by his good manners.
"I'm Sherlock." He told the bee, and for a split second he felt foolish, until he saw the bee smile and buzz cheerfully in response. "I'm afraid I don't know your name."
The bee buzzed quickly, his face eager looking. When Sherlock continued to look blank, he hummed softly, giving his stinger a small wiggle to express his point.
"How about I call you John." Sherlock suggested, lowering his hand to the table. The bee walked over to it, eyeing it for a second before clambering on. "It's simple, understated."
The bee looked up at him, a grin lighting up his face as he buzzed a confirmative. John it was.
"It is nice to meet you John." Sherlock chuckled. "I am looking for an assistant to help me out on cases. I do believe you would make the perfect candidate."
John agreed readily, his buzz a low hum of satisfaction.