Otterly Ridiculous
by Taranea
Chapter 1: Getting Up and Regretting It
The first clue for Sherlock that today might be interesting was when he awoke and found he had turned into an otter.
Now, there are several ways to react to such a discovery, most of which would involve some variations of panic, frantically trying to wake up, or potentially plotting to murder your roommate for drugging you, but Sherlock, being Sherlock, mostly stared at his (tiny, furry) hands for a moment and then determinedly wriggled over to his nightstead.
Obviously, there was a very clear solution for all this.
xxx
It was a very tired and cranky half-dressed John Watson that stumbled into his bedroom some ten minutes later, clutching a cellphone and asking,
"Sherlock, care to explain why I received five texts from you at around six in the morning, all some sort of variation of, and I quote 'Require immediate assistance; am otter', Sher – Sherlock?"
John Watson paused. This was mostly he was now beholding the small aquatic mammal that was sitting on Sherlock's bed and holding a smartphone.
"Okay. No." John said very firmly.
xxx
The otter blinked at him. Somehow, it seemed to manage to look expectant and condescending at the same time, which really shouldn't work, mostly because the thing happened to be a bloody otter -
John managed to rein his runaway train of thought back in and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was too damn early for mind games.
"Okay, Sherlock, I am not playing along," he said, trying to remain calm. "I don't know where you're hiding, and I don't know what could possibly have motivated this latest exercise in insanity, but this is ridiculous, even for your standards. I'm going to go back to sleep. If this trained otter isn't back in the zoo or wherever you stole it from by midday, I'm going to tell Mrs Huds-"
"For goodness' sake, John, this isn't a trained otter, this is really me!"
John paused. And stared.
On the one hand, the otter had said something that sounded vaguely like "NUGNUGNUGNUG!"
But on the other hand, he had suddenly clearly heard...
"Did you just...speak?" he croaked.
It had even sounded like Sherlock's voice – or like a voice would sound if it bypassed your ears entirely and ended up straight in your brain.
"Sherlock...is...is that actually you?"
The otter regarded him now with a slow blink and a look of that John thought would have been impossible to imitate.
Well.
In Sherlock's case it would have come from a bit higher up, not from somewhere around coffee table height, but...
"Yes, John, it is."
"Okay, this is beyond weird. I can hear your...ottter noises, but also your voice and -" John stopped himself and frowned. „Wait, again, this isn't you hiding somewhere and using cameras and microphones to spy on me, right?" He turned a suspicious look on the small animal. "Sherlock, if you've managed to lace my tea with drugs again, I swear I'll-"
He broke off.
I am, he realized, having an argument with an otter. In my flat, at six in the morning.
"I need to go back to sleep. Maybe this really is just a horrible nightmare," John muttered, trying to head toward the door again, but paused when the otter gave a somehow frustrated-sounding squeak, that, again, just was entirely too familiar to John's ears despite everything. John heaved a very deep sigh and turned around again, crossing his arms.
"Okay. Prove it. Make the otter do something that only you could do."
The furry creature regarded him from a moment with eyes that the longer he looked at them he couldn't deny were too intelligent for anything non-human. Then it (he?) all at once jumped down from the nightstead, scrabbled to the foot of the bed and then deftly worked its little claws into a narrow little slit between two floorboards, eventually flipping a little panel open that John never would have seen otherwise. The otter reached down and (with some fumbling) managed to retrieve a small, thin object. It took John a moment to process what he was seeing.
Then:
"Sherlock?"
"Yes?"
"Please tell me that this isn't a syringe kit loaded with...whatever Lestrade was looking for during the last drug bust."
"It's not like I was ever planning on using it, John," the otter pointed out, doing something that looked oddly like a shrug.
"Yeah. No, of course not," John found himself saying, "You'd first have to calculate the new dosage for someone who has abruptly lost like 165 pounds, for one thing."
The otter gave him a look that suggested he was not impressed with the comeback. Then:
"I wouldn't have to. The precise dosage for otters would be-"
"Oh god, of course you would know that," John groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Fine. Fine. Assuming this isn't a hallucination, what do we do now? How can you turn back to normal? How did you even turn into an animal in the first place?"
"I need to verify a few things at the lab." The otter lifted its tiny forelegs, looking up at John. "Carry me," it commanded imperiously.
John blinked. "What."
"Don't be obtuse, John. Waddling about like this is far too tedious. My limbs are even more stubbly than yours now. I don't even seem to be a fully-grown otter, for one thing," the otter said, sounding displeased.
A few minutes later, walking out of Sherlock's bedroom and trying not to fall down the starirs because he was utterly sleep-deprived and now had an otter on his shoulder, John Hamish Watson once again contemplated life choices, and where he had possibly made a few wrong ones.
To be continued...
Well, there you go. First venture into the Sherlock Fandom, but fourth venture into crack territory :p Surprisingly, there is an actual plot for this planned. Hope you like, and if you read, please review! :D