Chapter 2: This Is All Going Swimmingly

It was now about one and a half hours later and John was gradually feeling a little better, as long as he didn't remind himself that his flat mate was now a small aquatic mammal.

A previous line of questioning ("Why are you now an otter, Sherlock?" - "Can't say. Not enough data ." - "It shouldn't technically be possible for a human to turn into an otter. You...you do know that, right? It's an important rule, actually. Like the Earth going around the sun." - " Yes, John, thank you, I was aware. But clearly, we have been presented with evidence to the contrary for at least one of those facts. Do pay attention.") had not resulted in John comprehending the situation any better.

Instead, Sherlock had directed him downstairs into the living room where he had jumped off John's shoulder onto the coffee table and then demanded that the laptop be opened for him. As soon as the browser had booted up, the otter had flung himself into research immediately, and then refused to communicate in anything but unhelpful grunting noises.

This, at least, was comfortingly familiar territory.

John had ambled back upstairs, and then took his own sweet time in the bathroom with a leisurely shower, guessing correctly that this was very likely the last down time he'd have for a while as soon as Sherlock had worked out a plan of action to rectify this current crisis.

This was proved correct as soon as he entered the living room again.

"Sherlock?" John asked. The otter didn't look up, small black eyes still narrowed at the now ridiculously huge screen in front of him, currently showing a newspaper article about a robbery. John, used to this behaviour as well, continued anyway. "Sherlock, I'll need to go out before we do anything. There's no food left-"

And this was as far as he got, because then he was already interrupted by a friendly, elderly voice going 'Yoo-hoo! Are you awake yet, Sherlock? It's only me, I came to drop off the keys and some food for you two, I'll be in and out in a flash."

At the same time, the door to the living room was already opening, and for once, Sherlock and John both exchanged the same alarmed glance, because the otter on the chair was in plain view for anyone setting even one foot into the room.

"Hello, Mrs Hudson," John said and then smoothly dropped the largest cushion they had onto his flatmate.

"John, dear!" Their landlady's face lit up as she saw him. "Up so early? You should really try to sleep in on a Saturday, dear, I know that living with Sherlock you need all the rest you can get."

"You have no idea how right you are, Mrs Hudson."

The old woman laughed. "I know, I know. Anyway, I will be gone until Thursday night so I brought you the extra key ring for the cellar and the attic and any food I still had in the fridge that would spoil-"

"Wait, what? You're leaving?" John managed, finally starting to figure out what had prompted this ill-timed early morning visit. He also tried ignore the cushion on the chair that now had started to bounce somewhat angrily.

Mrs Hudson nodded. "Yes. I told Sherlock that I would drop off the things today, but I can see he didn't mention it to you, and then he's of course out when I come." Mrs Hudson shook her head and sighed. "Bigger fish to catch, I suppose." She sighed, then saw John's face. "Did I say something funny?"

"What? No. Sorry," John hurriedly schooled his features into an innocently friendly expression and then tried to usher her out of the door again. "Thank you very much for the food. You said you'd be back Thursday?"

"Yes, that's right, dear, just visiting my nephew for a few days. I hope you'll be alright by yourselves?"

"I really hope so too, Mrs Hudson," John muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing at all. Have a nice few days!"

The door fell into the lock again with John collapsing against it like a man who had just fought off an invasion by the huns. Then, of course, there was another frustrated squeak from the sofa and John's eyes hurriedly flew open again.

"Oh god, Sherlock!"

John stormed over and lifted the pillow again. The face that greeted him somehow managed to look both crumpled and insulted.

"Really, John, was that necessary?" Sherlock asked a bit peevishly, but John didn't grace that one with a reply. Of course, with Sherlock as a tenant Mrs Hudson probably had seen weirder things than this, but even the eccentric detective generally didn't harbour livestock.

"It seemed safer," was all John replied, letting himself drop into the other chair, while his flatmate weaseled over to the laptop again. "Anyway, found something out yet?"

"Not sure yet. I have found out I'm apparently an Aonyx cinereus, one of the smaller otter species. Also, somehow only the size of a pre-adolescent pup." The otter frowned.

"Hm-hm. Whatever it is must be acting on mental age, huh?"

"Yes, John, thank you for that helpful comment. Also, I think you bent my whiskers." Sherlock had just settled in front of the screen again, when a small alert noise announced to the world the arrival of an email. A tap on the touchpad called it to the full screen and John leaned over curiously.

"Something helpful?"

Black eyes roved over the contents quickly. "No, " Sherlock replied dismissively. " Just the Met stumped with a murder case so blindingly obvious even a child could solve it, as usual."

"Even a pup?" John questioned, for some reason by now finding an odd sort of hilarity (probably born from despair) in the entire situation, but only earned himself a murderous glare from his flatmate. Sherlock gave the laptop a push toward John on the table.

"Here. You type. These digits are too short."

"Yeah, you would make me type even if you had turned into a lemur instead." John sighed and pulled the laptop over. The email consisted of a few short sentences, the problem apparently mainly that it seemed a locked-room mystery. The only window of the bathroom the victim had been murdered in was much too small even for a child to escape from. There were a few pictures of the crime scene, including the corpse, who seemed at first glance mostly unharmed even if their face was contorted. But...there was something strange about his hair...John started to lean forward, squinting at the picture, but Sherlock cleared his throat impatiently, which in his new form made the otter sound like a small vaccum cleaner.

"John. Concentrate. Typing." He stood up on his hind legs, gesturing with one paw. "Tell them they need to look for a discarded syringe, which was obviously what the poison was administered with. They have worked out it was poisoning yet, right? Also, there should be claw marks at the door and they should do a full lab report since the victim was definitely a user, and if they examine the window frame they'll find-"

"Sherlock, hold on! I can't type that fast!"

"Oh for god's- give it here. I'll do it."

"Fine. I'll fix breakfast, then, shall I?" John tiredly pushed the laptop back to the cranky otter, raising himself from his seat. Sherlock started typing almost immediately, small paws flying over the keys embarrassingly actually really quicker than John's attempts had been.

"Honestly, John, I'm missing opposable thumbs and I'm faster than you."

"Oh, go build a dam somewhere, Sherlock."

"Actually, that's beav-"

"I know! I'm a bit out of sorts today what with you being an otter, I'm sorry!"

It had been his first outburst, and now Sherlock actually looked at him for a moment, not saying anything. Then he glanced away and when he spoke, his voice sounded a lot less pompous and more sincere.

"...I understand." He looked down at himself. "Bit of a shock myself, if I'm honest."

John, who could recognize a peace offer when he saw one, sighed and tried a little smile again.

"Yeah, you can say that again. Hold on. I'll be out with breakfast in a mo."

So saying, John stepped back into the kitchen where he pulled out the two slices of bread he'd put into the toaster sort of on autopilot previously, before another important question occurred to him.

What did otters eat?

xxx

It was another five minutes later that John stepped back into the living room. Judging by the ding! he'd heard while stacking the tray he was now carrying out to the coffee table, a new email had also arrived. An interesting one, apparently, because Sherlock had folded his paws under his chin now, staring at screen with slightly narrowed eyes. Watson knew that expression. It meant that if his flatmate had been a video game, there now would have been a loading bar.

"Here you go," he said, putting something down next to laptop and otter. "I'm also going to mention that you used up all the milk without buying a new bottle again, and I'm half-tempted to tie a little purse around your neck and make you waddle to the nearest Tesco's. I'm serious."

"Hmm," Sherlock replied in that way he did that let John know he could have been talking about selling Sherlock to the London Zoo and he would be ignored, and he therefore just sighed once more and started on his own toast, waiting for the otter god to acknowledge him again.

He did when he finally looked up from the email and turned to inspect what John had put down next to him.

"John? You appear to have brought me a can of sardines."

"Well, I don't know what otters eat. Fish, right?"

"John, these sardines are in tomato sauce." The otter somehow raised an eye ridge. "Aren't you aware that it is generally ill-advised to give processed food to feral animals?"

"Well, excuse me for not researching the correct way to feed my flatmate while you were blocking the laptop with your otterfingers," John grated, then became aware of how ridiculous their conversation was getting again and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. I'll pick up some fresh fish. Have you any idea what we're supposed to do next?"

"I have a few ideas. Mainly I want to test the things I came into contact with yesterday for unusual substances, but for that we'll have to break into Bart's tonight. I doubt they'd let you in there with an animal."

"Right." John frowned. "So until then..."

"Until then, we'll be heading down to Lestrade's crime scene. He's replied to my first mail and what he wrote now definitely makes the case interesting."

John stared at him.

"Sherlock. You're not serious."

"It'll be fine. You can take your coat with the extra large pockets."

"Sherlock!"

To be continued...

Whelp, second chapter! All feedback and comments welcome, my replies are always nice :) If you read, please review!