Chapter 3: We're Against Animal Testing, We Swear
It was a highly nervous John Watson approaching the crime scene that had been roped off in Belgrave Road, and the baby otter in his coat pocket didn't help any.
"Where's the freak?" Sally greeted him at the tape line.
"Uh...sick." John rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "He...sent me. To tell him what I saw."
Sally did not seem to find his explanation very convincing, but, in the absence of any better alternatives, at least waved him through. John walked up the staircase that led toward the bathroom where the victim they'd seen the pictures of had died. Other officers were milling around in the house and John tried to see whether he could spot Lestrade.
"If they find out I've brought a live animal to the crime scene, I 'll be lucky if they don't lock me up," he hissed, aimed at his coat pocket. Sherlock wriggled and didn't deign that one with a reply.
They had tried the trick with the laptop first, of course – this would have been so much easier if Sherlock could have stayed at the flat and John simply would have waved a computer with an open video call around the crime scene – but, as it turned out, the strange sort of 'telepathic connection' John seemed to have with Sherlock only worked in close physical proximity. As soon as he called the otter on a cell phone, all he heard was the weird NUG-ing.
Which left John Watson in a murder room with an otter in his pocket.
"If I were Bilbo and asked Gollum about what I have inside there, the Shire would be safe," John grumbled.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"John? Where's Sherlock?" Lestrade greeted him as he entered the bathroom. Beside the Chief inspector, there were two more policemen in white overalls working on bagging evidence, and, of course, the murder victim, unclothed and sprawled ungracefully in the bath tub.
"Sherlock's home sick. Turns out methodically starving yourself actually will compromise your immune system at some point – astonishing medical science, I know," John replied glibly (ignoring the displeased snuff in his coat pocket at the comment.) "He asked me to come and tell him what I saw."
"Did he." Lestrade didn't look too pleased with that.
"Yes, he did. And now get everybody out, I need to work."
It was a normal enough reply for Sherlock, John thought, the only problem being that this time, what everybody else in the room had heard-
"What...what was that? Was there a noise from your pocket?" Lestrade asked promptly, staring at the bulge in the side of John's coat that had already made him feel like London's anatomically weirdest exhibitionist the entire time they were on the tube.
"I, uh, I have a new ringtone?" John stammered, wishing he would die. In demonstration, he pulled out his cellphone from entirely the other side of his coat, and said "It's uh, it's a text from Sherlock. He says he, err, needs you all out of the room. He...doesn't want you talking in the background when he calls. Yeah. Sorry," John said, giving Lestrade the long-suffering lop-sided grin that he knew always made him look just a bit dopey; easy to trust or underestimate. It wasn't the most glamourous acting talent, but you worked with what you got.
Lestrade gave him a look that seemed like the inspector was deciding whether it was worth it to enquire whatever was going on at the Holmes and Watson Residence of Madness this time and seemed to decide that no, this time it wasn't.
"...fine. Come on, guys, let's take a short break. I trust you at least won't steal or contaminate evidence like he usually does," Lestrade said with a sigh (and another strange look at a haughty snuffle from John's pocket) and shooed the other two officers out of the bathroom. Seeing as they were alone now, Sherlock poked out of the coat.
"Very good. Lift me onto the rim of the bathtub."
"Decided to return to your native habitat?"
"No. And in fact, the small-clawed Asian otter is the least aquatic kind of its species," Sherlock replied irritably, "I want to get a closer look at the victim's hair. "
"Yeah, I noticed it looks kinda weird, right?" John said, frowning as he also stared at the dead man in the bathtub, trying to figure out what bothered him about the hair. It probably said something about his life that staring at murdered corpses was now actually calming him down and seemed like a soothing activity in comparison. "Do you think-?"
"Sorry, John, but we'll have to talk later. While your idea about a ringtone was quick thinking, for anyone listening, this many text messages would be suspicious, even for me."
"...sure," John said weakly, choosing to sit down on the closed loo instead and then proceeded to watch his roommate scurry about the bathroom, occasionally getting up when Sherlock had fallen into the bathtub or had accidentally overturned a bucket onto himself. They did find the things Sherlock had suggested for the text - there was a syringe, as well as tiny claw marks on the edges of the wooden window frame and around the handle, as well as empty mug that Sherlock was interested in and asked John to steal from the crime scene for testing.
And yet, the weirdest thing about this morning is probably still that he paid me a compliment , John thought with a sigh.
xxx
"Okay, we're back home. Now can you tell me what you've found or how you think you turned into an otter or, for that matter, if you've already figured out how you can turn back-"
"Not now, John. I need to send a couple of texts and I need you to get that mug of tea I drank from yesterday. No spilling the liquid inside. Put it in a container to carry and then we're heading to Bart's."
"We're heading to the sodding pound if you don't knock off that attitude," John muttered under his breath, but still searched their mess of a living room and kitchen to locate the requested mug. Sherlock, it seemed, was at the laptop again and apparently engrossed at a notice of a break-in at a pharmacy now.
"Very well." Sherlock reached up to close the laptop. "Let's go."
"The game is a-paw, then?"
"One more word, John."
xxx
"And are you absolutely sure there's no one else in here today but us?" John asked wearily after they had arrived at Bart's and he was now busy reaching for lab equipment from shelves far too high up for furry stubble fingers. "Also, me having to get things from high shelves for you ? You realize there is blackmail potential in this for a decade, right?"
"I may be an Asian small-clawed otter, John, but I am not at all averse to sink said appendages right into you, " Sherlock replied, mental voice snappish. " Also, set up the bunsen burner, will you? I tried and now am missing half my whiskers."
The otter now actually sounded despondent enough that John was half-moved to pity. "Fine, fine, just give me a minute. Also, would you finally mind explaining what we're actually looking for and what on Earth your theory is for this frankly insane- "
"-John? I didn't know you and Sherlock were coming in today, what - wait, is that an otter ?!"
Oh God.
John turned around, half-frozen, staring at an equally flabberghasted Molly standing in the doorway. Next to him, Sherlock also appeared to be paralyzed from shock (but at least no longer holding a machine-printout in his front paws and very obviously reading it).
"I - uh - I can explain -"
"Oh my God, it's ADORABLE!"
John Hamish Watson did not see fear on his best friend's face very often, but right now Sherlock was staring at the approaching lab technician with the exact same expression a real otter might have worn when faced with a hunting grizzly bear.
"Er, um, Molly-"
"Look at it, so TINY!" she cooed, already having bent down and was now wiggling a finger close to Sherlock's snout. She looked up at John, smiling. "Does he bite?"
"Uhm. Maybe. If you keep doing that."
"Ooooh, shy, is he?" Molly looked at him with a still adoring expression. "What's his name?"
"Sher- uh. Sher...ry?" John suggested, not for the first time wishing he had been turned into an animal, so maybe Sherlock could have dealt with all this.
"Sherry!" Molly exclaimed excitedly. "So it's a girl?!"
"No. it's a...he. Um. Please don't turn him over to check," John pleaded, "He, uh, is very shy," he added, correctly interpreting the (now noticeably blanched) expression of the otter in question.
"I wouldn't!" Molly protested, "I mean, I love otters, I always used to visit them at the zoo as a kid, I never thought I'd get to…" she paused. "Wait. John. Why on Earth did you bring an otter to the lab ?" she asked, adoring joy replaced by frowning confusion in an instant as she seemed to become aware of their surroundings again. "You can't do this! Did Sherlock make you do this?"
"No, uh, I mean, yes, sort of - I'm here for an experiment. For Sherlock," he tried to explain, aware that this day, somehow, was still managing to deteriorate.
"An...experi- with a live otter? He is making you experiment on live animals ? On endangered live animals?! " Molly's voice was now raised in indignancy, fury clearly just waiting to be unleashed -
"No! No. Nonononono, Molly, I would never," John interrupted her quickly, trying to stem the rising tide, "I even signed a petition in med school once, to stop animal testing. Really."
"Really," Molly repeated skeptically, arms now crossed in front of her. "Then why, John, did you bring an animal to the lab?"
"I, uh, it's just…" John racked his brain. "...he gets lonely."
"...what?"
Now both the otter and the woman were looking at John with pretty much identical expression, mostly suggesting that John may have inhaled a few too many experiment fumes.
"Yeah, uh, it's not my otter, see, I've got him only for a few days. From my sister," John swallowed. "And it's all legal, but...she said I mustn't leave him alone. He… he gets depressed."
Once again, there was staring. John thought this wasn't fair .
"Well, that's what she said, anyway!" he added, more defensively now. "I just don't want to have to lie to her when she asks me whether I've left Sherry alone, alright?!"
"...oh," Molly's anger seemed to deflate a little. "Well, okay, that's...that's actually kind of sweet."
"Thank you," John replied with emphasis.
"But this doesn't change the fact that a live animal is completely against lab regulations and if you aren't out of here in five minutes, I will report the both of you. And yes, I'm aware that Sherlock isn't here right now but this is definitely his fault, somehow."
"You have no idea how right you are," John muttered, but was at least glad that under Molly's watchful glare, Sherlock didn't put up as much of a fight as he could have.
xxx
By the time they got back to the flat, it was already dark outside and John pretty much stumbled into the living room and tossed the otter-containing coat carelessly onto the couch, taking a small detour to the bathroom.
"Okay," he managed as he returned, "now that we're alone can you please tell me-"
Which was as far as he got, because when he actually looked at his flatmate, Sherlock seemed to have crawled out of the coat, but then seemed to actually have curled up and fallen asleep in the bunched-up fabric.
John looked at the tableau for another minute or two, took another blackmail picture, put out a fresh can of tuna, and went to bed. Maybe, just maybe, this would all go back to normal when he woke up.
At least, he thought as he locked the door to their flat, Sherlock in his current form probably couldn't lockpick.
To be continued...
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