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John shook his head, laughing slightly. Sherlock couldn't be serious. "I'm sorry, they're what?"
Sherlock hissed angrily, still pressed up against the door. "I already told you, they're inside the flat."
John sighed. "Oh for god's sake. Let me get into the flat, Sherlock."
Warily, Sherlock moved aside. John strided up to the door, pulling it open as he walked bravely into the unknown.
A unicorn stood awkwardly half-way up the stairs, looking very much in danger of falling over as it peered down at John. John looked at it.
"Well go on, shoo. You're in the way," he told the unicorn. "We do need to get through here, you know."
The unicorn blinked a few times before whinnying slightly. It slowly shimmered out of existence, leaving behind naught but a few sparkles and an odd patch of wildflowers growing on the stairs.
Mrs. Hudson would not be pleased.
John called back over his shoulder, motioning Sherlock into the apartment. "It's safe now, princess, you can come in."
Sherlock stalked in angrily, snapping aggressively.
"It was mocking me, John, mocking me. It's not even supposed to exist, but it's growing flowers in our flat and it is following me. Do you know what that means, John?"
John shrugged mildly, pulling his coat off as he stepped over the wildflowers carefully. "I think it means we'll have some very interesting company over the next few days."
Sherlock stomped up the stairs, grinding the heel of his shoe into an innocent daisy sprouting from the carpeting. "It means that a group of mythical creatures has decided to stalk me because I haven't been bothered to engage in sexual intercourse. It means a nuisance, John. I don't think you fully comprehend the severity of the situation."
John paused. "Sherlock. You're being followed around by a horse with a horn on its head. It's not going to be that bad."
Sherlock threw his hands up into the air, stalking over to the couch and landing on it with a practiced flop of boneless grace. "For god's sake, think, John, use the matter lodged in your cranium for once. This is an unexpected change, you know he is going to visit."
John hung up his coat. "Your brother is not the worst thing in the world, underhanded and slimy though he is."
Sherlock heaved a tremendous sigh, wriggling slightly in his prone position. "It's him combined with the horses. Despicable creatures, they're dangerous at both ends and crafty in the middle."
John stepped around the rat-trap experiment and grabbed the kettle, wandering over to the kitchen to fetch some water. "Your brother or horses?"
Sherlock nodded. "Yes."
"I see."
"Indeed."
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