Crossover Fanfic: The Curious Incident of the Owl in the Daytime (JWP 2014 #15)
Title: The Curious Incident of the Owl in the Daytime
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)/Harry Potter
Alternate Posting: At AO3
Rating/Content: PG13, silliness, owl.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 960
Disclaimer: Not my world.
Notes: Written for watsons_woes July Writing Prompt #15: Cracktastic!. Far too many options that wanted more time than the challenge allows, so in the end I opted for the path of least resistance. This might be my first time writing anything Harry Potterish, so apologies for any horrible errors on that side.
Summary: 221B has an atypical caller.
The Curious Incident of the Owl in the Daytime
John stared at the owl outside the window. It was brown with white flecks and about the size of a large house-cat; a partial ring marked out the owl's face like parentheses.
The owl stared back at John.
"Ermmm, Sherlock?"
Sherlock grunted noncommittally, sitting in his chair with his back to the window, doing something indescribably bizarre with yarn and shurikens.
"Did you notice there's an owl on the balcony?"
"Just ignore it, it will leave."
John looked out the window again. The owl looked back at him with an expression of bored futility. John immediately wondered how and when he learned to read the emotional states of unfamiliar owls.
"It's broad daylight though, Sherlock. Owls are typically nocturnal."
Sherlock pulled the center out of a skein of blue yarn and threw it in the vague direction of the sofa. "Typically, yes."
"Hm." John frowned at the bird, who despite having a beak was giving every impression of frowning back. "So. You'd say this is an atypical owl then."
"Atypical to most people." Sherlock sighed in aggravation. "John, if you've got nothing better to do than stare at unfamiliar owls, might I suggest putting the kettle on?"
"It's just funny. I don't think I've ever seen an owl this close up." John crouched next to the window, nearly eye-level with the owl. The owl's unblinking dark eyes tracked him. "Certainly not a sight you'd expect to see in Lond-"
The owl bent down and snapped at something near its feet, picking it up with its small sharp beak. At first John thought it was a leaf but then he got a closer look. He giggled. "It's got an envelope. Addressed to you."
"Yes. I know," Sherlock moaned in his longest-sufferingest tone.
"You... know?" John looked at the back of Sherlock's head and pointed at the owl outside. "You know that this owl has a letter for you?"
"They always do."
"Always?" John echoed bemusedly.
"Mm. You'd think they'd get the hint after so many years, but noooo." Sherlock irritably disentangled himself from the pile of yarn and throwing stars. "No one in the Holmes family is permitted to not be interested in joining the alumni committee, or donating a few knuts now and then, or attending the reunions, or whatever they've got on now."
"I'm sorry, donating what?" John hopelessly asked, attempting to track a discussion that seemed to be rapidly getting away from him.
Sherlock thrashed to his feet, shedding colorful wool and sharp metal objects like a punk sheep being shorn.
"Alumni..." John queried, chasing the slightly familiar. "Is this something from where you went to school?"
"Briefly. Yes." Throwing the last shuriken down into the piles of yarn with a meaty wooden thunk and staggering to his feet, Sherlock turned around and stomped to the window.
"Shh!" John raised his hands in defense of the odd owl. "Don't scare it!"
Sherlock snorted. "If only it were so simple, John. These owls are fearless. Or at least bloody-minded and obstinate." As if to demonstrate, Sherlock reached the window and hammered at the frame with a fist, vibrating the glass.
"Sherlock!" John protested but the owl didn't budge.
Sherlock cupped his hands against the glass and bellowed. "Helloooo! Message refused! Again!"
The owl seemed to heave a world-weary sigh and twitched the note pointedly in its beak.
"I know who sent it and I don't care. I only attended one term at that bloody place. One term! And if I hadn't quit, I'd have been expelled in a fortnight."
John blinked as the envelope-carrying owl tilted its head in a way that could only be read as 'Oh, reeeeally.'
"I would have seen to it," Sherlock snarled. "You can keep your nonsense world. I want no part of it!"
The owl hopped back and forth in front of the window before smacking the envelope hard against the glass. John blinked, but didn't flinch.
"It's, ah, a very determined...." John pondered wildly. "Carrier owl? Is there such a thing as a carrier owl?"
Ignoring John, Sherlock continued to address the owl. "No. Refused. Go away. Don't care." Sherlock made fluttery shooing motions. "You are disturbing the Mu-" his eyes flicked toward John. "The... mundane. That I live with."
John felt obscurely insulted, but then realised he probably shouldn't be bothered by how Sherlock may or may not have described him to a pushy postal owl.
Meanwhile, Sherlock continued haranguing the owl. "I am abiding by all the rules and strictures set on me when I left that place without graduating. You and your master are the ones trampling your precious rules here."
John raised an eyebrow at the idea of Sherlock obeying anyone else's rules, but kept silent, standing and crossing his arms to scowl at the owl with the vague thought of presenting a unified front at 221B against owls carrying envelopes. Or whatever was going on. He frowned in a determinately 'no owls allowed' sort of way.
"You know I'm right." Sherlock growled, crouching down to the owl's level and meeting its gaze, stare for unblinking stare.
There was a tense moment. Or at least it felt tense to John. There was enough determined staring going on through the sitting room window to cover about five tense moments, so he thought that made up for said tense moment being between Sherlock and an owl rather than say, Sherlock and Moriarty.
Then, with a disgruntled ruffle of feathers, the owl seemed to shrug. It took two hopping steps up onto the railing and flew off down Baker Street, still carrying its envelope.
"You know," John said, his day having far more weird in it than he'd been expecting earlier that morning (and considering he lived with Sherlock, that was a lot of base-level weird to surmount), "that tea's starting to sound quite nice. Have we got any brandy in?"
Sherlock threw open the window and shouted after the departing bird. "AND TAKE MY NAME OFF THE BLOODY MAILING LIST!!"
-.-.-
(that's all)
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)/Harry Potter
Alternate Posting: At AO3
Rating/Content: PG13, silliness, owl.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 960
Disclaimer: Not my world.
Notes: Written for watsons_woes July Writing Prompt #15: Cracktastic!. Far too many options that wanted more time than the challenge allows, so in the end I opted for the path of least resistance. This might be my first time writing anything Harry Potterish, so apologies for any horrible errors on that side.
Summary: 221B has an atypical caller.
The Curious Incident of the Owl in the Daytime
John stared at the owl outside the window. It was brown with white flecks and about the size of a large house-cat; a partial ring marked out the owl's face like parentheses.
The owl stared back at John.
"Ermmm, Sherlock?"
Sherlock grunted noncommittally, sitting in his chair with his back to the window, doing something indescribably bizarre with yarn and shurikens.
"Did you notice there's an owl on the balcony?"
"Just ignore it, it will leave."
John looked out the window again. The owl looked back at him with an expression of bored futility. John immediately wondered how and when he learned to read the emotional states of unfamiliar owls.
"It's broad daylight though, Sherlock. Owls are typically nocturnal."
Sherlock pulled the center out of a skein of blue yarn and threw it in the vague direction of the sofa. "Typically, yes."
"Hm." John frowned at the bird, who despite having a beak was giving every impression of frowning back. "So. You'd say this is an atypical owl then."
"Atypical to most people." Sherlock sighed in aggravation. "John, if you've got nothing better to do than stare at unfamiliar owls, might I suggest putting the kettle on?"
"It's just funny. I don't think I've ever seen an owl this close up." John crouched next to the window, nearly eye-level with the owl. The owl's unblinking dark eyes tracked him. "Certainly not a sight you'd expect to see in Lond-"
The owl bent down and snapped at something near its feet, picking it up with its small sharp beak. At first John thought it was a leaf but then he got a closer look. He giggled. "It's got an envelope. Addressed to you."
"Yes. I know," Sherlock moaned in his longest-sufferingest tone.
"You... know?" John looked at the back of Sherlock's head and pointed at the owl outside. "You know that this owl has a letter for you?"
"They always do."
"Always?" John echoed bemusedly.
"Mm. You'd think they'd get the hint after so many years, but noooo." Sherlock irritably disentangled himself from the pile of yarn and throwing stars. "No one in the Holmes family is permitted to not be interested in joining the alumni committee, or donating a few knuts now and then, or attending the reunions, or whatever they've got on now."
"I'm sorry, donating what?" John hopelessly asked, attempting to track a discussion that seemed to be rapidly getting away from him.
Sherlock thrashed to his feet, shedding colorful wool and sharp metal objects like a punk sheep being shorn.
"Alumni..." John queried, chasing the slightly familiar. "Is this something from where you went to school?"
"Briefly. Yes." Throwing the last shuriken down into the piles of yarn with a meaty wooden thunk and staggering to his feet, Sherlock turned around and stomped to the window.
"Shh!" John raised his hands in defense of the odd owl. "Don't scare it!"
Sherlock snorted. "If only it were so simple, John. These owls are fearless. Or at least bloody-minded and obstinate." As if to demonstrate, Sherlock reached the window and hammered at the frame with a fist, vibrating the glass.
"Sherlock!" John protested but the owl didn't budge.
Sherlock cupped his hands against the glass and bellowed. "Helloooo! Message refused! Again!"
The owl seemed to heave a world-weary sigh and twitched the note pointedly in its beak.
"I know who sent it and I don't care. I only attended one term at that bloody place. One term! And if I hadn't quit, I'd have been expelled in a fortnight."
John blinked as the envelope-carrying owl tilted its head in a way that could only be read as 'Oh, reeeeally.'
"I would have seen to it," Sherlock snarled. "You can keep your nonsense world. I want no part of it!"
The owl hopped back and forth in front of the window before smacking the envelope hard against the glass. John blinked, but didn't flinch.
"It's, ah, a very determined...." John pondered wildly. "Carrier owl? Is there such a thing as a carrier owl?"
Ignoring John, Sherlock continued to address the owl. "No. Refused. Go away. Don't care." Sherlock made fluttery shooing motions. "You are disturbing the Mu-" his eyes flicked toward John. "The... mundane. That I live with."
John felt obscurely insulted, but then realised he probably shouldn't be bothered by how Sherlock may or may not have described him to a pushy postal owl.
Meanwhile, Sherlock continued haranguing the owl. "I am abiding by all the rules and strictures set on me when I left that place without graduating. You and your master are the ones trampling your precious rules here."
John raised an eyebrow at the idea of Sherlock obeying anyone else's rules, but kept silent, standing and crossing his arms to scowl at the owl with the vague thought of presenting a unified front at 221B against owls carrying envelopes. Or whatever was going on. He frowned in a determinately 'no owls allowed' sort of way.
"You know I'm right." Sherlock growled, crouching down to the owl's level and meeting its gaze, stare for unblinking stare.
There was a tense moment. Or at least it felt tense to John. There was enough determined staring going on through the sitting room window to cover about five tense moments, so he thought that made up for said tense moment being between Sherlock and an owl rather than say, Sherlock and Moriarty.
Then, with a disgruntled ruffle of feathers, the owl seemed to shrug. It took two hopping steps up onto the railing and flew off down Baker Street, still carrying its envelope.
"You know," John said, his day having far more weird in it than he'd been expecting earlier that morning (and considering he lived with Sherlock, that was a lot of base-level weird to surmount), "that tea's starting to sound quite nice. Have we got any brandy in?"
Sherlock threw open the window and shouted after the departing bird. "AND TAKE MY NAME OFF THE BLOODY MAILING LIST!!"
-.-.-
(that's all)