Fic: Bunny
Title: Bunny
Author: ununpentium
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG, gen
Wordcount: 1567
Disclaimer: I don’t own Sherlock (but I wish I did).
Written for the prompt "Sherlock is given a baby bunny (or something equally cute) as a thank-you for a solved case. Sherlock doesn't want to keep it, so he gives it to John for disposal. John keeps the critter instead, and from then on, come hell or high-water, the little furry ball of cuteness resides happily in John's coat pocket, peeking out of the top to see the world at large from a relatively safe distance.
It could be a ferret, bunny, kiten, IDK, whatever you want, but I'd LOVE it is everyone, the yarders, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, all cooed ove rthe little angel. Even Sherlock eventually succumbing to the cuteness."
It was the end of an incredibly long day at the surgery and all John wanted to do was go home, have a hot shower and flop onto the sofa and catch some of the rugby. As he was pulling on his jacket, he felt his mobile buzz in his trouser pocket, and sighed. It had to be Sherlock, and Sherlock never texted unless he wanted John to do something. John wanted to do nothing; doing nothing for a whole evening would be utter bliss. He pulled out his phone and frowned at the screen.
Require your immediate assistance. Baker Street. SH
“Bloody fantastic,” John sighed as he exited the surgery and headed towards the tube station, head bowed down against the wind.
**
John arrived at the flat to find most of the furniture upturned, stacks of papers and journals pushed to the floor and Sherlock lying on his front on the living room floor, peering underneath the upturned sofa.
“If you are not going to die in the next ten minutes, then I don’t want to know what this is about until I’ve had a shower.” John promptly turned and marched up the stairs, shaking his head at the state of the flat. He thought that there better be a bloody good reason for the horrific mess, or God help him, he’d have to threaten Sherlock with Mycroft again, and he remembered how that went last time.
After he had showered and started to feel more human, John descended the stairs and hoped that the living room had miraculously returned to its usual state of being. But no. Sherlock was still lying on the floor, peering under the sofa.
“You’re not dead?” John asked.
“Brilliant deduction,” Sherlock replied, somewhat muffled by his position, “but I do need your assistance.”
“Right, what is it this time? You know that you get to Narnia through a wardrobe and not under a sofa?” John chuckled and Sherlock twisted around to stare at John like he’d grown another head.
“Oh, you’ve deleted that then, Sherlock?” Sherlock looked bored and refocused his attention back underneath the sofa.
“We have a problem, John. Vermin. I’m trying to catch it in order to dispose of it.”
“If you stole lab rats from Bart’s and accidentally on purpose let them escape then I’m not helping,” John said firmly, “I think I don’t need to mention the cockroach incident?” He shuddered slightly.
“No, no, nothing like that. Someone gave me a… gift. And it’s underneath the sofa. And I want it gone.”
“I’m sorry, what? Did I hear you right? Someone bought you a gift?” John tried his hardest to smother a giggle, imagining an old woman buying Sherlock something outrageous.
“You know I loathe repeating myself, so do keep up. You remember Mrs Barley, we solved her case last week? She was so grateful that we located her missing diamond necklace that she gave me something to say thank you.”
“And?”
“She bought me a rabbit.” Sherlock said in a rush. John creased up with laughter, clutching his stomach. Sherlock jumped up from the floor, dusting himself down.
“Yes. A rabbit. It doesn’t appear to like me and is currently hiding underneath the sofa. I want to catch it so I can get rid of it.”
John looked at Sherlock sideways.
“You probably scared the little thing. Oh, you told the poor rabbit you were going to get rid of him and he got scared!”
“John, don’t be stupid, animals cannot understand language.”
John mimed placing a finger over his lips and said in an exaggerated stage whisper, “they might be able to!”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, and John lowered himself to the floor and peered under the sofa.
“Oh! I see him. Oh he looks really frightened. Hey, bunny, I won’t hurt you, come out, please?” John crooned and Sherlock snorted.
“It can’t understand you, John. It doesn’t have the intelligence.”
“Sherlock, shut up and get some carrot or lettuce or something so I can entice him out.”
Sherlock, by some small miracle since he never used the fridge for its intended purpose, located some carrot and chucked it in John’s direction. John broke it in half and held some out towards the sofa.
“Come on, bunny, want some carrot? That’s it, I won’t hurt you, not like mean Sherlock. Come on bunny!” Slowly but surely the tiny, white rabbit inched closer to the carrot until it was sniffing it tentatively, still unsure about the environment. It hopped a bit closer and started to munch the carrot. John reached out slowly to stroke the rabbit, who jumped slightly before realising John was no threat, and continued to nibble the carrot.
Sherlock, meanwhile, was watching the whole scene with a puzzled and slightly confused look on his face.
“Grab it John, then we can give it to a charity shop or something.”
John laughed softly, “That’s not how it works, Sherlock. And I quite like this little bunny, I think we should look after him until we can find him a new owner. You’d like that, wouldn’t you bunny?” The rabbit looked up at John and twitched his nose, as if agreeing. Sherlock muttered “Oh, god,” and swirled out of the living room.
**
The next day, Lestrade summoned Sherlock to a crime scene and so John followed. He still had not managed to find anyone who wanted a new rabbit; Mrs Hudson’s family seemed to already have a menagerie of pets and did not want any more. John was reluctant to leave the rabbit at Baker Street, so he had placed him into the pocket of his jacket; his head just peeking out of the top. Sherlock had decided to totally ignore the rabbit, as if it would go away if he didn’t draw any attention to it. John, meanwhile, had taken to stroking the rabbit and apologising for “mean Sherlock”.
Sherlock bounded out of the cab, muttering about the incompetency of the forensics team, and John carefully exited the cab as not to jostle the rabbit. He stood at the periphery of the scene, aware that bringing a live animal to the scene of crime was a bit not good. Donovan had noticed his loitering, and wandered over to see why he hadn’t joined the freak, and then she noticed the rabbit hiding in John’s pocket.
“Oh my god! Oh, he’s beautiful!” She cooed, “so soft, too. What’s his name?”
“Um, well, I’ve just been calling him Bunny. We aren’t keeping him, not safe really with Sherlock’s experiments, and I didn’t want to name him if I couldn’t keep him.”
Sally peered up at John, still stroking the rabbit’s head.
“Why’d you get a rabbit in the first place?” She asked, slightly suspiciously.
“Someone gave it to Sherlock as a present,” was all John managed to say before both he and Sally dissolved into laughter.
“John! I need your opinion, Anderson might as well be a ten year old child for all the help he’s- oh. The vermin.” Sherlock had re-appeared from the crime scene and stopped as he remembered that John had the rabbit in his pocket. Sally was still sniggering. Sherlock sniffed.
“Just get rid of it, John, so you can actually be of some use,” before flouncing off, stopping only to stoop underneath the police tape.
“Ignore mean old Sherlock,” John whispered, “he likes you really, Bunny. And we’ll get you a proper hutch today, some nice straw and everything.”
“Good luck with that,” Sally laughed as she too re-joined the rest of the team, leaving John and Bunny watching.
**
It was the end of another long day at the surgery and John had seen enough patients demanding antibiotics for their sore throats to last him a lifetime, and could practically recite the reasons why it was neither beneficial nor practical to prescribe antibiotics for colds in his sleep.
John climbed the stairs to 221b and pushed open the door and froze in his tracks. Sherlock was lying on the sofa, with Bunny asleep on his chest. John blinked.
“Is this an alternate universe? Am I asleep? Is The Doctor going to appear any second in his TARDIS?” John couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“Shh, John, you’ll wake him,” Sherlock said softly, trying not to jostle the sleeping rabbit on his chest. John moved closer, treading softly, still not trusting his eyes. Indeed, Bunny was asleep on Sherlock’s chest, where Sherlock had his hand lightly curled around the rabbit.
“Um.” Was all John could say. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
“Is it really that strange to see me with a rabbit, John?”
“Well, yes, considering last week you were calling it vermin and demanding we take it to a charity shop!”
Sherlock pouted.
“That was before I got to know him properly. He likes me now, John! We have an understanding,” Sherlock said seriously. John giggled.
“An understanding. And you kept reminding me, rather gleefully, that animals don’t understand language?” Sherlock simply waved his free hand dismissively in John’s direction.
“You were out all day, I was bored, I thought you would object to me experimenting on him and so instead I tried talking to him like you do. He learned to trust me.” Sherlock’s eyes softened as he looked at the rabbit, gently stroking its head. John smiled.
“You’ve named him, haven’t you?”
Sherlock smirked.
“He’s called Anderson.”
Author: ununpentium
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG, gen
Wordcount: 1567
Disclaimer: I don’t own Sherlock (but I wish I did).
Written for the prompt "Sherlock is given a baby bunny (or something equally cute) as a thank-you for a solved case. Sherlock doesn't want to keep it, so he gives it to John for disposal. John keeps the critter instead, and from then on, come hell or high-water, the little furry ball of cuteness resides happily in John's coat pocket, peeking out of the top to see the world at large from a relatively safe distance.
It could be a ferret, bunny, kiten, IDK, whatever you want, but I'd LOVE it is everyone, the yarders, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, all cooed ove rthe little angel. Even Sherlock eventually succumbing to the cuteness."
It was the end of an incredibly long day at the surgery and all John wanted to do was go home, have a hot shower and flop onto the sofa and catch some of the rugby. As he was pulling on his jacket, he felt his mobile buzz in his trouser pocket, and sighed. It had to be Sherlock, and Sherlock never texted unless he wanted John to do something. John wanted to do nothing; doing nothing for a whole evening would be utter bliss. He pulled out his phone and frowned at the screen.
Require your immediate assistance. Baker Street. SH
“Bloody fantastic,” John sighed as he exited the surgery and headed towards the tube station, head bowed down against the wind.
**
John arrived at the flat to find most of the furniture upturned, stacks of papers and journals pushed to the floor and Sherlock lying on his front on the living room floor, peering underneath the upturned sofa.
“If you are not going to die in the next ten minutes, then I don’t want to know what this is about until I’ve had a shower.” John promptly turned and marched up the stairs, shaking his head at the state of the flat. He thought that there better be a bloody good reason for the horrific mess, or God help him, he’d have to threaten Sherlock with Mycroft again, and he remembered how that went last time.
After he had showered and started to feel more human, John descended the stairs and hoped that the living room had miraculously returned to its usual state of being. But no. Sherlock was still lying on the floor, peering under the sofa.
“You’re not dead?” John asked.
“Brilliant deduction,” Sherlock replied, somewhat muffled by his position, “but I do need your assistance.”
“Right, what is it this time? You know that you get to Narnia through a wardrobe and not under a sofa?” John chuckled and Sherlock twisted around to stare at John like he’d grown another head.
“Oh, you’ve deleted that then, Sherlock?” Sherlock looked bored and refocused his attention back underneath the sofa.
“We have a problem, John. Vermin. I’m trying to catch it in order to dispose of it.”
“If you stole lab rats from Bart’s and accidentally on purpose let them escape then I’m not helping,” John said firmly, “I think I don’t need to mention the cockroach incident?” He shuddered slightly.
“No, no, nothing like that. Someone gave me a… gift. And it’s underneath the sofa. And I want it gone.”
“I’m sorry, what? Did I hear you right? Someone bought you a gift?” John tried his hardest to smother a giggle, imagining an old woman buying Sherlock something outrageous.
“You know I loathe repeating myself, so do keep up. You remember Mrs Barley, we solved her case last week? She was so grateful that we located her missing diamond necklace that she gave me something to say thank you.”
“And?”
“She bought me a rabbit.” Sherlock said in a rush. John creased up with laughter, clutching his stomach. Sherlock jumped up from the floor, dusting himself down.
“Yes. A rabbit. It doesn’t appear to like me and is currently hiding underneath the sofa. I want to catch it so I can get rid of it.”
John looked at Sherlock sideways.
“You probably scared the little thing. Oh, you told the poor rabbit you were going to get rid of him and he got scared!”
“John, don’t be stupid, animals cannot understand language.”
John mimed placing a finger over his lips and said in an exaggerated stage whisper, “they might be able to!”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, and John lowered himself to the floor and peered under the sofa.
“Oh! I see him. Oh he looks really frightened. Hey, bunny, I won’t hurt you, come out, please?” John crooned and Sherlock snorted.
“It can’t understand you, John. It doesn’t have the intelligence.”
“Sherlock, shut up and get some carrot or lettuce or something so I can entice him out.”
Sherlock, by some small miracle since he never used the fridge for its intended purpose, located some carrot and chucked it in John’s direction. John broke it in half and held some out towards the sofa.
“Come on, bunny, want some carrot? That’s it, I won’t hurt you, not like mean Sherlock. Come on bunny!” Slowly but surely the tiny, white rabbit inched closer to the carrot until it was sniffing it tentatively, still unsure about the environment. It hopped a bit closer and started to munch the carrot. John reached out slowly to stroke the rabbit, who jumped slightly before realising John was no threat, and continued to nibble the carrot.
Sherlock, meanwhile, was watching the whole scene with a puzzled and slightly confused look on his face.
“Grab it John, then we can give it to a charity shop or something.”
John laughed softly, “That’s not how it works, Sherlock. And I quite like this little bunny, I think we should look after him until we can find him a new owner. You’d like that, wouldn’t you bunny?” The rabbit looked up at John and twitched his nose, as if agreeing. Sherlock muttered “Oh, god,” and swirled out of the living room.
**
The next day, Lestrade summoned Sherlock to a crime scene and so John followed. He still had not managed to find anyone who wanted a new rabbit; Mrs Hudson’s family seemed to already have a menagerie of pets and did not want any more. John was reluctant to leave the rabbit at Baker Street, so he had placed him into the pocket of his jacket; his head just peeking out of the top. Sherlock had decided to totally ignore the rabbit, as if it would go away if he didn’t draw any attention to it. John, meanwhile, had taken to stroking the rabbit and apologising for “mean Sherlock”.
Sherlock bounded out of the cab, muttering about the incompetency of the forensics team, and John carefully exited the cab as not to jostle the rabbit. He stood at the periphery of the scene, aware that bringing a live animal to the scene of crime was a bit not good. Donovan had noticed his loitering, and wandered over to see why he hadn’t joined the freak, and then she noticed the rabbit hiding in John’s pocket.
“Oh my god! Oh, he’s beautiful!” She cooed, “so soft, too. What’s his name?”
“Um, well, I’ve just been calling him Bunny. We aren’t keeping him, not safe really with Sherlock’s experiments, and I didn’t want to name him if I couldn’t keep him.”
Sally peered up at John, still stroking the rabbit’s head.
“Why’d you get a rabbit in the first place?” She asked, slightly suspiciously.
“Someone gave it to Sherlock as a present,” was all John managed to say before both he and Sally dissolved into laughter.
“John! I need your opinion, Anderson might as well be a ten year old child for all the help he’s- oh. The vermin.” Sherlock had re-appeared from the crime scene and stopped as he remembered that John had the rabbit in his pocket. Sally was still sniggering. Sherlock sniffed.
“Just get rid of it, John, so you can actually be of some use,” before flouncing off, stopping only to stoop underneath the police tape.
“Ignore mean old Sherlock,” John whispered, “he likes you really, Bunny. And we’ll get you a proper hutch today, some nice straw and everything.”
“Good luck with that,” Sally laughed as she too re-joined the rest of the team, leaving John and Bunny watching.
**
It was the end of another long day at the surgery and John had seen enough patients demanding antibiotics for their sore throats to last him a lifetime, and could practically recite the reasons why it was neither beneficial nor practical to prescribe antibiotics for colds in his sleep.
John climbed the stairs to 221b and pushed open the door and froze in his tracks. Sherlock was lying on the sofa, with Bunny asleep on his chest. John blinked.
“Is this an alternate universe? Am I asleep? Is The Doctor going to appear any second in his TARDIS?” John couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“Shh, John, you’ll wake him,” Sherlock said softly, trying not to jostle the sleeping rabbit on his chest. John moved closer, treading softly, still not trusting his eyes. Indeed, Bunny was asleep on Sherlock’s chest, where Sherlock had his hand lightly curled around the rabbit.
“Um.” Was all John could say. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
“Is it really that strange to see me with a rabbit, John?”
“Well, yes, considering last week you were calling it vermin and demanding we take it to a charity shop!”
Sherlock pouted.
“That was before I got to know him properly. He likes me now, John! We have an understanding,” Sherlock said seriously. John giggled.
“An understanding. And you kept reminding me, rather gleefully, that animals don’t understand language?” Sherlock simply waved his free hand dismissively in John’s direction.
“You were out all day, I was bored, I thought you would object to me experimenting on him and so instead I tried talking to him like you do. He learned to trust me.” Sherlock’s eyes softened as he looked at the rabbit, gently stroking its head. John smiled.
“You’ve named him, haven’t you?”
Sherlock smirked.
“He’s called Anderson.”