http://justhisblogger.livejournal.com/ (
justhisblogger.livejournal.com) wrote in
fandomtownies2010-12-18 08:38 pm
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Entry tags:
Everything But The Monkey, Saturday Afternoon
... Well. For reasons John would not go into further at present, as they were rather sensitive details with rights to a certain incident in upper Baltimore, Sherlock had to identify a particular brand of pet food. And to identify this, they had to go down to the pet shop, which was, at present, made of gingerbread.
John chose not to question it. It was easier on his sanity.
"So," he asked, flashing the proprietor a brief, nervously placating smile as they went from aisle to aisle, "What kind of cat food are we looking for, and why, exactly?"
He did not expect a particularily extensive answer. Or any answer, really.
[[ john's here for sherlock, but pet shop's a public place! ]]
John chose not to question it. It was easier on his sanity.
"So," he asked, flashing the proprietor a brief, nervously placating smile as they went from aisle to aisle, "What kind of cat food are we looking for, and why, exactly?"
He did not expect a particularily extensive answer. Or any answer, really.
[[ john's here for sherlock, but pet shop's a public place! ]]
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He was going to solve a case with cat food.
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He glanced past Sherlock, his attention momentarily caught on a catnip plant before he looked back at the cans.
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He pulled out his mobile and started texting the answer. Which would, of course, be when Fandom took hold.
And the phone clattered to the ground.
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For a moment, John was simply stuck dumb.
Then his eyes slid down from where Sherlock's head was supposed to be, down to the cat.
"...Sherlock?"
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Sherlock narrowed his eyes up at him and gave a displeased little noise.
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... provided Sherlock had entered the solution before he turned into a cat.
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Sherlock scampered away, growling at the situation. His--oh dear god--tail fluffed up before settling back down into a sulky crouch. This was the worst day ever.
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"...Right," he said. "Suppose I'll be getting some cat food, then."
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He took a can at random.
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After a moment he trotted over to claw at John's leg. He wasn't about to walk outside like this.
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Sherlock made another noise, sitting down and staring at him. Do his bidding, John. Do it.
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John stared back at him for a few more moments, then decided to give up. He leaned over and made a grab for the cat instead. "We are going home, and we are going to watch telly until this is over."
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He kept setting it all the way to the counter, where he paid for Sherlock's cat food. "Don't ask," he told the man briskly, and turned around.