Peeps
by: Ismira Daugene

"Quickly, John! The game is on!" Sherlock shouted as he dashed through an alleyway.

"Sherlock!" John shouted back as he tried to keep up. The adrenaline rush during these chases always caught him off guard and helped him to move faster. However he was nothing compared to Sherlock's enthusiasm and long legs.

The consulting detective skidded around a corner and John could hear a crash a moment later. He picked up his pace another notch, not caring if his chest would hurt later. Rounding the corner, he saw that his friend had tackled the culprit and had already cuffed him. John slowed and came to a stop, bending to rest his hands on his knees. "You okay?" he asked.

"Excellent, John! Excellent!" Sherlock had a wide grin on his face.

"Oh come off it, chaps! Give ya half me take if ya let me go!" the handcuffed man tried to plead.

John shook his head. "'Fraid that's not how it works, mate," he said smiling a little. He took out his mobile and upon seeing there was no reception in the alley started walking toward the street. "Be right back. Gonna call Lestrade," he said to Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded, still beaming brightly. "Best sit down while we wait," he said. "New Scotland Yard won't be here for a bit." Sherlock shoved down on the man's shoulder, pushing him back down to the ground. However a small sound caught his attention. It was high pitched and squeaky and coming from just behind one of the large bins sitting nearby.

Curiously, he stalked over to the bin and crouched down to see underneath. There, in a huddled fluffy mass, were six… no, seven ducklings. They were still quite young since they still had their golden yellow plumage. Cautiously, Sherlock reached out towards them, but the ducklings scattered back. "Shh, shh," he whispered.

Carefully, the ducklings came closer and eventually crowded around his hand, feeding off the warmth. The consulting detective pulled his hand back and the ducklings followed, cheeping and peeping the whole way. Once they were out from under the bin, Sherlock picked one up. It let out a surprised squeak, but nestled into his palms. With a calculating eye, Sherlock examined the bird.

Malnutrition, evident in the way it's bones stuck out from beneath the skin. Cold, going by how they all crowded close to him. Sherlock glanced around, making sure the perpetrator was still where he'd left him before looking back down at the ducklings. Orphaned… Sherlock was sure of it. If these ducklings had had someone to take care of them, they wouldn't be in this state. Their feathers were dirty and unkempt. They were skin and bone and shivering uncontrollably.

In a quick decision, Sherlock began scooping up the ducklings and tucking them in his overly large pockets. They peeped appreciatively at being somewhere warm and settled down inside the warm wool. It was then that John came back, followed by Lestrade and his team. "Right over there," Sherlock pointed over at the man who was leaning back against the building. He was fairly sure the man had a concussion from when he'd been tackled, but he would let Anderson figure that out.

"Come along, John," Sherlock called out as he started to walk away.

"Hang on! I've got a few questions," Lestrade stopped him.

"And I've got several frozen digits that need attention," he replied pushing past the yarder.

Lestrade sighed and mumbled something to John that Sherlock didn't quite catch. A moment later, John was trotting to catch up to him and walking by his side. They weren't far from Baker Street so Sherlock decided to walk home. "Lestrade's not happy with you, you know," the former army doctor said casually.

"Indeed. When is he ever?"

"When you catch the criminals for him," John smirked.

Sherlock smirked as well.

"He asked me to bring you down to the station tomorrow. Said something about raiding the flat if you didn't come." The shorter man didn't sound perturbed by the threat and Sherlock smiled at his flatmate's demeanor.

He let out an exasperated sigh though to keep with tradition and nodded. "We'll stop by for a bit. Ten minutes is all I can spare though. Important experiments at home."

John cast him a sideways glance and nodded.

They arrived back at Baker Street shortly and made their way up to 221b. It was then that the peeping started up again. "What is that?" John asked looking over at his flatmate. Sherlock didn't answer, but reached in his pocket to pull out one of the ducklings. "Sherlock! What are you… NO! You will not be dissecting ducklings in this flat!"

Sherlock frowned and looked up to see John starting towards him. "Don't be ridiculous, John! They were orphaned and I have some tests I'd like to run regarding bonding and growth rates."

John halted. "They?"

At this, Sherlock knelt to the ground and began pulling the other small creatures from his pockets. Once all seven were on the ground, he looked back up to see a baffled John. "Where did you even get them?" he asked.

"Hiding under one of the bins in the alley," Sherlock replied.

John cautiously came closer. "Yes well they look like they're in bad shape."

"Bit of a bath and some milk and they'll be fine," Sherlock replied scooping up the ducklings and making his way to the bathroom.

John followed, amazed by his flatmate's behavior. Sherlock set the ducklings down in the bathtub, plugged up the drain, and turned the water on a luke warm trickle. The bottom of the tub filled slowly until there were a few inches and Sherlock turned it off. He rolled up his sleeves and methodically began inspecting each duckling and cleaning it carefully before setting it down again. John watched, fascinated, but didn't interrupt. Instead, after a while, he moved into the kitchen and started making some tea.

Sherlock didn't give any comment about his flatmate following him and watching from the door. He simply did what needed to be done. The ducklings peeped and chirped happily in the water as they splashed and swam around. They're dirty yellow plumage soon gave way to a brighter yellow and clean feathers.

Once Sherlock was finished, he took the ducklings out of the tub and drained the water. The small creatures shook off the excess water onto the towel on the floor and peeped and squeaked as they crowded back around Sherlock. Surprised, Sherlock tried to move away, but the ducklings only followed, peeping the entire time. It appeared that the ducklings had bonded with him to replace their mother. Sherlock frowned as he thought of the ribbing he would get from John. He sighed, there was no use for it. He couldn't very well throw the ducklings back out on the street.

The consulting detective rose from his crouched position and with a resigned sigh made his way into the kitchen. All seven ducklings followed, peeping as they hurried along in a line behind him. John turned from fixing the tea. Two mugs were in his hands and Sherlock could tell they almost dropped when he caught sight of the ducklings trailing behind him. "Not one word, John," he said slipping his mobile out of his pocket to text Lestrade.

John merely smiled and offered one of the mugs. "Tea?"

Author's Notes: Just a short fic based on a tumblr post. Link here: shockingblankets dot tumblr dot com/post/73354945190/villain-in-training-domesticvulcan-what-if