maskedfangirl:

I used my downtime at work to write this. I blame Nyxe and her goat spree.

—

When John got home from the surgery, Sherlock was standing on the coffee table, his dressing gown hanging off his furry shoulders and his hooves stamping at the array of forensics magazines open beneath him.

“BORED!” he announced, his voice bleating slightly over the “O.”
 
John noticed the smiley face that had been kicked into the plaster by the door and dropped his head into his hands. “Sherlock, you can’t go destroying our flat whenever you don’t have a case!”
 
“But I’m bored!” his flatmate said through clenched teeth. His horizontal pupils narrowed, making his pale eyes even more intense than usual. “I need a case, John! My brain’s going to rot!”
 
“Well, then answer your emails or—I don’t know, take up a new hobby!”
 
“And what—hobby—would you have me take up?” Sherlock glared at him, his ears flat against his head.
 
John couldn’t think of any offhand. Hand. Hands were required for a lot of hobbies, and being a goat, Sherlock didn’t have those. Maybe he could set up his voice recognition software to work with a computer game? Or get one of those large floor keyboards and learn to play music? Except hopping around on a keyboard would probably be one of those activities Sherlock deemed “undignified.” He worked so hard to be taken seriously as a consulting detective, and if anyone at NSY caught wind of him prancing about on an oversized toy, he might as well be just another adorable Youtube goat.
 
“Never mind,” John said, shaking his head. “Have you eaten?”

 

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“One day you’ll be standing around a body and realize Sherlock Holmes is eating the trousers right off your leg.” She’d said it with the grim matter-of-factness of someone who’d experienced it herself.

GOOD LORD.