donutsweeper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donutsweeper) wrote2016-07-05 01:02 am
donutsweeper) wrote2016-07-05 01:02 am
The Four Beasts Saying, Come and See
Title: The Four Beasts Saying, Come and See
Fandom/Rating: Sherlock (BBC), rated G
Word Count: 538 words
Summary: It wasn't often one could say the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were in one's sitting room.
Author's Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
watsons_woes's JWP#4, although atypically lighthearted for an apocalypse prompt. Title from Revelation 6:1 (King James Bible version).
John undid his tie as he rushed up the stairs. "Sorry. Sorry. I'm back. It's all sorted now," he said, searching the room as he spoke. Leaving his new charges in Sherlock's care hadn't been ideal, but it wasn't as if he'd had a choice- his court appearance had been scheduled long before he'd found the sack of abandoned kittens and the law took a dim view of someone shirking their legal duties to play nursemaid to a bunch of animals, even if they were very young and needed to be fed every four hours.
"Sherlock? Where are you?"
"Here, John."
"Behind the sofa," he grumbled, "of course. Why didn't I think of looking behind the sofa?"
"Pestilence finds it most comfortable here," Sherlock added, causing John to stumble from stopping as quickly as he did when he processed what Sherlock had said.
"Sorry, what?"
"We are behind the sofa because Death did not appreciate being too close to the fireplace, War did not approve of the bathtub and Famine refused to settle in the bedroom. Luckily, this spot seemed agreeable to all of them."
John peered over the back of the sofa to see Sherlock had pushed it away from the wall slightly and was stretched out behind it with all four of the kittens. "You took it upon yourself to name them then?" he asked. Not that he minded that Sherlock had shown an interest in the kittens, let alone actually cared for them while he was gone, but Death? War? Pestilence?
"Obviously."
"And out of all the names in the entire world you could have chosen you decided to name them after the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?"
"Pestilence is the white one, of course."
"Of course." Said kitten was currently gnawing on Sherlock's hair, but as it didn't it didn't seem to bother him John decided not to comment on it.
"And other than the spot on her chest and left paw, this one," Sherlock jutted his chin to indicate the kitten curled into the crook of his elbow, "is entirely black so therefore is Famine. As grey is a pale colour I named that one Death. Now, I do realize the one I have chosen to call War is not red, per se, but rather a rusty ochre, but one can't have everything."
"No, I suppose not." Great, it was bad enough the little buggers had ridiculously sharp, needle-like claws. Now they were harbingers of doom as well. John pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Well, I'm back now so I can take over caring for them if you liked and you can go back to whatever you had originally planned for the day."
"Oh no need, I am currently collecting data regarding whisker length and feline intelligence. I need at least seven more hours of observation before I can come to any significant conclusions."
"Right. Well then. I'll leave you to… whatever it is you were doing," he said, fluttering his hands vaguely in Sherlock's direction before heading out of the sitting room and up to his bedroom. A few hours free of both Sherlock and the kittens? He was going to take full advantage of that kind of opportunity.
Fandom/Rating: Sherlock (BBC), rated G
Word Count: 538 words
Summary: It wasn't often one could say the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were in one's sitting room.
Author's Note: Written for
watsons_woes's JWP#4, although atypically lighthearted for an apocalypse prompt. Title from Revelation 6:1 (King James Bible version).John undid his tie as he rushed up the stairs. "Sorry. Sorry. I'm back. It's all sorted now," he said, searching the room as he spoke. Leaving his new charges in Sherlock's care hadn't been ideal, but it wasn't as if he'd had a choice- his court appearance had been scheduled long before he'd found the sack of abandoned kittens and the law took a dim view of someone shirking their legal duties to play nursemaid to a bunch of animals, even if they were very young and needed to be fed every four hours.
"Sherlock? Where are you?"
"Here, John."
"Behind the sofa," he grumbled, "of course. Why didn't I think of looking behind the sofa?"
"Pestilence finds it most comfortable here," Sherlock added, causing John to stumble from stopping as quickly as he did when he processed what Sherlock had said.
"Sorry, what?"
"We are behind the sofa because Death did not appreciate being too close to the fireplace, War did not approve of the bathtub and Famine refused to settle in the bedroom. Luckily, this spot seemed agreeable to all of them."
John peered over the back of the sofa to see Sherlock had pushed it away from the wall slightly and was stretched out behind it with all four of the kittens. "You took it upon yourself to name them then?" he asked. Not that he minded that Sherlock had shown an interest in the kittens, let alone actually cared for them while he was gone, but Death? War? Pestilence?
"Obviously."
"And out of all the names in the entire world you could have chosen you decided to name them after the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?"
"Pestilence is the white one, of course."
"Of course." Said kitten was currently gnawing on Sherlock's hair, but as it didn't it didn't seem to bother him John decided not to comment on it.
"And other than the spot on her chest and left paw, this one," Sherlock jutted his chin to indicate the kitten curled into the crook of his elbow, "is entirely black so therefore is Famine. As grey is a pale colour I named that one Death. Now, I do realize the one I have chosen to call War is not red, per se, but rather a rusty ochre, but one can't have everything."
"No, I suppose not." Great, it was bad enough the little buggers had ridiculously sharp, needle-like claws. Now they were harbingers of doom as well. John pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Well, I'm back now so I can take over caring for them if you liked and you can go back to whatever you had originally planned for the day."
"Oh no need, I am currently collecting data regarding whisker length and feline intelligence. I need at least seven more hours of observation before I can come to any significant conclusions."
"Right. Well then. I'll leave you to… whatever it is you were doing," he said, fluttering his hands vaguely in Sherlock's direction before heading out of the sitting room and up to his bedroom. A few hours free of both Sherlock and the kittens? He was going to take full advantage of that kind of opportunity.
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I am hoping that the kittens make a further appearance later in the month.
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