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New Fic: This Little Piggy

This Little Piggy

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rated: PG
Category: Vignette. Gen.
Series: Any.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: A pig? Well, wasn’t that just par for the course these days?
Word Count: 573.
Note: Written for the random word prompt of “pig.”


John Watson sighed.

“Sherlock, why is there is a pig in the living room?”

There was no answer from the house, so John cautiously made his way into the flat and looked around.

He didn’t see anything else amiss, and he didn’t find his roommate or an answer to his question, but the pig he’d clearly seen on his way in was real enough. It trundled down the hall as if it owned the place.

John followed it, and when he reached Sherlock’s bedroom, he slowly opened the door.

There was still no sign of the detective, so John sighed again and headed to his own room. He’d sort this out after a change of clothes. It had been a long day at the surgery, and it was Christmas Eve to boot, so he was too tired to deal with a porcine roommate at all, but at least getting out of his work clothes would make this next adventure more comfortable.

As John stepped into his room, he flicked on the light and was greeted by a groan.


“Who else would it be, John? Now turn off the bloody light. I’m trying to sleep.”

“In my bed?”

“Is it?”

John sighed again.

“Yes, Sherlock, it is,” he said. “Now get out. Go sleep in your own bed. And by the way, why do we have a pig?”

“We have a pig?”

Just then, said animal nosed its way into the room and snorted an obvious affirmative.

Sherlock rolled over to look at the pig and John gestured to it.

“Yes, Sherlock, we have a pig.”

“Clearly,” answered Sherlock.

“Why?” asked John, patience wearing thin.

“Oh. I had to borrow her from the petting zoo. She can go back now.”

With that, Sherlock promptly fell back asleep.

John didn’t even bother trying to wake him again. Sherlock was in one of his patented “I haven’t slept in four days and now you can’t
wake me for anything” phases, and it wasn’t worth it. It also wasn’t worth asking why he’d needed the pig or why he hadn’t taken it home.

And so John Watson spent the rest of his Christmas Eve returning a pig to a petting zoo.

Then he slept in Sherlock’s bed and thought nothing of it while his roommate lazed in his.

In the morning, he got up very early and spent a few hours with his sister and their family.

And when he got a phone call while there, he answered it with more excitement than he let on.

Because only one thing would rouse Sherlock in his current state, and that was a case.

John would make his goodbyes then, and spend his Christmas Day wrists-deep in a corpse next to Molly Hooper. He’d forget to tell her about the pig until that night, when they grabbed a quick bite to eat on their way home. The waiter asked if he wanted bacon on his burger, and John laughed way too loudly before declining, then explained himself to Molly.

Molly laughed with him, but neither of them were surprised by John’s holiday adventure.

After all, when you lived with Sherlock Holmes, a pig for a flatmate was par for the course.

And only sometimes was that a metaphor.


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