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The naming happened when Sherlock tackled John to the sofa after a brief brush with a very high ledge on a more-legwork-than-it-was-worth case. Later, John would mutter some excuse about having recently seen a car of a certain brand and having that word lodged in his subconscious. But in that moment, what came out of his mouth was a panted, “Easy, jaguar!” Sherlock’s onslaught only increased in intensity.
John secretly liked the sound of it, but he had a feeling Sherlock wouldn’t. He took to tacking it onto the end of sentences, but only in his own mind, until one morning when Sherlock was too tired to even check an incoming text and instead tugged the sheets closer to his chest and let out a very guttural yawn. He couldn’t help it — “Morning, jaguar,” slipped out before he could filter it. Sherlock seemed not to have heard him, so he decided all was fine.
He only found out what Sherlock really thought of the sobriquet when he had one too many drinks on a night out with Lestrade, sans Sherlock. A text came in.
Your presence is required.
SH
“Oh, guess who it is, Greg. Him. You can’t imagine the things his voice does to me. It’s ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous, Greg. Just this morning, his voice was like a damn j—”
Shut up.
SH
“How can he possibly—”
Come home and say it to me, John.
SH
John downed the rest of his drink.
Come home and hear it.
SH
“Got to dash. Ta, mate.”