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Scales
It was the 4th month of John staying in the same flat as Sherlock was when he started itching. Up until then any crisis in the flat had been completely the detective’s fault. Molting occurred about every 6 or so months, but John had hoped it would have been a bit late. Sherlock had expressed interest in examining the process and taking detailed notes. Whenever the subject came up John opposed any extra attention during molting and explained in a combination of small and very large words why doing so was rude. So when the first tell tale itch began John began to hit his head against his favorite perch next to the skull.
“John?” Sherlock called as he ascended the stairs.
“Yes,” can an annoyed mental reply.
“Why are you abusing you face against the furniture?” Sherlock asked he hung up his jacket.
“Shut up Sherlock,” John hissed and jumped of the perch to the checked chair in front of him.
Sherlock paused in the door way looking at John. He gave the dragon a long look before he walked into the kitchen and switching on the kettle. After sometime together Sherlock learned that John liked his tea. Sherlock was also not above using it as a bribe or peace offering. Thankfully John didn’t have fun thumbs otherwise the tea trick would be less effective.
Sherlock set the cup next the chair before claiming his own chair. “I’ve learned that unless I leave experiments on the counter you rarely snap at me when I arrive home,” Sherlock took a sip of his own tea, “And I noticed no fingers on the stove. May I ask why you are upset?”
John picked up the mug in his two forepaws and ignored Sherlock at first. “I guess I should be thankful you asked instead of just poking your nose in it,” he thought as he drank his tea. His next thought was grabbled.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” Sherlock snorted.
“I said I’m molting,” John growled, “Now if you’ll don’t mind please leave me alone for the next two weeks.”
“Well that can’t happen,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “what if we have a case?”
“Then I’ll stay here, rubbing against bits of furniture,” John shrugged and focused on tea.
“Why?”
“Sherlock,” John started slowly, “have you ever seen a dragon shed?”
“No, no one really has. That is part of the reason I wanted to document it,” the detective leaned forward.
“Do you want to know why that is?”
“I assumed that it left dragons vulnerable,” Sherlock reasoned.
John shifted, “That’s partly it. Mostly it’s just...embarrassing.”
“Really? That seems a bit trivial.”
“Not everyone enjoys the same combination of vanity and lack of self-consciences that you do Sherlock.”
Sherlock’s eyebrows pinched together, “What on earth do you mean?”
“Uh huh, next time you see Lestrade ask him for the photos from the last time you showed up to a crime scene in a dressing gown.” John rolled his head and started chewing on his tail.
***
Unfortunately for John the next few days were not case free. Lestrade called about a head dipped in resin which pinged an eight on strange scale. Sherlock tried, for what he considered a long time to him, to convince John to come along despite the molting. It was actually a little over six minutes by John’s timing, but the human did put in some effort.
Everyone noticed the lack of dragon immediately noticed. Sherlock didn’t acknowledge any of the strange looks he got walking into the crime scene. It was hard to avoid Lestrade however when he addressed the subject.
“So where’s John? Did you piss him off?” The DI asked immediately.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “Why do people assume that it is always my fault?”
“Because they’ve met you,” Lestrade said and motioned toward the head on a kitchen table, “What did you argue about?”
“Nothing if you must know. John remains at 221B for what he calls personal reasons,” Sherlock leaned closer to the head. So far he noted the type of cut and angle. Not done with a surgical saw. A closer look at the spinal column may confirm that, he thought.
Lestrade titled his head, “And that’s not code for he has a problem with something you did?”
“I assure you that his problem is entirely biological. Apparently dragons don’t like being seen in public while molting,” Sherlock walked to the other side of the table, “Has Anderson been in here yet?”
“Yeah, why?”
Instead of answering Sherlock took a pencil out one of his inner jacket pockets and began tapping at the head.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Lestrade grabbed the other man’s arm and pulled him away from the evidence.
“Checking the hardness of the resin, should help tell when the head was transported,” Sherlock wiped the pencil off before replacing it in his pocket, “No way you were going to let me do that if Anderson and mooks hadn’t gotten to it yet.”
“I didn’t allow you to do it now! You just basically poked the victim with a stick,” the DI continued moving Sherlock away from the body, “I forgot how much restraint you lack without a dragon.”
Sherlock looked very confused, “It was a pencil.”
“I’ll let you know when the head is in the morgue, unless you have anything else to say,” Lestrade let go of him for a moment.
“No I won’t know for certain until I see the base of the neck,” He admitted reluctantly. As soon as he said that Lestrade was pulling on his arm again.
“Then head out before you cause any problems,” the DI lead him to the door, “I’ll let you know if we find anything else of interest.” Lestrade waved for the other officers and techs to come back into the kitchen.
“Hardly,” he huffed before turning and leaving the building.
Sherlock was half way to the crime scene tape when he saw Anderson. Not really wanting to deal the man he looked over the top of his head and kept walking. Unfortunately the news of his arrival without John had spread quickly and the idiot thought he saw an opportunity.
“Hey Psycho, finally scare off your lizard?” the man called out.
Sherlock opened his mouth to say something about the tech’s sexual frustration when he was cut off. “Oi! Shut up Anderson,” Sally Donovan walked forward, “Didn’t you hear Lestrade call for you?”
Anderson frowned at Donovan (probably the source of his frustration) and shot Sherlock another look before heading inside the house. Sally stopped at his elbow and lightly bumped into. Since the appearance of John the female detective had been considerably nice to him and not just because she’d been allowed her to pet the dragon. Apparently by being bonded with John, Donovan had come to believe Sherlock could not have been as horrible as she originally suspected. Sherlock theorized a member of her family must have bonded with a dragon in the past, most likely a grandparent. Sally probably wanted to bond with one herself but the species was notoriously picky.
“’Ello Freak,” she said without heat.
“Donovan,” he said in kind.
She managed to restrain herself for a few seconds, “I have to ask though-“
“John’s at home,” Sherlock cut her off, “molting. It’s an inconvenience.”
Sally nodded almost knowingly, “How long?”
“A few days.”
“What sort of brush have you been using?” She asked.
Sherlock turned more toward her and tilted his head in confusion. “What on earth are you a talking about?”
“Are you serious? Wait it’s you. Of course you’re serious,” she rolled her eyes at him, “do you know anything about dragon molting?”
“I have dealt with other species of reptile in the past,” he straightened looked slightly offended, “snakes mostly but I assume there isn’t much difference. I assist in any way I can but John mostly avoids me at the moment.”
“Alright, come here,” Sally said and lead him to the left side of barricade. She pulled a set of keys out her pocket and unlocked a car just outside the crime scene. After some rummaging in the middle console she handed him a palm sized bristle brush.
“Okay so you push gently on areas where the skin is coming up and make small circles,” she explained miming the motion, “Don’t try and lift up large sections. They look pretty but it’s better just to break it up into smaller ones.”
“Right,” Sherlock paused, “Sally why did you have a molting brush in your car?”
“Shut it or give it back,” she ground out blushing slightly.
“No, no,” he smirked, “thank you Miss Donovan.” Sherlock pocketed the brush before heading off to find a cab.
***
“So why did Sally have a molting brush in her car?” John asked as Sherlock worked on a spot under his right wing.
“Attempting to live vicariously through me I suspect,” he said examining a new molting patch, “She wants a dragon of her own but I am the only person she knows at the moment with access to one. I suspect she has bought other dragon related products but has no reason to give them to you. My mentioning your condition gave her an excuse to provide help.”
“Thanks for that by the way,” John snapped at hand Sherlock wasn’t using, “Now all of Scotland Yard knows my business.”
Sherlock pulled his hand back just in time, “Not my fault, and why didn’t you bring up the fact there is such a thing as a molting brush?”
“Shove off,” the dragon pushed against the brush, “I didn’t know they existed I’m about as new to dealing with humans. How the hell am I supposed to know there are brushes and things? Maybe you should ask her about it, see if we’re missing anything else.”
“I’d rather eat my left ear raw than willing ask that woman willingly for help,” Sherlock pulled back a larger piece of skin.
“Right, well I’ll be looking forward to that,” John stood up and turned to the side, “What are you going to do with that?”
Sherlock held the piece up to the light, “I’m not sure. Are you aware you have stripes?”
The dragon rolled it’s head, “Quite, all the dragons in my nest had them. Mine are just harder to see, except maybe in certain lights.” He paused, “Hey how much of the resin did get?”
“More than enough,” Sherlock said.
“Hmmm,” John tapped a claw against the chair, “remember all the things you can do with do with it?”
“Yes, I was the one who told you,” Sherlock replied flatly.
John fluttered his wings, “I have an idea.”
***
It was three weeks later when they had another case with NSY. Sherlock ran around the crime scene with John resting calmly on his shoulders. He was about to storm out completely after determining the murderer when John hit him in the face with his tail. There was a brief silent conversation which ended with an angry huff from Sherlock.
“Detective Donovan, outside if you’d please,” he said as he stepped outside.
Some of the other detectives looked at her in confusion and sympathy. Sally shrugged and followed. She hadn’t done anything she could think of to gain the consultants sole ire. Stepping out she closed the door and turned to face Sherlock only to just barely catch the box that was thrown at her chest.
“John insisted on saying thank you and we had left over resin,” Sherlock said by way of explanation.
Sally raised an eyebrow then opened the box. Inside was a small rectangular box of resin with a section of scales suspended in the middle. She pulled on the chain attached to the top and held it up toward a street light.
“Resin from the Bartlet case?” She smirked, “Bit morbid, but it is pretty.” She put the pendent back in the box and walked over to dragon. “Thank you John,” she said scratching the dragon’s head, “and I guess I should be thanking Sherlock as well.”
“Please, the only reason I was involved was because John doesn’t have thumbs,” he huffed.
“Right,” Sally rolled her eyes and put the box in her pocket, “see you later Freak.”
“See,” John hummed next to Sherlock’s ear, “That wasn’t so bad.”
“Left ear John, left ear.”