#support animal

[sluggoonthestreet]

Chip tries to reassure Stuffie that being real is overrated, and so is knowing which animal you’re supposed to look like.

[siennabanana]

Here you go have a lil smooch 😽

BDDHDBFKSMDBUFJDWBID I LOVE MY CAT SO MUCH

[nkp1981]

15th Century Support Dragon:

Painting: "Saint Lifard" By Jean Bourdichon, 1503-1508

[j-eryewrites]

A Study in Pink (III)

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SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Word Count: 4.k

Trigger Warning: Crime Scene, Sherlock being Sherlock, Bjørn doesn’t like Sherlock (AKA the cat from LUCA), Sherlock is a jerk, John gets mad.

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Sherlock’s knee bobbed up and down with anticipation. The cab John and him were in was taking its sweet time. They also had made the unfortunate mistake to travel during rush hour. John glared out the window. He refused to look in Sherlock’s direction. Which was met with a sneer from Sherlock. Finally, the red and blue flashing lights of the police were in sight. Sherlock’s posture straightened at the sight. He hastily unbuckled his seat belt and jumped out of the cab before it reached a full stop. 

John groaned and paid the cab driver. His wallet was getting lighter and lighter every time he travelled with Sherlock. Afterwards, John scurried out of the car. 

Sherlock confidently walked towards the crime scene. There were bright yellow police do-not-cross tapes everywhere. The spinning lights on the police cars made Sherlock’s eyes wince. White. Blue. White. Blue. Sherlock shook his head. His eyes took their time to adjust to the bright lights. 

John now walked by Sherlock’s side. His shorter legs struggled to keep up with Sherlock’s long strides. “You’re in a mood, John.” Sherlock slowed his pace so John could walk by him side-by-side. “I know we both loath Anderson, but this is an overstatement.”

“No, I’m not in a mood, Sherlock,” John grumbled. 

Sherlock cocked his brow. “Lie.”

John sighed. “Fine, I want to hear why I’m mad, Sherlock. You. You were horrible to Y/N when all she was just trying to do was be nice.”

“Should I be nice?” Sherlock asked. 

“Yes, Sherlock!” John shouted. “It’s nice to be…nice.” 

“Are you nice all the time?” Sherlock’s brow raised up. John wasn’t sure if his friend was being sarcastic or not. 

“I try to be,” John replied hesitantly. 

“Then why should? I have you to be nice.” Sherlock stated. 

John stopped walking. He clenched his fists and took in a deep breath. His eyes closed. Sherlock lifted the yellow police tape and approached the scene while John was collecting every bit of restraint he possessed. When John opened his eyes again, an obnoxiously recognizable person held out a hand, and they stopped Sherlock from entering the building. 

“Ah yes, Donovan,” Sherlock said. He flashed a painful smile like a child who did not want to participate in family photos. 

A smug-looking woman, with spiralled black hair and an air of pompousness, confronted Sherlock. “Hello, freak,” she sneered. Her dark eyes looked Sherlock up and down. Her distaste grew the longer she stared at him. 

John appeared behind Sherlock. “John,” Donovan said with less contempt. 

“I’m here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade,” Sherlock said. 

“Why?” Donovan wondered. Sherlock glared at the woman. She knew what he was here for. 

“I was invited.” Sherlock enunciated. 

“Why?” Donovan repeated. She sounded like a toddler whose sole purpose was to ask the question why. John got the sense that this conversation could go on forever at this rate. 

“I think he wants me to take a look,” Sherlock groused. 

Donovan’s eyes twitched. “Well, you know what I think, don’t you?”

“Always Sally,” Sherlock breathed. “I even know you didn’t make it home last night.”

Donovan’s composure collapsed. “I don’t…,” She said. Her mouth hung open for a moment. Then her eyes rolled and she lifted a radio to her mouth. “Freak’s here. Bringing him in.”

Despite having heard the nickname throughout his entire life, Sherlock still couldn’t control the pain that appeared and quickly disappeared from his face. John wished he could help, but it would just only make things worse. It usually went that way with bullies like Donovan. 

The two of them brushed past Donovan into the building. A man dressed in plastic coveralls started to walk towards them. Again they were stopped. He put a hand on Sherlock’s chest to stop him from entering. “It’s a crime scene and I don’t want it contaminated. You hear that freak?” 

“Quite clear, Anderson. How long has your wife been away?” asked Sherlock.

Anderson scoffed, running his hand over his frumpy, unkempt beard. “ Don’t pretend you found that out. Somebody must have told you.” His eyes gave away his unease. 

“No one did,” Sherlock smirked, pausing slightly to provide the punchline. “You’re deodorant told me that.” Anderson looked curiously at Sherlock. “It’s the same one Sergeant Donovan is wearing”. Anderson’s face flushed a bright red as nearby officers began to give him and Donovan looks. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. My colleague and I have a crime scene to get to.” Anderson angrily huffed and moved out of the way, letting the two of them enter the building. 

John snickered as Sherlock walked away from Anderson. John didn’t have to worry about Sherlock. He could take care of himself just fine. The two of them walked up the long winding stairs. The building was eerily gray. The walls, the railing, and the stairs underneath them all seemed to be in mourning. Step by step they climbed. When they reached the top, they found Lestrade. He was sticking one of his arms into the sleeve of the plastic coveralls. Something he had difficulty with since the plastic material kept sticking to his clothes. 

“Damn coveralls,” Lestrade cursed, finally shoving his arm through the sleeve. 

Sherlock the man, picked up coveralls and gloves for John and handed them over. John took them from Sherlock’s hand and began to put them on. Sherlock opted out of the coveralls. Instead choosing latex gloves. 

Lestrade grasped Sherlock’s arm. “I can give you two minutes.” He said. 

Sherlock’s nose twitched. “May need longer.”

“Right, well, her name’s Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We’re running them now for contact details. “ Lestrade explained. “Hasn’t been here long. Some kids found her.”

Sherlock nodded. With a creak, Lestrade had opened up the wilting door for John and Sherlock. Sherlock stepped into the room and looked around. 

The room was practically empty all save for an ancient-looking rocking horse in the corner. There were portable lights set up around the room brought in by the police to illuminate the scene better.  The walls were decorated with faded green wallpaper that looked like it had been there since the 1950s. The ceiling and floors displayed signs of water damage and possibly mould. In the middle of the room stood John crouched over the dead body of a woman dressed in pink. The body was lying face down and her hands were placed by her head. Just above her head was the word RACHE scratched into the floorboards. Sherlock approached John and the body.  He crouched down. 

“Shut up,” Sherlock commanded. 

Lestrade looked around the room. “I didn’t say anything.”

Sherlock peered at Lestrade over his shoulder. “You were thinking. It’s annoying.”

John sent Lestrade an apologetic look, before bringing his gaze back to Sherlock. 

Sherlock heard a pair of footsteps behind him. He looked up and found Anderson. He was leaning smugly against the door frame.

 “She’s German. Rache: it’s the German word for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something…” Anderson said. 

Sherlock shot up, walked over to Anderson, and slammed the door shut. Then he twirled around. His phone is now in his hand. 

“So she’s German?” Lestrade pondered. 

“Of course, she’s not. She’s from out of town, though.” Sherlock explained without removing his eyes from his phone. 

John stepped closer and crouched over the body opposite Sherlock. 

“ What do you think, John?” Sherlock asked. 

“Of the message?” John asked. 

“You’re a medical man,” Sherlock clarified. 

John leaned closer to the body to get a better look. “Asphyxiation, probably. Choked on her own vomit. I can’t smell any alcohol on her. Possibly drugs.” John paused. “Promise me you won’t analyze Y/N.”

“That information we already know,” said Lestrade. “Sherlock?”

“The victim is in her late 30s and has a bit of an obsession with the colour pink.  She intended to stay in London for one night, possibly meeting a lover, by the size of her suitcase. She travelled here earlier today.” concluded Sherlock. “Why should I make such a promise?”

“Just promise me, Sherlock,” exasperated John. 

Sherlock peeled his gaze off the body. John’s eyes bore into his. The man’s kind eyes now held determination. Sherlock looked back down and nodded his head in agreement. John sighed in relief. 

“Suitcase?” inquired Lestrade. 

“Her wedding ring must be ten years old. The rest of her jewellery was well taken care of. Cleaned regularly, but not her wedding ring. Unhappy marriage. The inside of the ring is significantly shinier than the outside – that means it’s regularly removed. It’s not for work; look at her nails. She doesn’t work with her hands, so what, or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she’d never sustained the facade of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Quite simple really.” 

“And what about today?” wondered John. 

“The woman’s coat: it’s slightly damp on the outside. She’s been in heavy rain in the last few hours before her death. There was only rain at the LH Airport. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She’s turned it up against the wind. She’s got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it’s dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance, but she can’t have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn’t dried.” 

Sherlock broke the silence. “Where is it? The suitcase?”

“There wasn’t a suitcase, Sherlock,” replied Lestrade. 

Sherlock began pacing around the room, helping jog his mind. “They take the poison themselves….It’s murder, not suicide, murder. Serial killings- serial killer!” By then he was jumping for joy. “Her case! Where is it? ” John and Lestrade looked puzzled as Sherlock continued talking to himself. 

“Sherlock, there was no case!” Lestrade yelled. 

“But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs. Even your lot couldn’t miss them.” 

“Right, yeah thanks…” Lestrade mumbled. 

“It’s murder, all of them. I don’t know how, but they’re not suicides. They’re killings–serial killings.” Sherlock turned to John in delight. “We’ve got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There’s always something to look forward to.”

“Why are you saying that?” Lestrade questioned. His face was filled with worry. 

“Her case,” Sherlock began to mutter again. “Come on, where is her case?” Sherlock’s eyes widened. “Someone else was here, and they took her case. So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case in the car.” 

“Couldn’t she have just left it at a hotel?” wondered John.

“No, she wouldn’t have left...Oh, Oh!” Sherlock exclaimed. John and Lestrade shared worried looks. When Sherlock was excited it meant one of two things. Someone had died or he won a bet against his brother. “Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake.” Sherlock turned to Lestrade. “Lestrade, find out who Jennifer Wilson’s family and friends were. Find Rachel!” 

“Right, yeah - but what mistake Sherlock?” 

Sherlock’s pacing halted. He turned towards Lestrade, placing his hands tightly on Greg’s shoulders, giving him a shake or two. “PINK!” With that, he was out the door. John followed closely behind. He had learned very early on that once Sherlock had an idea, he would disappear within seconds. John found Sherlock outside the building conversing with Donovan. About what, he had no idea. 

“Right. John, hurry up.” enunciated Sherlock.

Briskly walking beside Sherlock, John pondered, “Does anyone ever tell you that you walk too fast?” 

“No John, yours and everyone else’s legs are just too short. This is a normal pace for me.” 

“No Sherlock,” mimicking Sherlock’s tone, “you’re walking faster than normal.” Sherlock lifts the collar of his coat.

“There is tea waiting for us back at the apartment.” 

“Are you saying that you’re…thirsty?” John inquired. 

“No, but I need someone fresh. New ideas. Just so happens that we have a new neighbour.” He turned to John, giving him a smile that made John’s stomach turn. 

“No Sherlock,” stated John.  He placed his hands on his hips. “You’re probably the last person she wants to see today after you were rude to her.” 

Sherlock halted his steps. “John. I’m trying to be nice. So, we are going to have tea with the new neighbour.”

_______

“On another note,” The newscaster spoke. “We are expec…” Y/N had switched the channel. She disliked the news. She knew it was important to be informed, but she was already in a sour mood. She didn’t need the news to add to it. 

Y/N brushed her hand lazily over Bjørn’s soft fur. His tiny body exuded the leftover warmth from his bath earlier. Bjørn’s purrs rang low as it pulsed up to Y/N’s ears. A soft blanket was draped over Y/N’s shoulders. One of the only things that she would allow herself to splurge on. Bjørn’s ears perked up and his tail swished as he looked at the door of Y/N’s flat.

“What’s up, Bjørn?” Y/N asked. She saw her cat’s golden eyes narrow. Suddenly there was the creaking of a door, footsteps, and muffled voices. Those voices got closer and closer. Y/N’s door swung open. Sherlock barged into the flat. 

“ Sherlock, you can’t just walk into her flat!” John yelled. Y/N saw his figure appear in the doorway. 

“I didn’t just barge in on John. The door was unlocked,” commented Sherlock as he took off his black trench coat and hung it up on the coat rack. Already making himself comfortable. 

Y/N scoffed at Sherlock. He turned to look at her his eyes narrowing on her. A set of yellow eyes below the woman caught Sherlock’s attention. The cat’s ears were turned back and the hair along its spine crept higher and higher into the air. Sherlock stared at the cat. Bjørn stared back at him. 

“What’s that?” Sherlock asked. 

“Bjørn!” John gasped when he saw the cat. Bjørn’s eyes found John and the cat meowed. His head met John’s palm as he greeted the cat. 

Sherlock looked between John, Bjørn, Y/N, and then back to Bjørn. His gaze softened as he concluded the cat meant no harm. He took one step and that was all Bjørn needed to hiss at Sherlock. John jumped back. He looked at Sherlock then at Bjørn. 

“Bjørn,” Y/N said. “What are you doing?”

She tried to pull the cat back, but Bjørn jumped out of her hands. He crept towards Sherlock, hissing whenever the man made any sort of movement. When Sherlock had been corralled into the corner farthest away from Y/N, the cat hopped onto a nearby bookshelf. Bjørn scaled the wooden tower until he rested at the top. He sat tall and glared down at Sherlock. His tail swished in a calculated manner. 

“He’s never done that before,” Y/N noted. 

She watched Bjørn for a moment before shrugging. “I guess he doesn’t like you, Sherlock. Wouldn’t blame him.” 

Sherlock’s eyes widened and his mouth went slack. He glanced back up at the cat before taking a step forward. Bjørn’s golden eyes narrowed, but he made no attempt to stop Sherlock. 

Sherlock took another step forward and entered the kitchen. He whipped around once more to look at Bjørn. If a cat could sneer, Sherlock was positive Y/N’s cat would be the one to do it.  

John and Y/N watched Sherlock dance around the kitchen, his eye on Bjørn and Bjørn’s eye on Sherlock. 

Sherlock shook off Bjørn’s stare and began to open all the cabinet doors. He’d open a cabinet and shake his head. 

“No…no, No!” Sherlock muttered to himself. 

John’s eyes widened. He thought Sherlock was going insane. 

Finally, Sherlock’s eyes widened and he pulled out a box of tea. He did not bother to shut the cabinet doors. 

Y/N scoffed and closed all the doors for him as Sherlock took a seat at the island in her kitchen. John stood there shocked, his face red as a cherry. 

“What do you want, Sherlock? Actually, why are you here?” Probed Y/N.

“Tea,” said Sherlock.

Y/N just stood there across from Sherlock. Her arms crossed over her torso. Behind Sherlock, stood Bjørn. The cat's eyes were now tiny slits. A low growl but quiet growl escaped Bjørn’s mouth. Sherlock's spine shivered. 

 “Don’t just stand there. Sit,” Sherlock commanded. “I don’t think your cat likes me.” 

“Well, that would be because I don’t like you,” Y/N retorted. 

She turned to John and asked, “Would you like anything to drink?”

“I’m alright, thanks,” John said. 

“Tea” repeated Sherlock. His jaw clenched in frustration when he heard Bjørn growl again.  Y/N ignored Sherlock. 

The air grew a bit stuffy, and John cleared his throat. Bjørn’s tail flicked side to side. His growl grew louder once Sherlock turned back around to face the terrifying demon. 

“Bjørn!” Y/N called. The cat’s ear twitched in the direction of its owner. The cat caught sight of Y/N and his large golden eyes could be seen once more. They sparkled in adoration for the woman. Sherlock’s brow pinched in confusion. 

“How’s the weather?” asked John. He hoped to loosen the tension. 

“Huh?” replied Y/N. She walked over to the shelf and picked up Bjørn, cradling him in her arms. The cat purred happily. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. 

“I said “I would like tea”.” Grumbled Sherlock.

Scoffing, Y/N replied. “Really? I don’t recall you saying please. In fact, I also don’t recall ever inviting you into my apartment.” 

Bjørn meowed in agreement. His golden eyes once again narrowed in on Sherlock. 

“Neither did I,” retorted Sherlock as he clenched his fist. 

“Right, but I had a motive. There were gunshots.”

“So do I.”

“You…have a motive to break into my home?” reiterated Y/N. Bjørn’s tail stopped twirling as if he was telling Sherlock to choose his next words carefully. 

Sherlock looked at Bjørn and then back to Y/N. “I need ideas,” He hesitated. 

“I’m not giving you any. Now please leave, before I call the cops,” Y/N stated. 

John’s eyes widened. “Y/N there’s no…”

“Please do, they love me there,” Sherlock interjected.  

 Y/N couldn’t tell if Sherlock was being serious or not. Sherlock stared at her. His eyes urged her to call the cops. Do it, they told her. She rolled her eyes. 

Then Sherlock pulled out his phone, brought up the pictures of the scene, and then handed his phone over to Y/N. Well, Sherlock handed it to John and John gave it to her. Bjørn wouldn’t let Sherlock near Y/N at the moment. 

“Look. Tell me what you think.” Commanded Sherlock. Y/N stood there quite puzzled. The picture showed the crime scene. There wasn’t much to look at. What the hell does he want me to say? “It’s an abandoned place. Wasn’t taken care of. Don’t think it is a good place to live.”

“No, wrong picture. I’m not buying a new flat,” Sherlock said. 

“Sort of hoped you would.” Muttered Y/N so that Sherlock couldn’t hear. She swiped to the next photo. 

“What do you see?!” Demanded Sherlock. His patience was running thin with Y/N and her tiny demon. 

Bjørn loudly hissed at Sherlock. 

“Sherlock!” gasped John.

“Right, if I do this for you will you leave me alone?” Y/N asked eagerly. Sherlock just stared at her. “Will it?”

“Yes”. Begrudgingly Y/N looked down at the new photo and cursed. Bjørn jumped from her arms as she gasped. The cat quickly returned to his post on the bookshelf, staring down at Sherlock. 

John rushed over to her side. “Are you alright?”

“No, a warning would have been nice,” mumbled Y/N whilst glaring at Sherlock. 

“There’s a dead body,” said Sherlock, giving Y/N a slight smile. Y/N couldn’t tell if he was trying to be funny or not. “Well?”

“Well?” asked Y/N.

“What do you think?”

“Erm… that’s it's a dead body.” She shrugged her shoulders. She looks towards John for help. But John looked just as confused as her.

“Even John can tell that's a dead body.” Commented Sherlock, leaving John a bit hurt. 

“Well, there’s pink. Lots of it.” Looking up at Sherlock for approval. He nodded in return, urging her to continue. She glanced back at the phone. Her stomach turned. “She’s married. There’s a ring on her ring finger.” Sherlock sighed in disappointment. “What the hell do you want me to say Sherlock?!” exasperated Y/N. 

“Look at her.” interrogated Sherlock.

“Are you wondering if I knew her?” questioned Y/N. “No, Sherlock. I do not know who this is. Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean I’m the killer.”

“You didn’t even look at her! I’m not implying you are. This woman was then found dead. She was travelling. Had a suitcase with her. I would assume she was at the airport.” By now Y/N turned Sherlock out. She pulled the photo up and zoomed in on her face. “She would have been there around the time you landed.”

 “Jesus Christ, No! Sherlock, I don’t find this woman familiar. “

“What?”

“You may not know, but airports are full of people. I was more focused on finding John and getting home than a woman in all pink!”

Bjørn’s ears perked up at his owner’s outburst. He meowed quietly, bringing her out of her frustration with Sherlock. 

“Y/N,” asked John, “are you alright?”

“I’m tired and it’s late. I think you two should be leaving”. She didn’t dare look at them. Sensing that Sherlock wouldn’t get the hint, John got up and practically dragged Sherlock to the door, pushing him out into the hall. 

“Sorry, again.” John apologized. 

“It’s not your fault, John.”

“Goodnight,” muttered John.

“Goodnight”. Then they were gone. Their footsteps were heard walking up the creaking stairs of 221. Y/N sighed. Her head plopped into her hands, and she began to cry. She didn’t know why, but she just knew she needed to cry. Bjørn jumped down from the bookshelf and ran up to his owner. He began to meow, begging her to pick him up. 

She sniffled and picked up Bjørn. She snuggled her face into his warm fur. The cat meowed and Y/N pulled away. Her eyes were puffy and red, and a frown adorned her face. A sight of the displeased Bjørn. He meowed softly to Y/N. The frown faded into a smile. She lovingly tapped Bjørn on the head. 

Somehow, Y/N’s body mindlessly carried her and Bjørn to the bedroom where she collapsed onto the mattress. She twisted around in her sheet, struggling to get comfortable. Bjørn lay on her chest. His purrs pulled her mind out of its hectic state. Eventually, a restless sleep overtook her. 

______

Once the door had closed behind them, John turned towards Sherlock. “Why did you do that? Why did you always have to do that?” He snapped.

“Do what?” quizzed Sherlock. Bringing his head down to level with John’s. 

“You made her uncomfortable. You always push everyone away. She’s nice. She doesn’t deserve that.” Reprimanded John.

“I got what I needed.” 

“I don’t care, Sherlock. I care how you…”

“Just give it up John.”

“No Sherlock, I won’t. Mrs. Hudson has shown us more than enough hospitality while we have been living here. Then you treat her niece with such recklessness. I’m astounded by you. Really Sherlock, get your act together.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to retort but John’s glare shut him down. John made his way to bed, leaving Sherlock standing at the entranceway of their shared flat. 

_____

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[aunti-christ-ine]

[sunfriedginger]

My baby is off getting her first shots, my BF is in line right now.

I'm so stressed, it's 100 degrees and they might have to walk the 2 hours back home. Im very worried about them.

If anyone could send $10 I could cover the rest of the pet Uber back home. Please. She's very little and we had no other option today.

$sunfriedginger on cashapp

sundriedginger on Venmo

[wild-saber1337]

SUPPORT POKEMON I WANT TO SEE IN THE SHOW!!!

As a guy with autism and a little sister with downs syndrome who has a support dog this touches me deeply