Author's Note: Greetings, all! This is my first fic uploaded... Kind of ever, and my first time doing anything relatively Johnlocky of any kind.

This fic was inspired by the multitude of Benedict/Sherlock being compared to otters, and likewise with Martin/John and Hedgehogs. ;3 If you haven't seen it already, go google it, they're perfect. X3 Apologies for any OOC-ness, and Enjoi!

John woke up early-the clinic was waiting for him, it'd be a long day- blinking the bleary drowsiness from his eyes. The case Sherlock had solved only the day before had worn him out, especially with the late night concertos and his rumbling musings with the skull. He'd finally ceased his sound-making near 3 in the morning, where it had suddenly fallen eerily quiet. John had gratefully lapsed into sleep at once, and had awoken to the remaining absolute silence. Absolute silence in 221B? Just before John left for work? Just a Bit not good.

How odd, he thought, sitting up; he felt strange. His vision quality was noticeably lower-maybe I did something yesterday? He thought, unsettled.
He couldn't hear a violin screeching downstairs, and decided that Sherlock had once again left him for the day, probably for a case, he reasoned.
With a shrug, he attempted to crawl out of bed, but still, something felt very wrong- and he couldn't find the edge of it. Now John was very nervous, and glanced around himself.
The room was still blurry, but still vaguely familiar- and larger?!
"Now what is going on?" He whimpered, slowly glancing down at his hands.
They weren't hands now-paws were a more accurate description.
He froze, unsure of the proper reaction to this new problem, but promptly decided an outlet was preferable, and abruptly screamed as loud as he could manage, but the sound that escaped his mouth was very much non-human, and more like a long, drawn out squeak than anything.
This I must see... He thought frantically. How is this even possible?
Trembling, he crawled to the side of the bed until he tumbled off it, landing on his back and squirming to get back on his feet furiously.
Good lord, what a challenge it was! He mentally screamed, finally stilling his struggling movements.
His eyes smarted with frustration till he laid there, panting for a long, delirious moment before controllably rolling back onto his four paws with a squirming kick. Afterwards, the scrabbling, scratching sounds his movements made were relatively loud, and he attempted to instinctively silence them, walking more slowly and carefully, as much as his panic-induced state would really allow, anyway.
After some trekking and digging, he'd finally gotten somewhat luckier and discovered his phone in yesterday's jean pockets, rather than his bedside table, for which he was grateful, and gazed upon his reflection. Once he had, however, he froze for what seemed like years. Blonde in every sense of the word, and covered head-to-toe in pointy spines on his back, black beady eyes and a small, pointed nose...
His assumptions had been correct-he wasn't human anymore, and he found that this was considerably much worse than he'd originally thought.
"I'm..." He choked on the word, and locked his jaw, unable to think the word aloud. He took a few deep breaths, and tried again.
"I'm a hedgehog!" He finally managed with a quiet wail, tearing his eyes away from his reflection. Determined not to give in to the panic settling in his stomach, he unlocked the phone, doing his best to a avoid looking at himself, and called Sherlock's number, whether to demand if this was an experiment gone wrong or maybe demand answers, he wasn't quite sure. However, he felt it'd be a mixture of both, and to extents.
A thrill of ice filled his body when he heard the shrill sounds of a phone ringing downstairs-Sherlock was still here. He wasn't ready to face the threat of the stairs, however, and hoped that the detective would, just this once, answer his godforsaken phone.
The velvet bass tone of Sherlock's voicemail greeted him, and John hit the end call button with a bit more vigor than really necessary. He never forgot his phone, never left without it-the thought of him having done so frightened John, enticing thoughts of possible kidnappings and making his new tiny heart race anxiously. The fear overwhelmed his quivering body, daunted him.
I need to make sure he's ok-what a bloody great time for this to happen! He thought furiously, frustrated with his newly limited mobility. His mind was in uproar as he finally made a decision: he'd have to go find him himself, even in this form, even if he was in considerably more danger than he would have been earlier, because Sherlock might have needed him.
He abandoned his mobile and rushed towards his door, willing to risk the challenge of the stairs. "Sherlock?!" He cried out as he worked his way down the first two steps. At least his leg and shoulder didn't bother him as badly, he thought gratefully, barely avoiding tumbling down the rest of the steps. A sharp cry escaped him as he landed on his back, loudly and painfully when he registered the slight and dull pains in his shoulder again.
"John?!" Another voice from downstairs called-Sherlock, he realized gratefully, almost collapsing with relief. It lasted only a moment, though, as the deep voice echoed with an almost uncertain quality. Still, it was better to hear him and know he was alive and confused rather than be missing and sure.
"H-here, Sherlock," he replied, trying to catch his breath once more, leaning back against the steps. At least Sherlock is okay, John thought, hoping the consulting detective would help him down the rest of the way, and perhaps offer him some forms of explanation.
The thought comforted him until he looked up and found a pair of beady, dark eyes boring into his. He scrambled to get away from the larger brown animal, who continued to stare at him in an unnervingly focused manner, wearing a dark blue scarf in an almost humorous-wait, blue scarf? John blinked, ceasing his panicked movements for a moment to finally examine what was really standing before him. The creature's fur was relatively curly, thick and wild, which was unusual given the animal's species, and on his belly was a lighter, creamier color than the almost-black shade of fur. The animal's paws were clawed, webbed and held upright awkwardly, as though the owner had no idea as to where they should be placed.
"Oh my god," John croaked.
Sherlock was an otter.

The duo stared at each other for a long, silent moment, in which the otter squirmed restlessly, fixing the oversized scarf nervously, eyes cast down, and calling John's name quietly in Sherlock's voice.
The hedgehog finally came back to himself in a trembling sort of way, still silent, and with a sigh, Sherlock carefully scooped up his much-smaller friend, mindful of the sharp spines, tucking him into the many folds of his now too-large scarf, and hopping down the rest of the steps with much more ease than John had had.
They retreated to the couch, where, amusingly, Sherlock hopped up and laid on his back in a very otter-like fashion, removing John from the folds of fabric and resting him on his belly, wedged between his large, webbed paws. It was very unnerving, very unbecoming for John when he realized that his companion was ready to patiently wait until he was ready to speak, very unlike Sherlock. At last, he remembered how to work his mouth again and spoke.
"Lestrade?" He asked uncertainly. Otter-Sherlock raised a brow, testily playing with the spines on John's back and the fur at his sides as his tail gave a twitch.
"Hm? Oh. Yes, I called him thirty minutes ago-four point two-five minutes before you woke up. He'll be here soon-I had hoped you'd have been unaffected, but as we can both see that is not the case, without completely stating the obvious. No, I had no experiments that would have adjusted our species completely, or of any major effect of that kind, John, I know that's been on your mind since you awoke this morning."
"Why didn't you try coming for me when I screamed? Or when your phone rang? You must've heard me then," John pondered, eyes narrowed at the consulting otter. His friend shrugged. "I was preoccupied-trying to reach my stash of cigarettes reserved for an occasion like this, get my things down from the coat rack. I wanted to be somewhat identifiable, nobody knew what animal you would've been-it would really have been unfortunate if I'd gotten hurt like this. I knew you weren't in any immediate danger, my otter senses wouldn't have allowed for that." He explained.
John huffed, irritated, and curled up slightly.
This occasion?! Ugh, I'm not going to ask... John thought, irked, before he decided on asking another pressing question.
"Otter senses?" He mumbled uncertainly, feeling his friend sigh heavily under him as he shifted to better hold John closely without being jabbed by pointy spines, much to his confusion.
Sherlock saw this, and jabbed a lively paw towards his laptop, which, as far as John could see, had a brown otter-shaped blob on the monitor.
"Yes yes, I did my research-otters are social, lively, friendly and intelligent creatures. They like their mates, friends and family. Which, the only one that can fit into any of those categories is you," Sherlock recited with a slight waving of his paw, almost evasively, and lowered it again.
Before John could decide whether to ask which category he'd been referred to or not, there was the heavy sound of footsteps in the hall, causing John to quake involuntarily as Lestrade appeared in the doorway, and Sherlock to sit up in a more alert manner.
"What in blazes is the matter, Sherlo-Oh my god," he stuttered, finally spotting a very aggravated-looking curly-haired otter, cuddling (for lack of a better word) with a blond hedgehog that seemed very frightened.
"Sherlock?" He asked uncertainly. The otter sighed, and tucked John into his scarf once more, protectively, as he rose onto his feet and clumsily padded over the furniture to greet Lestrade, careful of his now-webbed toes.
"Yes," he said, somewhat impatiently.
"You're an otter," the Detective Inspector spluttered. Otter-Sherlock made a face of disgust. "Yes, yes, the sky is blue, there is earth beneath your feet, and John's a hedgehog; now stop stating the obvious. Somehow we've been transformed into animals and it wasn't any of our doings so- we're looking for some form of contaminant, check the air vents or the kitchen supplies, it could be anything, even Mrs. Hudson's flat downstairs could be-"
There was a shriek, and Sherlock's brow furrowed at the interruption. "Scratch that, Mrs. Hudson's been changed as well; probably a tortoise." Now concerned, his long tail brushed nervously at the floor, and he glanced over to glare at it, agitated.
"Fine, fine-do you need help at all? I mean, you're animals now; no thumbs." Lestrade explained, caught somewhere between a hysteric laugh, giggle, and the need to be concerned.
John, finally calmed, peered out from Sherlock's huge scarf.
"We'll manage, Greg-sorry about the mess." He explained, unhappily squirming in the large folds of his friend's soft, comfortable scarf.
The Inspector paused for a long moment, staring at the duo. Finally Sherlock spoke up with a hiss.
"Lestrade, if you pull out your camera phone as you intended then so help me-"
"Bye!" He barked once, interrupting Sherlock's threat and hurrying out the door, mobile in hand.
"God-" Sherlock made a quick and sudden movement, throwing his paws up in the air in frustration, throwing John off with a loud and surprised squeak.
He landed on the floor, on his back again, and groaned in pain.
"John?!" Sherlock leapt after him worriedly, reaching out for his friend and carefully, gently, rolling him onto his feet again.
"I'm fine...! Right, well," John grunted. Worried Sherlock was definitely one to be looked after-something was wrong with him.
He shuddered, remembering the last time Sherlock was sick and had to be taken care of; he'd been impossible, sending John out for things and then berating him for having left him for so long (he'd only been gone for fifteen minutes, tops), asking for specific foods or drinks and then denying them after being put in front of him-all of this lasted for three days straight.
This seemed different, however-John could still feel Sherlock worrying over him, picking dirt and dust and things out of the spines on his back.
"I'm going to go see if I can get my paws on a cuppa," John muttered decisively, determined to have at least some form of normality.
The otter watched as the hedgehog began his relatively longer trek across the flat, somewhat grateful that it wasn't so large as some.
With a whimper unfitting for the Consulting Detective, he began closely following his friend, making sure to stay at the same pace John set.
Within a few feet, John paused tiredly, far from adjusted, resting his new form of walking before begrudgingly moving forward.
It was a long process, but he finally managed to arrive at the kitchen without having Sherlock helped him once.
Climbing onto the chairs and having Sherlock push him around was another story-Sherlock's compliant nature was strange, but John felt grateful for it in those moments, however long it lasted as he carefully set a large bowl of water over the stove.
After having decided it was warm enough, he was cautious in moving it to the side-just for today, he and Sherlock would have to share the same tea, but neither minded so much-their taste buds didn't vary so much that they'd be averse to sharing just once.
After it'd been prepared, Sherlock soon creatively lowered the tea bowl down to the floor with some lever-like contraption, where they eagerly dove in.
"It's not too bad, is it?" John muttered obligingly. "I mean, we could've been turned into snakes or spiders or something much more useless-"
"That's it, John!" Sherlock exclaimed, nearly upturning the bowl. "A spider-Moriarty had something to do with this!"
Bewildered, the hedgehog blinked sluggishly, then went back to lapping at the tea.
"Why not kill us then? Seems like a stupid idea, and a waste of opportunities...!"
At this, Sherlock nodded agreeably. "Yes, but if he gets bored, what else is there to do besides commit crimes and design murders?"
He squirmed excitedly, tea all but forgotten as he scrambled away, towards his laptop.
John grumbled quietly and continued downing his tea, thoughtfully.
Sherlock, meanwhile, was tapping out a message of sorts on his blog, an entry that he'd keep in mind to watch over the next few days.

Otter and hedgehog tests begin-experiment No. 1: Domestication Attempt. So far successful with minor drawbacks. Tea and biscuits are fine. Will continue to monitor for other results.

Experiment No. 2: Compatibility
Species are relatively co-habitable; may soon need to reorganize sleeping schedules and living arrangements. Both subjects are sociable. Dietary issues have not surfaced. Will continue to monitor as well.

He finalized the entry and submitted it, turning to face John, who had puttered away from the now-empty tea bowl to curl up on the fallen Union Jack cushion. The sudden realization hit him hard-no cases for a while, and he'd have to eat foods he didn't like to supply his new body, not to mention look after John and stop being lazy. His number of daily life problems and difficulties had suddenly been increased tenfold, because he still needed to catch Moriarty, and find out what had been done to him and his friend.
Watching John rest, though, softened him just enough to accept it a little easier, and he trotted over to his sleeping friend to examine him a bit further.
European Hedgehog, common in the United Kingdom, and definitely far from extinct-he'd have to keep him away from passersby, since they wouldn't care too particularly if they'd accidentally squished a hedgehog underfoot.

He would be a little harder to miss-Sherlock was bigger, taller, stronger. And to top it all off, he could swim, float and had sharper senses and teeth. It couldn't be too bad, being an otter for as long as he needed to. He could easily protect John, just stuff him in his scarf as he puttered about, and be careful with the spines on the hedgehog's back. He'd have to retrieve and look after Mrs. Hudson eventually, but she never left anyways. And John wouldn't be able to leave without him.

With that pleasant thought in mind, Sherlock turned tail-quite literally, unfortunately-and flopped onto his back on the sofa, squirming to acclimate himself to the apparent change in depth and size of it, lapsing into the thoughtful, meditative state of mind that he often did when waiting patiently in lieu of response during a case.

So! Let me know what you think! And yes, John is a blonde European Hedgehog, while Sherlock is a European River Otter, both not too uncommon out in the UK according to Wiki. ;3c