Fic: Sam and the Sheep, white cortina, dakfinv
Title: Sam and the Sheep
Author: dak
Word Count: 2749
Rating: pure, fluffy white cortina
Summary: Does what it says on the tin. (No, not like that. Get your minds out of the gutter!)
A/N: For the comm I absolutely love and adore, I bring you fluff. (Don't get used to it.) This one is harmless, I swear. Perfectly and utterly harmless. Please enjoy!
The first think he thought was that it must be Gene. The second, as he shook the dregs of sleep from his mind, was that there was no bloody way in hell it was Gene. Gene didn’t knock. As the anxious tapping on his door continued, Sam drug himself upwards, adjusted the pyjama top that had become oddly twisted round his body during the night’s sleep, then finally shuffled out of bed.
“Yes?” He yawned as he slid back the door.
“Detective Inspector Tyler! I’m so glad I got the right address,” a cheery old man smiled and immediately grabbed Sam’s right hand, shaking it with both of his wrinkled own.
“Mr. Kent?” As Sam’s drowsy brain started to kick into gear, he remembered the man from a case a few months prior.
“I wanted to come by and thank you, DI Tyler,” Mr. Kent kept shaking his hand. “For Chelsea.” Tears began to form in the benevolent man’s eyes as he spoke the name.
“James Ronstadt. He was convicted yesterday, wasn’t he?” Sam tried to figure a way to remove his hand from Mr. Kent’s grasp but it seemed impossible.
“Wouldn’t ‘ave ‘appened if it weren’t for you, Detective Inspector,” the man smiled through his tears and progressed from shaking Sam’s hand to simply holding it.
Sam blushed but maintained his humility. “Well, thank you Mr. Kent. But really, it was the whole team--” Mr. Kent suddenly dropped Sam’s hand and ran to the side of the door. “Mr. Kent?” Sam called without leaving his doorway.
“I wanted to show my appreciation, DI Tyler!” He called back.
“Oh, that’s really not necessary, sir.”
“Codswallop!” The man shouted back. “Weren’t for you that man would still be out there.”
Sam was unprepared for Mr. Kent as he popped back in front of the door, much spryer than a sixty-nine year old man should be, and tried to shove something white and fluffy into Sam’s arms. It took his brain a moment to figure it out but eventually registered that it was a sheep. A lamb, to be more precise. Sam honestly couldn’t think of what to say, so he spouted procedure.
“Mr. Kent, thank you, very much, but I’m not allowed to accept gifts.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, boy,” and the lamb was firmly placed into Sam’s arms before he had time to react. Mr. Kent continued to stroke the animal’s head as it wiggled in the Inspector’s uncertain hold.
“ ‘S’not like I’m offering you cash or diamonds, am I? Course, depends how you look at it I guess. This little beauty...”
The lamb released a small, pitiful “Baaaa!” Sam froze, unsure what he was supposed to do next.
“Well, she comes from Chelsea’s favorite ewe, Mabel. Loved that ewe, me daughter did. Favorite of all the others.”
Sam desperately wanted to know how it was possible to tell sheep apart. He just couldn’t understand. “I’m sure, sir, but--”
“This is Mabel’s last lamb of the season. Perfect, little bugger, ain’t she? An’ well, with that murderer’s conviction an’ all, I couldn’t think of anyone who deserved it more.”
“Mr. Kent--” Sam’s phone decided to ring at that most inopportune of moments. “Please, just wait there.” He backed slowly into his flat, trying to reach for the phone with one arm, while keeping the lamb aloft in the other.
“You’re a good man, Sam Tyler. Don’t yeh ever forget that,” Mr. Kent nodded and left.
“Sir! Mr. Kent! Wait! I don’t know the first thing about sheep!”
The phone kept ringing and Sam internally struggled with running after the old farmer or answering the call which must have been from the station. It was always from the station. Duty came first and Sam reluctantly shut his door and grabbed the receiver, the confused creature still in his other arm.
“Tyler.”
The lamb baa’d again, into the phone.
“Boss? What was that?”
“Nothing Phyllis. Just the, uh, television.” Sam shut his eyes as he realized new rumors of his sexual proclivities would soon be swirling round the station.
“Guv wanted me to ring yeh. There’s been a blag on the high street. He’ll be round your place in ten minutes to pick yeh up so you’re supposed to be waitin’ downstairs, outside which, and I quote, you should be used to ‘cause that’s all the further you ever get with Cartwright.”
“Thank you, Phyllis, for that informative call.”
“No problem, Boss.”
The lamb began crying again and Sam slammed down the phone before the Desk Sergeant could ask anymore questions. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and looked down at the creature cradled in his arms. It was cute, in its own way. It tried to eat his shirt.
“Right,” Sam sighed and carefully placed it on the floor. “Stay there so I can get dressed, okay?” The lamb stared at him. It stared at him as he picked out his trousers and his shirt. It stared at him as he started to remove his pyjama top. Sam stared back warily, then finished changing in the bathroom, with the door shut.
He came out, still buttoning the last of his shirt, and the lamb was still there and still staring. “Okay. I need to go meet the Guv. You need to...why am I explaining myself to a sheep?” Sam looked around his flat, for any way he could pen the animal in the kitchenette until he returned.
But when would he return? Not til late? He could give it a bowl of water but what about food. What did lamb’s actually eat? Had it been weaned yet? Should he leave a bowl of milk? It wasn’t a cat. It might eat grass. Where could he find grass in central Manchester? Probably a lot of places but not the sort of grass he needed. The last thing he wanted was to get the poor animal high.
It stared at him. Sam checked his watch, sighed, and grabbed his leather jacket. “This is how it’s going to work. You’re going to come with me, you’re going to stay out of trouble...” Sam scooped the wriggling creature into his arms and carried it out the door, “and you’re going to get me ridiculed by my peers. Does that sound like a good plan?” The lamb whined. “That’s what I thought.”
*
Gene, by now, expected a certain amount of odd behavior from his DI but Tyler, waiting outside his flat holding a sheep, an actual, live sheep, was most certainly a bit more than odd. Sam plopped himself in the car, holding the thing close to his chest.
“Don’t ask.”
“Wasn’t goin’ to say a word,” Gene assured him as he threw the car in gear and headed for the scene. “Looks a bit young for you, though, Dickie Fingers.”
“I will hit you.”
“Violence is no way to solve your problems, Mary,” Gene smirked. The lamb cried. And cried. And cried. And cried. “Bloody hell, Gladys. That thing’s worse than you are, all that moaning.”
“Maybe your driving doesn’t agree with him.”
“Rubbish. There is absolutely nothing wrong with my driving.” Gene swerved to avoid a young woman with a pram. Sam winced. The lamb appeared seasick. The Guv pulled in front of the burgled store, where Ray, Chris, and a few uniformed plod were already waiting. Tyler began to get out of the car, leaving the animal inside.
“Oi! You’re not leavin’ that sheep in ‘ere.”
“It’s a lamb.”
“It’ll ruin the upholstery.”
“It will contaminate the scene.”
“Uhm, Boss?” Chris shuffled forward. “What’s that you got there?”
Gene looked at Sam. Sam looked at Gene. They agreed. Sam picked up the creature and forced it onto DC Skelton.
“Chris, this lamb is a vital piece of evidence in another case. I need you to keep an eye on it until we get back to the station.” Sam smiled, pat him on the arm, then followed Gene into the shop.
*
After gathering the statements and the evidence they could, Hunt and Tyler returned outside where Ray and Chris were leaning against a brick wall, smoking. A sheepless Chris.
“Chris!”
“Yeah Boss?”
“Where’s Shaun?”
Ray and Chris exchanged glances.
“Uhm, who sir?” Skelton asked as he stubbed out his fag.
“I mean the lamb. The lamb I gave you. Where is it?”
“Oh. ‘E got heavy so I tied ‘im up round the corner with a bit of that rope we use to mark off scenes.”
Sam rolled his eyes and raced around the side of the building, where sure enough the little lamb was secured haphazardly to a rusted lamp post, nibbling from an old crisps packet. Sam rushed to its side and knelt down, quickly untying it.
“Hey, hey. Don’t eat that. You don’t know where that’s been, mate.”
“Shaun?”
Sam looked over his shoulder to see Gene standing there with raised eyebrows and a heavy flask.
“Since when do we name evidence?”
“It was a gift from Thomas Kent, for securing the conviction of his daughter’s killer.”
“And what are we supposed to do with it then? Take it to the butcher’s ourselves? Wouldn’t it have been easier if he’d just shipped us the meat when it were ready?”
Sam scooped up little Shaun in an almost protective manner. “Don’t say that! Not in front of him.” He trotted back towards the direction of the Cortina with Gene shambling behind.
“ ‘S not like he can hear us, Tyler. Or I don’t know. Maybe sheep in Hyde do speak gibberish like the rest of yeh.”
“Can we just get back to the station and then decide what to do with him?” Sam sighed as he climbed back in the car.
“Fine. But I’d keep ‘im away from Gwen. Woman makes a mean mint jelly.”
The lamb nuzzled at Sam’s chin. “Don’t you listen to the alcoholic Neanderthal, Shaun.”
“Bloody stupid name, Mary. Daisy or Tupper. That’s what you should’ve called ‘im. Whoever heard of Shaun the sheep?”
“You’re not the only one who watches children’s television, Guv,” Sam muttered as he absentmindedly stroked the lamb’s soft head.
*
Any taunts or jeers Sam had been expecting were quickly left unsaid as the men of the station soon realized how much attention DI Tyler and his little lamb were receiving from the ladies of the Women’s Department. Sam couldn’t walk two steps without one of the girls stopping him and asking to pet his lamb. Sam thought some of them said it in a more suggestive tone but simply smiled and acted the perfect gentleman.
By the time he reached CID a solid fifteen minutes later than he should have, Sam was positively glowing as he entered the bullpen, little Shaun trotting along beside him as the women still cooed and awed from the corridor.
Ray looked aghast. Chris shook his head. “I’ve got to get me one o’ them sheep,” the Constable muttered to his partner.
“Oh Sam,” Annie ran over from her desk and crouched down so she was eye level with the little bugger. “He’s absolutely adorable!”
“Thanks Annie,” and Sam grinned brighter than he ever had before. Shaun immediately seemed taken with Annie, more so than with the other girls he had met so far, cuddling her hand with his fuzzy cheek and trying to climb into her lap as he released a series of cheerful, little “baa’s.”
“Oh you are a sweet thing. Yes you are. Who’s a good lamb?” Annie cooed to him.
“Goin’ to marry it Cartwright or just take it round the back of the station?”
Annie immediately leapt up at the sound of her Guv’s voice. “Sorry, sir. I’ve just never seen a lamb this close before.”
“I was talkin’ about Tyler. Speaking of which, in my office Gladys, and leave the furball outside,” Gene disappeared into his lair and Sam handed over the makeshift lead to Annie, who happily accepted.
“What’re you goin’ to do with it?” Hunt asked as soon as Sam was in the room.
“Don’t know, Guv. Hadn’t really thought about it,” Sam settled himself in the chair and accepted an offered glass of whisky.
“Can’t keep it in that flat of yours, Tyler. Barely fit for humans, that is.”
“I know. It all happened so quickly,” Sam sipped his drink. “But I am not taking him to a butcher’s.”
“Suit yourself. Would make a fine roast, though,” Gene commented and finished his own drink. “Tell you what. I know this farmer over in Derbyshire. Owes me a favor.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“We’ll take your little love child there tomorrow. How does that sound?”
“It’s a sheep. It’s not my love child.”
“Thought it was a lamb?”
*
Sam decided it would be alright if Shaun spent the night at his flat. It was only one night, after all. He had picked up some feed from a local shop and, using some old sheets and towels, made a comfortable little bed for Shaun in the corner of his flat.
“There you are, mate. Looks nice and cozy,” Sam smiled as he placed Shaun onto the warm pile, then climbed into bed himself. “Sleep tight.”
It didn’t take long for the little lamb to start crying. Sam sighed, rolled over, and tried to ignore it but the poor thing sounded so pitiful. He had never been too good with animals but he was good with women, so he figured some of the tactics might be the same, in a non-Sticky Dickie Fingers-esque way.
“Alright. What is it?” Sam crawled out of bed and knelt before his little friend. Poor Shaun looked completely lost, lonely, and out of place. Sam could relate. “What’s the matter, eh?” He reached out a hand and started petting the little cotton ball. Shaun, in turn, crawled into Sam’s lap. “You miss your mum? Is that it?” Shaun cried. “Yeah. I do, too.” Sam kept stroking him and held him close. It wasn’t long before the tiny creature had fallen asleep.
*
Gene burst through the door at exactly nine a.m., just as he said he would. Finding Tyler naked and chained to his bed had been somewhat of a shock. Finding Sam curled up in bed, fully clothed, with a baby sheep tucked safely under his arm, strangely was not. Gene had always figured Sam to be the sort of man who had slept with a soft toy until his teens. This only seemed to prove it.
“Wakey, wakey, Mary. Get your little lamb sorted, too. We’re leavin’ in five minutes.”
*
It was a nice farm. A very nice farm. There was a steady looking barn and a few horses. Not to mention loads of other sheep.
“Say your good-byes, Gladys. I’m just goin’ to ‘ave a word with our friendly farmer over ‘ere.” Gene stuffed his hands in his pockets and lumbered over to the man waiting at the other end of the yard. Sam walked Shaun behind the secure gate then crouched down in front of him.
“It was very nice to meet you, Shaun,” he smiled but couldn’t keep the slight hurt out of his voice. “You be a good lamb and play well with all the other lambs. Don’t cause any trouble and why am I talking to a sheep?” He sighed and laughed, shaking his head.
Shaun nuzzled at his hand and Sam obediently began to pet him. “My mind comes up with some strange things, doesn’t it?” Shaun responded in kind, trying to nibble at the cuff of Sam’s shirt. “You’ve found your home now. Maybe I will, too, eh?”
“Ready Tyler?” Gene shouted from the background.
With one final pat on the head, Sam rose from the ground and walked briskly towards the car.
“Alright, Gladys?”
“It’s just a stupid sheep,” Sam snapped and bundled himself into the car.
Gene decided to have one last word with the farmer. He grabbed the man by his shirt collar and yanked him forward. “If so much as one hair of that lamb ends up on a dinner plate, I will personally see to it that your todger’s there alongside it. Understood?”
The man nodded anxiously and Gene dropped him.
“So then,” Gene said as he started up the Cortina. “Fancy a meal?”
“If you say lamb chops, I’ll kill you,” Sam pouted.
“Nonsense. Wouldn’t dream of it.” The Cortina roared down the dusty path, back to the main road. “How do you feel about veal?”