The Cat's Meow
Jun. 22nd, 2011 11:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
angelzashTitle: The Cat's Meow
By:angelzash
Pairing: Sherlock/John, Mary the cat
Genre: Romance, Comedy
Rating: PG-13 (Prolly more PG actually)
Word count: ~2,040
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Summary: “How will a kitten help your investigation? And how, with all your deductive brilliance, did you miss the fact that I hate cats?!” -- John thinks he hates cats. The cat knows better.
Notes: Um... My first ever Sherlock or Sherlock Holmes fic. Done lots of other fandoms, but never Sherlock. Hope I've done the guys justice. ^_^ I've also never written from the POV of someone who didn't like cats before! So that was mildly challenging, but John was remarkably easy to work with anyway.
Anyway, I wrote this to cheer up my friend,silversliver. Hope everyone likes it!! Constructive criticism is always welcome, and especially this time! I gave it an edit, but I wrote this and edited it while sick, so that plus being an imperfect human... Yeah, I DEFINITELY could have missed things. Let me know if I did, please? Thank you!
Enjoy!
Bright green eyes stared curiously into his from atop the kitchen table. This was unusual, if for no other reason than these were neither human eyes nor void of life, which was usually the case. They blinked, a short, slow blink, before the small furry head turned away and tucked itself beneath a long agile leg to begin the day’s washing regimen.
“Sherlock!” John finally glanced away from the kitten on the kitchen table and into the living room where Sherlock sat hidden behind a newspaper. “Sherlock! What is this?”
Sherlock put the newspaper down with a sigh and stood, his long, lanky length moving fluidly in a way that John had once only associated with elite martial artists and dancers. He walked into the kitchen, yawning as he came.
“What is what, John?” He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the table, though John knew it was only an act. Sherlock knew exactly what he was asking about. “I assume you know a cat when you see one? She is a calico—young, maybe four months old. I was thinking of calling her Mary.”
“Mar—Sherlock! Why is there a cat in our flat?”
“She witnessed the murder of her previous owner,” Sherlock told him, sounding as though this should be all John needed to know to understand the situation.
“So what,” John snarled. “You’re going to be bringing home orphans and little old ladies next?”
Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed. “Really, John. Don’t be ridiculous. She’s just a cat.”
“Ridic—Sherlock!” John growled his rising annoyance out before spinning and grabbing the kitten up. She yowled her displeasure, but John ignored it as he held her by the scruff of her neck up to Sherlock. “How will a kitten help your investigation? And how, with all your deductive brilliance, did you miss the fact that I hate cats?!”
Sherlock blinked, obviously surprised by John’s ferocity on the subject. He opened his mouth, as though to reply, then shut it again.
Growling again, John thrust the kitten into Sherlock’s chest and, pausing just long enough for Sherlock to lift his arms and catch the mewling ball of fur, stormed past the dumbstruck detective. John needed a pint before he could deal with any more of his brilliant, idiotic, cat-loving flatmate. He let his shoulder hit Sherlock’s, wincing at the pain that caused, and stomped his way to his jacket.
“Where are you going?”
John didn’t need to see Sherlock’s face to know that high-quality to it meant that he was feeling panicky. Well, good. That would teach him to bring a cat of all creatures into the same flat as Dr John Watson.
“Out! I will not stay in the same flat as that feline demon!”
John slammed the door on the answer that Sherlock called after him.
HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW
The cat had still been there when John had returned, curled up and purring in his favorite armchair no less. John scowled at it, glancing around for a pillow to toss over it. Low, but it might learn better than Sherlock with a good soft smack or two. He didn’t want to hurt it, after all. Just get rid of the thing.
He grabbed the first pillow he saw, but had barely turned before he heard Sherlock give that cry John had learned meant his partner had just had an epiphany of the criminal-thwarting kind. He looked over at Sherlock in resignation, noting the gleam of triumph in his eyes that matched the smug smile on his full lips.
“John! There you are! I’ve solved it!” Sherlock practically pranced over to the door, pulling down his scarf and coat and slipping into them somehow while never actually stopping. “Come on! We need to check something at her flat.”
John tossed one last glare the cat’s way and half-heartedly tossed the pillow her way. It missed, hitting the arm with a soft PAFT! He couldn’t help the smirk at how the cat startled, jumping out of her sleep and glancing around her in momentary terror.
“Really, John,” Sherlock sighed at him. “Leave poor Mary alone.”
HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW
John sat in his favorite armchair and tried to ignore the warm bundle of fuzz purring in his lap. What was with cats, anyway? Were they masochists? Or were they sadists? They always seemed to aim for the people that liked them least! He heaved another hard sigh and glared over at Sherlock.
Sherlock crooked an eyebrow and gave him a small smile. He was no help. He was like an oversized cat himself.
Shuddering, John tried not to admit to himself how much the idea actually appealed to him.
“I think she likes you, John.”
“Well, that’s just great. My life is complete. The cat likes me.” John gave another frustrated growl and glared back down at the kitten. “Am I supposed to consider myself special now?”
Mary purted in her sleep and snuggled in closer to the heat of John’s stomach as if in answer.
Sherlock smirked, and John wondered how he’d ever managed to fall this low.
HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW
Damned smugglers! They just couldn’t leave well enough alone!
John scowled about their flat, ignoring Mrs Hudson’s scandalized twittering beside him. Sherlock was inspecting the ruins of their kitchen, so John turned his attention to their living area. The walls had been vandalized and the chairs slashed and turned over. Cushions, blankets, papers, books, and anything else not nailed down had been tossed and strewn about the room. John even noted a few body parts from Sherlock’s experiments littered about the chaos and destruction. He hoped the blasted cat hadn’t…
The cat!
His body jerking with the sudden rush of realization and horror, John ran into the room and began digging through the rubble, frantically trying to find a hint of Mary. The fact that he found nothing seemed almost as bad as finding her with the images of her poor little body broken and bloody flitting through his imagination.
“John?”
Shaking his head, John waved Sherlock’s question off. The image of that soft little multi-colored ball of fluff lying broken and immobile was becoming ever more clear and terrifying in John’s mind’s eye.
“The kitten, Sherlock! Where’s Mary?”
“Oh dear…” John heard Mrs Hudson say behind them, sounding just as horrified as he felt.
Sherlock’s own curses followed swiftly after, and then there were the sounds of the three of them searching, calling frantically for the little kitten.
They continued like that for several long, terrible minutes, until Mrs Hudson finally gasped. There was a small indignant cry, and the crashing of small objects becoming full-fledged avalanches. John looked up just in time to catch the shooting blur of color before it could knock him over.
“Mary! Where were you, girl?” He cuddled her close, not even minding how her nails were catching his jumper with the amount of relief that was surging through him.
“Aww…” Mrs Hudson said, smiling down at them, looking entirely infatuated. “She wanted her Mummy… She must have been so terrified!”
The thought of the snuggling, mewling kitten being terrified was all that stopped John from protesting being called Mummy. It didn’t stop him from offering Sherlock a fiery glare at his response, however.
“Yes. She didn’t even notice her Daddy who feeds her.”
HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW
It didn’t take them long to catch the smugglers that had trashed their flat, though it did take a bit longer to put everything back to rights. The skull would never be the same though, and even Sherlock had had to admit that some of his experiments were better left in a lab. Still, life went back to normal in 221b Baker Street.
If life included a John Watson would regularly sat next to Sherlock on the couch with a contentedly purring cat in his lap. There was a lot to be said for the addition to their household though. Even when Sherlock was being his most frustrating, Mary seemed capable of soothing John’s fraying nerves. He’d simply sit and pet her, his hand lovingly gliding over her fur, lingering to scratch at an ear or her chin. He especially loved scratched the junction where her tail met her body, however. That was where her purr would double in strength and she’d lift her little rear up to show her pleasure. John couldn’t help but smile when she did. Perhaps that was what finally snapped Sherlock that day.
“Would you please desist in—in—doing that?!”
John looked up at Sherlock, his hand startled into stillness. Even Mary had quieted at the strength of Sherlock’s shout.
“Desist in doing what? What am I doing?”
Sherlock went a little pink and he looked away from John as though he couldn’t stand looking at him a moment longer.
“Never mind! Forget I said anything,” he grumbled and moved to flop down onto the sofa next to John.
“No,” John turned to Sherlock, letting Mary hop down off his lap and scamper off into the flat as he did so. “What are you talking about? I don’t have your brilliant deductive reasoning to help me understand what you’re thinking, Sherlock. You have to tell me!”
A mulish expression that wouldn’t be out of place on a two year old crossed Sherlock’s face. He ducked his head and looked away from John, but John did notice he didn’t move his leg from where it touched his, except maybe to press it closer.
“Sherlock…”
“You were…fondling the cat,” Sherlock finally ground out. “It was becoming sickening.”
John blinked and stared at Sherlock in shock for a moment.
“What? You were jealous? Of the kitten?” There was no response from Sherlock, but the light blush on his high cheekbones deepened. “You were! Why would you be jealous of my petting the cat? The cat you yourself brought home and insisted we keep!”
“I didn’t know you’d get to like her better,” Sherlock snapped, a definite pout making its appearance now.
“Like her better…? Of all the—“ John shook his head and sat back with a chuckle. “She’s a cat, Sherlock. I’ve been out with how many women, and you’ve never done this before.”
Sherlock turned to glare at him again.
“They weren’t of any real threat. If they had been, you would never have raced home from your dates with them to bring me milk or help me catch some stupid criminal. And you did not fondle them in front of me for hours at a time!”
John paused, staring at Sherlock as his mind whirled. He felt as though he was missing something important here.
“Sherlock? What are you saying? You’re interested in me?” He swallowed the churning feelings that stirred up in him. “I-I thought you were married to your work?”
A small nearly predatory smile curved Sherlock’s lips as he leaned in closer to John. “It was apparently a marriage in name only. You make the chase much more thrilling.”
John felt his eyes go wide and his jaw drop at the revelation. He almost missed the tender chuckle that rumbled up from Sherlock’s chest, but he felt he could be excused of that since the next moment saw Sherlock’s lips meeting his own.
If anyone had ever asked John to tell them what he expected of one of Sherlock’s kisses, he never would have been able to guess the truth. It far surpassed any kiss he’d ever had before, sweeping him away on a tide that tasted of tea, biscuit, and Sherlock. Before John even knew what was happening, they were wrapped around each other, holding tightly as if the other was the only ballast available to them in a storm of their own making.
When Sherlock finally pulled back, John nearly followed him. He managed to restrain himself, however. Sherlock was entirely too full of himself at the best of times after all.
“No more fondling cats or dating women?”
It was a clear question that John knew needed to be dealt with as soon as possible, but the smug smirk on Sherlock’s flushed countenance brought out the fierce in John. He growled and pulled Sherlock back into another passionate kiss.
They could discuss terms later.
By:
angelzashPairing: Sherlock/John, Mary the cat
Genre: Romance, Comedy
Rating: PG-13 (Prolly more PG actually)
Word count: ~2,040
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Summary: “How will a kitten help your investigation? And how, with all your deductive brilliance, did you miss the fact that I hate cats?!” -- John thinks he hates cats. The cat knows better.
Notes: Um... My first ever Sherlock or Sherlock Holmes fic. Done lots of other fandoms, but never Sherlock. Hope I've done the guys justice. ^_^ I've also never written from the POV of someone who didn't like cats before! So that was mildly challenging, but John was remarkably easy to work with anyway.
Anyway, I wrote this to cheer up my friend,
silversliver. Hope everyone likes it!! Constructive criticism is always welcome, and especially this time! I gave it an edit, but I wrote this and edited it while sick, so that plus being an imperfect human... Yeah, I DEFINITELY could have missed things. Let me know if I did, please? Thank you!Enjoy!
Bright green eyes stared curiously into his from atop the kitchen table. This was unusual, if for no other reason than these were neither human eyes nor void of life, which was usually the case. They blinked, a short, slow blink, before the small furry head turned away and tucked itself beneath a long agile leg to begin the day’s washing regimen.
“Sherlock!” John finally glanced away from the kitten on the kitchen table and into the living room where Sherlock sat hidden behind a newspaper. “Sherlock! What is this?”
Sherlock put the newspaper down with a sigh and stood, his long, lanky length moving fluidly in a way that John had once only associated with elite martial artists and dancers. He walked into the kitchen, yawning as he came.
“What is what, John?” He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the table, though John knew it was only an act. Sherlock knew exactly what he was asking about. “I assume you know a cat when you see one? She is a calico—young, maybe four months old. I was thinking of calling her Mary.”
“Mar—Sherlock! Why is there a cat in our flat?”
“She witnessed the murder of her previous owner,” Sherlock told him, sounding as though this should be all John needed to know to understand the situation.
“So what,” John snarled. “You’re going to be bringing home orphans and little old ladies next?”
Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed. “Really, John. Don’t be ridiculous. She’s just a cat.”
“Ridic—Sherlock!” John growled his rising annoyance out before spinning and grabbing the kitten up. She yowled her displeasure, but John ignored it as he held her by the scruff of her neck up to Sherlock. “How will a kitten help your investigation? And how, with all your deductive brilliance, did you miss the fact that I hate cats?!”
Sherlock blinked, obviously surprised by John’s ferocity on the subject. He opened his mouth, as though to reply, then shut it again.
Growling again, John thrust the kitten into Sherlock’s chest and, pausing just long enough for Sherlock to lift his arms and catch the mewling ball of fur, stormed past the dumbstruck detective. John needed a pint before he could deal with any more of his brilliant, idiotic, cat-loving flatmate. He let his shoulder hit Sherlock’s, wincing at the pain that caused, and stomped his way to his jacket.
“Where are you going?”
John didn’t need to see Sherlock’s face to know that high-quality to it meant that he was feeling panicky. Well, good. That would teach him to bring a cat of all creatures into the same flat as Dr John Watson.
“Out! I will not stay in the same flat as that feline demon!”
John slammed the door on the answer that Sherlock called after him.
HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW
The cat had still been there when John had returned, curled up and purring in his favorite armchair no less. John scowled at it, glancing around for a pillow to toss over it. Low, but it might learn better than Sherlock with a good soft smack or two. He didn’t want to hurt it, after all. Just get rid of the thing.
He grabbed the first pillow he saw, but had barely turned before he heard Sherlock give that cry John had learned meant his partner had just had an epiphany of the criminal-thwarting kind. He looked over at Sherlock in resignation, noting the gleam of triumph in his eyes that matched the smug smile on his full lips.
“John! There you are! I’ve solved it!” Sherlock practically pranced over to the door, pulling down his scarf and coat and slipping into them somehow while never actually stopping. “Come on! We need to check something at her flat.”
John tossed one last glare the cat’s way and half-heartedly tossed the pillow her way. It missed, hitting the arm with a soft PAFT! He couldn’t help the smirk at how the cat startled, jumping out of her sleep and glancing around her in momentary terror.
“Really, John,” Sherlock sighed at him. “Leave poor Mary alone.”
HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW
John sat in his favorite armchair and tried to ignore the warm bundle of fuzz purring in his lap. What was with cats, anyway? Were they masochists? Or were they sadists? They always seemed to aim for the people that liked them least! He heaved another hard sigh and glared over at Sherlock.
Sherlock crooked an eyebrow and gave him a small smile. He was no help. He was like an oversized cat himself.
Shuddering, John tried not to admit to himself how much the idea actually appealed to him.
“I think she likes you, John.”
“Well, that’s just great. My life is complete. The cat likes me.” John gave another frustrated growl and glared back down at the kitten. “Am I supposed to consider myself special now?”
Mary purted in her sleep and snuggled in closer to the heat of John’s stomach as if in answer.
Sherlock smirked, and John wondered how he’d ever managed to fall this low.
HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW
Damned smugglers! They just couldn’t leave well enough alone!
John scowled about their flat, ignoring Mrs Hudson’s scandalized twittering beside him. Sherlock was inspecting the ruins of their kitchen, so John turned his attention to their living area. The walls had been vandalized and the chairs slashed and turned over. Cushions, blankets, papers, books, and anything else not nailed down had been tossed and strewn about the room. John even noted a few body parts from Sherlock’s experiments littered about the chaos and destruction. He hoped the blasted cat hadn’t…
The cat!
His body jerking with the sudden rush of realization and horror, John ran into the room and began digging through the rubble, frantically trying to find a hint of Mary. The fact that he found nothing seemed almost as bad as finding her with the images of her poor little body broken and bloody flitting through his imagination.
“John?”
Shaking his head, John waved Sherlock’s question off. The image of that soft little multi-colored ball of fluff lying broken and immobile was becoming ever more clear and terrifying in John’s mind’s eye.
“The kitten, Sherlock! Where’s Mary?”
“Oh dear…” John heard Mrs Hudson say behind them, sounding just as horrified as he felt.
Sherlock’s own curses followed swiftly after, and then there were the sounds of the three of them searching, calling frantically for the little kitten.
They continued like that for several long, terrible minutes, until Mrs Hudson finally gasped. There was a small indignant cry, and the crashing of small objects becoming full-fledged avalanches. John looked up just in time to catch the shooting blur of color before it could knock him over.
“Mary! Where were you, girl?” He cuddled her close, not even minding how her nails were catching his jumper with the amount of relief that was surging through him.
“Aww…” Mrs Hudson said, smiling down at them, looking entirely infatuated. “She wanted her Mummy… She must have been so terrified!”
The thought of the snuggling, mewling kitten being terrified was all that stopped John from protesting being called Mummy. It didn’t stop him from offering Sherlock a fiery glare at his response, however.
“Yes. She didn’t even notice her Daddy who feeds her.”
HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW
It didn’t take them long to catch the smugglers that had trashed their flat, though it did take a bit longer to put everything back to rights. The skull would never be the same though, and even Sherlock had had to admit that some of his experiments were better left in a lab. Still, life went back to normal in 221b Baker Street.
If life included a John Watson would regularly sat next to Sherlock on the couch with a contentedly purring cat in his lap. There was a lot to be said for the addition to their household though. Even when Sherlock was being his most frustrating, Mary seemed capable of soothing John’s fraying nerves. He’d simply sit and pet her, his hand lovingly gliding over her fur, lingering to scratch at an ear or her chin. He especially loved scratched the junction where her tail met her body, however. That was where her purr would double in strength and she’d lift her little rear up to show her pleasure. John couldn’t help but smile when she did. Perhaps that was what finally snapped Sherlock that day.
“Would you please desist in—in—doing that?!”
John looked up at Sherlock, his hand startled into stillness. Even Mary had quieted at the strength of Sherlock’s shout.
“Desist in doing what? What am I doing?”
Sherlock went a little pink and he looked away from John as though he couldn’t stand looking at him a moment longer.
“Never mind! Forget I said anything,” he grumbled and moved to flop down onto the sofa next to John.
“No,” John turned to Sherlock, letting Mary hop down off his lap and scamper off into the flat as he did so. “What are you talking about? I don’t have your brilliant deductive reasoning to help me understand what you’re thinking, Sherlock. You have to tell me!”
A mulish expression that wouldn’t be out of place on a two year old crossed Sherlock’s face. He ducked his head and looked away from John, but John did notice he didn’t move his leg from where it touched his, except maybe to press it closer.
“Sherlock…”
“You were…fondling the cat,” Sherlock finally ground out. “It was becoming sickening.”
John blinked and stared at Sherlock in shock for a moment.
“What? You were jealous? Of the kitten?” There was no response from Sherlock, but the light blush on his high cheekbones deepened. “You were! Why would you be jealous of my petting the cat? The cat you yourself brought home and insisted we keep!”
“I didn’t know you’d get to like her better,” Sherlock snapped, a definite pout making its appearance now.
“Like her better…? Of all the—“ John shook his head and sat back with a chuckle. “She’s a cat, Sherlock. I’ve been out with how many women, and you’ve never done this before.”
Sherlock turned to glare at him again.
“They weren’t of any real threat. If they had been, you would never have raced home from your dates with them to bring me milk or help me catch some stupid criminal. And you did not fondle them in front of me for hours at a time!”
John paused, staring at Sherlock as his mind whirled. He felt as though he was missing something important here.
“Sherlock? What are you saying? You’re interested in me?” He swallowed the churning feelings that stirred up in him. “I-I thought you were married to your work?”
A small nearly predatory smile curved Sherlock’s lips as he leaned in closer to John. “It was apparently a marriage in name only. You make the chase much more thrilling.”
John felt his eyes go wide and his jaw drop at the revelation. He almost missed the tender chuckle that rumbled up from Sherlock’s chest, but he felt he could be excused of that since the next moment saw Sherlock’s lips meeting his own.
If anyone had ever asked John to tell them what he expected of one of Sherlock’s kisses, he never would have been able to guess the truth. It far surpassed any kiss he’d ever had before, sweeping him away on a tide that tasted of tea, biscuit, and Sherlock. Before John even knew what was happening, they were wrapped around each other, holding tightly as if the other was the only ballast available to them in a storm of their own making.
When Sherlock finally pulled back, John nearly followed him. He managed to restrain himself, however. Sherlock was entirely too full of himself at the best of times after all.
“No more fondling cats or dating women?”
It was a clear question that John knew needed to be dealt with as soon as possible, but the smug smirk on Sherlock’s flushed countenance brought out the fierce in John. He growled and pulled Sherlock back into another passionate kiss.
They could discuss terms later.
