Sherlock: Aristocats style 5
Sherlock/Aristocats crossover
Summary: Snanderson tries to kill Sherlock when he realises that Madame Hudson is leaving everything to him in her will. Luckily, John Watson is there to help him get home. Cat!Sherlock, Cat!Watson, slash but they're cats so nothing... uncomfortable, so don't worry.
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Chapter 5
Anthea lay in her new, too small wicker basket next to the hay mound; dozing quietly. Warm and comfortabl, paws twitching as if fiddling with an imaginary toy.
"Hey, listen!" Mycroft. Damn.
'Ohhhh... go to SLEEP Mycroft!' she thought to herself, 'I want to SLEEP!'
"Anthea!" he hissed, kicking her gently from his own position in his new side car bed. 'Damn, can't pretend forever I suppose...'
"...Yes?"
"Can you hear that?" He leaned up further from his stolen bed, tipping his bowler hat back further for a better view.
"Oh Mycroft it's probably nothing but a cricket bug!"
"No, it's squeaky shoes approaching..."
"Cricket bugs don't wear shoes..." Anthea puzzled to herself softly... "How could he-"
"Shhhh Anthea! Oxford shoes; size nine and a half, with a hole in the left sole-"
"What colour are they?"
"Bla-" he started before looking down at her, an amused twinkle in his eye.
"The squeaking's stopped", he realised.
"Do you want me to call the hounds?"
"I'm the leader! I can check it out myself!"
Anthea sighed. He was probably still exited by the earlier incident. Wanting to take care of everything himself. Perhaps it was a midlife crisis? If she thought he was at all likely to do something so normal. Next he would be herding sheep and putting up shelves... crusing round town in his new sidecar.
"The noise has stopped, Mycroft go back to sleep! You have too much to do tomorrow and I'm not going to let you be grumpy at me all day just because you didnt get enough sleep!" Baring her teeth at him.
"... Fine." He conceded. He would have put up more of an argument but he knew she was right, and he knew from experience that those teeth hurt.
Begrudgingly, he pulled his new bowler hat back over his eyes and settled back in, a childish frown on his face.
Within minutes he was asleep, snoring like an old man, with the exhausted Anthea swiftly following.
Neither noticed when the hay mound began to shift at the top; a long black rod protruding slowly.
"Bethany..." Mycroft muttered in his sleep, making the rod pause in it's movements, "shut the hell up..."
A head suddenly followed after the rod and the evil Snanderson peered down at them nervously, making sure they were still asleep before beginning to lower the rod once more.
Down, down, till the the hook caught under the brim of the hat on top of Mycroft's head.
"Give me my hat back dog!" Hissed Snanderson, "it doesn't even fit you, you're a dog!"
He slowly lifted the hat upwards, but fumbled, sending the hat tumbling down onto Anthea's head.
Mycroft reached up slowly, his head felt different.
Paws groped in the darkness, felling nothing... HIS HAT! Where was his hat?
He looked around in the darkness; determined. It was probably just on the floo- "Anthea! Give me my hat!" Ripping the hat from her head, "It's MY hat! I'm the leader!"
"I never took anything from you but you're biscuits! And that was for your own damn good!" She cried, indignant.
As they both settled again, the hook snook down, to try to retake the hat. As it lifted up however, Mycroft, who had been feigning sleep, snatched it back down, looking around madly for the thief and keeping the hat held firmly to his head. Eventually relaxing enough to go back to sleep.
A hand slowly crept out of the hay bale behind him, and began to scratch under his arm.
"Mmmm..." he moaned "Ohhhh mm hho!"
Anthea began giggling softly in her sleep from her spot beside his.
"Hmmm ohhhh!"
Snanderson continued to rub Mycroft until his hands fell from his head, when he tried so snatch the hat again, but was thwarted by a sleeping Mycroft. So he started up again.
"Oh Anthea! Faster!"
"Mmmm... Im scratching as fast as I can..." she murmured, eyes still closed, leg whirring madly.
"Ah that's good!" he cried, leaning up and stretching out all four legs, allowing sinister Snanderson to come out from the hay bale and steal the hat with his teeth, still using both hands to pleasure Mycroft.
As soon as his head was back in the bale he brought his hands back, leaving Mycroft to relax back into his seat.
Snanderson, now full confidence, grinned smugly to himself and continued to collect his evidence.
He hooked the wicker basket, and began to lift Anthea slowly skywards, with her still sleeping away.
Mycroft however, did notice, as Anthea rose slowly up to his level, then kept on going!
He was still mostly asleep however, so it took a moment for even his brain to register that this was not strictly usual... maybe it was a dream? 'No, not a dream,' he though to himself as a very solid and still sleeping Anthea slid down into his bed from nowhere and began cuddling up to him.
"Mmm cosy," she muttered as she wagged her tail, slapping him repeatedly in his now very awake face as she moved in closer. "You've been cheating on your diet."
"Anthea!" he pushed her away, affronted, when he suddenly heard the horn on his sidecar beeping awquardly.
Turning around he saw that someone was trying to steal his Bumbershoot!
Enraged, he yanked it back down, bringing Snanderson toppling down from his position atop the hay mound to fall on top of them.
"You!" Anthea was now wide awake as well.
Snanderson suddenly developed bladder issues.
"You're going to get it good!" She barked at him exitedly, tail wagging, ready for the chase.
To Snanderson this just sounded like unintelligeble barking, but the message seemed to get through.
Snanderson dived back into the hay mound, before roaring back out on his Motorcycle, grabbing the side car with the Umbrella still inside, the cat basket already in hand and the hat on his head.
"Get back here!" screamed Anthea.
Mycroft merely narrowed his eyes at him, already formulating a plan to retrieve his beloved Umbrella.
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Summary: Snanderson tries to kill Sherlock when he realises that Madame Hudson is leaving everything to him in her will. Luckily, John Watson is there to help him get home. Cat!Sherlock, Cat!Watson, slash but they're cats so nothing... uncomfortable, so don't worry.
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Chapter 5
Anthea lay in her new, too small wicker basket next to the hay mound; dozing quietly. Warm and comfortabl, paws twitching as if fiddling with an imaginary toy.
"Hey, listen!" Mycroft. Damn.
'Ohhhh... go to SLEEP Mycroft!' she thought to herself, 'I want to SLEEP!'
"Anthea!" he hissed, kicking her gently from his own position in his new side car bed. 'Damn, can't pretend forever I suppose...'
"...Yes?"
"Can you hear that?" He leaned up further from his stolen bed, tipping his bowler hat back further for a better view.
"Oh Mycroft it's probably nothing but a cricket bug!"
"No, it's squeaky shoes approaching..."
"Cricket bugs don't wear shoes..." Anthea puzzled to herself softly... "How could he-"
"Shhhh Anthea! Oxford shoes; size nine and a half, with a hole in the left sole-"
"What colour are they?"
"Bla-" he started before looking down at her, an amused twinkle in his eye.
"The squeaking's stopped", he realised.
"Do you want me to call the hounds?"
"I'm the leader! I can check it out myself!"
Anthea sighed. He was probably still exited by the earlier incident. Wanting to take care of everything himself. Perhaps it was a midlife crisis? If she thought he was at all likely to do something so normal. Next he would be herding sheep and putting up shelves... crusing round town in his new sidecar.
"The noise has stopped, Mycroft go back to sleep! You have too much to do tomorrow and I'm not going to let you be grumpy at me all day just because you didnt get enough sleep!" Baring her teeth at him.
"... Fine." He conceded. He would have put up more of an argument but he knew she was right, and he knew from experience that those teeth hurt.
Begrudgingly, he pulled his new bowler hat back over his eyes and settled back in, a childish frown on his face.
Within minutes he was asleep, snoring like an old man, with the exhausted Anthea swiftly following.
Neither noticed when the hay mound began to shift at the top; a long black rod protruding slowly.
"Bethany..." Mycroft muttered in his sleep, making the rod pause in it's movements, "shut the hell up..."
A head suddenly followed after the rod and the evil Snanderson peered down at them nervously, making sure they were still asleep before beginning to lower the rod once more.
Down, down, till the the hook caught under the brim of the hat on top of Mycroft's head.
"Give me my hat back dog!" Hissed Snanderson, "it doesn't even fit you, you're a dog!"
He slowly lifted the hat upwards, but fumbled, sending the hat tumbling down onto Anthea's head.
Mycroft reached up slowly, his head felt different.
Paws groped in the darkness, felling nothing... HIS HAT! Where was his hat?
He looked around in the darkness; determined. It was probably just on the floo- "Anthea! Give me my hat!" Ripping the hat from her head, "It's MY hat! I'm the leader!"
"I never took anything from you but you're biscuits! And that was for your own damn good!" She cried, indignant.
As they both settled again, the hook snook down, to try to retake the hat. As it lifted up however, Mycroft, who had been feigning sleep, snatched it back down, looking around madly for the thief and keeping the hat held firmly to his head. Eventually relaxing enough to go back to sleep.
A hand slowly crept out of the hay bale behind him, and began to scratch under his arm.
"Mmmm..." he moaned "Ohhhh mm hho!"
Anthea began giggling softly in her sleep from her spot beside his.
"Hmmm ohhhh!"
Snanderson continued to rub Mycroft until his hands fell from his head, when he tried so snatch the hat again, but was thwarted by a sleeping Mycroft. So he started up again.
"Oh Anthea! Faster!"
"Mmmm... Im scratching as fast as I can..." she murmured, eyes still closed, leg whirring madly.
"Ah that's good!" he cried, leaning up and stretching out all four legs, allowing sinister Snanderson to come out from the hay bale and steal the hat with his teeth, still using both hands to pleasure Mycroft.
As soon as his head was back in the bale he brought his hands back, leaving Mycroft to relax back into his seat.
Snanderson, now full confidence, grinned smugly to himself and continued to collect his evidence.
He hooked the wicker basket, and began to lift Anthea slowly skywards, with her still sleeping away.
Mycroft however, did notice, as Anthea rose slowly up to his level, then kept on going!
He was still mostly asleep however, so it took a moment for even his brain to register that this was not strictly usual... maybe it was a dream? 'No, not a dream,' he though to himself as a very solid and still sleeping Anthea slid down into his bed from nowhere and began cuddling up to him.
"Mmm cosy," she muttered as she wagged her tail, slapping him repeatedly in his now very awake face as she moved in closer. "You've been cheating on your diet."
"Anthea!" he pushed her away, affronted, when he suddenly heard the horn on his sidecar beeping awquardly.
Turning around he saw that someone was trying to steal his Bumbershoot!
Enraged, he yanked it back down, bringing Snanderson toppling down from his position atop the hay mound to fall on top of them.
"You!" Anthea was now wide awake as well.
Snanderson suddenly developed bladder issues.
"You're going to get it good!" She barked at him exitedly, tail wagging, ready for the chase.
To Snanderson this just sounded like unintelligeble barking, but the message seemed to get through.
Snanderson dived back into the hay mound, before roaring back out on his Motorcycle, grabbing the side car with the Umbrella still inside, the cat basket already in hand and the hat on his head.
"Get back here!" screamed Anthea.
Mycroft merely narrowed his eyes at him, already formulating a plan to retrieve his beloved Umbrella.
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