Sherlock: Aristocats style 8
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 8
Sherlock was so deep in his reverie as he wandered through the door that he didn't even stop to think why it was open.
He didn't notice the slightly short man stood behind the door.
Most importantly, he didn't notice the sack until it came down over him, leaving him trapped as he was lifted skywards and the rough burlap sack was tied quickly at the top leaving him with no escape.
He thrashed and yowled, pushing his claws through the thick material, pleased when he heard Snanderson's familiar yelp of pain.
When he heard Madame Hudson's lilting voice he redoubled his efforts and made twice as much noise as before, hoping to attract her attention.
"Snanderson? Snanderson is that you?" She called. (I don't know if I mentioned this already but I renamed him Snanderson because he looks a little like Snape due to his hair.)
He felt the bag being thrown around more as Snanderson raced through the house, feet thudding on the carpet, the echoing once more on the stone of the kitchen floor.
He heard a loud metal squeal as he was thrown into a shallow, hard container. 'The oven, then?'
Before Snanderson's feet were moving away again, back towards where Madame Hudson stood by the open front door calling him.
"Snanderson? Oh Snanderson thought I heard him... he sounded angry so I came running but now... there's nothing here." Sherlock could hear a tremble in her voice as though she were about to burst into tears, but what could he do?
"Oh my dear Madame, I'm afraid you are imagining things in your distress,"
"No, I was sure-"
"Now now Madame, please go and have a lie down and I shall bring you a cup of tea in a few minutes."
"Y-yes alright. Thankyou Snanderson."
'Nononononono!' Thought Sherlock almost desperately as he heard Mrs Hudson's retreating footsteps. He yowled as loud as he could but it remained unheard outside the oven.
Cursing his own stupidity, he was relieved that at least John was not here. If he couldn't escape first, Snanderson was probably going to drown him.
At the same time across town...
John hadn't got very far. He kept wanting to turn back and tried to think of excuses to show up at Sherlock's door, then snapping himself out of it and starting to walk again.
He couldn't go back now, it was too late. Sherlock had invited him to stay and he had declined, and the reasons were all still there. He knew that it would be stupid really; to go back.
Still... he could go back to his home in the destroyed attic room. He still hadn't actually checked out the damage and he probably should... besides Lestrade and his gang might be there again by now, and right now he thought he would quite like to be with friends... even if it was them.
… And if that flat was on the other side of town to where he was headed and meant that he had to walk past Sherlock's house again then well, there wasn't much that he could do about that now was there?
Meanwhile, at the legion of doom...
"I'm hungry! *Hic*" complained Donovan loudly, collapsing dramatically where she was standing. They were currently in an alley way digging through the bins behind a fish restaurant, but it was slim pickings. So far all they had found was a crate of wine bottles hidden out here by the waiters so that they could drink it on their break. After they had acidentally broken one of the bottles though they had decided that they all quite liked it.
"I could make some pasta!" cried Angelo but the others just ignored him. Angelo had fallen off a wall a few years ago and ever since he kept having delusions that he was some kind of Italian chef. Lestrade Dimmock still had the bald spot from when Angelo had actually tried to start a fire for cooking. Shortly after he had donned the wig.
"Hey what about that *hic* Sherlock guy?" Lestrade suggested. "John's friend!"
"What about him?" Asked Dimmock, looking dumb as usual before letting out a large burp.
"Well, he was John's friend, John's our friend, ergo, Sherlock's our friend. He was going home today, I asked him where he lived last night and he said Baker Street! That guy's gotta be loaded! He'll give us food!"
"Yeah thassssssssss a great idea!" Chimed Donovan, leaping back to her feet. "Lesssssss go!"
And then they were off, all of them stumbling clumsily down the road, unknowingly on a collision course with one cat named John Watson.
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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 8
Sherlock was so deep in his reverie as he wandered through the door that he didn't even stop to think why it was open.
He didn't notice the slightly short man stood behind the door.
Most importantly, he didn't notice the sack until it came down over him, leaving him trapped as he was lifted skywards and the rough burlap sack was tied quickly at the top leaving him with no escape.
He thrashed and yowled, pushing his claws through the thick material, pleased when he heard Snanderson's familiar yelp of pain.
When he heard Madame Hudson's lilting voice he redoubled his efforts and made twice as much noise as before, hoping to attract her attention.
"Snanderson? Snanderson is that you?" She called. (I don't know if I mentioned this already but I renamed him Snanderson because he looks a little like Snape due to his hair.)
He felt the bag being thrown around more as Snanderson raced through the house, feet thudding on the carpet, the echoing once more on the stone of the kitchen floor.
He heard a loud metal squeal as he was thrown into a shallow, hard container. 'The oven, then?'
Before Snanderson's feet were moving away again, back towards where Madame Hudson stood by the open front door calling him.
"Snanderson? Oh Snanderson thought I heard him... he sounded angry so I came running but now... there's nothing here." Sherlock could hear a tremble in her voice as though she were about to burst into tears, but what could he do?
"Oh my dear Madame, I'm afraid you are imagining things in your distress,"
"No, I was sure-"
"Now now Madame, please go and have a lie down and I shall bring you a cup of tea in a few minutes."
"Y-yes alright. Thankyou Snanderson."
'Nononononono!' Thought Sherlock almost desperately as he heard Mrs Hudson's retreating footsteps. He yowled as loud as he could but it remained unheard outside the oven.
Cursing his own stupidity, he was relieved that at least John was not here. If he couldn't escape first, Snanderson was probably going to drown him.
At the same time across town...
John hadn't got very far. He kept wanting to turn back and tried to think of excuses to show up at Sherlock's door, then snapping himself out of it and starting to walk again.
He couldn't go back now, it was too late. Sherlock had invited him to stay and he had declined, and the reasons were all still there. He knew that it would be stupid really; to go back.
Still... he could go back to his home in the destroyed attic room. He still hadn't actually checked out the damage and he probably should... besides Lestrade and his gang might be there again by now, and right now he thought he would quite like to be with friends... even if it was them.
… And if that flat was on the other side of town to where he was headed and meant that he had to walk past Sherlock's house again then well, there wasn't much that he could do about that now was there?
Meanwhile, at the legion of doom...
"I'm hungry! *Hic*" complained Donovan loudly, collapsing dramatically where she was standing. They were currently in an alley way digging through the bins behind a fish restaurant, but it was slim pickings. So far all they had found was a crate of wine bottles hidden out here by the waiters so that they could drink it on their break. After they had acidentally broken one of the bottles though they had decided that they all quite liked it.
"I could make some pasta!" cried Angelo but the others just ignored him. Angelo had fallen off a wall a few years ago and ever since he kept having delusions that he was some kind of Italian chef. Lestrade Dimmock still had the bald spot from when Angelo had actually tried to start a fire for cooking. Shortly after he had donned the wig.
"Hey what about that *hic* Sherlock guy?" Lestrade suggested. "John's friend!"
"What about him?" Asked Dimmock, looking dumb as usual before letting out a large burp.
"Well, he was John's friend, John's our friend, ergo, Sherlock's our friend. He was going home today, I asked him where he lived last night and he said Baker Street! That guy's gotta be loaded! He'll give us food!"
"Yeah thassssssssss a great idea!" Chimed Donovan, leaping back to her feet. "Lesssssss go!"
And then they were off, all of them stumbling clumsily down the road, unknowingly on a collision course with one cat named John Watson.
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