045. Animal
Title: 045. Animal
Fandom: Sherlock
Genre: Complete fluffiness
Pairing: General, mildly Sherlock/John
Rating: K
Word Count: 1644
Summary: In which the boys find a kitten and John brings it home.
Disclaimer: Sherlock and its characters do not belong to me. That is all :)
The case had ended in an alleyway. It was around 2 in the morning, it was pouring, and Sherlock had just stated that the culprit was one Edward Peters, whose son would have been promoted once their victim was out of the way. Financial hardship had brought Peters to his act. With his wife in the hospital and the bills mounting ever higher, he had needed his son to help as much as possible. The final piece of evidence was a receipt Sherlock had eagerly searched in the trash bins for, detailing the list of things Peters had purchased in planning for the murder. Simple, really.
The boys were about to leave when John stopped.
“What?” Sherlock asked.
“Did you hear something?”
“I hear rain.” John rolled his eyes.
“Yes, thank-you Sherlock.” He turned back toward the alley. After a moment he began walking back toward the bins, clearly looking for something. Then he knelt down and looked behind them, his face against the wall of the alley.
“Sherlock,” he said. “Help me move this.” Sherlock, resignedly, approached and pulled back the bin. John reached out behind it and pulled out a wriggly creature. It was a cat. A kitten, really. It was soaking wet and mewing loudly at being picked up.
“Poor thing,” John said, wrapping the kitten in one side of his coat. “You must be freezing.”
“John,” Sherlock cut in. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t leave him here. Look at him.” He looked up to gauge Sherlock’s reaction as Sherlock’s gaze rested on the little animal, then flicked back up to meet John’s eyes.
After watching John’s face for a moment, he sighed.
“If you must,” he said, rather tightly. He turned on his heel. “Let’s go.”
John zipped up his coat and, being sure to cradle the lump on his side, followed Sherlock out of the alley.
--
"It says you need 1 can of evaporated milk, an egg yolk, 2 tablespoons of Golden Syrup, and then at feeding time mix half of it with boiling water." John looked down from his laptop screen to smile the kitten. He had washed him with warm water and a few drops of shampoo and now had him wrapped in a towel on top of a heating pad on his lap. "Do you have any evaporated milk or Golden Syrup?"
"I should," Mrs. Hudson said, scratching the kitten lightly behind the ears as the kitten continued to meow. "Oh, what a sweetie. Let me go see what I can find."
"Thank-you, Mrs. Hudson."
"Not at all, dear. I'll be right back." As Mrs. Hudson left, Sherlock sighed heavily for about the four hundredth time. John turned to the couch, where Sherlock lay sprawled in his pajamas, typing on his laptop.
"Is there something you want to say, Sherlock?"
"No."
"Good." John picked up the towel-wrapped kitten and placed him on the chair while he went to heat up some water for tea and makeshift formula.
"Why does it make so much noise?" Sherlock whined, snapping his own laptop shut in exasperation. "We're not hurting you, you vociferous feline!"
The kitten only mewed louder.
"Sherlock," John said warningly. "Unlike you, some creatures are a little shaken by being whisked off to some strange place."
"How insolent." John looked around just in time to catch Sherlock throwing an irritated look at the bundle across the room.
Just then, Mrs. Hudson hurried back into the room, ingredients in her hands.
"Here you are, John. Brought the lot of it."
"Thank-you Mrs. Hudson," John said, taking them from her and pulling out a bowl to begin making the recipe.
"Have you thought of a name for the little one?"
"I was thinking of Arthur."
"Oh, how lovely!" She crossed over to the chair where Arthur was beginning to move around in the towel and scooped him up into her arms. "Come here, Arthur. What a darling you are!"
"Mrs. Hudson, if you don't mind it would be spectacular if you could prattle on elsewhere." Sherlock said, throwing the pillow he had pressed over his ear as he lay on the couch.
"There's no need to be fussy, Sherlock. You've got yourself a new flatmate, you may as well be polite." Sherlock, apoplectic with apparent frustration, stomped off to his room. A moment later, they heard the familiar strains of a violin.
"Oh dear," she said. "Not very cheerful, is he?"
"He'll get over it," John said, twisting the cap of the baby bottle Mrs. Hudson had found from an previous tenant and testing the temperature on his hand. Taking Arthur in his arms, he placed the bottle on the kitten's lips and the cat sucked happily at the nipple, his ears twitching with every wave of suction.
--
The next morning, John awoke to Sherlock bursting into his room. The look on his face told John he had found Arthur's set up in the bathroom.
"It was only temporary, Sherlock."
"Where am I supposed to put my experiment of the effect of soap scum on decaying flesh?"
"Not in the bloody bathroom, that's for sure." John sat up, rubbing his tired eyes. "I'm going to buy things to have him sleep in here, but the shops weren't open at 3 in the morning."
"Very well," Sherlock said, rather testily, and stalked out of the room, calling as he went downstairs, "He's calling for you!"
--
The next few days passed a bit more quietly. John took Arthur to the vet to get him checked out. He was surprisingly free of any parasites, though he would need to be treated for fleas and needed a few shots. He purchased a carrier, some formula, flea treatment, and a toy mouse there, made an appointment for Arthur to receive his shots and then headed home.
Sherlock was in his room when he got home. He was at the violin again. John took Arthur out of the carrier and put him on the floor with the toy mouse, keeping an eye on him as he mixed some formula. Arthur batted at the mouse, lumbering around as though not quite sure what to do with it. In the end, he simply lay down and chewed on the mouse’s head.
--
It wasn’t until the end of the week that Sherlock said anything.
“John! Your ruddy cat won’t leave me alone!” John looked up from his newspaper. Sherlock had received a case that he was mildly intrigued by and so had spent all morning laying across the rug on his computer. Currently, Arthur was once again attempting to make his way across Sherlock’s keyboard, and Sherlock was, once again, pushing him off.
“Why don’t you go on the couch then? He’s only bothering you because you’re on the floor.”
“John, am I to be alienated from my own floor?”
“Well, if you are going to let a 5-week-old kitten bother you, then yes.” Sherlock stared disbelievingly at John, then moved himself onto the couch.
“Why are you so offended by him?” John asked, putting his paper down.
“Because,” Sherlock said shortly, typing furiously.
“Because…?” John picked up Arthur, who had wandered over to John’s feet, and scratched behind his ears.
“Because he’s always in everything!” Sherlock shouted, slamming his laptop and sitting up, leaning forward while beginning to count off on his fingers the list of Arthur’s grievances. “John, he can’t stay out of anything, he’s so bloody curious, he finds his way into places he isn’t supposed to be, and gets in the way while I’m trying to get things done in my own home!”
John stared at Sherlock, a look of pure incredulity on his face. After a moment he said, “Okay, Sherlock. I want you to think really hard about what you just told me. Does that sound in any way familiar to you?”
“Yes, obviously, John. The cat keeps doing it, doesn’t he?”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. Sherlock, when we started living together, do you think I was ecstatic about us breaking in to people’s apartments in search of answers, how you made decisions without even running them by me, putting those toes in my jam? And, what, ‘gets in the way while I’m trying to get things done in my own home’? How many times have I come home and gone to the refrigerator and found some bloody human body part in there?”
“They’re experiments.”
“It doesn’t matter. Normal people don’t keep heads in the fridge. But I still live here, don’t I?”
Sherlock said nothing. It seemed he was lost in his own realization.
“All I’m asking is for you to do me that same kindness that I have shown you. I don’t date people; they leave because my relationship to you doesn’t allow for much else. What we do is dangerous and bringing others in isn’t much of an option. Granted, that is a choice I make. But I think letting me keep Arthur is a fair compromise.”
They sat in silence for a moment, John searching Sherlock’s face for any kind of answer.
Finally, Sherlock sat up. “You’re right,” he said, somewhat stiffly. “I have been selfish in my initial treatment of your pet. If he makes you happy, then I’ll have to accept that.”
“Thank-you,” John said, relief washing over him. “I appreciate that, Sherlock, I really do.”
--
The next morning when John awoke, he found that Arthur was not in his carrier.
“Arthur?” he said, looking around his room and under the bed. Nothing.
He opened his door and hurried downstairs. When he entered the kitchen he found Sherlock lying on his stomach on the floor, facing the window, Arthur playing next to him. As John watched, Arthur rolled onto his back, his eyes on Sherlock, who absentmindedly rubbed his stomach, eyes still glued to the screen. John smiled.
Fandom: Sherlock
Genre: Complete fluffiness
Pairing: General, mildly Sherlock/John
Rating: K
Word Count: 1644
Summary: In which the boys find a kitten and John brings it home.
Disclaimer: Sherlock and its characters do not belong to me. That is all :)
The case had ended in an alleyway. It was around 2 in the morning, it was pouring, and Sherlock had just stated that the culprit was one Edward Peters, whose son would have been promoted once their victim was out of the way. Financial hardship had brought Peters to his act. With his wife in the hospital and the bills mounting ever higher, he had needed his son to help as much as possible. The final piece of evidence was a receipt Sherlock had eagerly searched in the trash bins for, detailing the list of things Peters had purchased in planning for the murder. Simple, really.
The boys were about to leave when John stopped.
“What?” Sherlock asked.
“Did you hear something?”
“I hear rain.” John rolled his eyes.
“Yes, thank-you Sherlock.” He turned back toward the alley. After a moment he began walking back toward the bins, clearly looking for something. Then he knelt down and looked behind them, his face against the wall of the alley.
“Sherlock,” he said. “Help me move this.” Sherlock, resignedly, approached and pulled back the bin. John reached out behind it and pulled out a wriggly creature. It was a cat. A kitten, really. It was soaking wet and mewing loudly at being picked up.
“Poor thing,” John said, wrapping the kitten in one side of his coat. “You must be freezing.”
“John,” Sherlock cut in. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t leave him here. Look at him.” He looked up to gauge Sherlock’s reaction as Sherlock’s gaze rested on the little animal, then flicked back up to meet John’s eyes.
After watching John’s face for a moment, he sighed.
“If you must,” he said, rather tightly. He turned on his heel. “Let’s go.”
John zipped up his coat and, being sure to cradle the lump on his side, followed Sherlock out of the alley.
--
"It says you need 1 can of evaporated milk, an egg yolk, 2 tablespoons of Golden Syrup, and then at feeding time mix half of it with boiling water." John looked down from his laptop screen to smile the kitten. He had washed him with warm water and a few drops of shampoo and now had him wrapped in a towel on top of a heating pad on his lap. "Do you have any evaporated milk or Golden Syrup?"
"I should," Mrs. Hudson said, scratching the kitten lightly behind the ears as the kitten continued to meow. "Oh, what a sweetie. Let me go see what I can find."
"Thank-you, Mrs. Hudson."
"Not at all, dear. I'll be right back." As Mrs. Hudson left, Sherlock sighed heavily for about the four hundredth time. John turned to the couch, where Sherlock lay sprawled in his pajamas, typing on his laptop.
"Is there something you want to say, Sherlock?"
"No."
"Good." John picked up the towel-wrapped kitten and placed him on the chair while he went to heat up some water for tea and makeshift formula.
"Why does it make so much noise?" Sherlock whined, snapping his own laptop shut in exasperation. "We're not hurting you, you vociferous feline!"
The kitten only mewed louder.
"Sherlock," John said warningly. "Unlike you, some creatures are a little shaken by being whisked off to some strange place."
"How insolent." John looked around just in time to catch Sherlock throwing an irritated look at the bundle across the room.
Just then, Mrs. Hudson hurried back into the room, ingredients in her hands.
"Here you are, John. Brought the lot of it."
"Thank-you Mrs. Hudson," John said, taking them from her and pulling out a bowl to begin making the recipe.
"Have you thought of a name for the little one?"
"I was thinking of Arthur."
"Oh, how lovely!" She crossed over to the chair where Arthur was beginning to move around in the towel and scooped him up into her arms. "Come here, Arthur. What a darling you are!"
"Mrs. Hudson, if you don't mind it would be spectacular if you could prattle on elsewhere." Sherlock said, throwing the pillow he had pressed over his ear as he lay on the couch.
"There's no need to be fussy, Sherlock. You've got yourself a new flatmate, you may as well be polite." Sherlock, apoplectic with apparent frustration, stomped off to his room. A moment later, they heard the familiar strains of a violin.
"Oh dear," she said. "Not very cheerful, is he?"
"He'll get over it," John said, twisting the cap of the baby bottle Mrs. Hudson had found from an previous tenant and testing the temperature on his hand. Taking Arthur in his arms, he placed the bottle on the kitten's lips and the cat sucked happily at the nipple, his ears twitching with every wave of suction.
--
The next morning, John awoke to Sherlock bursting into his room. The look on his face told John he had found Arthur's set up in the bathroom.
"It was only temporary, Sherlock."
"Where am I supposed to put my experiment of the effect of soap scum on decaying flesh?"
"Not in the bloody bathroom, that's for sure." John sat up, rubbing his tired eyes. "I'm going to buy things to have him sleep in here, but the shops weren't open at 3 in the morning."
"Very well," Sherlock said, rather testily, and stalked out of the room, calling as he went downstairs, "He's calling for you!"
--
The next few days passed a bit more quietly. John took Arthur to the vet to get him checked out. He was surprisingly free of any parasites, though he would need to be treated for fleas and needed a few shots. He purchased a carrier, some formula, flea treatment, and a toy mouse there, made an appointment for Arthur to receive his shots and then headed home.
Sherlock was in his room when he got home. He was at the violin again. John took Arthur out of the carrier and put him on the floor with the toy mouse, keeping an eye on him as he mixed some formula. Arthur batted at the mouse, lumbering around as though not quite sure what to do with it. In the end, he simply lay down and chewed on the mouse’s head.
--
It wasn’t until the end of the week that Sherlock said anything.
“John! Your ruddy cat won’t leave me alone!” John looked up from his newspaper. Sherlock had received a case that he was mildly intrigued by and so had spent all morning laying across the rug on his computer. Currently, Arthur was once again attempting to make his way across Sherlock’s keyboard, and Sherlock was, once again, pushing him off.
“Why don’t you go on the couch then? He’s only bothering you because you’re on the floor.”
“John, am I to be alienated from my own floor?”
“Well, if you are going to let a 5-week-old kitten bother you, then yes.” Sherlock stared disbelievingly at John, then moved himself onto the couch.
“Why are you so offended by him?” John asked, putting his paper down.
“Because,” Sherlock said shortly, typing furiously.
“Because…?” John picked up Arthur, who had wandered over to John’s feet, and scratched behind his ears.
“Because he’s always in everything!” Sherlock shouted, slamming his laptop and sitting up, leaning forward while beginning to count off on his fingers the list of Arthur’s grievances. “John, he can’t stay out of anything, he’s so bloody curious, he finds his way into places he isn’t supposed to be, and gets in the way while I’m trying to get things done in my own home!”
John stared at Sherlock, a look of pure incredulity on his face. After a moment he said, “Okay, Sherlock. I want you to think really hard about what you just told me. Does that sound in any way familiar to you?”
“Yes, obviously, John. The cat keeps doing it, doesn’t he?”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. Sherlock, when we started living together, do you think I was ecstatic about us breaking in to people’s apartments in search of answers, how you made decisions without even running them by me, putting those toes in my jam? And, what, ‘gets in the way while I’m trying to get things done in my own home’? How many times have I come home and gone to the refrigerator and found some bloody human body part in there?”
“They’re experiments.”
“It doesn’t matter. Normal people don’t keep heads in the fridge. But I still live here, don’t I?”
Sherlock said nothing. It seemed he was lost in his own realization.
“All I’m asking is for you to do me that same kindness that I have shown you. I don’t date people; they leave because my relationship to you doesn’t allow for much else. What we do is dangerous and bringing others in isn’t much of an option. Granted, that is a choice I make. But I think letting me keep Arthur is a fair compromise.”
They sat in silence for a moment, John searching Sherlock’s face for any kind of answer.
Finally, Sherlock sat up. “You’re right,” he said, somewhat stiffly. “I have been selfish in my initial treatment of your pet. If he makes you happy, then I’ll have to accept that.”
“Thank-you,” John said, relief washing over him. “I appreciate that, Sherlock, I really do.”
--
The next morning when John awoke, he found that Arthur was not in his carrier.
“Arthur?” he said, looking around his room and under the bed. Nothing.
He opened his door and hurried downstairs. When he entered the kitchen he found Sherlock lying on his stomach on the floor, facing the window, Arthur playing next to him. As John watched, Arthur rolled onto his back, his eyes on Sherlock, who absentmindedly rubbed his stomach, eyes still glued to the screen. John smiled.