John Watson unlocked the door of 221B and stepped inside.
"I'm back, Sherlock!" he called out.
John was greeted with a muffled response as he continued in, arms weighed down with groceries. Sherlock was sitting on the armchair, curled up in his long black coat. John kept telling him to take it off when he was inside, but Sherlock always ignored him. He was apparently giving his undivided attention to a bad reality show on television. John sighed, wishing he had never gotten Sherlock hooked on crap telly, no matter how amusing his reactions were.
The ex-army doctor bustled around in the kitchen putting away food while trying to avoid the refrigerator which at the moment contained some body parts that he would rather not examine. John made a hot cup of tea and took his seat on the couch across from the television.
He nestled back into his chair and let out a long sigh, closing his eyes as his tea warmed him up. Snow had started to fall, accumulating against the windows.
"Mreow."
John's eyes flew open as he gave a start. Sherlock's blue eyes were wide, and for a second he looked panicked before attempting to fake an expression of surprised confusion.
"Sherlock... What was that?" John asked slowly.
"What was what?" Sherlock pulled his coat tighter around himself as he looked innocently at John. John had seen Sherlock tell remarkably convincing lies to hundreds of people, yet John could always see when Sherlock was lying to him.
"Meeoow."
Sherlock gave a small curse.
"Sherlock, what the-"
Shifting uncomfortably Sherlock opened up his coat pocket and pulled out the smallest cat imaginable. It was a light grey and had light blue eyes almost as vibrant as Sherlock's. It mewled softly in Sherlock's delicate grip and wiggled its tiny paws in the air.
"Sherlock, why do you have a kitten, where did you even get-"
"He was on our doorstep." Sherlock said cooly." It's below freezing outside."
John stared at him. Did Sherlock really just get a kitten and bundle him up in his coat to keep him warm? John started to smile. Sherlock would never cease to amaze him.
"Right... And you're going to take care of it?"
Sherlock gave a small nod. John smirked, betting no one from Scotland Yard would guess that Sherlock would willingly offer to take care of a pet.
"Hamish won't be any bother."
John blinked.
"You named him Hamish?"
"It seemed... appropriate." Sherlock mumbled, surprising John as a faint blush crossed his pale cheeks.
Dismissing the fluttering of his heart, John got to his feet.
"Well, I guess it's a good thing I bought milk."