How John's cat was first recieved.
Sherlock didn't get animals. Not the living fluffy let me look cuddly and you'll wait on me kind. Dead ones were easy enough; poisonous ones were entertaining, although easily discarded. When he had experimented with pet ownership it had never lasted more than a week. The closest he had to a pet was his Skull-friend, although John had informed him it didn't count. Since he didn't do pets and he was told that flatmates made compromises when he had seen the strange creature curled in Johns chair he figured he could get rid of it in a week at most. It's not as though John had had time to bond or anything.
When he had sniffed in disdain at the ragged tabby it had yawned at him, and settled in deeper as though challenging him to get rid of it.
1.
He figured telling John no would be enough; his blogger was the ever considerate flatmate. It did not go as he had planned.
"It's has to go."
He might have picked a bad time. He had a case and needed John to wake up and the thing was curled up next to John on his bed. John was usually cranky when woken suddenly. Sherlock still though it unfair that the doctor had thrown him out of the room and allowed the mangy animal to stay. Then he ignored Sherlock's demand that the animal be removed and still made him sit and eat breakfast before finally going to the crime scene.
He could swear the cat had been mocking him as they left as it sat in Sherlocks chair grooming the back of its paw.
2.
He tried a subtler approach.
"Who'll take care of it? You're not always home, and I'm hardly reliable." He argued. "Not to mention we have cases that take us away for days at a time. Is it really fair to it? You could give it to your sister."
"Mrs. Hudson's already agreed to take care of her, while I'm away." John said patiently. "I'm not inflicting my cat on you, she's less intrusive than your experiments." John indicated the unusable kitchen table and the corner by the sink that had been cordoned off by him as a health hazard.
"My experiments are useful. That thing isn't."
3.
"Honestly John, just name one function of the feline?" Sherlock knew he'd won, he hadn't managed a single use outside of experiments which John had forbid.
John didn't even look up from his newspaper.
"A quiet companion that doesn't deduce you." John muttered. "Plus she's warm."
"A hot water bottles warm," Sherlock pouted. "And sometimes I don't talk for days!"
"The racket you screech from your poor violin is hardly quiet though, and you never stop deducing." John stated. It wasn't even angry, just completely accepting of his flatmate. "And hot water bottles get cold and don't purr."
Sherlock thought about how to mimic a cat's purr and keep a hot water bottle warm through the night and got lost in his thoughts for a few moments, only to discover an few hours had past and John was gone. Worse though, the blasted cat was in his lap and he was stroking it absently.
4.
Sherlock took to leaving the window open and then the door, whenever John and Mrs. Hudson were away. The cat wouldn't leave.
5.
He had become the unwilling throne of the heavy cat whenever he went to his mind palace. John found it amusing and even went so far as to post a picture to his blog. To add insult to injury he titled it "The King and Queen of Baker Street." And signed it "The Herald." It was appalling.
John was gone as was Mrs. Hudson, and Sherlock decided drastic measures should be taken. He picked up the thing and walked it down the street and dropped it in the alley behind the fish and chip shop. He was home and felt quite satisfied with his work. He would have to act as though he hadn't noticed the creature's departure. Perhaps he could finish his prototype purring hot-water bottle to make John feel better.
He didn't look up as John entered. Although he was forced to when six squirming pounds of dirty cat was dropped on him. John said nothing, but his eyes made it clear that Sherlock was never to do such a thing again.
Sherlock pondered how long the creature would live or if he might have to accidentally leave a toxic experiment out. John would probably know though. John always knew, even when there was no evidence. It was disconcerting.
1.
His git of a brother was lecturing him. He didn't listen, he didn't care, he was bored.
"Furthermore, brother," Mycroft coughed. "Your behavior not only discredits mummy, myself and the entire Holmes name" he wiped at his eyes. "It is unforgivable that-AHCHOOO!"
A sneeze. Sherlock chuckled at the undignified posture of his brother. Brought low by a common cold, it must irk him to be subject to anything common. He opened his eyes and observed.
Wheezing, running eyes, sniffing, sneezing, itching …
Sherlock grinned as a shadow of a deleted memory came rushing to the gates of his mind-palace. It was one of Mummy's early attempts to socialize the Holmes brothers, a kitten only to give it up a week later finding Mycroft allergic.
"Mycroft, have you met our cat?"
John's head snapped up at that.
Mycroft winced slightly. "Yes well," He sneezed again. "Really don't think itroductions are necessary."
Sherlock was up and had swept the creature up from its place behind the couch.
"Really John tells me it's terribly rude when I don't perform introductions." He grinned evilly. "Cat, this is Mycroft. Mycroft our pet, John's terribly fond of it, so it will reside here for quite some time."
Mycroft backed away as dignified as he could manage while trying not to scratch at his face. He managed a rather graceless exit and Sherlock laughed quite heartily scratching behind one tattered ear much to the purring felines delight.
"John, I think it's a wonderful idea."
"Sherlock, do you even know our cat's name?" John sighed.
"Does it matter?"
A week later the creature obtained a red collar and a brass name tag. John thought himself clever to call the cat "Remember."
Sherlock thought it a challenge and quickly deleted the cat's existence from his mind palace.