A/N: Hello again! So this is a random idea I had a while back while I went skiing with my dad and I found it when I was cleaning off my laptop. It will probably make little to no sense until about the 4th chapter but you'll just have to bear with me. I want to thank slipsandfalls for beta-ing this for me and if there are any mistakes, it's her fault! ^.^
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no-one!
Man Or Mouse
Chapter 1 : Observation
John has a secret. Sherlock knows. He can tell. Ever since John moved into Baker Street last year he's been carrying it with him. Sherlock didn't press him. After all, the man had just gotten back from Afghanistan. He figured he would either figure it out soon enough or John would tell him. But neither of those things had happened and now Sherlock's incessant need to know everything was winning out. His skill for deduction didn't seem to reach to this secret. He knew all of John's tells, all of his habits and routines, but none of them exposed this secret. That made Sherlock think it must be big. And that made him want to know more.
He lost his patience once and, with it, his respect for John's privacy. He followed John for the entire day to see if he let it slip, gave some small hint of what he was hiding. Everything had gone normally. Well, close enough. Sherlock stayed up all night thinking, planning, and John woke at roughly seven, descending the stairs looking blearily around the room, skin clammy and sweat soaked. Another nightmare, Sherlock decided. John often thrashed about in the night and came down looking barely rested. He was a soldier, a doctor, but a soldier none the less, and those kind of things have an effect on a person. He made himself some tea and watched as Sherlock played a gentle symphony on his violin. After an hour or so he said he was going out. Sherlock, of course, followed. John took a long winding path through the streets of London, strolling slowly, enjoying the fresh air. Dull. Six blocks from the flat, just outside the new Italian restaurant on Birmingham, John stopped. Just froze in the middle of the side walk. Sherlock ducked into an alley, fearing he'd been found out. That would have been disastrous. John would have thrown a fit to rival a three year old who'd lost their lolly. But he didn't turn around. His head slowly swivelled to the left, looking down another alley. A small grey tabby cat walked into the street, stopping at John's feet and gave a long pleading yowl. Sherlock watched as John crouched down on the street and whispered something inaudible to the cat before running a hand down its spine and getting to his feet. John set off walking again. The cat followed close at his heels, still screeching away. Sherlock thought this slightly odd but kept up his pursuit.
By the time they reached the park some ten minutes away, at least five more cats had joined the convoy, possibly more. All were following John without complaint and seeming to be tame though they were obviously strays. Sherlock's logical mind was struggling trying to understand what he was seeing. Undomesticated animals acting in perfect unison. They looked almost as if they'd been trained. John seemed to either not notice or not care as person after person stared at the small parade that walked across the grassy field. John approached the fish and chip shop on the other side of the park. He turned, looked at the cats, and entered. All of them stopped at the door, dropping onto their haunches, and watched John through the glass store front. Sherlock's mind reeled. What is going on? How can John command them like that? Does he carry catnip in his pocket? His mind formulated hundreds of questions to which he had no answers. He mentally back pedalled trying to see something he missed, some trick that John was using on the animals. Nothing leapt out. There was nothing! No catnip, no treat in his hand, no cat whistle (if there was such a thing). The cats just did what he wanted. But why?
John returned from the shop holding a white paper package. The cats all stood from their spots and trotted off after him. Sherlock kept to the shadows but maintained his pursuit. He walked to a small bench in the middle of the park where he sat and opened the package. Inside were a dozen fish cocktails. He removed one, broke it into small pieces and threw it to his new companions. They ate hungrily at the offered food; again, being tame and sensible, making sure everyone in the gathering got an equal share of the spoils. John tossed all but one, which he ate himself, to the small creatures. When the meal was done they all gave a contented meow, each in turn rubbing their faces on John's leg. John had a small self-satisfied smile on his lips as he watched the cats group up and walk off together. Sherlock couldn't stop his jaw from hanging limp. The only sensible conclusion was that John had a natural talent for taming and managing felines but even that seemed to far undervalue what he had just witnessed. Cats who have most likely never been touched by human hands simply fell into line while John was around. It was like an alpha dog in a pack of rabid wolves. Sherlock couldn't begin to make sense of anything he had seen and as someone who prides themselves on knowing everything, that terrified him. Sherlock looked up to see John moving again and quickly followed suit.
Sherlock noticed that John was headed back to the flat and made a dash to get there first so as not to arouse suspicion. He arrived moments before his flatmate, picking up his violin and starting in the middle of a melody to make it seem as though he'd been there a while. John entered some five minutes later and made a beeline for the kettle. Sherlock stopped to look at his friend. He noticed the lax in his shoulders that he hadn't seen in months; a serene breezy expression softening his battle worn face. He had an atmosphere around him that radiated good will and contentment. Sherlock smiled gently. John was happy.
He returned with two mugs of tea, handing one to Sherlock, and raising an eyebrow at his friend's expression. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and dropped into his chair opposite John. The doctor sipped as he stared at him, eyes cautious and observant. For their short time together, John had certainly picked up some of Sherlock's tricks. He watched as John's inexperienced eyes scanned over him, trying to pick up on what he was thinking. His eyes grazed over Sherlock's slightly furrowed brow and minutely bowed lips. He catalogued the gentle strumming of his fingers against the arm of the chair to his favourite sonnet and noticed the slight slant to Sherlock's head as he watched his friend, dissecting John's examination with his own. His eyes closed and he sighed slightly as he took another sip of his tea.
"What is it, Sherlock?" he finally asked, deciding he couldn't figure it out on his own. Sherlock's smile widened slightly.
"Whatever do you mean, John?"
"That look. What's it for?" Sherlock pulled his face into an innocent pout, complete with wide eyes and drooped shoulders.
"I am offended that you would think I have a motive other than simply being happy," Sherlock said in mock upset.
"Surely you don't think me so stupid as to not know when you're up to something," It was a statement not a question. Sherlock couldn't wipe the grin from his face.
"You think too highly of me, John," Sherlock chuckled in reply. John grunted and went back to the kitchen to boil the kettle once again. Sherlock stared after his blogger, amazed that someone so gentle had once front lined in Afghanistan. John was Sherlock's only friend; the only one crazy enough to accept the job.
And he wouldn't have anybody else.
A/N: Just a reminder THIS IS NOT A ONE SHOT! If you're interested I hope to see you back and if you're not, well that's just too bad 'cause it's going to be a pretty kick arse story!
See the rest of you later!
