John Watson had considered the consequences of bringing the small furry animal into his and Sherlock Holmes' flat, but after some pondering he realized they were what would be the most entertaining part of it all. And so, he came home one day carrying a bag of cat food and litter in one arm, and in the other hand a carrier containing a tabby cat. Sherlock did not waste a moment to express his displeasure.
"John," he said, clearly annoyed but not willing to exert much energy, "what do you think you are doing bringing that here?"
"What?" John replied nonchalantly. "This cat? I just thought it would be nice to have some company around here."
"A cat?" Sherlock asked, his tone clearly implying stupidity on John's part. "I keep myself busy with cases. I don't have time to deal with providing the daily necessities of an animal, least of all a cat, whose feces must be dealt with, in addition to food, water, and the trimming of claws."
"I thought it would be a rather perfect fit, seeing as a cat is aloof like you," John quipped without a hesitation. In response, Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh.
"I'm not taking care of a cat," Sherlock said, "and that's final."
"Fine," said John. He put down the crate and let the cat out. It walked out cautiously, then stretched its legs. Still proceeding carefully, it began to sniff and explore the different things in the flat. Meanwhile, John took out two dishes that were actually clean, miraculously, and filled one with water and the other with food for when the cat got hungry.
"I don't get it, John," Sherlock said later that night. "Why would we need a cat?" As he spoke, he glanced at the tabby, which had now curled up at one end of the couch.
"Like I said, for companionship," John told him. "Let's face it, even though we spend plenty of time running about there are still times when one of us is alone. This way you won't be talking to no one when I'm not around, and I'll have somebody to keep me company when you spend hours on end working or playing violin without a word.
"Besides," John continued. "You do get bored from time to time."
"Caring for an animal is just as boring as not having a case."
"I'm not saying it will be interesting, just that it will occupy the time when you have nothing else to do."
"The trivial things that you occupy yourself with, John. You really are incorrigible, aren't you?"
John smiled smugly and then returned to his blog, stroking the cat as it walked by.
The next day, Sherlock was interrupted by a text while he was getting ready. Distracted by the message, he left his suit jacket on the bed and walked out to his computer. It was more than half an hour by the time he was finished, having corresponded in a few more texts and done some research online. When he finally returned to his room, the cat was curled up on his jacket. He pushed the cat away, picked up the jacket and haughtily walked over to where John was sitting having a cup of tea.
"John!" he exclaimed. "That animal was sleeping on my jacket. Look at it! It's covered in fur!"
"Relax, Sherlock," John said to try and calm the detective and stifle his laughter. Sherlock looked unimpressed. John got up and retrieved a lint brush. He handed it to Sherlock. "Use this," he said. Sherlock glared at him for a moment before brushing his jacket until not a single cat hair remained. He put it on, then his coat and scarf and went out without another word.
The next morning, John went out to put in some hours at work, leaving Sherlock to his own tasks. He returned to Baker Street to see Sherlock working on his computer at the table, the cat napping in his lap.
"I see you two are getting along," John said as he hung up his coat.
"I did nothing," Sherlock replied. "I was sitting here working and it just sat down here and wouldn't leave."
John smiled as he looked at the scene before heading into the kitchen. When he emerged with his tea, the cat was getting up from Sherlock's lap. John pretended not to see the detective scratch the tabby behind its ear before it jumped down onto the floor. Sherlock had no comment, simply brushing the fur from his trousers and then continuing his work.
Later that night, having gotten Sherlock to eat some supper with him, John returned to his preferred chair to write in his blog. He didn't know how long he had been writing before he suddenly heard a thumping on the floor. He looked up to see Sherlock sitting on the couch. He had his phone in one hand, which he was looking at, the other holding a string that he was swinging back and forth, the cat jumping this way and that trying to catch it. John simply watched for a few moments before contentedly returning to his writing.
As he headed to bed that night, John noticed that the door to Sherlock's bedroom was ajar. He took a look inside. At the end of the bed was the cat, sleeping at Sherlock's feet. John smiled as he headed to his own room. He knew that getting a cat was the perfect idea.