Following the Cat
A/N: This story takes place just seconds after The Follower and a month or so before Warts and All. You really should read both, as they are background for this story. If you did read either & followed, favourited, or reviewed I'd like to say thank you very much! I was very happy with the response!
All Cat Laws come from the internet – .
I don't own – never have, never will & remember you don't own a cat, a cat merely puts up with your presence.
1. Let Sleeping Cats Lie or at Least Fib a Bit
Law of Cat Inertia: A cat at rest will tend to remain at rest, unless acted upon by some outside force, such as the opening of cat food, or a nearby scurrying mouse.
The sound of a spoon hitting the floor came from the kitchen.
Sherlock just sat and read his newspaper.
And smirked.
John poked his head out of the kitchen, his face pale.
"What did you say?" he asked in an almost but not quite squeaky voice. He walked into the living room with a few shaky steps.
Sherlock glanced up over the paper. "I said make sure you add sugar. You neglect to add enough sugar. I prefer 2 spoonfuls and you invariable reduce it to half in the mistaken belief that I consume too much sugar. You really are not consistent John. One time nagging me to consume more calories the next worrying I'm consuming too many. It would benefit all concerned if you would make up your mind."
John stared at Sherlock. Hard. And narrowed his eyes.
Sherlock sighed and looked at the doctor pointedly. "Are you feeling alright this morning John? You are acting decidedly odd."
John blinked, shook his head, stammered something unintelligible and abruptly turned and walked back into the kitchen where he bent down and picked up the spoon, shaking his head slowly.
"Erm, Sherlock?"
"2 spoonfuls, please, John."
"Where were you last night?"
"Out."
"Well, yes I gathered that."
"If you must know my brother came round with his outrageously sinister looking car, not subtle in any way, and requested my presence to help him investigate a spy ring he believes has infiltrated the British Government. Not as in 'Mycroft the British Government', but the one everyone actually thinks runs the country. I turned him down." There was a snap and rustle of pages turning.
"Oh. Okay. I was, I was just wondering."
John brought tea over to Sherlock, his hand shaking slightly. Sherlock relieved the doctor of his cup before he spilled it all over the detective. John smiled a wan apology. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and returned to his paper.
"I'm, um, just going to get showered and dressed."
"Fine." Sherlock barely looked up from the newspaper.
The moment John was out of earshot, Sherlock's mobile rang. He pulled it out of his jacket pocket, looked at the screen and rolled his eyes.
"What is it now, Mycroft?" he said with a slight hiss.
"You are taking too many risks, Sherlock. You know you left it late once again. You don't want your new flatmate finding out all of your secrets, hmmm? At least not right away. You need to be more careful."
"Yes, thank you Mycroft for pointing out the obvious. There is no cause for concern. Leave me alone!" And he hung up.
He hated to admit it to himself, let alone Mycroft. No, I will never admit it to Mycroft. He had left it too long and caught out on the street, partway back to the flat he'd felt it coming on. He really needed to change more often and regularly otherwise he lost control. That would be decidedly inconvenient if he happened to be in the middle of a crowd.
Like many things in Sherlock's life it was another thing he neglected and he was not likely to change his habits toward this either.
He sat, looking for all the world like he was staring into space, but he was thinking at a rapid pace, trying to sort through all possible permeations and outcomes of telling John that he needed to spend part of the time as a cat. From the one sided conversation John had had with him last night while the detective had been in cat form the indication was the man liked cats. Most people who liked cats would be more than a little shocked to discover that their cat was actually human. Maybe not totally surprised, as many people tended to anthropomorphize their pets. John Watson seemed far too practical for that. And a little unnerved at the slightest possibility, at least judging by his reaction in the light of day. Of course John could simply be questioning last night's misadventure and believing that he had dreamt it.
Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, not coming to any conclusion at the moment. He required more data. He stood and stretched. After returning to human form it took some time for all of his bones and muscles to settle back into place, something that would require less time if he changed more frequently. The cat's instincts were close to the surface after a change as well. He rubbed both hands through his hair and stepped over the coffee table and slumped onto the couch in time for John to come back down stairs, dressed and looking like he was not going to bring up any of last nights dealings or this morning's questions. Sherlock watched John through half closed eyes wondering how to go about testing John to see if he would be adverse to having a flatmate who was also a member of the feline family. It wasn't really an area he had to contemplate before, having avoided discussing this with anyone who was not a Holmes or their various cousins. He was also rather surprised at his wanting to tell him. What was it about John H. Watson that he implicitly trusted, without question, from the moment he first saw him to the moment the ex-soldier killed a man to save his life?
Sherlock decided to wait and collect more information.
John returned from the kitchen and carefully placed on the coffee table a plate with a slice of buttered toast for Sherlock and then sat at the table with his own slice. As John sat munching Sherlock noticed that the doctor continually shot him furtive looks and looked like he wanted to say something. Sherlock waited.
Just as John appeared to be gathering the courage to ask Sherlock the detective's mobile chimed with a text. Sherlock whipped it out of his jacket and a feral grin crossed his face.
"Lestrade. There's been a murder,"
John muttered under his breath, "Of course there bloody has." He quickly swallowed the toast and drank his tea. He carried the plates into the kitchen, noting with a sigh that Sherlock had neglected to eat anything and probably would not if they took this case. He left the plates on the counter and brushed the crumbs from his hands and headed into the living room, grabbed his jacket and ran after Sherlock who was already down the stairs and on the street hailing a cab.
They arrived at the scene, morning traffic having slowed them down considerably. John pretended to be watching the scenery out of the window, but he was really looking at Sherlock in the reflection of the window a fact Sherlock was aware of. Sherlock allowed a small smile to grace his lips, amusement momentarily blurring the excitement of a new murder. John was really struggling with what had happened, what he thought had happened and what he wanted to believe had happened.
Today will not be boring, thought Sherlock, no matter the outcome of viewing today's murder scene.
oOo
Later
"Dull," announced Sherlock.
"But Sher…," began Lestrade.
"DULL, dull, dull dull! It is clearly a mugging. No finesse no forethought. Wrong place, wrong time. Come John let's go home. Texted me Lestrade when you have something of interest. Otherwise don't bother. I cannot believe I wasted my time coming down here…" he stopped. A sudden movement caught his eye, eyes not just trained to observe, but eyes that only hours before had been developed to track down prey of a different sort. Sherlock's ears actually twitched, also trained to pick up subtle scurrying sounds that normal human ears would not be able to hear. And there it was, a mouse, scurrying along the base of the wall. One part of Sherlock's brain, the cool, analytical, logical part was wondering what a mouse was doing out at this time of day, normally shy creatures, not as bold as rats, they waited until nightfall.
Another instinctual part of his brain said, Pounce!
Before he was even aware what he was doing he jumped from where he was standing and he landed on top of the confused rodent.
He actually had the mouse in his hands when a horrified "Ewwww" coming from the direction of Donovan brought him back to his surrounds.
"Good lord, Freak are you actually catching mice now," sneered Anderson. "Are you that desperate." A snicker escaped from his mouth. John hushed him with a stern look and then turned his attention back to his flatmate.
The doctor's eyes narrowed once again and even someone as obtuse as Anderson would have been able to track his thoughts, that is if Anderson had been aware of what had transpired last night.
Sherlock smiled an insincere smile and hastily dropped the mouse. He wiped his hands on his coat and strode down the alleyway, not saying a word to anyone.
John hurried once again to catch up. He didn't say a word the entire cab ride. Sherlock sat fiddling with his scarf, waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop
He had to wait until they were safely ensconced in the privacy of Baker Street. After divesting himself of his coat and scarf he threw himself back onto the couch, part of him secretly hoping John would not broach the unfortunate mouse incident, part of him secretly wishing he would in order to get this out in the open. He was about to be granted one of his desires.
"Sherlock…" John began, looking like he was storming a castle, not like he was asking a relatively simple question that would elicit a fairly complicate answer.
"It's unimportant." His mouth deciding the direction this conversation would take.
"That was not nothing, Sherlock. That, that was definitely a whole lot of something."
Sherlock chose the quirked eyebrow to convey the next part of his statement.
"Oh don't you let your eyebrow do the talking here. You and your eyebrow know perfectly well what I am talking about," John was using his best 'take no prisoners' tone.
Pause
"The mouse, Sherlock!" John growled.
"Ah, it is nothing John. I was simply curious."
"Curious? You. Were. Curious? You didn't look curious. You looked hungry! And your ears twitched."
It was difficult to ignore the cat instincts so close to a change, but he managed to school his expression.
"Don't be ridiculous John. Although a mouse would be fairly edible, it would also be carrying disease. I would have to be fairly desperate to wish to eat a mouse." And then he said almost as an after thought and fairly quietly "A bird on the other hand…"
"What?!"
"Hmmm. Nothing…just…musing."
John continued to look at him sharply and Sherlock looked at him with his most perfected innocent smile. John said nothing but nodded to himself as if he were putting pieces together.
Sherlock may have thought John was an idiot at times, but he was also aware that he was a rather intelligent idiot.
He was going to have to tell him.
He just wasn't sure how.