Of matted fur and ruffled whiskers, the grey fur ball, known by some as 'Toby' or 'that wretched rat' (on a more familiar basis with a certain detective) was nestled tightly against the chest of his 'Mother.'
The same mother whose eyes had grown large and red, with fat dollops of water dripping off her nose as she squeezed the cat tighter.
The sight could only be described by its lone witness as 'shockingly unattractive', but however true that may be, the witness knew it would be wildly inappropriate to announce so.
That is, if Sherlock wanted to remain in the room with the same number of body parts he entered in with.
Instead, he lounged in her armchair, one eye kept on the coffee table as he calculated the depleting supply of tissues and the location of another box, just in case.
Out of gasps and sniffles, Molly sputtered out a indiscernible question but the situation hardly required Sherlock to use any brain power in deducing what it could have been.
"In a drainage well, off Gloucester Road. I called in a favour with the local brigade and they fished the wretched thing out."
At this, Molly made a awful howl, shoving her nose deeply into the neck of a fearful-looking Toby. Sherlock couldn't resist a roll of his eyes but as well couldn't help the small smile that grew at the corners.
"A-and…then you—you brought him here."
"Well, I contemplated cat-napping. But you see, Mrs Hudson wouldn't have it. Not with the carpets."
His sarcastic taunt went over her head as Molly gave a soft kiss to the cat's head, the gesture sending a stab of envy through Sherlock ashamedly, as if the kiss should have been his prize.
After all, it was him who found the scruff ball on only two threads of information.
A long pause passed before Sherlock blurted out in impatience,
"So if we're done….. I rather not waste any more time here." He rose up from his [her] armchair.
The quiet grumble left him as he dragged his feet to the door. "A simple thank you would suffice…"
"No, it won't."
Sherlock halted, a slow turn around revealed Molly to be 'cat-less', the escaped victim having leapt out of her arms for the sanctuary of the kitchen.
"It won't?" Sherlock murmured suspiciously, eyes widening as Molly, still puffy but less cry-y, moved unexpectedly closer and closer towards him.
"No." Now they stood, chest by chest. "Not enough."
Sherlock croaked in anticipation, "Not enou...Are you going to shower me with affection as well?"
"More or less. Any complaints?"
"None."