"John!" the panicked scream had John on his feet and down the stairs before the second one sounded louder than the first, "JOHN!"
John's head moved back and forth before he found the screams were coming from the bathroom. He sprinted over and burst through the door to see Sherlock clutching at his head with a freaked look on his face. He turned to John and his eyes went impossibly wider. He frantically pointed at his head.
"Do you see them?!" Sherlock shouted, "Can you see them, John?!"
John stepped forward and squinted to look at Sherlock's head. Atop his head, barely peeking through his curly mop of hair were two giant cat ears. John's jaw dropped down around his knees and he gaped at Sherlock in awe.
"Wh-what is going on?" John demanded, stepping forward again.
The ears twitched on top of Sherlock's head and the man let out a strangled cry.
"I don't know!" he screamed, "I j-just woke up and they were there! And, and this!"
Sherlock turned his back to John revealing a long black cat tail poking out from under his dressing gown. John couldn't resist the urge to reach forward and touch the tail. It twitched away and he jumped back.
"Is this some sort of experiment?" John questioned, trying to keep calm.
"I-I don't think so!" Sherlock answered frantically, "I did do an experiment on felis catus DNA, but I didn't do anything…shit. I must of accidently inhaled something or got something in an open wound and now I'm like this!"
John came forward and wrapped the man in a hug. Sherlock buried his face into John's shoulder. John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. Never dull, he reminded himself.
"Dammit, Sherlock!" John shouted, "Just tell your tail what to do! You're in charge!"
"John, I can't control it!" Sherlock snapped, "It just does what it damn well pleases!"
"Sounds like you," John answered.
Sherlock scowled at him over his shoulder. John ran his hand down the tail and it curled around his wrist. He sighed and gently slipped the tail back into Sherlock's pants. The tail struggled for a moment before popping right out again. John smacked his forehead as the tail brushed against him, attempting to curl around his waist. He batted it away and came around to face Sherlock. He placed his hands on either side of Sherlock's face.
"Reach into your mind, Sherlock," John commanded, "Somewhere in there, there is the controls for that bloody tail. Find it and use it."
Sherlock frowned at him but closed his eyes. His eyelids moved as his eyes zipped back and forth under them. He twitched several times and his leg started vibrating at one point. Finally he went still. His tail flicked back and forth behind him.
"I've got it," he said quietly, his eyes still closed.
"Good, now have it curl around your leg," John instructed, "Inside your pants. That way no one will see it."
The tail bounced for a bit more and then disappeared from view. John relaxed and dropped his hands from Sherlock's face. Sherlock's eyes opened and he sighed with relief.
"Now can we go?" Sherlock pleaded.
"Wait," John said.
He leaned back to look up at the hat on Sherlock's head. He could see where the ears pressed against the hat, but no one else would be able to tell.
"Do I really have to wear this hat?" Sherlock questioned for the millionth time.
"We've been through this, Sherlock," John answered, tiredly, "It's the only one that covers your ears and it's the one that hurts them the least. So deal with it."
"But a newsboy hat?" Sherlock whined, "I look all Cockney or something.
The hat was rather baggy, falling to his other ears and it did look totally ridiculous, but it was the only one that worked.
"Would you rather the deerstalker?" John questioned.
"No," Sherlock huffed in defeat.
"Maybe you should go with the accent too," John remarked, "Don' you fink dad be convincin'?"
"Piss off, John," Sherlock snapped, starting towards the door.
"Oi! You piss off, wanka!" John shouted as he followed Sherlock down the stairs, "Vera bovered are ya?"
"John, please do not make me endure this," Sherlock begged him as they waited by the curb for a cab.
John quieted and left it alone. For a while.
"So fora recard, you was bovered?" John spouted off halfway to their destination.
The rest of the cab ride was spent with John belting out cockney and laughing while Sherlock groaned and grumbled next to him. By the time they arrived, John was in quite a good mood and Sherlock was in a very irritable one.
"What have you got?" Sherlock snapped at Lestrade.
Lestrade started spouting off facts and Sherlock listened. John looked around to see if Andersen was there. He spotted him a bit off. Oh, crap. He's looking. Crap, now we've made eye contact. Now Andersen's headed this way. F word, f word, f word! Andersen drew to a stop next to John and sneered at the doctor, who scowled back at him.
"Taking the freak out for a walk, Dr. Watson?" Andersen drawled.
Sherlock spun around and hissed at Andersen. Not a simple sssing noise, no. he hissed like a cat who was about to claw the shit out of someone. Thinking quickly John leapt forward and dragged Sherlock away from the crime scene. Once they were out of sight, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, who stiffened at the touch. John noted the angry noises coming from Sherlock and tried to remember how to calm down a cat. He remembered owning a black cat once; Sherlock actually resembled it a bit. He pushed that from his mind and went back to the matter at paw, ahem, I mean hand.
John's hand rubbed at Sherlock's lower back trying to find that place that cats love so much. Sherlock suddenly went limp in his arms and purred, the sound coming from deep inside his chest. His back arched against John's hand and he snuggled his face into John's shoulder. John smiled in triumph as the purrs echoed into his own chest.
"There you go, you're ok," John said softly.
"Shut up, I'm not a cat," Sherlock snapped, though it was lazy and half-hearted.
"You sure are starting to act like one," John answered, "Hmm. Actually, now that I think about it. You've always been cat like. Nimble, anti-social, clingy to usually only one person, whiney, annoying, easily pissed off, bright eyes-."
"Yeah, yeah, I get the point," Sherlock interrupted, "Just keep doing that. It feels fucking amazing."
John jumped slightly at the curse word. Sherlock had been cursing way more than normal since he'd gotten his ears and tail, but it always surprised John to hear something so crude come from such a pretty mouth. Sherlock cleared his throat slightly and coughed.
"What's wrong?" John questioned.
"This damn purring won't stop!" Sherlock sputtered.
"Don't fight it, Sherlock," John instructed, "You can't fight who you are and now you're part cat, so just give into the instincts, ok?"
"If you say so…" Sherlock answered his purring intensifying.
John tried to breathe normal as Sherlock's chest vibrated against his, but it was incredibly difficult. Then he felt something hot, wet, and rough on his jaw. He turned to look at Sherlock, whose tongue was hanging out incriminatingly. He slurped his tongue back in and looked at John sheepishly.
"Sorry, it just kinda happened," Sherlock muttered.
"It's ok," John assured him, "Lots of cats lick their masters."
Sherlock jumped away from John and stormed away.
"You are not my master!" he threw over his shoulder, "I'm not even a cat!"
John rolled his eyes.
"Stubborn arse," he muttered.
