Title: Of Cats and Men
Sherlock Fandom
Summary: John wasn't here at the shelter for a cat, but Sherlock will make sure he rethinks that.
NOT Sherlock X John
John Watson was not particularly fond of cats.
He had had pets when he was young, of course. The most memorable was Gladstone, a lazy bulldog he had when he was eleven. There were several fish along the way, too, and a gerbil named Mort. His mother, however, was allergic to cats, and after an incident when he was seven (an incident which require many bandages) John stopped asking for one.
But here he was, at a shelter, getting a cat.
He wasn't here by choice, not really. His therapist thought that it might be a good idea for John to have some company. John flat out refused to have a flatmate—who could stomach listening to him at night? But he had eventually seen the sense in getting a pet. He hadn't even really gone into the shelter looking for a cat. The cat had attached to him.
The moment he walked in there was a yowl that caused him to jump slightly. A black streak came rushing towards him and had latched itself firmly onto his leg. John just had enough time to register a harried looking staff member hurrying towards him before the cat was clawing its way up his leg and settled—quite comfortably, mind—on his shoulder, purring in his ear.
John had stood stock-still throughout this exchange, not even noting the staff member bobbing around him, apologizing profusely, and attempting to extract the cat. He didn't wince when the cat dug its claw into his beige sweater as it point blank refused to leave.
When he came to himself (wincing at his short flashback to enemy troops charging him down and bullets raining through the air like shards of glass) he waved the staff member off. The cat—whose tail had been lashing—calmed down almost immediately, but stayed firmly on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, sir." The woman said, slightly out of breath and red faced. "That cat's been givin' me hell since I came."
"I'm sorry," John said. The cat made a grumbling sound in the back of its throat as if he was particularly happy about the staff arrangement, either. The two humans stood awkwardly until the employee half held up her arms.
"I can take 'im if yah want." She said nervously.
"Ah, he seems quite attached to me." John joked. The cat tightened his claws further as if to prove John's point, and John winced a little bit.
"Sherlock!" The woman said, "Stop!" She dithered around the cat, unsure how to get the black cat to stop clawing John.
"His name's Sherlock?" John asked, curious. What an odd name to name a cat. Well, not that 'Mr. Fluffy' was any better . . .
The woman nodded, smiling self-consciously. "Yeah. He was brought in by 'is owner, and man named Mycroft." Catching John's look, she smiled brighter. "I know. Man with a weird name brought in a cat with a weird name."
John laughed. "Yeah."
"Since Sherlock's been 'ere," The woman continued, "Our mice problems have disappeared, the animals have all but stopped terrorizing each other, and some of our hardest to sell animals have been sold. But he is also quite the bully and very lazy. Sherlock's dead smart." She added hastily. "But he is . . . not very likeable himself, poor thing." She sent a pitying smile towards Sherlock the cat.
This got Sherlock moving. In one elegant movement he twisted around John's neck like a scarf and stared at the woman with beautiful blue-green eyes. He blinked slowly and his lips started to pull back into a hiss. It was almost as if he understood what the woman was saying.
John automatically put his hand up to calm Sherlock, and to his surprise the cat calmed down. The black fur along his spine (the ruff of fur around his neck had an odd blue tint to it) lay flat again, and his teeth were once again covered.
John blinked and looked at Sherlock. Sherlock blinked and looked back. John shook his head and looked towards the woman. "Will you show me some of the other animals?"
The woman hurriedly motioned to grab Sherlock again, but Sherlock recoiled. The woman bit her lip and simply turned away. She showed John the cats (Sherlock looked at them disdainfully), the dogs (Sherlock was looking very bored), and several other, odder animals (Sherlock had started to wash himself). John was very distracted by Sherlock. The cats would point his nose to some of the hidden animals, and John would look closer in a corner, a cage, or under a blanket. With his closer observations he saw a turtle named Greg, an opossum named Molly, a rat named Raz, a guinea pig named Mike, and a bulldog named Angelo. He gave each one consideration before moving on.
The woman was just telling him about a newly rescued tabby cat named Irene (who Sherlock seemed interested in) when there was a metallic bang! behind them and furious barking and growling. Sherlock and John turned to look around as one, Irene and the store owner forgotten.
A large grey hound was rushing towards them, fury in his eyes. John moved before he could blink and positioned himself in front of the shocked employee, ready to protect her. Sherlock hurled himself from John's shoulder and onto the nose of the grey hound. The large welts Sherlock left behind oozed blood, and only served to make the dog madder. The dog spun on Sherlock, snapping at the space Sherlock had been just a second before. John crossed over to them in two long strides. He scooped Sherlock up and kicked at the dog. He heard something connect and the dog howled.
The employee (whose named John had learned was Kate) rushed up with a leash and clipped it on the grey hound. She dragged the dog away, snarling, back to his cage.
John and Sherlock were left behind, panting. As soon as Kate was out of sight, Sherlock leapt lightly onto John's shoulder and purred smugly.
"You know you could have gotten yourself killed, right?" John asked him.
Sherlock looked at him like he was an idiot.
"You can't have known I would have come after you." John said, trying to interpret Sherlock's expressions.
Sherlock merely continued to look at him like he was an idiot and started washing his ruffled fur. John sighed and turned back as Kate came back, looking flustered and slightly shocked.
"I'm so sorry that happened!" She blabbered. "Jeffery is usually a nice enough dog, but he was often abused with his old owner. We're trying to help 'im, but it's a slow process. If you want, sir, we have an old rabbit, Mrs. Hudson, who's very agreeable . . ."
John held up his hand, and Kate looked at him in fright. She must have been thinking he might sue the shelter for the almost-attack. John smiled and simply stated; "I would like to buy Sherlock."
The woman's mouth dropped in surprise, and even John was surprised with himself. He was in here to get a dog! Not a mad cat that was far too clingy for his tastes. But the woman turned without question and got the documents ready for John.
By the end of the hour, John was headed back to his small flat with an annoyed cat in his lap in a carrier.
In the years to come, John had grown quite used to the cat. If the cat would constantly stalk a mouse John had named Moriarty and almost win (but narrowly lose) in a life-or-death struggle (for the mouse at least) then at least the cat wouldn't care if John would double check his gun every night. Nor would John care about Sherlock yowling to the other cats at three in the morning, sulk in a closet for days on end, and knock everything down off the counters. He also got used to Sherlock meowing like he was being murdered and come rushing into the room only to find Sherlock wanted a belly rub.
About a year after he got Sherlock, the cat disappeared. John was heartbroken (not that he would admit it) and waited for several months until he got a cocker spaniel named Mary. It wasn't the same, and eventually he gave Mary back. After Mary he gave up and just waited, hoping Sherlock would come back to him. Not long after Mary (about three years since his disappearance) Sherlock came back, thin and ragged. John accepted him back, and they soon fell into the familiar pattern they had had before.
John, loath as he was to admit it, had to say there was something to his therapist's ranting. Sherlock kept him busy, and John couldn't appreciate it more.
The End?