John sighed, rubbing his sore leg. He was sat on a park bench in Regent's Park, sipping a lukewarm, bitter coffee from Starbuck's that had cost him the last of his change. Glancing around, he tried not to think about the war that had brought him here but he couldn't stop himself. Jenkins lying in the sand, surrounded by his own blood. Reeve's last words of 'Keep them safe, John'. Lawrence taking the bullet for him. His shoulder ached and he shook his head to clear his thoughts. Ella wouldn't be pleased. The blog she had set up for him was still empty. No-one visited it. It was boring and utterly unremarkable. Exactly like John's current life. His phone beeped and he pulled it out of his jacket pocket.
'Glad to here your alive.' The text read. Grammar had never been Harry's strong point. She was much better at Maths but even in that she wasn't brilliant. John, even though he was a whole year younger, had always been slightly cleverer then his sister. He paid attention in class, passed his exams and went to medical school. He got his degree and joined the army, like his father and grandfather had before him. After getting shot in Afghanistan, he was honorably discharged and left in London with an army pension and a tiny flat. He now psychosomatically limped everywhere with a cane and slept little thanks to nightmares. Suddenly he looked up from his phone, surprised. He could hear a faint mewing noise and something was head butting his ankle. Looking down, he saw a thin black cat. It looked up at him with liquid silver eyes and jumped causally onto the bench next to John. The doctor stared at it in confusion.
"Hello?"
The cat yowled and laid its head on its paws. John could see a gash on its stomach, slightly obscured by its sticking-out ribs. It stretched lazily and John noted that its inky raven fur was dirty and damp, its tail was ragged and its paws were just... massive in comparison to its bony frame.
"Are you a stray, little fella?" John asked, laying a gentle hand on the cat. A flash of surprise crossed its features and it stood up. The doctor snatched his hand away and the cat jumped off the bench.
"Don't go!" John cried in spite of himself. He was lonely in London and this cat had somehow taken hold of a place in his heart which had never been filled before. Maybe he felt sorry for it, seeing it all alone. Impatiently, the cat turned around and jerked its head forward.
"You want me to follow you?" The cat nodded- could cats do that? John wasn't sure- and walked on. Struggling, John stood up and limped after the cat. It was sat under a sign post and was looking up at one particular sign. John's hazel eyes flickered between the cat and the signpost.
"What?" he asked the cat which, if it had hands, looked as if it would have face palmed. It yowled again and looked directly at the sign. John followed the cat's eyes.
"You want me to take you to Scotland Yard?" Confused, John stared at the cat. Last time he checked, police officers didn't have police cats. "Is that where you live?" The cat seemed to think before nodding. It looked hopefully at John.
"Alright, alright, I'll take you." He sighed, picking up the creature. It squirmed at first but then lay still in John's arms. Even though it was damp and dirty, the cat's fur was still soft and it looked pleased. John realized he had dropped his cane. He picked it up juggling the cat into one arm.
"I can't hold you. You'll have to walk." Gently, he placed the disappointed looking cat on the ground. It kept walking slowly, checking that John was still behind it. When they were on the main street, the cat meowed loudly. John was about to shush it when a taxi drew up beside him. Confused, he gave the cabby directions.
"One to Scotland Yard and can I take the cat?" The cabby grunted and John opened the door. The cat jumped in and curled up elegantly on the rightmost seat. "How did you do that, with the cab and just...?" John asked the cat in wonder as he sat down. The cat smirked, eyes bright, expression knowing. Smiling, John looked out the window.