"I HATE THIS BLOODY CAT!" He couldn't scream it loud enough. He couldn't stand this cat. This 5 pound monster reeking havick in his and John's flat. The stupid little black and brown fur ball has scratched the hell out of his skin and knocked over practically everything that stands up, including him. He has had to trip over it at least 3 times already. This is all John's fault to. John just had to volunteer him to watch it while he and Harry take a trip to visit their mother. Couldn't take the damn cat with them? Of course not. Here Sherlock resides on the sofa as this "cat" darts around the place with a sock in its mouth. Under the table, down and around the hall way. He has tried to do experiments but the cat knocked everything over. Earlier, he had a jar of thumbs, that Molly has generously lent him, the unintelligent feline jumped on the table knocking the jar to the floor and grabbing 3 of them in its mouth. Sherlock spent the next hour chasing the bloody thing to get them back. He has no idea what to do. Hes to scared to leave because hell, what could this cat do if he isn't there? John better watch his back when he gets home. And there that stupid little devil goes again, this time with his scarf in his mouth. As he gets up to, yet again, chase the feline, he mumbles under his breath, "I hate this cat!" *crash* "and John."