A/N:

We own nothing.

:)


John looked into Sherlock's eyes. The consulting detective had such beautiful and expressive eyes. At a moment's notice they could harden, becoming cold and sharp as ice, or they could burst with the excitement of that of a four year old the day before their birthday. There was so much Sherlock's eyes could portray, the possibilities were endless, but right now as John stared up at his friend, there was only one thing he could see. Desperation. No adventurous glimmer, no sarcastic glare, just pure and utter desperation.

"Please, John." Sherlock begged, his voice barely a whisper. And John couldn't say no. Not anymore, not to those eyes, those desperate, pleading eyes.

"Alright." John said softly, "You can keep the kitten."