A/N: Just a little oneshot piece of fluff that has been nagging me off and on for a while. Probably already done by someone else somewhere; but I could not get it out of my head. Enjoy!

A Welcome Reminder

Watson sank gratefully into his chair beside the fire. He could not remember the last time his aching body had felt this relaxed. The nearly constant rain these last few weeks had brought him back around to a point of frustration with his own body he knew would accomplish nothing more than further frustration. Without Holmes' presence as a distraction, these times just seemed all the more aggravating. In the fifteen months they had been living together, Watson had only recently begun to rebuild much of his lost stamina. And, he had to admit, that with this weather he might have pushed himself too far in his walking alone today.

Holmes had been away on a case for nearly three days. According to the little information he had given Watson, he would not be returning for the better part of a week. Left alone to pursue his own activities and entertainment, the doctor found himself bored beyond all reason. He was almost surprised to realize that after months of working alongside the detective in his investigations that he craved that intrigue and excitement. Without it, his own life seemed so very drab and meaningless. As if that were not enough, sitting here beside the fire alone instead of sharing conversation with his eccentric flatmate made him feel downright lonely.

Forcing these thoughts away with no small amount of annoyance, he picked up the book he had been half-heartedly trying to read. He was still frustrated at his lack of stamina in this kind of weather. The aches would quickly turn into deeper pains that made him all but useless to Holmes at times. He did not blame the detective for leaving him behind on this case; quite the opposite, really. Holmes had repeatedly expressed a surprising amount of tact when it came to his flatmate's deficiencies. He seemed to go out of his way to avoid inflicting further injury to Watson's pride even when Watson himself took no offense. More often than not, he was surprised by Holmes' display of compassion and empathy in this regard. It seemed somewhat out of character for his aloof friend.

The sound of the front door opening barely caught his attention as he tried to force himself to focus on the book rather than his own thoughts. However, a moment later he heaved himself from the chair and was quickly headed for the sitting room door as he heard a distant, muted cry from Mrs. Hudson. Limping more than he would have liked, he rounded the landing to the top of the stairs to the foyer. There stood Mrs. Hudson attempting to juggle the bags from her shopping in one hand while holding something small and brown in the other. Even as he started down the stairs to assist, she dropped the bags carefully on the foyer floor in favor of the wriggling mud covered object in her other hand. Heedless of the mud coating the mewling thing, she clutched it to her chest in an effort to calm it down.

"Oh, Doctor! I'm glad you're here. This poor thing is hurt," Mrs. Hudson told him.

Catching sight of the mud-covered little kitten, Watson sighed mentally. He was no animal doctor, but he never could stand the sight of suffering when there was something he could do to help. Not able to assess the injury visually with so much muck coating its fur, he could only hope it was not serious enough he would be forced to put the poor thing out of its misery as he had so many others in his life. That was the one aspect of being a doctor he despised. It was common for others to seek his assistance when it came to precious pets, but there was little he could do in most cases.

Having finally reached the foyer floor, he eyed the mewling, trembling ball of mud critically. Mrs. Hudson attempted to extract the little kitten from its place against her chest as Watson extended his hands. A moment later he was forced to retract those hands with a small gasp of surprise when the kitten ceased its mewling and started hissing and growling at him. Frowning slightly, he attempted to calm the cat with a gentle pat on the head. In return for his efforts, he was forced to keep his hand very very still as it sank it's teeth into his thumb.

"Doctor! I'm so sorry. He must be—" she started as she attempted to extract the kitten from his flesh.

"It's quite alright, Mrs. Hudson," Watson said more calmly than he felt. "He's in pain and frightened. But I think it best that you keep hold of him for now."

"Yes, Doctor," she agreed pulling the little ball closer, but now more wary.

"What seems to be the problem with him?"

"His paw. Here," she showed him, carefully pointing toward the kitten's front, left foot.

Already Watson had noticed a distinct patch of mud that lacked fur of any kind. He frowned slightly as he again reached out to inspect the injured appendage. This time the hissing ball of mud decided to use its good paw to plant claws in the back of his exposed fingers. Drawing back with a slight growl of his own, Watson shook his head.

"We need to get him cleaned up a bit before I can inspect the wound. I'll get some water if you'll hold him," Watson offered.

"Lets take this into the kitchen, then," Mrs. Hudson offered opening the door with her free hand.

By the time Watson returned with his medical bag in one hand and a large bowl of water, the kitten was happily lapping away at a small plate of milk Mrs. Hudson had set on the table. Quite obviously it was not putting any weight on the one, injured leg. They let the kitten continue lapping hungrily while Watson drew a large, warm bowl of water and Mrs. Hudson fetched some towels. When Watson again drew near to set the bowl on the table, the little kitten began to growl viciously as the mud-covered hairs on its bowed back attempted to stand up.

"I believe it would be best if you covered your hands with a towel," Watson recommended as Mrs. Hudson sat herself at the table once more.

"I doubt that's really necessary," Mrs. Hudson said, plucking the still hissing kitten off the table. "He's really quite nice, Doctor."

To his amazement, the kitten squirmed and cried unhappily as Mrs. Hudson proceeded to scrub layers of mud from the kitten's matted fur. Not once did it claw or bite her swiftly moving hands as it cried loud enough to sound like a whining child to his ears. When the ordeal was over, he handed her a towel she briskly used to rub at the poor thing carefully avoiding the injured leg. Obviously she had some experience in this as she then revealed a mostly white kitten with a few patches of mixed brown and black. The pathetic sight of this trembling, wet kitten tugged at Watson as it curled protectively under Mrs. Hudson's chin.

"There, that's better now," she cooed gently.

Satisfied that he was dry enough, she presented the kitten once more to Watson. Again he found himself unable to even properly inspect the wounded leg when it resumed its previous hissing.

"That's quite enough of that," Watson he told the little demonic thing in Mrs. Hudson's hands, as he could not resist pointing a taunting finger just out of reach of the claws.

Mrs. Hudson could not help giggling at this sight. But, she quickly reversed the kitten's position as Watson carefully wrapped a towel gently around the little thing leaving only the one leg exposed. Finally Watson was able to see what he really did not want to in this case. The leg was burned. From paw to elbow, the hair and even some skin had been burned and blackened. The damage was so centralized, he could tell in seconds that this had been a deliberate act of cruelty. Sighing heavily at knowledge that humans could be so inhumane at times, he related this to Mrs. Hudson.

"I will clean it up and bandage it, but there is little else to be done. The wound will have to heal on its own," Watson explained as he dug through his medical bag for the needed items.

"He will be alright, then?" Mrs. Hudson asked with more hope than Watson had expected.

Smiling reassuringly Watson nodded. Apparently she had already come to the same possible conclusion herself at some point. It would seem she had some experience herself in the loss of pets due to injuries that could not be treated. She held the squirming kitten as it continued to mewl pathetically. The mewls quickly turned to pained cries as he carefully cleaned the wound and rubbed some ointment into it before wrapping it in a tiny bandage.

The kitten lost no time in resuming it's interrupted meal when Mrs. Hudson quickly unwrapped it and set it before the dish of milk once more. Though it now set the paw gently on the tabletop, Watson could see it was more interested in food at this point than inspecting it's newly acquired bandage. Satisfied with his work, he put away his things in the medical bag and stood to leave as Mrs. Hudson headed toward her rooms in search of a box.

Seconds after the door was opened, Mrs. Hudson's little terrier came streaking into the kitchen barking and snapping viciously. Watson had to drop his bag to grab the little dog as the kitten bowed its back and hissed menacingly. In a choice between the two, he would rather keep his fingers with the lesser of the two evils. Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson came running back when she heard the commotion. She quickly grabbed up the kitten as Watson set the little dog down to continue its yapping from the floor.

Mrs. Hudson's eyes were wide with surprise and confusion as she stared down at her normally docile little pet. The slightest bit of amusement crept into Watson's mind as he eyed this little problem wondering how the kitten was enjoying the same treatment from another. When Mrs. Hudson turned those dark, pleading eyes on him, he began to back toward the kitchen door. Seeing his retreat before she could even ask, she frowned darkly. Sighing wearily, Watson slumped his shoulders.

"Please, Dr. Watson," she finally asked in a tone that did not sound like a request at all. "I have a box. He won't be any trouble."

"Mrs. Hudson..."

"It would only be for a day or two. I'm sure I can find somewhere for him by Wednesday night."

Watson eyed the still tense ball of fur in her arms dubiously as the terrier continued to bark maddeningly. Even if Mrs. Hudson found a way to keep the two separated, that barking would drive him to distraction before the end of the day.

"I suppose while Holmes is still away..."

"Thank you, Doctor," she said with a smile that informed him just how close he'd come to a dinner burnt beyond edibility.

He waited patiently while she retrieved the box and placed the kitten inside. Careful to keep his hands away from the demonic little animal, he took the box while she returned the barking pet to his own quarters. She followed him upstairs to the sitting room with his medical bag. Placing the box in Holmes' chair so as to be closer to the fire, he stepped back to watch the kitten as it returned his glare warily. He waited for the crying to begin. In his experience, kittens were easily as noisy as dogs when they were of a mind. Instead, the little ball of fluff yawned and began to clean itself. Huffing in surprise, Watson picked up his book once more and resumed his seat by the fire.

~o~o~o~

Some time later he was surprised to realized he'd dozed off in his chair. When he tried to figure out what had woken him so abruptly, he spied the box in the chair opposite. Before he had a chance to see if the kitten had somehow escaped and woken him, Mrs. Hudson's second cry of the day drifted to his ears from the foyer. The box and kitten forgotten, he quickly limped to the sitting room door to find Mrs. Hudson practically carrying Holmes up the stairs. Still in the disguise of a personal servant from some wealthy household, Holmes was staggering numbly when Watson quickly took over from Mrs. Hudson. He sent her off with a list of needed items.

With the practiced eye of a surgeon, he had already spied the massive tear in the left sleeve of Holmes' coat. The pallor and clammy skin told him all he needed to know of the man's condition as he carefully propped Holmes on the settee and grabbed his still present medical bag. Little was said beyond a brief explanation of Holmes' having been caught while snooping by the person he was suspecting of murder. It had been a brief fight with no further injuries to Holmes, but this one was bad enough in itself. Softly he cursed the semi-conscious detective as he spied the knife wound that stretched from his bicep down across the inner arm almost to the wrist. This was a very bad place for stitches and had come far too close to the artery for his liking. However, he quickly tended the injury and splinted the arm. By this point Holmes was awake enough to be grumbling in annoyance at the idea of not being allowed to bend his arm at all over the next few days.

"If you would like to continue to be in possession of that arm at all, you'll keep it still for a few days," Watson finally snapped back cleaning up the mess around him.

Watson sighed already opening his mouth to apologize. It wasn't Holmes' fault, after all. He was just tired of patching up the detective when he was so certain his presence would likely have prevented the injury in the first place. Irrational as this was, he could not help the feeling he should have been there somehow. Before he had a chance to say anything, the kitten decided it was time to make its presence known. Holmes' gray eyes opened in surprise as he sat bolt upright on the settee staring at the box currently violating his personal space in the fireside chair.

"What is that?" Holmes asked staring in horror.

Watson prevented Holmes from moving from his current position on the settee with a gentle push on the shoulder. Moving toward the box, he carefully picked it up from underneath as the pathetic mewling turned into renewed hissing at his presence.

"Mrs. Hudson found an injured kitten."

Holmes waved impatiently as Watson set the box on the floor near the settee. "Obviously. But what it is it doing here?"

"Her terrier didn't take to kindly to his presence."

Holmes glared darkly at the doctor as the kitten returned to crying pathetically upon spying Holmes instead of Watson.

"I'll take it to my room, then," Watson volunteered, his heart sinking at the idea of such a noisy little pest in his personal space.

"See that you do," Holmes responded darkly, resuming his position on the settee.

Knowing that he would have to clear a space, Watson turned to take his medical bag up to his room when Mrs. Hudson returned with a dish of milk. Holmes glared menacingly at their whispered conversation as Watson finally accepted the dish with an expression nothing short of defeat. Mrs. Hudson let herself back out while Watson steeled himself for the task at hand. Now more curious than perturbed, Holmes found himself stifling a snicker as the little ball of fur wasted no time in latching on to Watson's exposed hand with every available tooth and claw. He was rather impressed that the doctor spilled no more than a few drops as he let fly a few invectives before extracting his bleeding hand. Those green eyes flared dangerously at the little demon in the box as he opened his medical bag for the third time that day.

By this point Holmes was hard pressed to stifle outright laughter. Watching his flatmate continued to mutter curses at the box while tending his own wounds, Holmes finally lost the battle. Those blazing green eyes flashed his direction for a moment before returning to tending his hand.

"I'm glad you're amused," Watson tossed at him darkly.

Holmes' renewed laughter followed him as he left the sitting room. Shaking his head with a grin of his own, Watson was not entirely surprised to find he was actually quite warmed by Holmes' mirth. It was a rare sight that the detective found such pleasure as to make him laugh. If a few scratches and a couple of sleepless nights accomplished this, he was more than willing to accept it.

Minutes later he returned from clearing a dark corner of his room in which to place the box. He froze only a few steps away from the settee shocked speechless by the sight he now beheld. Holmes was sleeping with an expression of rarely seen utter contentment with the kitten curled on his chest. Even from this distance he could hear the loud purring as the kitten shifted and settled more comfortably under Holmes' still hand. He almost could not believe the sight of the aloof detective so vulnerable and seemingly at peace for once.

Watson first took several breathless minutes to imprint that memory in his mind. Minutes later he had one of his journals and a pencil in his hand as he seated himself at his desk. This was one sketch that would never see the light of day. But, for him, it would be just one more reminder that beneath the cool, calculating exterior, there was a man with a heart that would never cease to amaze him.