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Rule 4: Never try and get rid of the cat. It doesn't matter how much it meows or paws at your experiments, she will always value the cat's well-being over your intellectual breakthroughs.
Rules of Engagement
For as long as he could remember Sherlock Holmes was not a fan of pets.
He never had the privilege of owning one as a child, his father shot down the idea of having animals in the house when Sherlock was fairly young and he never could find the courage to ask. The only time he ever interacted with an animal by the time he was a teenager was when he performed his own experiments and autopsies, his mind eager to learn what he could through the anatomy of squirrels and rabbits he found around his childhood home.
He knew Molly had cats the moment he met her. The fine hairs that stuck to her clothes told him she had three when he first found her working in the morgue almost a decade ago. Sometimes when he worked she would try and fill the silence with stories about them, and for some reason Sherlock never really had the heart to stop her.
As time wore on she lost two of them to age and both times he found her weeping at her desk but he hadn't been one to offer comforting words. Thinking about it now sent a slight wave of guilt through him.
After defeating Moriarty and going into hiding he found himself in the company of her one remaining cat Toby while she spent her days at work and it was fairly safe to say the two didn't get on very well, or at least in Sherlock's mind. Toby liked attention, and when Molly wasn't around to give it to him he tried to find it in the company of Sherlock, whether he was busy or not. He had lost count of how many times he removed the animal from his lap or found him tucked into the back of his knees when he managed to sleep. He was also fond of making some of the most horrible sounds the detective had ever heard from an animal before, constantly yowling at his feet while he tried working on his experiments.
Today though, Sherlock had reached a breaking point with Toby.
He returned from a phone conversation with Molly in the sitting room, having left his things out on the tabletop without a second thought. He strolled into the kitchen with his eyes on his phone, fingers furiously typing a message when he looked up at the sound of something tumbling to the floor with a heavy clank. Sherlock nearly dropped the device when he saw the orange tabby sitting contently next to his microscope, head cocked to the side as he watched Sherlock whose face was flushed a dangerous shade of red.
His notebook that held the information he had been previously gathering was lying on the floor, a bloodied scalpel on top that he had used earlier. Toby looked at him and meowed once, blood staining his tiny white paws. Sherlock swallowed back the wave of anger building up inside of him and looked around the room quickly and his eyes brightened as an idea formed in the recesses of his mind. Taking in a deep breath he approached the table and picked Toby up in one swift movement, giving him his best angered look he could manage before grabbing his coat and slipping out the front door.
…
"Sherlock!"
His head snapped up in what he assumed was record speed and it's a wonder he didn't get whiplash. He could hear feet stamping across the living room floor and the sound of the door slamming heavily. When he realized it was only Molly though he turned his attention back toward his work. The only thing that stopped him dead in his tracks was the meow that came from the kitchen entrance. He looked up and saw Molly standing there, still in her coat and she was holding a filthy Toby in her arms. Sherlock swallowed and folded his hands in his lap calmly.
"Hello," he said, although his voice wavered slightly, "how was work today?"
Molly's jaw was set, her foot tapping rapidly on the tiled floor and Sherlock was actually afraid to breathe, let alone move. Toby was wriggling in her arms and his orange fur was stained with something Sherlock was sure wasn't pleasant. His ears were flattened against his head and he looked almost as agitated as his owner.
With slow steps Molly approached the table, dropping the cat on top and he just stared at Sherlock with a look the detective resented more than anyone would probably ever know. He decided to try his luck with a charming smile and he batted his eyelashes at the time bomb in front of him that was Molly Hooper.
"So…Toby got out again it looks like. I must have forgotten to shut the window." He glanced toward the screen above the sink and his eyes bugged when he realized it was sealed tightly. He bit his bottom lip and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Nice try Sherlock. I found him outside the flat, absolutely filthy and howling like crazy. He smells that bloody meat shop around the corner!" her voice raised a few octaves and Sherlock winced.
"It's not my fault, he ruined my latest experiment and I had important information that I needed to collect by tomorrow if I want it to be admissible! Locking him in the bedroom won't do and you won't put him in a crate, what else was I supposed to do with him?" he folded his arms over his chest and his challenge hung in the air.
Molly ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "Not drop him off in an alley and let me think he jumped out the bloody window!" she turned on her heels, promptly disappearing and Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Had he really won that easily?
He was almost certain he had until she came marching back in, throwing a towel at him and pointing to Toby, who still hadn't moved from his spot in front of Sherlock.
"What's this for?" he asked and Molly called over her shoulder as she headed for the living room.
"You made the mess, you clean it up." He groaned and leaned back in his chair and as if he was putting in his own two cents about the situation Toby let out a slight yowl. Sherlock could only glare.
"Oh shut up."
