The arrival hall at Heathrow Airport was crowded. Usually he would have avoided it, but Mrs Hudson had asked him to pick her up after her two week holiday with her sister in Spain. When he had agreed, it had been more out of moral duty since she put up with so much from him and Sherlock, but right now he was glad about that fact. He had to talk to her about the kittens and without Sherlock suspecting him to do so.
He was a little bit surprised that he managed to keep this secret from his husband. During the last days he had raised the subject often enough, that Sherlock surely had to know how he felt about the kittens. After all, the man was a Detective and usually able to read John like a book. But he hadn't said anything, maybe he wanted to ride it out. That's why John had decided to take matters in his own hand.
In a way, he felt bad about what he was going to do. But begging Mrs Hudson to forbid any animal keeping seemed the only way left to get rid of the kittens. Every objection he had was countered by Sherlock and the way his husband treated them only showed his affection for the four animals. That was probably the reason why he felt so guilty. He loved that man, it seemed wrong to deny him something he clearly wanted.
But John was fed up with their new flatmates. Those four furballs had become more and more adventurous in the flat. They climbed on everything, but didn't always manage to find their way back on the ground. He didn't know how often he had rescued one of them from some place high on the shelves. Irritatingly they always found their way back on the shelf. Sometimes he wondered if they were just amusing themselves training the humans around them or simply saving energy to climb on something else.
Unfortunately they weren't only interested in high shelves. They also found any kind of upholstery pretty fascinating. The rug had several places were loose threads stuck out; the same could be said for two of his jumpers, his favourite sweatpants and the Union Jack pillow. Not to forget the hair, he never managed to get rid of all the hair. How Sherlock always looked so perfect was a mystery in itself.
On the bright side, the kittens took care of the dusting. He didn't think the surfaces had ever been so clean. And Sherlock had started to seal all flasks and containers after the rather unfortunate incident with the eyeballs on the counter.
He hadn't dared to think too much how to approach the subject with his landlady, afraid that Sherlock might start his mind-reading thing again. Thinking now through several ways, he almost missed his landlady. After a warm hug, he took her bags and steered her to the cab stand outside. They had to wait a little in the row and he listened to her description of the hotel and the other guests, hoping for an opportune moment to inject his wish.
It wasn't until they were seated and on their way to Baker Street before he got the chance to say something. When she finally asked, how they had been, he blurted out:
"Sherlock has adopted four kittens."
He was a bit embarrassed how desperate he sounded, but they were testing his patience way more than Sherlock ever had. (He was quite aware that most people would see this different.)
"Oh, kittens, how lovely. I always thought about getting a cat for myself, you know. But I always feared I might look like an embittered old spinster."
Mrs Hudson was clearly still in her holiday mood. John had the feeling she hadn't understood the severity of the problem.
"Nobody could mistake you for an embittered old spinster, Mrs Hudson. And it's not only one cat, it's four. I couldn't stop him."
Well, that part was true. However Mrs Hudson still didn't see the problem at hand.
"Sherlock would never hurt somebody on purpose", she assured him.
Suppressing a sigh and his dwelling panic, he tried to make her see his point.
"Yes, I know that. But I'm a little concerned for the flat, you know. The four are a handful and they tend to explore everything. I'm afraid they had damaged your wallpaper and the floor."
She was always so concerned for the flat and the damage Sherlock put to it, surely this would be the decisive point. Apparently not.
"I'm sure it's alright, my dear. But I will look into it."
She patted his knee reassuringly, before sighing at the typical London rain and returning to memories of her holiday including lots of Spanish sunshine. John could only give affirmative noises, too worried that her cheerful holiday mood would ruin his whole plan.
At Baker Street John took care of the cab fee and her bags, before entering the house. They were greeted by a rather enthusiastic Sherlock, which raised all kinds of suspicion in John. What did his husband plan?
Sherlock had waited impatiently until the taxi with John and Mrs Hudson arrived. It was about time she returned; he hoped this would solve the little problem with the kittens once and for all. He had used John's absence to expose the most eye-catching damages even more prominently, pulling chairs out of the way, draping the curtain and directing the light of the desk lamp to highlight the scratches in the wall paper. For good measure he added some crumbs of dry food on the floor, between the cat toys. This should do it. There was no way Mrs Hudson could miss the damage to her flat.
It was pathetic that he had to use Mrs Hudson to solve a problem for him, but John's anxious voice when he asked if the kittens interfered with his work was more than obvious. John didn't want to lose the kittens, but was afraid to disturb Sherlock. The detective had learnt a long time ago, that he had no resistance against a John Watson who looked at him with those babyblue eyes, and especially if they there was anxiety in it, as if Sherlock was about to break his heart.
Well, technically he was, but if everything went as planned, John would never know, not even suspect him. Mrs Hudson would see the damage and demand compensation and the eviction of the kittens. As back-up plan he would make allowance to pay for the damage, surely this would open John's eyes. John, who was always so worried about money (as if there was a reason to worry, they could pay for more than this if they wanted ... or needed to). Yes, the plan was fool proof.
He rushed down the stairs to greet his landlady. When he caught an inquiring look from his husband, he reprimanded himself not to appear quite so eager. John wasn't an idiot like Donovan or worse Anderson and had learnt to read him quite well during the years – which was useful on occasion, but not right now.
Gently he guided Mrs Hudson upstairs. As usual Morbius had sensed his chance to explore the staircase and came towards them. Sherlock couldn't have planned it better, escaping cats - they could damage the whole house. Maybe he should have set all the kittens on the stairs, Vivaldi would have surely liked a new wallpaper to destroy. Or maybe not, there was no sense in being too obvious.
"Oh, is this one of your kittens?" Mrs Hudson asked.
Inwardly, Sherlock rolled his eyes. Clearly John had told her about them, probably to convince her first of their stay. Now, that he thought about it, he remembered that John had been very eager to get to the airport despite his earlier reluctance. He had underestimated his husband. But the inquiring look he shot at the Doctor confirmed that John didn't look as happy as he would be if Mrs Hudson had already agreed to his wish. So there was still a chance and he knew her longer than John.
Returning his attention to his landlady, he introduced her to the animal.
"Yes, this is Morbius. I'm afraid they are a bit temperamental."
Without regard for her hip, Mrs Hudson picked up the grey cat and inspected it closely. A little paw was outstretched as if to touch her nose, but the elder woman caught it with a finger and started caressing it.
"You are cutie, aren't you."
Sherlock was positive that he had never heard her speaking in this tone of voice before. She even chuckled happily when the kitten produced a miaow. The remaining steps were climbed with a stream of cooing sounds. Focused on the kitten in her hand, she almost stumbled over Nero who had taken his role as doorman. Clearly now she would see the danger of those cats. But no, she simply crouched down and took the other cat too. Maybe those damn kittens worked their calming magic on every ordinary person.
"As you can see, they damaged a rather large part of the wallpaper and the curtains. Of course we are willing to pay this with the next rent, just give me the right sum."
From the corner of his eyes he saw John, who had joined them after leaving Mrs Hudson's bags in her flat, frowning at the change in their living room. Sherlock wondered if he had been too obvious, but the Doctor gave no sign of disapproval. So everything still alright.
Except for the fact that Mrs Hudson wasn't even listening to him. Instead she sat now on the sofa (on one of the very clear scratches) and placed both kittens in her lap. Instantly they formed an unseparable knot of limbs, fighting for the hand that caressed them.
This wasn't right, this was not what he had expected. He was glad that John had chosen this moment to prepare tea for the three of them. Maybe he could still keep this secret from him, but it was definitely time to cut the subtleties.
"Of course, I'm afraid they won't stop there, so if you wish, we will find them another home."
There, he had said it, had spelt it out for her, she simply had to nod and he had every excuse that he needed.
"Don't be silly, Sherlock. Of course they stay."
He heard the crash of a tea cup from the kitchen. John was obviously so happy that he lost his usual calm.
