John knew that he shouldn't have brought Alice over to the flat. Between his sweet, but a little naïve, landlady Mrs. Hudson, their strangely organized flat, Sherlock (who always seemed to have a problem with his dates, he wasn't sure why), and their crazy life, he knew (now) that it had really been very not-smart.
But he'd never, ever have thought that it would have something to do with Sherlock's kitten, who was an absolutely adorable bundle of fur with Sherlock and himself.
The night had started off normally enough. He'd been running late because of a case, and he'd told Alice, who he'd dated once before, to stop by the flat, and he'd be ready in ten minutes. John had really been hoping that this would work out; he'd been having a stroke of more bad luck than usual, and he hoped that this was the end of the streak.
He actually hadn't been counting on anyone but themselves being at home; Mrs. Hudson was at bingo, and Sherlock was supposed to be out fraternizing with his homeless network for clues on the case.
However, when he walked out of his bedroom, having pulled on nicer clothes and combed his hair, he was surprised to see not just Alice, but Sherlock, who was sulking on the sofa, cat nowhere in sight.
Alice, a nice girl, with long, blonde hair and bright blue eyes, was looking uncomfortable, perched on the edge of his armchair, fiddling with their Union Jack pillow, glancing around and steadfastly ignoring the mess in the kitchen.
"Alice!" he greeted her warmly, "Sorry to be late, had a case, you know."
"That's fine, John," she replied, "I was just-"
"She was at her current boyfriend's house, who she's been debating leaving, but doesn't want to be single when she does it, so she has something to rub in her boyfriend's face when she does leave, because he's been secretly seeing his secretary. Isn't that right, Anne?"
"Sherlock!" John said.
"What? It's true. Hastily dressed, her normal work clothes, as if she was just going in to the office to work late, as to not rouse suspicion. Work clothes, you ask? Normal everyday wear-and-tear, heels that she wears daily, given the slight scuff marks; has fancier, given by the brand, but didn't want to appear out of the ordinary. Also, heavier makeup. Evidence, always, of crying or the desire to impress, hiding blemishes. Given the circumstances, I'd say the latter. Eyeliner is slightly smudged and not perfectly even, as if her hands were shaking while she was applying it. Furthermore-"
"That's quite enough, Sherlock!" John said, seething. "Thank you. Could you leave now?"
Alice was standing silent, tear tracks lining her face. John hears the slam of the door in the background, choosing to ignore it. "Alice?"
"It's true, alright?" She burst out, "I'll be going now; sorry it didn't work out as planned." She turned towards the door.
"No, no," John said, trying to remedy the situation, somehow make it better, "Wait."
Just then the kitten trotted into the living room, its eyes falling on the lady at the door, its hackles raising and the kitten letting out a little growl.
Suffice it to say, John had never seen a woman run so fast in stilettos in his entire life.
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