John leaned his head against the cold window of the cab. His eyes were closed and he was slowly drifting off the sleep. They had finally solved their latest case and he was running on only 2 hours of sleep. Sherlock was looking out the window, watching the world pass in a blur with a smile on his face. He was going over the case in his head, and how the criminal had been clever, ohh so clever. He enjoyed a good case, and he had gotten just that. The cab pulled in front of 221B and Sherlock nudge John to wake up. John lifted his head off the window; the left side of his forehead was red from resting on the glass. Sherlock paid the cabby and they proceeded to enter their flat. John was walking groggily behind Sherlock, dragging his feet and wishing he was already lying down on his bed. His soft, comfortable…
"ooof," John let out when he bumped into Sherlock, who had suddenly stopped walking, "What's this? Sherlock, please, I'm exha-"
"Shut up," Sherlock interrupted him.
"Wha-"
"Shhhh," Sherlock placed one finger on his lips and his other hand was waving in the air toward John, "Do you hear that?" He perked up all other motions stopped.
John listened, squinting his eyes as if it would somehow increase his ability to hear. He looked around when he couldn't hear anything.
"Nope, nothing. Sherlock may I-"
"Oscar's gone," Sherlock said interrupting John again.
This certainly woke John up.
They ran up the stairs and their door was wide open. Sherlock's leather chair was turned on its side, books were on the floor, and paper were thrown and ripped like confetti across the entire flat.
"Oh God, no," John said when he saw the ruined flat. He stood at the frame of the door in shock.
Sherlock was looking around the flat naming different items that were stolen or broken, and when he finally named off ten items he stopped and looked at John who was staring at the flat, unmoving.
"John? Nothing to substantial is gone. Both our laptops, your stack of saved money and a few other trinkets are gone, but nothing irreplaceable is missing. Other than…" He stopped.
"Oscar's gone," It was both a statement and a question.
Sherlock shook his head and walked around the flat examining it.
"Go get Miss Hudson. This happened about an hour ago, she would have already gone to bed," Sherlock said, and John went down to get her.
When he got back, with Miss Hudson who was in her nighty, rubbing her tired eyes, Sherlock had already found ten more clues, including how many intruders (3), and their heights (5'7, 6'1, and 5,9).
"Oh no, what happened," She cried.
"There's been an intruder," Sherlock stated.
She let out distressed noises and walked around the flat, Sherlock and John letting her look around while they looked for more signs of Oscar.
John now stated the question that he really wanted to ask, "Did they take Oscar?"
"Unlikely, however I do believe Oscar got out. He might be lost, maybe he followed them like he followed me," Sherlock was speaking in his normal analyzing voice, but there was something off, like he felt genuine fear that Oscar was gone. It was so small that anyone else wouldn't notice. But John wasn't anyone else.
"We'll find him, right?" John said.
Sherlock didn't say anything, it was as if he was in a trance his eyes fixating on a small part of the carpet. He looked at it, then walked forward, leaning down and examining it closer. Two small drops of blood were stained into the carpet surrounded by fur. It was Oscars.
"He's not.." John's voice trailed off.
It's just a cat, it's just a cat, John thought to himself, but he couldn't help the sadness that was coming over him.
"No, a small wound," Sherlock said, "We'll find him."
"Where's Oscar?" Miss Hudson asked.
They didn't say anything, and in the silence Miss Hudson understood.
"I'll make some flyers, "She offered.
She went back to her flat and left the boys to do some more digging.
It occurred to John that he wasn't the only one who had grown attached to the small fur ball they called Oscar. Sherlock had taken a liking to that cat, had used him in his experiments, taught him to bring notes to people. Sherlock spent his time away from John with the cat, and maybe even though it was just a small fur ball, it had become more of comfort and a companion to both John and Sherlock, and this thought made John sad again, because instead of having hope to find Oscar, he felt loss.