Chapter 33: Curiosity Has Yet To Kill The Cat

"John! Get this… thing out of here!"

I walked blearily downstairs, rubbing my eyes with my fingers. It was late - that much I knew - and far too late for Sherlock to be doing anything at the volume he was. John had returned from his date, I decided, and had brought something home with him. An animal of some sorts. I hopped over the threshold into the flat that Sherlock and John were residing in and looked around. "Now, what's the-"

I blinked. There was a kitten on Sherlock's music stand. A tiny grey thing with big blue eyes and white stripes. I was also, decidedly, allergic to cats. I would need to buy some antihistamine...

"John. There's a kitten on Sherlock's violin stand," I informed the shorter man, who had seemed to engage in a battle of wits and mind power with Sherlock - that is to say that they were glaring furiously at one another. It was broken when Sherlock's eyes darted down to John's lips and the jumper-clad hedgehog turned to address me.

"Yes, there is. She will be staying with us until I can find her a suitable home. The real question is, however, why are you awake?"

I shrugged. "Sherlock was yelling too loudly."

"And well within reason! This feline will ruin everything - this flat is placed and ordered in a particular manner and this will ruin it."

"Oh, Sherlock, have a heart!" I exclaimed, watching the kitten jump off of the stand and pad over to me. It started butting my leg with its head and so I knelt down to pet it with a smile, though I ensured that no other part of me touched it. "Elle est tres mignon, non?"

"Non! Ce n'est pas mignon," Sherlock retorted, sitting down on his chair.

John shook his head, gently taking the kitten from me and lifting her carefully. "Listen, I'm not saying you have to deal with her forever. It won't be any more than a couple of days. You'll barely notice she's here. Now, can we all go to sleep?"

I nodded as Sherlock gave a jerking up-down motion of his head and turned around in his chair. I took a moment to watch him. He was wearing a deep blue dressing gown that was slightly faded - from use or disuse, I couldn't tell - and his hair was messy and neat is a way that I doubted any other could obtain. His wings were furled around him underneath the gown, I was sure, and his aura held the taint of bitterness of someone that had been betrayed. Was he afraid that we'd end up liking the cat more than him? For a genius, he was certainly daft.

"Goodnight, Sherlock!" I said, running over to hug him. Or rather, hug him as well as one could when the recipient was lying down.

As I ran to the bathroom for antihistamine pills, a brief detour before returning to my room, I noticed a deep blue-black wing reach out, as if to catch me and hug me in return.

"C'mon, Mycroft! John says that if we can't find an owner soon, we'll have to put her in a pound. I've read the reports and seen all the statistics - she's more likely to be put down than adopted and taken care of," I pleaded (I was absolutely not whining and had no idea why the thought would ever had occurred to anyone) into the microphone at the bottom of my phone.

It had been three days of torture - though whether Sherlock, us or the cat had been through more remained undecided. The one-sided animosity that had presented itself as soon as John had entered the flat with the tiny thing hadn't died down in the least, leaving everyone involved irritated. Sherlock had snapped at everyone, including Mrs Hudson, to the point where almost everyone had avoided him out of pure instinct. Except the cat. Curiousity had yet to kill her but there was still time yet. I, in the meanwhile, had been taking half antihistamine pills every six hours in an attempt to soothe my irritated eyes and constant sneezing.

"I really don't- okay, fine. I'll come pick her up," Mycroft agreed, resigned.

"Thanks, Umbrella-Boy! You don't have to keep her, even - I'm sure Molly wouldn't mind having another addition," I suggested.

"There is that," Mycroft admitted, though I could hear the smile in his voice. "I'll be there presently. Do warn Sherlock, won't you?"

"Of course. Though I will warn you, he is a bit… well, you know Sherlock."

"As do you."

I collapsed onto the bed and John's face entered my field of vision. I gave a weary smile that he returned in the same style. My brother had never been like this, as far as I could recall - he'd never been under any doubt that I didn't love him more that existence itself. However, it had become obvious that that lack of doubt had faded with his memories, leaving Sherlock unsure of whether or not anybody actually cared about him. John, Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly (even though I hadn't seen much of Lestrade and Molly, I knew enough about them to know that they cared far more than Sherlock had any idea of) and I - if there was something we could do to make sure he knew for certain that he would never be abandoned or replaced, we'd do it in an instant.

"He obviously thinks that we like the cat more than we like him," John said suddenly, unknowingly parroting my thoughts from the night Sherlock and the (still unnamed) kitten had been introduced.

He pulled a face that clearly was designed to communicate across the message of 'I'm not dumb' before stating, "Listen, I may not have your magical powers-" "It's just a dimension-jump thingy, we never did find that cup-" "or Sherlock's super-brain but I do pick up on these things."

"Never said you didn't," I pointed out, before hearing Sherlock make a scathing remark somewhere down the hall. I jumped up. "That would be Mycroft."

We began walking out the door, heading toward the source of the voices, catching the conversation as we went.

"Brother, how nice it is to see that you've stopped eating so many cakes."

"Actually, you'll find that I'm eating the same amount - the human body is a marvellous thing, what with its ability to bloat."

"Indeed. You know, that is a characteristic generally found more commonly in the female sex-"

"That will be all, thank you."

"Touchy subject, is it? It makes sense, of course, given-"

"That is enough." Mycroft's voice grew dangerous and John readied his stance, ready to step in at any time. However, as soon as he noticed me, his voice and expression softened.

"Kayla. How nice it is to see you," he remarked politely, giving me a once-over. He raised an eyebrow at John, who nodded, smirking slightly.

"Shall we enter, or will we merely stand in the hallway for the rest of the day?" Mycroft asked loftily. "If it is the latter, then I must excuse myself - I've been invited to a minor meeting in the offices and I would rather not be late."

John said a quiet apology, giving Sherlock - who was blocking the doorway (though it was far more impressive from my perspective, which also had his wings thrown up and out like an avenging angel) - a stern look. He frowned in turn and stepped aside, his wings collapsing like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

John gestured for Mycroft to enter and, not five seconds later, I peered in to see that his attention was completely and utterly on the tiny kitten pawing at and softly attacking his hand. Mycroft likes cats. Huh.

Edit: 25.2.16