Prompt from V Tsuion: With cats, some say, one rule is true: Don't speak till you are spoken to. Myself, I do not hold with that. I say, you should address a cat!

"Hello, little one." Detaching his arm from Holmes', Watson carefully crouched to pet the little black and white tuxedo cat that was winding around his feet. "Where did you come from?"

"Addressing a cat, Watson?"

Watson looked quite solemnly up at him. "Some say one must wait for the cat to address you first, but I've never held with that." Only the twinkle in his eye gave away the humour in the remark.

The cat meowed, and Watson turned back to it. "You want attention, do you?" He returned to petting it, but the cat slipped away from his hands, padding over to little alley and waiting there, staring back at him.

Groaning, Watson got to his feet again, Holmes lending a supportive hand. "I think he wants us to follow him."

"My dear fellow, it's only a cat. It only wants your attention."

"We have no pressing concerns, Holmes. What harm does it do to give a cat a little attention?" Without waiting for a response, Watson strode to the mouth of the alley, limping a little as his leg had stiffened from crouching. Holmes, watching concernedly, followed after.

The cat led them down the alley to a box lying on its side, then stopped in front of it, looking up at them. Watson made to crouch again, but Holmes forestalled him. "I'll check it, Watson."

Holmes crouched to look inside the box. A much bigger cat stared back at him, the fur of its ruff lifting as it hissed. From closer, it was easier to notice the smell of blood, enough to suggest the cat had run into some trouble and not come out unscathed.

Holmes looked back to Watson. "Your cat has good instincts, Watson. There's another one here that needs medical assistance."

This time, Watson did crouch. He reached into the box, but the cat swiped at him and he drew back.

The tuxedo cat they had followed wound past the two men, curling neatly beside the bigger cat with a gentle purr. Watson reached into the box again, and though the ruffed cat did not look happy, it allowed itself to be taken out of the box.

Upon inspection, the cat had a long, ragged cut on his back leg, which had clearly bled heavily. The wound itself was not fatal, but clearly had been opened again and again by movement. "In a man, I would advise stitches," Watson said. "I suppose a cat would benefit as well."

Once again, it took Holmes' support for him to get to his feet, but as soon as he had managed it he bent over, picking up the ruffed cat. Contrary to its earlier defensiveness, it now seemed quite happy to be picked up and held. Cat in his arms, Watson looked over at Holmes. "It seems we will be having guests for a while."

"Singular guest, I believe. Your other cat seems pleased enough to have engaged your services, without needing a house call." He motioned down to the box. The tuxedo cat was, indeed, still sitting in it, tail curled up around its nose.

Watson smiled mysteriously. "It might be entirely without data, Holmes, but I have a feeling we'll be seeing that cat again before too long."

The cat raised its head, meowed, and went back to sleep.