December 5: "A cat in Baker Street" (from YoughaltheJust)

Way way back in 2012, the first time I participated in this challenge, I introduced an orange kitten and asked reviewers to name him. He was christened Sockball, and I'm pretty sure he's still my sister's favorite OC of mine. This silly little story goes out to you, sis!

"O Sockball, O Sockball,
How lovely are your whiskers!
O Sockball, O Sockball,
How lovely are your—"

"Watson, are you singing to the cat again?" Sherlock Holmes stood in the doorway of the sitting room, where Watson was seated on the rug, gently stroking the small creature's back as it purred.

The doctor gave a start, which jostled Sockball, who gave a disgruntled mrew and darted under the table. "Aw, Holmes, now you've gone and scared him off! It took me a quarter of an hour to get close enough to pet him. He's been very skittish today."

Holmes only shook his head. "Was that some bastardized version of 'O Christmas Tree? Perhaps it's best to leave the holiday music making to me."

"He likes it when I sing to him," replied Watson, rising to his feet with a grunt of effort. "And anyway, you won't let us put up a Christmas tree, so neither of us can sing about how lovely it's branches are."

"If we did get one," Holmes countered, "I'd wager that creature would be causing mischief with it in a heartbeat. You could hardly keep it in the same room as open flames on dead kindling without some chaos ensuing."

Watson pursed his lips. "Well, I cannot argue with you there."

"In any case, I was only passing through to fetch some case notes from my room." He left the sitting room for his bedroom, and Watson could hear the rustling of papers and the detective emerged a minute later, a folder in hand. "I shall see you this evening," he said. "And tell Mrs. Hudson I have still not agreed to giving the cat access to our rooms."

In the wee hours of the night, Watson awoke and heard the gentle tones of the violin wafting up from the sitting room below. The tune was familiar... He slipped out of bed and crept quietly down the stairs and peeked into the sitting room. Holmes was in his dressing gown, playing "O Christmas Tree". Sockball sat in Holmes' chair by the fire, purring contentedly. A grin spread across the doctor's face. Then, a floorboard creaked, giving away his position, and Holmes whirled around.

"Not a word, Watson. Not. One. Word."