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It was well out of Sherlock’s depth to know how to take care of himself - which was what John and Mrs. Hudson are supposedly for. So how can he be expected to take care of a cat?
John had been sifting over the mail when he heard Mrs.Hudson call him from downstairs, almost naturally, he dropped what he was doing and answered. Sherlock had been out of town for a few days for business with his brother (no one would say why) and he was expected to arrive back at Baker Street in the late afternoon, but it was only 11 o’clock.
John hadn’t been doing much while his flatmate was away for the past two days. Friday he had off from work, he had cleaned everywhere, under the dictation of Mrs. Hudson and ran errands. Saturday was spent with Molly overlooking possible bodies that were murdered in the morgue - where she had repeatedly mentioned how she needed someone to take care of her cat, and that night was spent with Stamford. Today was Sunday and John was happily off from work.
“What is it?” John called down the stairs.
“Molly’s here - that’s your name right is it, dearie?” Mrs. Hudson murmured the last bit.
A muffled “Yes.” came from below the stairs and John furrowed his brow as he walked over and gripped the banister, peering over to see Molly. A large woven bag clutched in her hands and a small package? John couldn’t make out what it was from so far up. Both held close to her body.
“Molly?” He called down and saw her head pop out from the bottom step. “I didn’t know you…knew where we lived.” John furrowed his brow and tried to work out how she knew.
“Oh yes hello, John! You know how I mentioned that someone needed to take care of my cat while I went out of town a few days? Uhh - back at the morgue?” She started as she practically invited herself in, Mrs. Hudson stepping aside and closing the door. Molly placed her bag at the foot of the steps but kept the other object in her hands.
“Yes actually - I - I do remember, yes.” John contorted his face as he saw she had a small pet-cage tucked under her left arm. “Wait - do you want…us to take care of that -” John swallowed in disbelief “cat?” John’s voice cracked.
“Toby - his name is Toby and yes.” She said his name as if it were her pride and dignity. Knowing Molly it probably was.
“Listen Molly this isn’t the safest place for a cat, you know. And I don’t know how Sherlock will react when he gets back.” John wavered, doubt scrawled on his face.
“Oh no it’s all fine! It’s just I - I trust you guys” She said quietly and tried to pull a smile as she continued up the steps slowly. “And it’s my understanding that Sherlock’s gone, yes?”
“Yeah, but only for a few more hours,” John lowered his tone of voice as she reached the top of the steps and they were face to face.
“Oh - well - I - I’m sorry I should take him back then.” She immediately turned the other way and started bumbling down the steps, the back of her neck red. Mrs. Hudson held her hand close to her chest and frowned as she shook her head.
John felt bad, it was only a bloody cat. He - well, Harry had a cat when they were children, they were okay in his eyes. Molly reached the bottom of the steps and picked up her large knit bag and turned back to apologize for the trouble.
“No no, Molly. We can take him” John had to remind himself not to call the cat an ‘it’.
Molly grinned from ear to ear.
#
After about an hour of Molly going into exquisite detail of what Toby required, John was half asleep. She acted like she saw nothing when he closed his eyes for the rest of the lecture. Once she stood up he snorted himself awake as she was saying her thanks and goodbyes while showing herself out. Toby was caged and next to John on the couch. He flipped his wrist to look at his watch that read 12:43.
John sighed and opened the bag Molly had left to find several bowls and an putrid smelling bag of cat litter. He quickly found a plastic bin to pour the litter into and he set it out on the kitchen floor. After that he filled up a water and food bowl to the brim, humming as he did. It was nice to have some company. Even if it wouldn’t talk. Not like Sherlock did much of that anyway.
He heard the cat starting to meow in the secluded corner of the cage and he quickly answered the creatures pleas as it pawed at the lock softly. The cat leapt our of it’s sun-baked cage and sprung onto the couch cushion as soon as John opened it ,stretching out it’s long, elegant legs and tail. The cat in fact looked like the opposite version of Molly if she was a cat. Toby was an orange tabby with sleek fur, with the occasional stripe, with richly pink paws that looked manicured. The cat had a few over-sized hairs for it’s body giving it a younger look whereas John remembered hearing Molly say that he was 9 years old. Which is apparently old in so called ‘cat years’.
The cat was very on edge, it jumped at the slightest movement elicited by John who actually tried to seem the least harmless. How would the cat react when Sherlock walked through the door?
As the cat pranced over to where it smelled the cat litter and food John opened his laptop to write a very rare type of blogpost, one involving just him and a 3rd party rather than Sherlock. He got comfortable on the couch, putting his feet on it and tucking a pillow behind his neck to prop it up. After about 15 minutes or so the cat leapt up on John’s laptop, rubbing it’s butt in John’s nose.
“Aagh!” Was the only sound that came from John’s mouth as he firmly placed both of his hands on the torso of Toby and dropped him to the floor. This happened two more times until John changed the position of how he laid and the cat sulked to the fireplace and napped in the afternoon sun that filtered in from the window.
When John finished his post and posted it he had little else to do, but to watch the cat sleep. He watched the dust dance in the afternoon light as the cat stretched innocently, splaying it’s pink paws and yawning. Even if the cat had shockingly long and sharp teeth, tucked into it’s pink gums, it looked harmless. John smiled at it and went to make himself tea.
It was about 3o’clock when John decided he was hungry and fixed himself some jam and toast. Glancing at his watch he noticed Sherlock would be home in about 30 minutes, if not earlier.
It was dreadfully boring as John waited for Sherlock to arrive back, he heard a cab pull up outside and the cat was brought up out of it’s seemingly endless self-cleaning session. It’s ears perked and it dashed across to John’s room for safety. Sherlock rushed up the steps, two at a time and reached the flat.
“Remind me never to go away with Mycroft for the weekend, even if it is case matters.”
“Bad weekend,” It wasn’t a question
John could see Sherlock was about to list how much he despised the ineffable nature of his brother when he sniffed and smelt a peculiar smell. He quirked his head around the corner and saw cat litter and food and he grimaced.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“That. That…cat food is it?” Sherlock observed as he turned the corner and bent down to pick up a kernel, rolling it between his fingers then giving a quick lick, scowling as he did.
“Well don’t eat it!” John sighed as he fixed Sherlock a cup of tea. It was routine now.
“Why is there—” Sherlock was about to ask but then answered his own question, observing cat hair on the rug of the flat, where the cat was lounging before.
“Where is it?” He drawled as he retrieved a cup from the cupboard and held it out for John to fill with tea.
“My room” John exhaled, closing is eyes, as he refilled his own cup and brought it to his lips, he used his other hand to fill Sherlock’s mug. Sherlock immediately brought his cup down as soon as it was filled and turned around to head towards John’s room. He opened the door slightly against his knuckle and the door creaked, revealing a sleeping cat on John’s bed. It reminded him of when he found Irene in his bed. Sherlock winced and nearly let a whine escape him.
He turned back around and re-entered the kitchen,finally shrugging off his coat and placing it on the hanger.
“Well?” John asked,unsure as he took another sip after adding a few much needed sugars.
“Well what?” Sherlock sounded bewildered by the insinuation. Picking up his mug again he took a long sip and closed his eyes.
“It’s a cat.”
“Your skills of deduction are stunning, John.
“Well you look a little stress-”
“Well where did it come from?” Sherlock cut John off.
“Molly - she uh she’s going out of town”
“How long?”
“A week.”
“A week? She usually has no one to see out of town for a week. Probably her sister or someone else she’s related to by blood. I mean who would want to -” Sherlock said under his breath. He quirked his head down the hall to check if that cat was coming.
“Sherlock, you’ll need to take care of it while I’m out at work tomorrow.” John started.
“What!? No chance! I’m going to the morgue.” Sherlock said matter of factly, slamming his mug on the counter and moving to the couch. He picked up his silk blue robe and slipped it on. “I’m not taking care of that thing you should be fully aware. It would be really ‘reaching for the stars’ if you attempted it.” He said sarcastically.
“Well there’s not much to do about it now she’s already on her flight probably,” John argued, he really shouldn’t have never had pity on her and taken that cat in. He regretted it now.
“Sherlock - please. It needs very specific care apparently.” John continued.
“I don’t know If you’ve noticed but I’m not one for taking care of things, John.” He reminded him. As if he needed reminding. Sherlock gracefully flopped down on the couch and pressed his palms together under his chin, staring at the ceiling and breathing deeply as if he was meditating - perhaps he was.
About a minute or so passed and John was about to give up.
“Fine.” Came Sherlock’s calm voice.
“Really?” John was skeptical.
“Yes of course really.” Sherlock sighed.
“Right then,uhh there’s a list riiiiiiight - here of what to do and stuff.” John grabbed the paper off the counter and stood over Sherlock as he held it out
Sherlock groaned.
“Sher—”
“No no I’m fine, go on, please.” He used his charming voice that sent shivers into the back of John’s neck.
John continued “Well there’s not much to it unless you read it.”
“Fine” Sherlock drawled and snatched the paper out of John’s hand. He gave it a cursory glance and his eyes widened “I will not rub fungal cream on it’s feet” Sherlock protested and tried to push the paper back into John’s hand.
“Yes you will.” John’s tone of voice was commanding and his hands were clasped together, not allowing Sherlock to push the paper back in.
“Ohhh I love it when you order me, John.” Sherlock said in his richest voice and smirked.
“You probably won’t even notice when I’m out.” John ignored him and crossed to an armchair across the room, wondering if cats sleep all day.
Sherlock was silent as he read the rest of the paper, no matter how ridiculous the request.
“This is tedious.”
John ignored him “So plans of the evening?”
“Briggs-Rauscher Reaction” Sherlock piped up cheerfully as he cast the paper aside.
“Sherlock, you do that every week,” John pressed his thumb and pointer finger to the bridge of his nose “Doesn’t it get boring?”
“Not the colours, John. Not the colours.” He sighed contentedly and turned his body upright as soon as Mrs. Hudson walked in the door.
“Hello boys,” She turned to Sherlock and folded her fingers together “How was your—”
“Terrible.” Sherlock flopped back down as extravagantly as he could.
“He does love to be dramatic” John pointed out.