The Case of the Missing Cat
Title: The Case of the Missing Cat
Author: enchanted_jae
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters: Watson/Holmes, OCs
Rating: PG
Warning(s): Author has very little knowledge of the fandom she is attempting.
Word count: 675
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me; they belong to...someone affiliated with the BBC. This drabble was written for fun, not for profit.
Author's note: Written as a birthday gift for bound_amalthea, who asked for Watson/Holmes, snowflake. I'm certain this is NOT what you had in mind.
Summary: Holmes turns his keen intellect to finding a missing cat.
"Another murder case?" asked Watson.
"A cat burglary, you might say," drawled Holmes. The two of them were waiting outside the imposing oak door of a home that fairly oozed understated opulence.
The door was opened by a dour older gentleman, who ushered them inside. "Mrs Cubbage is most anxious to see you," he intoned. He led the way into the kitchen and introduced them to the flighty woman who was waiting there.
"My poor Snowflake!" she cried, wringing her hands in worry. "You must rescue him, you must!"
Holmes nodded curtly. "Was anyone else in the home at the time of Snowflake's disappearance?" he asked, sharp eyes flicking over the woman and her kitchen.
"Just the staff, but they all adore him as much as I do," Mrs Cubbage replied.
"And when was the last time you saw him?"
Mrs Cubbage began to pace. "It was shortly after breakfast," she said. "Snowflake was having a dish of cream while I returned his food to the pantry. I didn't see him afterward, but I assumed he had gone into the parlor to nap on the settee by the window. It wasn't until later that I realized he was missing."
"Are you certain your cat has been stolen?" Holmes inquired.
"Why, of course!" she insisted. "I've called and called for him, and he hasn't come. He always comes when he's called. Snowflake is a very valuable cat, and I am certain he's been kidnapped for ransom."
"When do you normally call for him?" Holmes questioned her.
"At mealtimes," said Mrs Cubbage. "Breakfast and din-din." She might have said more, but her mobile phone chirped. "Excuse me," muttered Mrs Cubbage. She moved to the cupboard and withdrew a water glass and a bottle of pills.
A handsome young man swept into the kitchen. "Have you heard from the kidnappers yet?" he demanded. His gaze swept over Holmes and Watson before returning to linger on Holmes.
Mrs Cubbage swallowed two small, white pills before introducing the man. "This is Edgar, my nephew," she said.
"How are you holding up, Aunt Gertrude?" he asked her solicitously.
Fresh tears welled in her eyes. "I'm a nervous wreck, dear," she sniffled. "I simply cannot go on without my precious Snowflake."
"You won't have to, Mrs Cubbage," announced Holmes. "Snowflake has been here all along." He strode to the pantry and opened the door. Out strolled a haughty white Persian, who immediately began loudly berating his mistress for leaving him in there so long.
"Snowflake!" squealed Mrs Cubbage. She scooped the cat into her arms and hugged him to her bosom.
~*~
"How did you deduce Snowflake was in the pantry?" asked Watson.
Holmes turned from gazing out the window at the activity on Baker Street. "Quite simple," he said. "Mrs Cubbage is a forgetful woman who isn't very observant. It was obvious that Snowflake had entered the pantry behind her, whereupon she closed the door, locking him inside."
"Forgetful?" prodded Watson.
Holmes nodded. "She wore her eyeglasses on a chain, she needed an alarm to remind her to take her medication, and there was a calendar in the kitchen with important appointments marked on it prominently."
Watson mulled over the information. "Why, then, did Snowflake not respond when Mrs Cubbage called for him?"
"He hates the name Snowflake."
"Indeed?"
"Of a certainty," said Holmes. "He laid his ears back and flicked his tail as soon as Mrs Cubbage said it."
Watson frowned. "But, Mrs Cubbage said Snowflake always comes when called."
"Ah, but she only ever calls for him at mealtimes," Holmes declared with a smug grin.
Watson chuckled and shook his head. "Ingenious," he said.
"What of you, Watson?" asked Holmes. "What observations did you make?"
"I learned that Edgar Cubbage is gay," said Watson.
Holmes' eyebrows rose in surprise. "On what do you base that supposition?"
"He seemed quite taken with you," replied Watson, voice sounding suddenly clipped.
Holmes' smile widened as he took in Watson's scowl. "Unfortunately for Edgar," he murmured, "I'm already taken."
Author: enchanted_jae
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters: Watson/Holmes, OCs
Rating: PG
Warning(s): Author has very little knowledge of the fandom she is attempting.
Word count: 675
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me; they belong to...someone affiliated with the BBC. This drabble was written for fun, not for profit.
Author's note: Written as a birthday gift for bound_amalthea, who asked for Watson/Holmes, snowflake. I'm certain this is NOT what you had in mind.
Summary: Holmes turns his keen intellect to finding a missing cat.
"Another murder case?" asked Watson.
"A cat burglary, you might say," drawled Holmes. The two of them were waiting outside the imposing oak door of a home that fairly oozed understated opulence.
The door was opened by a dour older gentleman, who ushered them inside. "Mrs Cubbage is most anxious to see you," he intoned. He led the way into the kitchen and introduced them to the flighty woman who was waiting there.
"My poor Snowflake!" she cried, wringing her hands in worry. "You must rescue him, you must!"
Holmes nodded curtly. "Was anyone else in the home at the time of Snowflake's disappearance?" he asked, sharp eyes flicking over the woman and her kitchen.
"Just the staff, but they all adore him as much as I do," Mrs Cubbage replied.
"And when was the last time you saw him?"
Mrs Cubbage began to pace. "It was shortly after breakfast," she said. "Snowflake was having a dish of cream while I returned his food to the pantry. I didn't see him afterward, but I assumed he had gone into the parlor to nap on the settee by the window. It wasn't until later that I realized he was missing."
"Are you certain your cat has been stolen?" Holmes inquired.
"Why, of course!" she insisted. "I've called and called for him, and he hasn't come. He always comes when he's called. Snowflake is a very valuable cat, and I am certain he's been kidnapped for ransom."
"When do you normally call for him?" Holmes questioned her.
"At mealtimes," said Mrs Cubbage. "Breakfast and din-din." She might have said more, but her mobile phone chirped. "Excuse me," muttered Mrs Cubbage. She moved to the cupboard and withdrew a water glass and a bottle of pills.
A handsome young man swept into the kitchen. "Have you heard from the kidnappers yet?" he demanded. His gaze swept over Holmes and Watson before returning to linger on Holmes.
Mrs Cubbage swallowed two small, white pills before introducing the man. "This is Edgar, my nephew," she said.
"How are you holding up, Aunt Gertrude?" he asked her solicitously.
Fresh tears welled in her eyes. "I'm a nervous wreck, dear," she sniffled. "I simply cannot go on without my precious Snowflake."
"You won't have to, Mrs Cubbage," announced Holmes. "Snowflake has been here all along." He strode to the pantry and opened the door. Out strolled a haughty white Persian, who immediately began loudly berating his mistress for leaving him in there so long.
"Snowflake!" squealed Mrs Cubbage. She scooped the cat into her arms and hugged him to her bosom.
~*~
"How did you deduce Snowflake was in the pantry?" asked Watson.
Holmes turned from gazing out the window at the activity on Baker Street. "Quite simple," he said. "Mrs Cubbage is a forgetful woman who isn't very observant. It was obvious that Snowflake had entered the pantry behind her, whereupon she closed the door, locking him inside."
"Forgetful?" prodded Watson.
Holmes nodded. "She wore her eyeglasses on a chain, she needed an alarm to remind her to take her medication, and there was a calendar in the kitchen with important appointments marked on it prominently."
Watson mulled over the information. "Why, then, did Snowflake not respond when Mrs Cubbage called for him?"
"He hates the name Snowflake."
"Indeed?"
"Of a certainty," said Holmes. "He laid his ears back and flicked his tail as soon as Mrs Cubbage said it."
Watson frowned. "But, Mrs Cubbage said Snowflake always comes when called."
"Ah, but she only ever calls for him at mealtimes," Holmes declared with a smug grin.
Watson chuckled and shook his head. "Ingenious," he said.
"What of you, Watson?" asked Holmes. "What observations did you make?"
"I learned that Edgar Cubbage is gay," said Watson.
Holmes' eyebrows rose in surprise. "On what do you base that supposition?"
"He seemed quite taken with you," replied Watson, voice sounding suddenly clipped.
Holmes' smile widened as he took in Watson's scowl. "Unfortunately for Edgar," he murmured, "I'm already taken."