Fic: Of Potions and Cats, Among Other Things
Title Like Bathing a Mad Cat (2/5)
Rating PG13
Fandom Sherlock Holmes
Characters Holmes, Watson
Pairing -
Summery Holmes is a bit more feline-inclined than his appearance suggests, making Watson's examination that much more difficult.
Surprisingly, Holmes seemed to be perfectly normal after the examination. Of course there was the small matter of the ears and tail, but he wasn't sprouting any more hair than his typical unshaven morning growth, he wasn't sprouting whiskers, and his hands were just as thin and human as ever. Though Watson was more than a little curious about examining the areas where the human met the cat, starting with the ears. Holmes didn't seem to mind, even humming appreciatively when Watson combed through his hair around the ears, which of course twitched happily with the prodding.
“Watson...” Holmes practically-no, actually, he did purr, “Watson, keep petting me...”
“I'm not petting you, I'm investigating these... ears... stop that; Holmes, your tail keeps getting in-“ he sneezed, batting the tail away. He never thought he'd have to say that to Holmes, but...
Watson was again distracted from his examination by Holmes entirely turning around and rubbing up against him, tail curling, ears remaining perky and alert while Holmes himself nuzzled his unshaven cheek to Watson's, purring softly.
“Watson...” Holmes cooed, arms coming around his shoulders. To say that the detective was uncomfortable would have been like saying the Thames was damp. He cleared his throat, pushing at Holmes' chest until he pulled away entirely, dropping to the floor and hissing at the doctor, ears back.
“Shit,” Watson gasped when Holmes hissed again, louder, “Holmes, calm down...!”
“... I'm sorry, Watson, that was entirely juvenile of me,” Holmes apologized, standing and brushing off the thin, white shirt and messy dress pants he'd fallen asleep in the previous night. He offered his hand to Watson, helping him up. Watson nodded, wary of the shifting moods, “How about I make you a cup of tea?”
“Seems... fine to me,” he answered carefully, watching Holmes walk off as if nothing had happened, tail swishing down by his ankles. Sighing, Watson complied his notes of Holmes' condition, so engrossed by transcribing the account that he didn't hear Holmes pad up behind him-or perhaps he'd now just gotten stealthy. The first clue that Holmes had snuck up behind him was the cup of tea suddenly perched in front of his hand. The second was the two arms wrapping around his middle, the warm body up behind him. Watson jumped, yelping slightly, but Holmes just purred. Another bit like a cat, Holmes clung to the one man he knew couldn't stand him. So much like a cat.
“Holmes, for God's sake, get off of me!”
Holmes again purred, nuzzling his face into the back of Watson's neck.
“Holmes. Off.”
“No.”
While the leech-like Holmes continued to cling to his back, Watson found he could still move about. He finished his report and padded over to the bathroom, Holmes following him, never far off, yet froze when Watson began running the tub.
“What are you doing now?” Holmes asked quietly, ears flat with fear, the fur on his tail standing at attention.
“I'm drawing you a bath. If you're going to be clinging to me like some furry parasite, you are not going to smell like charcoal and chemicals.”
Holmes thought for a second, “Why do I smell like charcoal...?”
“I haven't the foggiest,” Watson sighed, rolling up his sleeves, “Strip, get in the tub.”
“No!” Holmes immediately hissed, backing away from the bathroom. Watson gave him a stern look.
“Sherlock Holmes.”
“NO!” he screamed, then bolted from the doorway faster than Watson had ever seen him run before. Curious, Watson turned the water off and followed, sleeves still up about his elbows, looking for his runaway colleague. Colleague? More like a child. A kitten, really. Watson smirked.
He'd had a kitten named Jasper when he was a boy. Precious little tabby, sharp as a tack, playful enough to keep John's boyish attention span. He was sweet and mewled softly whenever he curled up with John at night, and whenever there was a storm or the neighbor's Hellish hound barking at the poor kitten, he'd run straight for John's bed, cowering back against the wall, safe from the world.
Ah.
Watson immediately changed his course for the bedroom, not surprised to find a long, coal-colored tail trailing out from beneath the bed. He grinned, hands pocketed, watched the tail twitch.
“Holmes.”
“Go away! And take your bloody bathwater with you!”
Watson sighed, “I have to say, this is really the lowest common denominator of behavior, Holmes.”
“Piss off.”
“I'll get you a saucer of milk,” Watson tempted him bemusedly, but Holmes only hissed again. Well then.
Lips pursed with morbid curiosity, Watson lowered the pad of his foot upon the tail, wincing at the shrill shriek that followed.
“YOU STEPPED ON MY TAIL!” Holmes scrabbled beneath the bed, trying to pull away while Watson just laughed at him. Someone was going to have his eyes scratched out.
“You failed to comply. Look, I'm only doing this for your benefit, and clearly you're more cat than we realized. Just come out from under the bed, I will get you that saucer of milk, and I'll make sure the bath is as quick as possible. Otherwise, I'm putting,” Watson snickered hard, “I'm putting you outside.”
“You're an ass.”
Watson lifted his foot, allowing Holmes to crawl out from under the bed and perch his upper body over the other side of the mattress. He glowered, angry as a wet cat (how appropriate). “If I do comply, I want more than just milk.”
“Napoleonic complex, Holmes?”
“Quiet. I want the milk and I want you to pet me while I lie in the sun. Do not judge me,” Holmes cut him off immediately before Watson had the chance to say something about the ridiculous demands.
“No, of course not. It's endearing. Now come on, I can get a better look at that tail if you're in the tub. Plus, the water's likely to run cold by now.”
Grumbling, Holmes heaved himself up from the floor, pulling off his shirt and trousers as they walked back to the bathroom, where the tub was thankfully only half-full and ready for more warming water. Holmes climbed in reluctantly, but enjoying the hot water as it poured in.
As he relaxed, not scrubbing or actively getting clean (no, obviously not), Watson carefully examined the tail, feeling it up and down, even bravely reaching down to Holmes' behind, feeling where the tail connected. It appeared as if Holmes' tail bone had somehow undergone some radical lengthening, as well as growing the fur so apparent and rubbing in Watson's face damn it! He sneezed, backing off to sit backwards on the floor.
“Holmes, control your tail!”
“Stop molesting me,” Holmes answered snippily, barely casting a sidelong glance to Watson.
“Bloody cats...”
“Bloody cats,” Holmes mimicked, sinking back in the tub with his tail trailing over the side of the porcelain.
“Fine, be a pissant. Just remember to wash yourself. With soap,” Watson stood, dusting off his back and rear before leaving Holmes to his devices.
Holmes emerged roughly an hour later, clean and fluffy and surprisingly docile. He joined Watson in the living room, tail swishing behind him, and sat himself right in Watson's lap, disturbing the good doctor from reading the paper.
“You really do have to be a cat in all aspects, don't you?” Watson huffed, setting the paper aside, “What do you want?”
“My end of the bargain, my good man,” Holmes grinned widely, “Milk and petting. And the sun is in the perfect position on the bed at this very moment.”
Watson sighed and dutifully rose to grab the milk from the icebox downstairs while Holmes, naturally, made himself a cozy spot on the bed, directly in the warm sunlight. Watson returned, bottle in hand, and sat himself down next to Holmes.
“I don't suppose you really want a saucer, do you?”
“No, the bottle is fine. Thank you, old chap.” Holmes drank from the bottle, tail swishing between his legs and ears twitching happily while Watson pet him, and he decided a long, low purr would complete the picture quite nicely. It did nothing for Watson but to freak him out entirely, but either way, Holmes was blissfully content for once and he really could not complain about that.
Rating PG13
Fandom Sherlock Holmes
Characters Holmes, Watson
Pairing -
Summery Holmes is a bit more feline-inclined than his appearance suggests, making Watson's examination that much more difficult.
Surprisingly, Holmes seemed to be perfectly normal after the examination. Of course there was the small matter of the ears and tail, but he wasn't sprouting any more hair than his typical unshaven morning growth, he wasn't sprouting whiskers, and his hands were just as thin and human as ever. Though Watson was more than a little curious about examining the areas where the human met the cat, starting with the ears. Holmes didn't seem to mind, even humming appreciatively when Watson combed through his hair around the ears, which of course twitched happily with the prodding.
“Watson...” Holmes practically-no, actually, he did purr, “Watson, keep petting me...”
“I'm not petting you, I'm investigating these... ears... stop that; Holmes, your tail keeps getting in-“ he sneezed, batting the tail away. He never thought he'd have to say that to Holmes, but...
Watson was again distracted from his examination by Holmes entirely turning around and rubbing up against him, tail curling, ears remaining perky and alert while Holmes himself nuzzled his unshaven cheek to Watson's, purring softly.
“Watson...” Holmes cooed, arms coming around his shoulders. To say that the detective was uncomfortable would have been like saying the Thames was damp. He cleared his throat, pushing at Holmes' chest until he pulled away entirely, dropping to the floor and hissing at the doctor, ears back.
“Shit,” Watson gasped when Holmes hissed again, louder, “Holmes, calm down...!”
“... I'm sorry, Watson, that was entirely juvenile of me,” Holmes apologized, standing and brushing off the thin, white shirt and messy dress pants he'd fallen asleep in the previous night. He offered his hand to Watson, helping him up. Watson nodded, wary of the shifting moods, “How about I make you a cup of tea?”
“Seems... fine to me,” he answered carefully, watching Holmes walk off as if nothing had happened, tail swishing down by his ankles. Sighing, Watson complied his notes of Holmes' condition, so engrossed by transcribing the account that he didn't hear Holmes pad up behind him-or perhaps he'd now just gotten stealthy. The first clue that Holmes had snuck up behind him was the cup of tea suddenly perched in front of his hand. The second was the two arms wrapping around his middle, the warm body up behind him. Watson jumped, yelping slightly, but Holmes just purred. Another bit like a cat, Holmes clung to the one man he knew couldn't stand him. So much like a cat.
“Holmes, for God's sake, get off of me!”
Holmes again purred, nuzzling his face into the back of Watson's neck.
“Holmes. Off.”
“No.”
While the leech-like Holmes continued to cling to his back, Watson found he could still move about. He finished his report and padded over to the bathroom, Holmes following him, never far off, yet froze when Watson began running the tub.
“What are you doing now?” Holmes asked quietly, ears flat with fear, the fur on his tail standing at attention.
“I'm drawing you a bath. If you're going to be clinging to me like some furry parasite, you are not going to smell like charcoal and chemicals.”
Holmes thought for a second, “Why do I smell like charcoal...?”
“I haven't the foggiest,” Watson sighed, rolling up his sleeves, “Strip, get in the tub.”
“No!” Holmes immediately hissed, backing away from the bathroom. Watson gave him a stern look.
“Sherlock Holmes.”
“NO!” he screamed, then bolted from the doorway faster than Watson had ever seen him run before. Curious, Watson turned the water off and followed, sleeves still up about his elbows, looking for his runaway colleague. Colleague? More like a child. A kitten, really. Watson smirked.
He'd had a kitten named Jasper when he was a boy. Precious little tabby, sharp as a tack, playful enough to keep John's boyish attention span. He was sweet and mewled softly whenever he curled up with John at night, and whenever there was a storm or the neighbor's Hellish hound barking at the poor kitten, he'd run straight for John's bed, cowering back against the wall, safe from the world.
Ah.
Watson immediately changed his course for the bedroom, not surprised to find a long, coal-colored tail trailing out from beneath the bed. He grinned, hands pocketed, watched the tail twitch.
“Holmes.”
“Go away! And take your bloody bathwater with you!”
Watson sighed, “I have to say, this is really the lowest common denominator of behavior, Holmes.”
“Piss off.”
“I'll get you a saucer of milk,” Watson tempted him bemusedly, but Holmes only hissed again. Well then.
Lips pursed with morbid curiosity, Watson lowered the pad of his foot upon the tail, wincing at the shrill shriek that followed.
“YOU STEPPED ON MY TAIL!” Holmes scrabbled beneath the bed, trying to pull away while Watson just laughed at him. Someone was going to have his eyes scratched out.
“You failed to comply. Look, I'm only doing this for your benefit, and clearly you're more cat than we realized. Just come out from under the bed, I will get you that saucer of milk, and I'll make sure the bath is as quick as possible. Otherwise, I'm putting,” Watson snickered hard, “I'm putting you outside.”
“You're an ass.”
Watson lifted his foot, allowing Holmes to crawl out from under the bed and perch his upper body over the other side of the mattress. He glowered, angry as a wet cat (how appropriate). “If I do comply, I want more than just milk.”
“Napoleonic complex, Holmes?”
“Quiet. I want the milk and I want you to pet me while I lie in the sun. Do not judge me,” Holmes cut him off immediately before Watson had the chance to say something about the ridiculous demands.
“No, of course not. It's endearing. Now come on, I can get a better look at that tail if you're in the tub. Plus, the water's likely to run cold by now.”
Grumbling, Holmes heaved himself up from the floor, pulling off his shirt and trousers as they walked back to the bathroom, where the tub was thankfully only half-full and ready for more warming water. Holmes climbed in reluctantly, but enjoying the hot water as it poured in.
As he relaxed, not scrubbing or actively getting clean (no, obviously not), Watson carefully examined the tail, feeling it up and down, even bravely reaching down to Holmes' behind, feeling where the tail connected. It appeared as if Holmes' tail bone had somehow undergone some radical lengthening, as well as growing the fur so apparent and rubbing in Watson's face damn it! He sneezed, backing off to sit backwards on the floor.
“Holmes, control your tail!”
“Stop molesting me,” Holmes answered snippily, barely casting a sidelong glance to Watson.
“Bloody cats...”
“Bloody cats,” Holmes mimicked, sinking back in the tub with his tail trailing over the side of the porcelain.
“Fine, be a pissant. Just remember to wash yourself. With soap,” Watson stood, dusting off his back and rear before leaving Holmes to his devices.
Holmes emerged roughly an hour later, clean and fluffy and surprisingly docile. He joined Watson in the living room, tail swishing behind him, and sat himself right in Watson's lap, disturbing the good doctor from reading the paper.
“You really do have to be a cat in all aspects, don't you?” Watson huffed, setting the paper aside, “What do you want?”
“My end of the bargain, my good man,” Holmes grinned widely, “Milk and petting. And the sun is in the perfect position on the bed at this very moment.”
Watson sighed and dutifully rose to grab the milk from the icebox downstairs while Holmes, naturally, made himself a cozy spot on the bed, directly in the warm sunlight. Watson returned, bottle in hand, and sat himself down next to Holmes.
“I don't suppose you really want a saucer, do you?”
“No, the bottle is fine. Thank you, old chap.” Holmes drank from the bottle, tail swishing between his legs and ears twitching happily while Watson pet him, and he decided a long, low purr would complete the picture quite nicely. It did nothing for Watson but to freak him out entirely, but either way, Holmes was blissfully content for once and he really could not complain about that.