Fluffy Surprise 2/3noirrosaleenMarch 21 2011, 07:58:19 UTC
Sherlock kneels down and is obviously telling the girl to calm down and be careful with the kitten, and her mum stands behind her as she solemnly reaches out a hand to pet the silky-soft head. After a few moments, the kitten reaches a paw out to her, and Sherlock gently places the kitten in the little girl's arms, pride and concern on his face.
Mum and dad are standing together, now, watching their daughter with joy in their faces, and Sherlock stands up, turning to grab a large bag from behind the sofa. For a few minutes he speaks to the parents, pointing to things in the bag once in awhile, then hands the bag to the dad, who tries to offer him a few notes. Sherlock waves off the money (John rolls his eyes) and turns to the little girl who has moved impatiently to the doorway, giving her what looks like a mock-stern lecture, probably on care of her new pet. She nods, all the seriousness of the very young on her face, and she cradles the kitten like it's the most precious thing in the world.
The family walks out of 221 a few minutes later, and John can hear the effusive thanks of the parents, marvelling at how Sherlock had known exactly the kitten to choose for their little girl. "It's elementary, really," Sherlock says, sunny certainty in his voice. "Be sure to register the microchip when you get home, and the receipt in the bag has the code to get the nametag engraved at PetLondon."
John does not hear the rest of the conversation, thoughts whizzing round his brain. Pieces are fitting together now very quickly indeed, all except why and why didn't he mention this to me? Stretching his aching body from its prone position, he climbs back down and goes back to his flat, intending to get answers.
There is a surprised stillness to the flat when John opens the door, then Sherlock appears at the doorway, surprise and alarm on his face. "John! You're early, I-"
"Kittens, Sherlock?" he says, cutting across whatever it was Sherlock would try to use to distract him. Sherlock blinks, then his shoulders slump just a little. "I'd rather you not blog about this, John," he replies in a serious, slightly...guilty? tone. "I don't think London's finest needs to snigger into their coffees over my hobby."
"If you insist, ok, but...why didn't you tell me? What's going on?" John has reached the top of the stairs now, and Sherlock moves to allow him entrance to the flat.
"I foster kittens, John," Sherlock says in a slightly antagonstic tone, as if daring him to say something insulting about it. John nods, waving at him in a go on sort of motion. "The homeless network finds them for me, I domesticate them, inoculate them, microchip them, have them fixed, and find them homes, families that will take care of them and not toss them out after they've outgrown their kittenhood. The people of the London streets may choose their lives, or not, but I can make sure the cats are given the best chance possible."
Pinching his mouth in thoughfully, John nods again, processing the slightly startling statement. It is both surprising and not that Sherlock would see it this way - after all, people can sometimes better themselves, but it's much harder for the animals. The protective set of Sherlock's arms around the kitten had been an oddly altruistic thing, though, and Sherlock does not tend toward altruism. "What do you get out of it?"
Sherlock looks surprised for a moment, then grins. "Kittens, John! I get kittens. Not cats, they're not nearly so playful or cuddly, and I can make sure that people who would like cats take the kittens before they outgrow their usefulness to me. Nothing is so soothing after a stressful day as a pile of kittens, or as diverting as a playful one."
Fluffy Surprise 3/3noirrosaleenMarch 21 2011, 07:59:32 UTC
"So, why didn't I get to know about them?" John persists. Sherlock drops his gaze, looking even guiltier than before. "I...didn't want you to become attached. It's difficult, sometimes, for people to let go of kittens that they've raised, and I wasn't certain if you could handle endlessly giving up kittens. I know I'm...unusual in that regard."
"All right, I suppose that makes sense," John sighs, rubbing a hand through his hair. "So...are there any left, or was that the last of this bunch?" he asks, feeling slightly hopeful.
Smiling, Sherlock beckons. "There are still three, and when I went in to get Prospero they were highly intent on the squeaky mouse."
three months later
"I don't understand why Mrs Hudson isn't taking on this role," Mycroft says, looking uncomfortable as a black-and-white kitten batted his trouser leg. His office has suddenly developed an invasion of kittens, and John turns from setting up the litterbox to grin at him.
"Mrs Hudson is visiting her sister in Kent, and John and I must fly out in four hours for Belfast," Sherlock announces, looking bored. "Stop trying to wriggle out of it, Mycroft, it's only a week and your PA is perfectly capable of helping you out with the more energetic ones." He smirks at his brother, who is starting to look mildly horrified. "Honestly, though, chasing after kittens would probably help you lose that two kilos you've put on in the last few weeks, clearly the meetings with the Korean delegation has been interfering with your exercise programme."
John stands up, brushing his hands off, and checks his watch. "Three hours and forty-five minutes, Sherlock, we really must be going," he says, sounding not at all apologetic as he nods at Mycroft. The older Holmes had sank back into his plush chair and the black-and-white kitten had taken that as an invitation to conquer his lap, curling up in a ball and immediately starting to purr like a large engine.
"Right. Afternoon, Mycroft," Sherlock says, turning on his heel and neatly dodging the tiny marmalade blur that had bounded across the room at kitten-sonic speed. The door closes behind them on an increasingly panicked-looking Mycroft, and a few moments later his PA passes them at high speed, looking as if she is desperately attempting to not have a fit of the giggles. John grins at her as she hurries by, then looks at Sherlock. "I'm guessing the brown tortie is for her?" he guesses, and is rewarded by a twinkle in Sherlock's eye.
"You're starting to get an eye for this, John; perhaps I should get cards for you as well," he says, a note of approval in his voice. "Giving the white-fronted tabby to Molly was a stroke of genius, he was beginning to become a young cat and I genuinely couldn't figure out who would want him...although why she'd change his name from Benedictus to something as pedestrian as Toby is quite beyond me."
"Bets for Mycroft taking Cleopatra?" John asks, ignoring the name comment. It isn't their business what the names are changed to after they find a home for the kittens, and "Benedictus" really is a mouthful for an everyday cat's name. He hasn't mentioned to Sherlock that she'd kept it as Toby's particular name; Sherlock had sniffed at the book of poetry John had tried to give him as "boring," and John had tucked it onto his side of the bookshelf.
"I rather count on it," Sherlock replies, and they grin at each other as they walk out of the building to the waiting cab.
Re: Fluffy Surprise 3/3noirrosaleenMarch 30 2011, 07:47:42 UTC
Our smallest cat can still achieve something close to this speed, even though she's almost 2&1/2 now. Of course, Itteh Bitteh Kitteh is probably 6 lbs, tops, so...
Re: Fluffy Surprise 3/3noirrosaleenMarch 23 2011, 06:25:59 UTC
Wow, congratulations on totally making it believable that Sherlock keeps kittens! (I am the anon who commented earlier, imagining Sherlock tipping a box of kittens out the window. But I totally buy this! It's so cute!!)
Re: Fluffy Surprise 3/3noirrosaleenMarch 30 2011, 07:51:19 UTC
Glad you like! ^_^ I wish I could foster, but I've got 3 already and the eldest is *still* not keen on the younger girls, so...*shrugs* Plus I'm currently going through chemo, so I doubt I could keep up with them ATM.
Mum and dad are standing together, now, watching their daughter with joy in their faces, and Sherlock stands up, turning to grab a large bag from behind the sofa. For a few minutes he speaks to the parents, pointing to things in the bag once in awhile, then hands the bag to the dad, who tries to offer him a few notes. Sherlock waves off the money (John rolls his eyes) and turns to the little girl who has moved impatiently to the doorway, giving her what looks like a mock-stern lecture, probably on care of her new pet. She nods, all the seriousness of the very young on her face, and she cradles the kitten like it's the most precious thing in the world.
The family walks out of 221 a few minutes later, and John can hear the effusive thanks of the parents, marvelling at how Sherlock had known exactly the kitten to choose for their little girl. "It's elementary, really," Sherlock says, sunny certainty in his voice. "Be sure to register the microchip when you get home, and the receipt in the bag has the code to get the nametag engraved at PetLondon."
John does not hear the rest of the conversation, thoughts whizzing round his brain. Pieces are fitting together now very quickly indeed, all except why and why didn't he mention this to me? Stretching his aching body from its prone position, he climbs back down and goes back to his flat, intending to get answers.
There is a surprised stillness to the flat when John opens the door, then Sherlock appears at the doorway, surprise and alarm on his face. "John! You're early, I-"
"Kittens, Sherlock?" he says, cutting across whatever it was Sherlock would try to use to distract him. Sherlock blinks, then his shoulders slump just a little. "I'd rather you not blog about this, John," he replies in a serious, slightly...guilty? tone. "I don't think London's finest needs to snigger into their coffees over my hobby."
"If you insist, ok, but...why didn't you tell me? What's going on?" John has reached the top of the stairs now, and Sherlock moves to allow him entrance to the flat.
"I foster kittens, John," Sherlock says in a slightly antagonstic tone, as if daring him to say something insulting about it. John nods, waving at him in a go on sort of motion. "The homeless network finds them for me, I domesticate them, inoculate them, microchip them, have them fixed, and find them homes, families that will take care of them and not toss them out after they've outgrown their kittenhood. The people of the London streets may choose their lives, or not, but I can make sure the cats are given the best chance possible."
Pinching his mouth in thoughfully, John nods again, processing the slightly startling statement. It is both surprising and not that Sherlock would see it this way - after all, people can sometimes better themselves, but it's much harder for the animals. The protective set of Sherlock's arms around the kitten had been an oddly altruistic thing, though, and Sherlock does not tend toward altruism. "What do you get out of it?"
Sherlock looks surprised for a moment, then grins. "Kittens, John! I get kittens. Not cats, they're not nearly so playful or cuddly, and I can make sure that people who would like cats take the kittens before they outgrow their usefulness to me. Nothing is so soothing after a stressful day as a pile of kittens, or as diverting as a playful one."
Reply
"All right, I suppose that makes sense," John sighs, rubbing a hand through his hair. "So...are there any left, or was that the last of this bunch?" he asks, feeling slightly hopeful.
Smiling, Sherlock beckons. "There are still three, and when I went in to get Prospero they were highly intent on the squeaky mouse."
three months later
"I don't understand why Mrs Hudson isn't taking on this role," Mycroft says, looking uncomfortable as a black-and-white kitten batted his trouser leg. His office has suddenly developed an invasion of kittens, and John turns from setting up the litterbox to grin at him.
"Mrs Hudson is visiting her sister in Kent, and John and I must fly out in four hours for Belfast," Sherlock announces, looking bored. "Stop trying to wriggle out of it, Mycroft, it's only a week and your PA is perfectly capable of helping you out with the more energetic ones." He smirks at his brother, who is starting to look mildly horrified. "Honestly, though, chasing after kittens would probably help you lose that two kilos you've put on in the last few weeks, clearly the meetings with the Korean delegation has been interfering with your exercise programme."
John stands up, brushing his hands off, and checks his watch. "Three hours and forty-five minutes, Sherlock, we really must be going," he says, sounding not at all apologetic as he nods at Mycroft. The older Holmes had sank back into his plush chair and the black-and-white kitten had taken that as an invitation to conquer his lap, curling up in a ball and immediately starting to purr like a large engine.
"Right. Afternoon, Mycroft," Sherlock says, turning on his heel and neatly dodging the tiny marmalade blur that had bounded across the room at kitten-sonic speed. The door closes behind them on an increasingly panicked-looking Mycroft, and a few moments later his PA passes them at high speed, looking as if she is desperately attempting to not have a fit of the giggles. John grins at her as she hurries by, then looks at Sherlock. "I'm guessing the brown tortie is for her?" he guesses, and is rewarded by a twinkle in Sherlock's eye.
"You're starting to get an eye for this, John; perhaps I should get cards for you as well," he says, a note of approval in his voice. "Giving the white-fronted tabby to Molly was a stroke of genius, he was beginning to become a young cat and I genuinely couldn't figure out who would want him...although why she'd change his name from Benedictus to something as pedestrian as Toby is quite beyond me."
"Bets for Mycroft taking Cleopatra?" John asks, ignoring the name comment. It isn't their business what the names are changed to after they find a home for the kittens, and "Benedictus" really is a mouthful for an everyday cat's name. He hasn't mentioned to Sherlock that she'd kept it as Toby's particular name; Sherlock had sniffed at the book of poetry John had tried to give him as "boring," and John had tucked it onto his side of the bookshelf.
"I rather count on it," Sherlock replies, and they grin at each other as they walk out of the building to the waiting cab.
Reply
I tell you though, fostering kittens without their mother is a messy (smelly!) business!
Reply
Glad you liked! ^_^
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
This is made of adorbs.
Sherlock + kittens = best thing in all the land!
Reply
Leave a comment