Hey Everyone! This is my first fanfiction, please review. I really love the idea of Johnlock and kittens combined, so here it is! Tell me if you want more, or want to see something in later chapters. Love to all!

John walked through London after a particularly hard day at work. He had delivered a heck of a lot more sad news than usual, and a sour taste lingered in his mouth. He hated telling people the odds, it brought his mind tantalizingly close to his army days, and when he managed to stop those memories from coming, he thought about Sherlock. John never knew exactly what his friend was up to, or if his odds were good or bad. He found himself fidgeting in his chair most of the time, waiting for the moment Sherlock would storm up the stairs, covered in some messy substance, and complain or brag about his current case.

It was getting to the point where John could tell Sherlock's mood with a glance. Yet, John had been noticing a return in his nightmares, and the constant amount of stress that living with Sherlock provided was undoubtedly the cause. John needed something to calm him down, but what exactly? Listening to music was banned, as well as watching the telly (or at least most of the time). Reading was all that John had left, which would be fine if Sherlock didn't interrupt him every five seconds by asking him for a cup of tea, his phone, his opinion, etc.

And so it happened that John found himself walking home from work instead of taking a cab, just to spend time away from Sherlock. On these walks, John found himself…guilty for some reason. It wasn't like he didn't care about Sherlock anymore; he was still his closest friend. Sometimes, a doctor just needs a break. John was shaken of his thoughts as he heard a loud meowing sound coming from the dumpster in the nearby alley. Afraid that a poor cat had gotten thrown inside, John peered into the heap of garbage, daring to dig through some of it.

Nothing. John stopped, cocking his head as he listened. The sound was coming from behind the dumpster, not in it. Carefully, John tilted his head to look behind, and, sure enough, he saw two cat eyes staring back at him. This was a very scared, and very alone, kitten that needed his help.

The kitten was stuck. John immediately went into army doctor mode, he had seen many men trapped in fallen buildings, and was determined to save this tiny cat. John pushed the dumpster away from the wall with one hand, keeping the other hand on the kitten so it wouldn't run away. The completely black kitten tried to struggle, but was incredibly weak with what John assumed was hunger. The kitten was also damp from the downpour an hour or so ago, and John tucked the exhausted feline into his inside pocket, quickening his step as he headed home.

John finally reached the flat, practically running upstairs. The kitten had fallen asleep, or at least John hoped it was sleep, and was therefore silent. John quickly started to tend for the incredibly small kitten, which he discovered was definitely a boy. It's pulse was weak, but the kitten was still alive, and slowly freezing to death. John found the closest piece of fabric, which was a familiar blue shade, but John didn't have time to process. He was in doctor mode. Dr. Watson lit the fire, wishing it would heat quicker. Than he wrapped the blue blanket, or whatever-it-was, around the kitten, letting it's tiny head peek out so it could breathe.

Now to tend to the food. Luckily, John had a particular fondness for seafood, and managed to find one last can of tuna. Peeling away the metal lid, John tried to decide between water and milk. Sensing that the kitten was indeed very young, John decided on milk. The closest thing John could find to a bowl in Sherlock and his' mess of a kitchen was a petri dish, so John poured the milk in and heated it slightly in the microwave (after he removed the eyeballs, of course). Curse Sherlock and his experiments.

Carrying the milk and tuna over to the fireplace, John gently nudged the kitten, which was thankfully still alive and much dryer than before. The startled Kitten woke up, smelling the food. Stretching, it cautiously walked over to the can and dish, contemplating which to try first. The ball of black fur decided on the tuna, and greedily ate most of the can. Then, it moved over to the milk, it's tiny pink tongue lapping it up.

For the first time in a while, John found himself smiling. Finally, he was at peace, with no patients, Sherlock, or- Wait a minute. John slowly started to think, and he frantically looked around the flat. Where was Sherlock? John got out his phone, no new messages.

Sherlock? Where are you? As John typed, he made his way to Sherlock's room. There he found his friend, his fingers preparing to text a reply.

"Sherlock! What are you doing in your bed?" John was shocked to see his friend sitting on his own bed, staring at nothing.

"I'm preparing myself for sleep, John. Isn't that what most people do?"

"That's what normal people do, yes. But I've never seen you be normal in your life."

"You're avoiding me, John." Sherlock's low voice was quiet, but John could sense an underlying current of…hurt, maybe?

"Sorry?"

"You don't take cabs anymore to spend more time away from me, you never talk to me, and it took you five minutes and twenty-seven seconds to realize I was gone. Or maybe you realized and didn't- Never mind, you were panicked when you realized, so it must have taken you by surprise." Sherlock suddenly looked up at John, his eyes squinting with suspicion. "What's downstairs?"

John looked nervously down at his feet. "Well, um…"

"Oh never mind, I'll see for myself."

John slowly made his way downstairs, regretting bringing the kitten inside in the first place.

"JOHN! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY ROBE?"

Oh, that's why that color was familiar. Whoops.

Sherlock had his lips pressed closely together, his eyes glaring at John.

"You are a doctor, John, not a veterinarian."

"He was trapped! I couldn't just let him die. I don't expect you to understand that, though, you're Sherlock Homes for God's sake!"

"I wouldn't make assumptions, John." Sherlock's tone was angry, but his eyes softened as he spoke.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Yes you did. It's quite all right, John. You would have been completely accurate a few months ago." Sherlock closed his eyes, deleting those words the second they came out of his mouth. John, however, was focusing on them, trying to figure out what had happened a few months ago. "You are aware that Mrs. Hudson does not allow pets?"

John snapped back to reality, and he nodded sadly. He hadn't been aware, but there was no need to tell Sherlock that. He stared down at the little black kitten, which had snuggled back into Sherlock's robe and was purring contentedly. John felt an overwhelming amount of sadness for some reason, and tried to sound casual as he replied, "Yeah, I'll take him to the pound tomorrow."

Sherlock had been lost in thought himself; staring at John's disappointed face with a strange pang in his stomach. I must have not eaten enough, Sherlock thought. He did not want to deal with the possibility that John being sad was also making him sad. "I suppose, since it's a kitten, that you could tend to it for a while. Taking it to the pound would be a waste of time."

John's face lit up, and he almost hugged Sherlock. He quickly diverted his attention and picked up the kitten instead, smiling as it yawned and snuggled into his shoulder. "Thanks, Sherlock." John knew all too well that Sherlock had simply given in; the pound was the most logical choice.

John picked up Sherlock's robe and started down the stairs.

"John, where are you going with my robe?"

"I thought you'd want it washed…"

"Oh, yes, very well. Tell Mrs. Hudson to wash it quickly, It's going to be cold in the morning and I'll need it." Sherlock shivered, wishing he could just take it out of John's hand, but that stupid cat had stepped all over it. Sherlock sneezed, glaring as he yanked tissues out of the box on the counter.

Stupid allergies.