Sooo I just recently got done watching all of the BBC's Sherlock and I have to say I totally loved it. This piece is just a bit of fun and silliness. (I seem to be really into writing that lately). If you're following my Amy/Eleven fic I do happily report that chapter 3 is in the works! And I've also just started going over another Sherlock piece, so if you're interested on a poem dedicated to good old Jim then look out for that soon!

As always thank you dear people for reading! Please review and let me know what you think~ Don't be afraid to leave advice, a silly little message or just a hello! This is my first time writing Sherlock so really, let me have it.

I do not own BBC's Sherlock or John or Sherlock or Irene. (But Aurora's all mine). Please enjoy!

Sherlock vs. The Kitten

Perhaps the greatest adversary he had ever faced arrived on his doorstep. In a small cardboard box with a piece of eggshell white stationary taped to the front. Sherlock eyed the box warily, observing the small holes made in the top flaps. John plucked the card from the mysterious box, barely suppressing his chuckle the moment he read the message in red inked scrawl.

See how you fair with this adversary, Sherlock.

Sincerely, The Woman

The detective squinted, circling around and around cautiously as if the box would explode at any moment. Which, considering their usual luck with packages, it very well might.

"What does it say?" His leather-gloved fingers prodded carefully, calculating, peeling the flaps free with ginger movements.

John read the card aloud, purely deadpan, or else he might have burst into a fit of laughter. Irene Adler never ceased to amaze with her daft tricks.

A tiny head peered out, white fur fluffed and poufy, pink nose sniffing the air with uncertainty. A humorously large cherry red bow was wrapped about its neck in place of a collar, with a tag that simply read: Aurora.

Sherlock paused, apparently frozen with fear. "It's a cat."

"I see that."

"It's a cat, John."

"Yes, I know."

He looked up at John as if the cat were somehow worse than a bomb or a message written in blood. "It's a cat." He repeated gravelly.

x.X.x

It was mewling again. Whining, insistently pawing its tiny little claws at his elbow, scratching at his sleeve.

Confound it.

He had fed it, bathed it, dried it off, cleaned that strange litter area, was sure there was a place for it to sleep.

What did the fluffy little beast want now?

It meowed again.

A deep displeased hum in the back of his throat.

Another soft high-pitched cry, the fluffy little demon would not be ignored. It managed scaling over the mountain that was his bent arm, onto his lap, and directly on top of his novel.

Persistent fiend, aren't you?

x.X.x

John Hamish Watson could honestly say that of all the things he had walked in on in his shared flat with Sherlock Holmes, seeing the famed detective huddled behind a barricade of furniture off to the left, with a pair of industrial hunting binoculars trained on the little ball of fluff across the room, was just plain hilarious. He nearly dropped the plastic bags from his trip to the store, letting loose a chuckle.

Sherlock held a finger to his lips comically, keeping his binocular gaze locked on the little white thing napping on the couch.

"Shh. Don't make any sudden movements. We mustn't disturb its slumber. It could strike at any moment. Don't be fooled by the feigned harmlessness."

"She's a kitten, Sherlock."

"That, John, is a mastermind. Look at it. Really look. Don't you see it?"

"My God you really are bored aren't you?" He couldn't decide if this was worse than his drug withdraw or his I'm-going-to-shoot-a-wall-boredom. "I see a kitten…sleeping. Because she's only a few months old and—"

"It is exactly thirty three days, nine hours, and forty-five seconds old."

John pressed his lips together to keep from outright laughing. "So…you've been keeping track?"

Sherlock lowered the binoculars to eye John with a touch of offense. Of course he was keeping track. "I haven't worked out its plan yet—"

"Her plan, the kitten is a girl. And she has a name you know. And what plan? She's a bloody cat! A baby!"

His friend scoffed, as if John were a poor deluded fool who couldn't see the obvious answer right in front of his face. "To use its name and gender would indicate that I acknowledge whatever façade she—it is trying to present. I won't do it. I will not be fooled by the fluffy exterior."

John had to cough and then clear his throat to hide the laugh he couldn't suppress at Sherlock's use of the word "fluffy" rather than some other much more complicated "smart sounding" scientific word. "She's a five week old kitten named Aurora. What sort of ulterior motive could she possibly have?"

"Well I don't know. That's why I am investigating."

"Right. Stupid question. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

"Of course I will." The binoculars were back in front of his eyes.

x.X.x

"John! Get in here I need you!"

He had nearly killed himself running up the stairs, only to walk in on another episode of Sherlock vs. The Kitten.

The battle ground: The Couch

Score: Kitten-6, Sherlock-4

"Good. Get my phone, will you?" Sherlock Holmes upside down was rather funny looking.

"Should I ask why you're hanging off the couch like that or…?"

The curly brown mop that was his hair was under attack. Aurora mimicked his pose on the ground, stretching her stubby arms out in an arc, repeatedly pawing the head of her disgruntled owner.

"Hang on a second." John fished his phone from his pocket to snap a photo for the blog. The readers will love this.

"What are you doing? Are you taking a photo? I don't need another absurd photo of me, John. It's bad enough about the hat. Now people will think I'm fond of cats!"

"I don't know how to break this to you, but I'm pretty sure you're fond of cats."

"Don't be stupid."

"You're the one who insisted we buy her a bed, a scratching post, a miniature castle—"

"It's called a kitty condo. Get it right."

"Oh, excuse me. The kitty condo, and all the specialty cat food. You are completely in denial about being fond of cats." He turned to go, mildly surprised by the detective's sudden look of panic as one of Aurora's claws caught him.

"Don't be foolish. I only do those things to appease her so she doesn't kill us both in our sleep."

His hand met his face, the action was starting to feel natural at this point. "…Of course. Because the fluffy kitten named Aurora is actually a secret evil mastermind bent on world destruction somehow."

"Exactly."

That, and she has Sherlock Holmes wrapped around her tiny little paw.