Hey guys, this story kinda relates to the last story… you'll see how. This one-shot contains Johnlock and a bit of fluff however, it's only in this story and may or may not prevail in the following one-shots – I just like to mix it up a bit!

So with that said… Enjoy!

Sherlock's Surprise

Sherlock woke drowsily in the early hours of the morning to find the space next to him empty…and cold. Stretching his hand over the vacant sheet, Sherlock idly wondered where John had gone. He knew he shouldn't, but the consulting detective felt a small pang of sadness to John's absence. Before he knew it, however, Sherlock drifted back to sleep.

When Sherlock next awoke, it was to a strange, high-pitched noise. Kind of like a squeaky toy. Sherlock, still sleepy, groaned in annoyance. I will find and destroy the source of that infuriating noise.

"Sherlock" murmured a warm voice, coaxing him out of sleep. John

…No don't tell me John's making that noise! I wouldn't destroy him… but why is he making that god-awful sound?!

Sherlock's must have mumbled his thoughts, because he soon heard a quiet laugh.

"Sherlock" John chuckled, "I'm not making that noise. Open your eyes and see for yourself." As encouragement, John softly ran his right hand through Sherlock's locks, thumb stroking the side his face.

"Mmm John…" Sherlock smiled, slowly opening his eyes. But as it turned out, John's face wasn't in Sherlock's immediate sight. No instead, it was a blurry flash of teeth stark white against pitch black fur – in addition to another earful of the insufferable high-pitched sound.

Sherlock nearly fell off the bed in his haste to get away from the awful encounter.

"John! What-?!"

John's smiling face popped up from behind the startling creature, "No need to be jumpy. It's only a kitten"

Sherlock blinked rapidly, willing the blurriness in his sight to disappear. His focus sharpened, and Sherlock found himself staring into the wide blue eyes of a fluffy black kitten. Then its mouth opened again to give another loud meow, and before he knew what he was doing, Sherlock clamped his fingers around the cat's mouth. The kitten protested in stifled mews.

"John, what is this creature doing in our bed?" Sherlock didn't remove his fingers.

"Don't do that to the kitten Sherlock," John lightly slapped his hand away. " And I thought I'd surprise you. Remember that time you said you liked cats? When you were trying to convince me you were crazy?" – a quirked eyebrow to emphasise the extremity of Sherlock's plan – "Well, I thought I'd get you a little morning surprise… or an early Christmas gift…I picked this little fella because it kind of looks like you." John blushed, then took to stroking the tiny kitten as a means to quieten its mews.

"Oh…well, it's um…" Sherlock briefly visited his mind palace for the appropriate word. "…cute. Thank you."

Sherlock leaned forward and clasping John's face, lightly brushed his lips against John's…

"MEOW"

Sherlock pulled away from the kiss to give the black fur ball a death glare.

"And what shall this-" Sherlock was tempted to say little shit "- kitten's name be?"

~~3 weeks later~~

"John!"

In the kitchen, John heard his name being called out and the thuds of Sherlock scrambling in the living room.

"John!"

"What Sherlock?!" John entered the living room and immediately started laughing.

"John! This little shit is attempting to bite my ankles! Make it – ouch! – stop!"

Sherlock was literally running around in his pyjamas, jumping from couch to couch, leaping over the table, and just jumping in general – all to keep the darting black ball of fur from clawing and biting his feet and ankles. This, however, further encouraged the hyper kitten, whose behaviour was quite frankly spastic, to seize Sherlock's feet. The fact that Sherlock was barefooted didn't help matters either, which left him scrambling around in search of shoes in addition to his jumps.

Where are my shoes?! My socks?! My anything?! What on earth does this god-forsaken creature think my feet are? Furless rabbits? …Well surely not rabbits, my feet aren't that big… oh wait actually they are… how odd…and the right baby (baby?!) toe seems to be forming a bruise. By the angle of it I can deduce – ouch! What was that? Oh yes, the dreadful kitten!

Easing out of his chuckles, John pointed out, "The kitten's name is Leo, not little shit"

"No John! This kitten – ouch – is a little shit, therefore I shall call him little shit – ARGGGGHHHH!"

Sherlock had paused in one spot for too long – and with that, the kitten had taken its opportunity to dig its tiny claws around Sherlock's right ankle and bite down ferociously.

"JAWN! GET THIS THING OFF MY ANKLE BEFORE I KICK IT OUT THE WINDOW!"

Gritting his teeth in pain, trying to keep his screams of frustration and pain inside, Sherlock had his right foot lifted up, to loosen the crazed kitten's hold – but to no avail. It simply hung from his ankle, stubbornly clinging with its mouth and claws. Sherlock never felt so helplessly assaulted in his life by such a tiny creature.

"JAWWWNNN!"

Sherlock was utterly infuriated, piercing eyes blazing and honestly ready to fling the cat out of a two-story window. His expression was enough to send any ordinary man flee, but instead John resumed his giggling.

"At least you're not bored" John snickered.

"HAHA SO FUNNY JOHN! You have me in stitches – THIS LITTLE SHIT IS NOT LETTING GO – in fact I may need stitches Doctor!"

All of a sudden, the kitten started growling mid-bite.

Sherlock's face was now a mixture of fury and faux incredulity

"OH! SO YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY TOO? PLEASE DON'T LET ME INTERUPT YOU! GROWL SOME MORE IN DISAPPROVAL! IT'S NOT LIKE YOUR LEG IS GETTING BITTEN OFF!"

Better help Sherlock out…again. John came forward and gently tried to pry the kitten away, but its growls grew louder at the contact.

"John" Sherlock's voice was quiet. John looked up to see the detective's eyes wide. "I fear I may never be the same man again" He said soberly.

Rolling his eyes, John sighed, "No need to be a drama queen." And with that last comment, and Sherlock's gaped mouth, John had unclasped the kitten's claws and unhinged its jaw, pulling it away gently and leaving Sherlock's slightly battered ankle free. Finally

"Stay here, I'll be back" John took the kitten away.

Sherlock collapsed on the sofa, relieved to be rid of the manic fur ball, and moved to examine his ankle. John came back with some disinfectant and cotton buds.

Kneeling to his knees in front of Sherlock, John quickly yet tenderly cleaned and disinfected his ankle. Sherlock hissed in pain but didn't say anything. After he was done, John sat next to Sherlock and held the somewhat traumatised man in his arms, placing soothing stokes to his curls.

They stayed quiet for a few moments.

"John"

John sighed, "I know, Sherlock"

The next day was Christmas and on the first day of Christmas…Molly received a cat.

…she called it Sherlock Junior.