A/N: My intention was not to make you wait for my return as long as John waited for Sherlock... that would have been horrendous. My apawlogies for the delay. My job has been insane, and I've had to get stuff ready fur classes later this year and... never mind. It's fine because I'm back now! And with a happy chappie! And it's even better because this is another one inspired by my cat. He likes the attention.

Thank you so much to those of you who have followed/favorited/reviewed my story in my absence. Each and every notification I received regarding this story has urged me to write another word. You always see authors saying that reviews help - and for the longest time I didn't actually believe them - but it does! In some really bizarre way...

Unfortunately, all of my other ideas for this story have wasted away in the time I've been gone. You would think I would remember to write stuff down by now, but no.

Reviewer Responses for both chapters 13 and 14 at the bottom!

Enjoy the story!

Sherlock sat at in his chair, frowning deeply at the carpet.

It had been a couple of days now. Terrorist crisis: averted. Relationship with John: Rocky, but reestablished. The transition back into London life: Rough. Getting back into the swing of things was an odd phrase Sherlock could use as an extended metaphor regarding his attempt to return to his old life after several years away.

For one could potentially swing both ways.

It was difficult, he admitted only to himself, to slip back into the skin of an old identity. Because he wasn't the same Sherlock everyone seemed to remember. Apparently he'd changed. Though he didn't particularly recall changing. It had been gradual enough, he thought, that it had slipped his notice until back in an old atmosphere.

Not that he didn't like it. No, he loved being back. It was London. His city. His home.

But… something was missing.

It wasn't John, though. He had John back.

Sort of.

Sherlock continued frowning deeply at the carpet as if simply imagining it would bring it back.

But no, John had the cats.

And Mary was a cat lover.

No wonder they hit it off.

So yes, the great Sherlock Holmes specifically removed an hour from his scheduled experiments and reviewing of cold cases to mope about a pet he'd left behind.

He sighed deeply, sinking deeper into his chair and resembling – he realized upon self-reflection – something like a pouting child. And it was over a childish thing.

Why did it bother him so much? It's not like he cared.

But he did.

Shut up, he told the thought. If he started thinking he cared, he would care. And then he would be in deep trouble.

Because, after everything else he'd asked of John – the risking of his life on numerous occasions and (more recently) forgiveness – Sherlock was not going to ask for Khoshekh's return to 221B Baker Street.

It was unreasonable. And selfish. And, he thought rather redundantly as if trying to convince himself, childish.

And he was not a child.

He heard the door. Mrs. Hudson was probably leaving. Doing the shopping or something equally boring and/or domestic. Totally and completely dull.

There was a bit of silence, but then there were footsteps on the stairs. So… not Mrs. Hudson. The steps were heavier. And slower. But only one other person had the key.

John?

Before Sherlock could deduce anything more, his eye caught a movement in the door. He glanced over, and his breathing caught in his throat.

Running toward him with urgency, and mewing excitedly, was Khoshekh.

Without hesitation, Sherlock slipped out of his armchair and onto the floor, greeting the cat with a large smile and an affectionate scratch by the ear. "I'm sorry." He said to the creature.

It purred loudly. And louder as it brushed against Sherlock's fingers again, wishing for more scratches. The Consulting Detective laughed a little under his breath at the cat's urgency for the contact.

"I brought things for him," John said, mounting the final step with a bit of a grunt. He appeared only moments later, holding in his arms an empty litterbox, and carrying on his shoulder a bag with – Sherlock assumed – cat food and a bag of litter.

Sherlock stared at John briefly, before the Khoshekh rubbed his face again against the detective's hand to draw his attention. "You've brought him to me? Why?"

John sighed deeply. "He's always been happier with you, for some reason."

The taller man frowned, looking at the black cat uncertainly. "He has?"

"Don't even get me started on how he acted when you first left," John said, his voice hinting at a dreadfully tedious tale.

"Then I won't. But why bring him here?" Sherlock reiterated.

John hesitated. "Well… you want Khoshekh here. Don't you?"

Sherlock nodded, petting the creature in front of him. "But Mary likes them."

"The cats? Sure she does, but we'll still have Chips."

"Fish, you mean."

"Oh, don't start that again!" John's eyes held a warning in them that was dangerously close to frustration.

Sherlock laughed, surprised at the sudden urge that came to him. But he was so happy – so unbelievably happy – that Khoshekh was there, in front of him.

He lifted the cat from the ground to hold against him and the dark creature's purrs increased.

"I'm going to go set these down, don't mind me," John mentioned, walking toward the kitchen. "All these heavy things – but don't worry yourself, I'll manage on my own." The sarcasm was lighthearted, and Sherlock was relieved. Though he was uncertain about the amusement he detected in John's voice.

No, the Sherlock that had returned wasn't the same Sherlock that had left two years ago. And neither was John.

"Sherlock… what on earth do you have setting on this table?" John's voice cut through the air with an atmosphere of disgust.

But some things would never change.

"What now?" Sherlock asked it.

Khoshekh refused to look in Sherlock's direction, even as the animal sat only a meter from his feet.

"Are you… arguing with the cat?" John asked from his position in his chair. Sherlock had called him over just an hour ago, wanting help on a new case. It had been a week since Khoshekh's return, and the creature had relaxed nicely into its new-old home. But John hadn't been back around to check in at all. Only a text or two about a new habit the cat might or might not have picked up.

"The cat is being an idiot." Sherlock practically spat the words right onto the feline's head, not even looking at John when he answered.

"You think most living things are idiots, Sherlock."

"Yes, well, this cat is particularly idiotic."

Khoshekh pointedly turned his face farther away from Sherlock's direction.

"Did you see?" Sherlock exclaimed in annoyance. "That!"

"What?" John asked, amused in spite of himself and the obvious annoyance in the Consulting Detective's voice.

"This creature is acting in an illogical manner!" Sherlock told him. "The day after you returned him to me, he wouldn't look at me. At all."

"Cats don't like direct eye contact, Sherlock," John said with patience.

"Yes, but this is different!" Sherlock insisted. "He's ignoring me! And making sure I notice by turning his head away entirely when I look at him. It's… obnoxious! And ridiculous!"

John tried not to laugh. "You think he's ignoring you?"

"There is no other explanation," Sherlock said with certainty. "Khoshekh used to look at me all of the time before. And smile and… things." He waved a hand in the air dismissively. "You know. Typical feline behavior."

John's brows furrowed. "Smile?"

"Yes, of course," Sherlock said. "The slow blinking. If they make eye contact, blink slowly, and then look away, it's a cat's expression of happiness. Like smiling."

John stared. "Really?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Maybe. I read it on the internet."

John couldn't help it; he laughed.

Sherlock glared. "Shut up."

John tried to control himself. "Honestly, Sherlock, I don't think that's what's happening."

Sherlock's glare lightened into something more like curiosity. "You don't?"

"Once, a couple of months ago, Mary and I went on holiday. Molly watched the cats, in case you were wondering. But when we got back, Khoshekh and Chips—"

"Fish." Sherlock corrected immediately.

"Whatever," John moved on quickly. "Both of the cats were very happy to see us, and then the next day did exactly that." He pointed at the black-furred feline sitting near Sherlock's feet.

"They ignored you?"

"Well… yes and no." John told him. "They were near us all of the time, making sure to always be in the same room as we were no matter what room that happened to be. But they wouldn't look at us. They were, I think, expressing their anger and frustration at our having left them."

Sherlock frowned at Khoshekh. "You're upset I left you?"

For the first time in several days, Khoshekh turned and looked Sherlock straight in the eye. Of course, you idiot.

Sherlock smiled.

The cat blinked slowly, and then looked at John before mewing. Loudly.

John chuckled. "I'm sorry I had to spell it out for him."

Sherlock bristled. "You did not have to 'spell it out' for me."

"Yeah, sure, and Khoshekh isn't a cat." John countered to express his disagreement.

Sherlock looked pointedly away from John and didn't respond.

And John couldn't help but be amused by the parallel between his friend's actions and the cat's that sat at his feet.

Sherlock Holmes was an odd man.

A/N: If you have any prompts you would like to suggest to me, I'm willing to take them! But, as of this very moment, everything I have planned for this story has successfully been done. Just in case this happens to be the final chapter of this story, thank you so much to everyone who has read this story! Whether you followed it from the beginning, or you're just now discovering it, thank you! I hope you're all doomed to live happy lives.

Reviewer Response:

Chapter 13:

artemis7448: I'm glad you think it's cute! I hope this opened the door to many new literary experiences for you.

Bkpeake: Oh my muffins, I hadn't expected to be so emotionally affected by a review... that is sad. But I have noticed that animals tend to take many hints on how to react to things by looking at the humans around them. Much like small children, I guess.

Balloony Toons: Your review made me laugh. Then be honored and sad, and then laugh again. Nice pun. And thank you for such a sweet review. I'm sorry to have made you cry, even a little, but I'm glad you enjoy this story.

joycelyn. o. ting: That was, actually, exactly what I had planned! How did you know? XD John did indeed take the cats with him when he left, so as to not burden Mrs. Hudson with them in his absence. And, because MAry is canonically a cat lover, it was another thing for her to love about our army doctor. Thanks for all of your reviews, and for sharing your theories! I love to see them!

Chapter 14:

Balloony Toons: I'M SUPER HAPPY THAT YOU LIKED IT! Oh my goodness, I wasn't sure how I was going to do, and you said you were looking forward to that chapter, and I had it written, and I was all "eh, why not?" but I wasn't sure if it was, you know... properly demented? Maybe those aren't the words I'm looking for. But I hope that all of your tests went well and that your summer has been wonderful!

joycelyn. o. ting: Don't worry about the timing! I was great! The notification reminded me that I needed to work on this chapter when I finally had a slow enough day. Thank you so much for the positive review!

Catch you later!