I think the Cat is on Fire!

Howlynn

Chapter 11: Baker Street Blues

Summary: Things change...that's what things do.

Author: Howlynn Realm: Sherlock Story Title: I think the cat is on fire, Baker Street Blues

Summary: An evening out will change lives forever.

Character/Relationships: John/Mary, Sherlock H, Sherlock the cat

I Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

I think the cat is on fire – Baker Street Blues

John looked around the tiny room he'd once occupied on Baker Street. It was more crowded than ever but he shuffled several boxes and managed to make room enough for himself on the bed. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling wondering what he was supposed to do now.

It had been a rather difficult week.

The time for Sherlock to move out of John and Mary's flat had neared and seemed to accentuate the personality differences evident in the once peaceful flat. John was on edge and Mary was silently angry, never once questioning John's self-imposed exile to the guest room. Sherlock the cat spent most of his time seeking a warm spot on John and Sherlock the two-legged had become a restless basket case. He seemed to delight in getting John in trouble with Mary. His innocent look of confusion when his antics paid off had quickly lost the shine involved in the first days of his miraculous resurrection.

No matter his level of frustration though, John could not bring himself to yell at Sherlock. He'd spent far too many hours suffering the regret of calling him a machine in what he'd thought was their last face to face conversation. John could not allow himself to make a mistake like that again no matter if Sherlock did effectively end the honeymoon portion of his marriage.

When John announced to everyone that he was taking an evening to be alone with his wife and gave very specific instructions that there would be no interruptions, Sherlock-the-resurrected had narrowed his eyes and innocently shrugged. "Have a nice time. I'll be just fine."

John knew better, but the look of hope in Mary's eyes had settled his resolution that he was doing the right thing. He and Mary needed some time because his wife had never been so peculiar in her determination to be hopelessly childish and John did not like this side of her any more than he liked playing the constant role of mediator. He felt like a scrap of meat to be gnawed at and fought over by all the other residents of the flat and he knew he had to set his foot down and restore some semblance of control.

"Yeah? Just don't experiment on my cat or burn the place down. Be gone three or four hours, tops." John had teased as he walked out the door.

Sherlock had rolled his eyes and waved the happy couple out the door as if they were disturbing his intensive study of the plaster pattern on the ceiling. John recognized it as Sherlock's bored-with-lowly-humans gesture and mentioned, "There is a documentary on the telly tonight. It's about Forensic toxicology."

Sherlock glared, and then asked in his most patient tone, "What would I possibly learn from a ridiculous documentary meant to introduce the subject to the rabble of humanity? Criminals receive their educations by studying those, which is why I catch them."

John tried to keep a straight face as he replied, "I didn't think you would learn anything. Just thought you'd have fun correcting them on all their mistakes."

Sherlock sighed and weighed the suggestion. "Oh. Yes. Might be fun." He rolled his eyes.

"Okay. See you later." John said. Sherlock pretended not to hear him.

John and Mary had a lovely evening in Soho. Dinner and dancing had loosened the constrictions of a Sherlock safe conversation and by the time they returned that evening there was no question that John wouldn't be spending the night in the guest room. Mary had made a dozen jokes about her Sherlock-problem and it was mostly a good-natured but truthful bash of the two Sherlocks. John had taken them in the spirit they were offered and laughed along.

They were giggling about how to have uninterrupted sex by faking crime scenes for one and making a stop at a pet store to purchase mice for the other to chase as they turned the corner on their street. From three blocks away they could see there was chaos near their flat. There were flashing lights, fire trucks, police tape and arcs of water still being pumped toward the general vicinity of their flat.

John paused and looked on the scene for a split second in horror then groaned. "Oh no. Sherlock." He said before breaking into a run and leaving Mary standing there shaking her head and beginning to sniffle.

By the time she arrived, black mascara tears beginning to dry, John was franticly going from person to person in triage mode as ambulances came and went. There had been several life threatening injuries and at least two fatalities. John's face was a mask of emotionless determination. Mary had never witnessed this side of John, only heard tales of who he'd once been. She found watching him as amazing as the reason was horrible. It was apparent that Sherlock was not standing safely to the side or haranguing the firefighters not to destroy evidence.

Lestrade wasn't there and John didn't know a single officer on duty. They wouldn't let him pass until he explained he was a doctor. He was demanding an ambulance attendant use a certain gel on a tearful older woman as she was helped into the last of the ambulances. Two bodies covered in tarps were being lifted for transport to the morgue.

Mary waited outside the police barrier staring up at the empty blackened hull where her home had been for the last ten years. Once no more victims needed his attention, John strolled over to her and put his arm around her. "Four dead," he said softly.

Mary looked up at him surety on her face and said, "Sherlock?"

John's chin trembled and he swallowed, "I don't know yet."

She looked at him with hurt and anger, "Yes. You do. Did he do this? Is this his…"

His face was so readable and yet Mary almost missed the look of pure betrayal as he spat, "They won't know until much later. I meant that he's not here. I don't know if he got out alive. They had already transported two bodies I didn't see and he wasn't among those I treated. I don't know if he did it and frankly I don't care until I find out if he's…you know what…Take a cab and go to your parents. I have to go…I have to find…"

"John, I'm sorry…I didn't mean…"

"Didn't mean to blame him before you even worried if he's alive? I don't know if either of them got out but at least you can be pleased your Sherlock problems are over…one way or another." He delivered the statement with a cold hollow voice but his eyes burned as he held out his hand. "I need my phone."

Mary quickly dug in her purse and handed it to him apologizing the whole time.

"I'll call you when…I know," he said quietly spinning and lifting the phone to his ear.

"Greg, I need your help. Please tell me he's with you…" Mary saw John's shoulders slump and she turned before she could hear more and went to find a cab.

She paused and took one last glance at the man walking away. She thought she knew him and yet even in this horrible moment, he surprised her. His posture, his gate and even the way his head bobbed around scanning for danger was outside her knowledge of him. Here they were in disaster and she wanted to fall apart and he seemed absolutely alive.

John let the tears flow for just a few breaths thinking of that terrible night. He thought of his desperation as he'd gone from hospital to hospital searching. The return call from Greg had nearly dropped him in his tracks.

John had answered the phone in battle-mode mindset. "Hey, I have covered UCLH and so far so good. Just now leaving St. Thomas. Have you found him? I tried his mobile, but it's just going to voice mail and I am on my way to—"

"John. I need you to come to the morgue at The London Clinic." Greg interrupted.

"Oh God…no. Greg…"

"Listen to me. I don't know. I'm sorry but I honest to God don't. The first two bodies were taken here. I need you to keep it together and just…I don't know and I'm sorry and…"

"On my way," John said shakily snapping the phone shut. Inside he chanted the words 'I can't' over and over. He zoned out during the cab ride and the huge hospital loomed over him as he stepped out leaving the driver an enormous tip, not caring to take a second for change.

It was easy to see why Greg was so upset. The remains were gruesome and John had to find his soldier side again to even approach. He was not here to identify Sherlock Holmes. He was here to eliminate the possibility that these two were Sherlock. Once the two were excluded, John was going to probably kill Sherlock himself for making him go through this again. He'd seen his share of crispy critters, but the smell was quite distinctive.

John eliminated the first one with little more than a glance. The second one was much tougher. He convinced himself twice that it could be his friend before finally seeing the one mind-saving feature. It would have had to be done with DNA and John knew he couldn't wait long enough to let the tests come back. Sherlock had a scar on his left hip. John had stitched it up himself and because so much muscle tissue had been involved, it would have left signs. This man had died of some sort of explosion then had burned, but he'd fallen on his left side and the damage there was not consistent with John's knowledge of his flat-mates past injuries.

John closed his eyes in relief. He was sorry for whoever this was and their family, but he couldn't help thanking all the stars, that Sherlock didn't know the name of, that there was still hope. "Not him. It's not him, Greg."

"Then where in Sam's holy creation is he?" Lestrade grumbled, and then his face went white. "You don't suppose he…I mean everybody's out…right?"

John was just turning to Greg when his mobile went off. "Are you missing something, John?"

"Your brother, my house and my cat. Other than that…I think I lost my marbles," John said back without thinking.

"Well, I can help you with two of the above. The first and the third have just been deposited at Baker Street which may suggest a temporary domicile solution. As far as the last item, I shall see what I can do to proffer replacement," Mycroft said in his slightly amused snobby way.

"Sherlock's okay?" He questioned and stated for Lestrade's benefit.

"Well, other than smoke inhalation, a concussion, a broken ankle and some very painful burns, he is quite stroppy at having lost his mobile phone. The other is doing quite well. Just been checked over by a veterinarian and pronounced traumatized but sound."

John sighed and slouched back against the cabinets in relief. "God, Mycroft. Thank you. Where has he been?"

There was a pause before Mycroft replied,"It is my understanding that they tried to take the cat from him for an ambulance ride and he refused to relinquish it. He probably won't remember, but it seems he ran away rather than let go of his feline namesake. He was disoriented, but luckily your wife thought to call me whilst still on scene and we tracked him down. She's here if you would like to speak with her?"

"That…"John's heart melted for his brilliant wife all over again. "That would be lovely."

He spoke to Mary as she fussed over Sherlock and ordered Mycroft to send a minion for soup, yogurt and a whole list of things John would never have thought of. "We will be staying at Baker street until this is all settled. We were invited and I said yes."

John smiled and asked, "What about the Sherlock problem?"

"John, all we lost were things. Some were not so lucky. If things hadn't turned out…like this. All I would have ever thought about was how I had ruined my chance to see you at your very best. I was so proud of you tonight. Sherlock and Sherlock may be the most annoying creatures in existence. But you without them is a much bigger problem than either one of them will ever be," Mary explained as if she's suddenly fond of them both.

"Well while they are on your good side, I might mention that it is possible that one of them is responsible for this entire mess. It is possible, if I had taken a second to consider. And what you saw at our flat, was his best behavior. He will probably poison us within a week and I should warn you to never tell him where you keep the custard or the sugar and no…you don't want to know why that is a bad idea. Are you sure …about this?"

"He is mumbling something about door knobs…I am supposed to tell you?" Mary said confused.

"Oh. Well. Tell him I will bring him Chinese. You want anything?" John asked, exhausted from the evening.

"Mycroft bought us pajamas and toothbrushes. Soon as you get here, I think I will have all I need," Mary said sweetly.

By the time the fire was out 12 buildings had been damaged and six would have to be torn down and rebuilt. Sadly, there were four deaths. Had John and Mary been home, there may have been more. The couple in the flat on the other side of the explosion were killed and Sherlock nearly was.

It turned out that neither Sherlock had burned down the house. The two eliminated burn victims at the London Clinic were trying to make illegal fireworks, or at least that is what the media had reported. Sherlock insisted they were a terrorist cell. Sherlock had, in fact, only been guilty of falling asleep.

The explosion had not awakened him because debris, a wall or something had given him a nasty concussion. The choking noxious fumes had not awakened him. What did awaken him was a certain enemy-cat licking his face raw. By the time Sherlock had roused and realized what had happened, the hallway was an inferno and his escape involved jumping off the second floor balcony, with a cat tucked in his shirt and his violin cradled in his arms.

He did remember arguing with someone about the cat but he thought it was a bus driver. He remembered trying to make it to St. Bart's so Molly could look at him and the cat, but he had such a headache he needed to sit down for a short rest. Sherlock should have left Sherlock at that moment, but when Mycroft found Sherlock unconscious a few hours later, Sherlock was guarding John's second stupid human as he napped on the bench.

Well, maybe he just had no hair and unconscious-Sherlock was warm, but then again since the fire the two of them had gotten on famously. That could be called a whole new kind of miracle.

Mary found John on the tiny bed of his old room and sat down softly. "John? What are you doing in here?"

"This used to be my room," John answered.

"Yes. Did you know? That he was doing all this hoping we would move in?" Mary asked.

"I had no idea. I thought he was doing it so he wouldn't have to move out. I didn't even know the rest of these rooms were up here. I thought it was just storage."

"Well, it seems he had better motives than I gave him credit for. He's very protective of you. I hope you will forgive me for misinterpreting what it all meant."

John smiled and sighed then whispered lazily, "It's fine. It's all fine."

" I'm just glad the explosion didn't originate in our flat. Sorry I jumped to conclusions about either of them. This is all quite lovely of him don't you think? Our room is quite posh if you asked me." Mary kissed him on the forehead.

"Yeah. Who knew? I saved a cat in an alley and he stayed with my dead friend and kept him from dying again and then my friend carried the cat out of the fire. We were told once that someone would burn our hearts right out of us. He's dead because Sherlock saved me. Then you did. Then Sherlock the cat saved Sherlock the detective and who knows how many people he will save. And now we are all living in the new improved Baker Street. I feel like I'm finally home. I don't know how to thank you for agreeing to this, Mary," John said in a dreamy voice.

"Well, maybe we could start by sorting out all this junk so that when the baby comes, Sherlock won't want to keep him or her in his room."

"What?" John leaps out of the bed and grins. Mary returns his expression.

They go downstairs to find Sherlock curled up on Sherlock's chest purring. Sherlock glances at them and states imperiously, "Oh, finally told him about the baby, did you? Sherlock, we are going to be Uncles. Won't that be fun?"

Mary and John looked at each other and beamed.

"Mycroft sent these. Said you'd understand. You'll have to get rid of them, of course. Choaking hazard."

John opened the gift bag and pulled out a blue jar of colorful marbles. The card said, 'A small congratulations on the happy event. Though I have yet to do so, a trust fund for university will be established once you pick a name. In the meantime, I am sure you will be in need of all of these you can acquire. ~ Mycroft'

"I suppose you both put it together by some formula of physical changes. I'm a bloody doctor and I just found out," John said.

"Noo." Sherlock smiled. "I observed, John. In this case, a pregnancy test in the bin. Obviously a positive result with all the hormonal indicators and emotional outbursts. I knew two weeks ago. I didn't tell. Not even Mycroft. He probably found out the old fashioned way, using his spy toys."

John threw his head back and laughed.

Sherlock swished his tale and looked over at John and Mary. John was acquiring entirely too many pets in his opinion, but what is a Consulting Mouser to do? This one he'd hated to begin with had grown on him, so maybe he'd keep his mind open on the soon to arrive. He could hear more than one heartbeat coming from the one John seemed so attached to, despite her obvious lack of cat apptitude, and Sherlock knew John would expect him to train his young one on the proper habits of cat service.

He rubbed his head on his second-John and he was obliged by being stroked gently. Yes, humans were simple to train and Sherlock was on fire with feline brilliance!

And they lived happily for a long time. The end.

Ok, we have come to the end of my fluffyball story. I hope you enjoyed it. No Sherlocks were injured in the making of this tale. Please review – my family thinks it's hilarious when you make me do the happy-dance. If you would like to read the story that inspired this one, you can find it here /works/447152 I recommend her stories very highly because they were some of the first I read in this realm long before I saw the show.