Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock, I'd ensure we had season 3 by now.

SHERLOCK AND THE CAT

John's POV

We'd been on a case – a suspicious murder at the house of a young university student. I was chatting to Lestrade while Sherlock roamed about the girl's small flat when it happened…

"John!"

My head snapped up towards the sound of his voice, down the hallway as Lestrade's confused expression followed mine.

"John, come and get rid of it!" Sherlock called again, prompting us to search him out. Lestrade headed to the bathroom – why, I couldn't understand – and I wandered down to the girl's bedroom. I struggled to suppress the chuckle as I laid eyes on Sherlock.

"It won't stop rubbing up against me and – purring…" he whispered, seeming incredibly tense as he stood stoically in the centre of the room, a black and white cat slinking around Sherlock's legs.

I chuckled this time. "Sherlock, it's a cat."

"I know," he hissed, his face contorting the way it did when he was frustrated. "Just get it away from me, John."

Smiling slightly; I stepped forward, kneeling down and clicking my fingers at the cat. "Come over here puss, leave Sherlock be."

"So you're afraid of cats?" Lestrade asked cockily from the doorway as the cat let me lift it into my arms and hold it close, scratching under its chin.

"I'm not afraid of cats!" Sherlock defended cuttingly.

"Come give it a scratch, Sherlock – you might like it," I suggested, intrigued by the cat's affectionate nature. I held the small animal up on my shoulder and watched as Sherlock tentatively stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back.

"Are you deducing the cat?"Lestrade asked incredulously.

Sherlock shot him a look, his steely eyes like blue fire. "Are you not supposed to be investigating a crime scene, Detective Inspector?"

Lestrade sighed heavily as he pulled his mobile from his coat pocket. "I'll see if the family wants to look after the cat."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, waiting for Lestrade to make his way down the hall before he looked back to the cat I still held in my arms.

"He won't bite," I assured.

"She won't," Sherlock corrected me as he pulled off his gloves. He hesitated a moment before he reached out and gently stroked the cat, fingers trailing down the animal's spine.

"It's soft," Sherlock murmured.

"Do you want to hold her?" I ventured.

My friend scrunched up his nose and shook his head. "No, but we'll take the thing home – the family won't take it, I imagine or Lestrade would have been back by now. And the cat's name is Josie – food bowl in the kitchen, she doesn't like chicken as much as fish. We should probably take her bed and carrier as well."

I watched as Sherlock headed back out to the living room, sighing softly as I looked to Josie with a smile.

"We means you and me, you'll get used to it. Welcome to the world of Sherlock Holmes."

A few weeks later, I had left Sherlock at home with our new pet to fetch some milk – again. Upon coming home, I was surprised to find the flat silent.

I quickly stowed the milk in the fridge, ignoring the tub of eyes on the shelf before I headed for Sherlock's room, smiling softly in surprise at what I saw.

Sherlock had collapsed in bed – it had been about a week since I'd seen him sleep. At his side, nuzzling into his stomach was Josie, curled up and fast asleep as Sherlock's arm weaved around her protectively.

"Never a dull moment," I murmured as I turned away from the most human human-being I had ever known.