I don't believe that 'cat!lock' is a legitimate AU (heh), but I've seen that post on Tumblr by sherlollians and really, how can I not be inspired? Cats, and Sherlolly; two of my favs. Oh yeah, and about their breeds: you can ignore them; I merely added in because it looks more complete :P I'm reposting this from my Tumblr because I wanna continuously re-read it in all its fluffy kitty cuteness :3 Anyway, I do hope you'll enjoy reading this :DDD

Molly lapped up milk from the tiny pink bowl that had her name on it as Sherlock came striding in to the room she was in. She could hear his steps being harder than usual, though, which certainly indicated that he was in a bad mood.

"Damn Anderson! How dare he took my rat?!" he hissed to himself, the tail behind him swishing angrily from side to side.

"Sherlock?" Molly quietly asked as she cautiously approached him. Due to their size differences (she was a tiny American Shorthair kitten while he was an American Bobtail of regular size), she had always felt this feeling of intimidation whenever she was around him, but she had to deal with his moods for more times than any cat (Mycroft had wanted nothing to do with his brother, and had taken to scratching every umbrella he saw to see what designs he could make; John was always wandering around, trying to find Sarah; Greg would stalk either around the rooms of Mistress Hudson's large mansion or out onto the garden or street, pretending he was one of those watchdogs he had regular contact with -despite being a cat- and always dragging a reluctant Sally with him), so it could be said that she was getting used to it.

"I've marked that damn piece of meat as mine, and yet he had the nerve to come steal it away!" Sherlock continued furiously, and unconsciously his claws came out. Molly saw it, and gave an involuntary mewl of slight fear.

He noticed, and sighed as he retracted his claws. "Sorry," he mumbled, then went to a corner of the room to curl up and wallow in his bad luck.

The kitten rolled her eyes at his childish behaviour (he was a cat and a year or two older than her, yet he continuously acted more like a brooding kitten than her or any of her kitten friends) and padded over to him. "Sherlock?" she repeated quietly once more. She received a non-committed deep purr in response.

She sighed and flopped down right next to him, her small body nearly pressed flush against his large one. Besides being used to his weird moods, Molly was also able to figure out how to calm him down whenever he was angry. It seemed that he enjoyed physical contact a lot (his purrs were much contented when Mistress Hudson stroked him, she noticed, and he preferred to fight playfully with John and Greg, and on occasion Mycroft, whenever they suggested something to do) and she had always used that fact to her advantage. She did not know, however, that Sherlock knew she knew, and had also taken advantage of that.

"You'll find a better rat soon, you know," Molly whispered to him as she nuzzled her tiny nose gently against his side. Sherlock tried very hard not to let out a purr of pleasure at that. "You always do."

"I hope so," he muttered reluctantly.

"Nah, you will," she assured, smiling up at him with her large brown eyes.

He rolled his eyes although the egotistic side of him screamed 'HELL YEAH I ALWAYS DO BECAUSE I'M THE BEST', but he figured it would be a little too much if he were to state that fact out loud, so he wisely shut up.

Sherlock rested his chin atop his paws as Molly snuggled deeper into his side, and he felt a small pang of satisfaction at their positions. He loved it whenever he faked his bad moods so that he could always receive these kind of comforting gestures from Molly. He was not called the smartest cat in the household for nothing, you know.