So some people have poor time management skills. I… I have absolutely no time management skills. Yeah, it's one of those: 'things to work on in the new year'.

Thanks as always to you wonderful people who review, favourite, alert and just genuinely seems to get a bit of kick out of these little stories.

A lot of people are interested in the idea of Sherlock and John helping in the solving of a case so, I'm pleased to say, this duo will make their crime solving debut in the new year. There will be a few more posts of general life before that happens though, as it's surprisingly tricky to tweak crime solving for felines.

I do love getting your ideas so please feel free to keep them coming. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.

*^.^*

Scare

Greg was in a good mood.

He's had an excellent day at work, having been the one to get a confession out of a drug trafficker regarding the location of a half a ton of cocaine. His Super and his fellow officers had publically congratulated him. Also, when he's gone to get more cat food on the way home, there had been a sale on the duo's preferred brand.

If Greg had been the kind of person to whistle when happy, he could have been a one-man musical marvel.

Pushing open the door to his flat – it was never shut thanks to Sherlock's refusal of any door to remain closed, he moved into the kitchen to deposit his bag of cat food. Pulling off his jacket and shoes, he dropped them back into the small entry way before he turned to the large living room, eyes trained on the back of the squashy old armchair that served as the two cats' den.

Greg was surprised to find only the Union Jack pillow John liked to burry his head under, sitting there alone.

"John? Sherlock?" Greg called out, a small frown taking over his face as he began to systematically move throughout his flat, looking in all the spots the two had ever shown the slightest hint of favouring.

While most people wouldn't be too bothered by their cats not being seen within five minutes of their arrival home, Greg had been at least acknowledged by one of the two felines as soon as he arrived home without fail for the past few months – John's brief stay at the vet not withstanding.

It took Greg fifteen minutes to check everywhere in his flat for the duo and he'd not found paw or tail of either of them.

That meant they weren't in his flat.

Cold fear gripped him.

They could be anywhere. Sherlock could get them out and, Gods, they could've gotten out of the building! What if they had and animal patrol had picked them up and taken them to the pound? What if a car had hit them or a dog had attacked them?

Shoving his shoes back on and grabbing his jacket, Greg rushed from his flat and ran down the stairs, only the sight of Mrs Hudson's cracked open door stopped him from bolting outside, yelling for the cats in a panic.

Stomach in knots, Greg knocked loudly on Mrs Hudson's door, perhaps pushing slightly at her door so he could peer inside without actually entering her flat uninvited.

"Yes? Oh, hello dear." The older lady came to the door, a large smile on her face.

"You wouldn't happen to know where John and Sherlock are, would you Mrs Hudson?" Greg asked tensely.

"Why, they're just through here." She beckoned him into her flat and to the sitting area where the duo were tangled together in the corner of her couch.

John looked up at his approach, eyes blinking sleepily before he yawned widely, fangs on full display, then he twisted his head to burrow under a black paw.

"Oh, thank God." Greg felt his knees weaken with relief at the sight of the two completely content cats.

"Are you alright, dear?" Mrs Hudson patted his shoulder, looking at him with maternal care.

"Yes," he cleared his unusually tight throat. "Yes, fine. Just worried when I got home and neither of them were around."

Mrs Hudson nodded comfortingly.

"Oh course, I understand. Why don't you sit down and I'll pop the kettle on, we can have a nice cup of tea." She gently pushed on his shoulder and he gladly sat down on the other cushion of the couch. Once he was comfortable the old lady moved into the kitchen and the click of the switch announced her turning on the kettle.

Greg reached out and gently ran his fingers over soft fur, slightly amused by John's automatic purr and how Sherlock's eyes slid open from where he rested with a nose in John's sandy coloured fur. Greg got in a few strokes of mixed coloured fur before the black cat placed a paw on his hand when he tried for another stroke.

"Alright, I get it. That's enough." Greg rolled his eyes in familiar exasperation as he finally relaxed.

He pulled his hand back and the paw dropped onto John's back where it proceeded to kneed the fur.

"Possessive bugger." Greg said quietly just before Mrs Hudson bustled back into the room with two cups. She handed one to him before sitting down in the armchair across from him.

"Now, let me tell you all about our new neighbours. Lovely married couple next door, delightful young men."

*^.^*

Next Time: He looked like a lone blond island of fur in a light blue woolly sea.

The culprit, Greg discovered a moment later, came streaking out from under the small table, only a small string of blue left clenched in his jaws as he headed right for John.