John sighed, as he hung his jacket on the coat rack, before striding into the flat. He looked around. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, and the flat was eerily quiet. Shrugging, the army doctor made his way to his chair and sat down in it, picking up his laptop with the intent of writing a new blog post.
Suddenly, he heard a faint mewing. John looked around in confusion. He laughed quietly. "Huh. Must be hearing things," he said to himself when he didn't hear it again, before going back to typing out his new blog post.
A few minutes pass, when he feels something clawing at his trouser leg. "What the-" Putting the laptop aside, he looks down at his feet, where there's a sand-coloured kitten, who is looking up at him with large, blue eyes. It mewls at him. "Where did you come from?" John wonders out loud, picking up the tiny cat.
The kitten is small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, and John scratches it lightly behind its ears. It purrs contentedly, pushing its head against John's hand. John jumps, as Sherlock speaks.
"His name is Jawn." The consulting detective is standing inside his bedroom,
"Sherlock! I didn't realize you were here," John mutters rapidly. Nodding towards the kitten, he asked, "He's yours?"
"He is now. I found him outside our door, when I came in earlier," Sherlock smiled, walking through the kitchen, to the living room. He gently takes 'Jawn' from John, and cradled it in his arms. The kitten digs its minute claws into Sherlock's shirt.
"Huh."
Sherlock frowned, looking at John. "What?"
"Nothing. Just, I uh… didn't think you would be the type to … never mind," John paused, watching as Sherlock sat on the sofa, still holding the purring kitten. "So… uh. You named it John?"
"No. Jawn," Sherlock said with a smirk.
"Jawn…?" John was hopelessly confused.
"Yes. Jawn. J A W N."
John stood in silence for a moment while Sherlock watched him intently. "It's not for an experiment? You're actually going to care for it?"
"Yes of course. I'm not that heartless, John. No matter what people say."
Jawn purred happily as he fell asleep in Sherlock's arms. His sandy fur stood out against the black of the detective's sleeve.
And John knew he could believe Sherlock.