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Sherlock can’t wait for Christmas morning. Literally. He can’t wait. Not least of all because this particular present is far too alive to sit in a box for the next few weeks. With Christmas just around the corner, it’s easy to focus on the big reveal, and forget about the little things along the way…like food and potty time.
He does his best to keep the secret, at least until he can get a proper bow in place, but when he carries the bundle into the flat, he nearly jumps out of his skin when he finds John at home and on the couch.
“What’re you doing here?” he yelps, wrapping his coat more snugly around the present in his arms.
Demonstrating an impressive display of mock cluelessness, John swivels to look around the room before smirking at his companion. “I live here,” he responds simply. “But more specifically, I have the day off. Shame, really, you’ve been out and there’s nothing worth watching on the telly.” He frowns at the device across the room and then shrugs. “Would you like to have a seat?”
Sherlock shakes his head, eyes wide as he peers at his partner. For just a moment, he almost seems to relax. And then he bounds back into the hall and through the kitchen to their shared bedroom. Despite his sharp movements, he manages to close the door gently and lets the soft bundle in his arms out on the bed without startling it.
It. Sherlock thinks it is a she. He can’t quite tell, though, and he’s been told that definitive markers won’t appear for several more weeks.
He eyes the creature nervously, suddenly realizing that he might not actually be the best choice of pet owner. Still, the thing is meant for John and it hardly matters whether it…whether he…likes Sherlock at all.
Padding across the blankets to Sherlock’s hand, the small animal bumps it’s head against him, hunting for scratches. Sherlock smirks softly and bends down to oblige it. A satisfying rumble trickles from its small mouth.
A purr, he realizes. It’s purring.
After just a few minutes, Sherlock has located a proper bow and managed to affix it to the tabby’s collar. Holding it in his hands this time so as to present it more gently to John, he can’t help noticing how delightfully soft it smells. As if in response to his feelings, the creature mews and reaches up with one small paw to press against his face.
“Yes,” he murmurs, thinking of John’s love of cuddles and all things soft. “You’ll do just fine.” He glances towards the door and listens for a moment to ensure that John hasn’t followed him before fixing the little thing with a sharp stare. Holding it out in front of him, he speaks in a hushed voice. “Now you listen here, mister…miss? You listen here, you. That man out there is very special and he gets more than his fair share of nightmares. Your primary duty is to help relieve the symptoms of PTSD. Your secondary duty is to be adorable. I think you’ll do just fine in both regards, but I don’t want you to forget. Understood?”
The creature mews and Sherlock nods, satisfied.
Taking one more breath, he turns his back to the door and settles himself into a backwards walk through the kitchen. He knows the flat better than anyone and navigating this way is hardly difficult.
“John?” he calls, getting a response when he bumps solidly into the man standing in the kitchen.
“Oh, did you want some tea, t—what is that?” John’s voice is full of awe, the sort of awe that only small animals seem to inspire, and he reaches for it naturally.
Sherlock smiles and allows the tabby to move from his hands to John’s. “Merry Christmas,” he murmurs.
John stares for another moment at the creature in his arms, apparently in shock. When he looks back up at Sherlock, confusion is spreading across his face and a smile dances at his mouth.
“You got me a ferret for Christmas?”
For a moment, Sherlock can’t respond. Slowly, he frowns, and peers at the little tabby with a strange expression. “Odd,” he remarks. “I would’ve sworn it was a cat. I wondered where its ears got off to.”