Work Text:
It wasn't like John had never encountered a stray cat before. There were always stray cats hanging about in the alleyway between the surgery and the chip shop across the way. Who could blame them?
But this cat was different. She eschewed the melee at the dumpsters and rubbed up against John's legs. "Well hello there." John said in spite of himself.
The cat didn't meow. It squeaked.
John smiled, surprised he remembered how and returned to the surgery.
The cat followed. "You can't really be in here!" John exclaimed.
The cat didn't listen.
"Scat cat!" John winced at the rhyme. The cat shot down the hallway and into John's office.
"This is unhygenic." John roared as he followed.
The cat groomed herself on his desk.
John shook his head and called his next patient into exam room 3.
The next day the cat returned.
The following day the cat returned. John offered it a bowl of water.
The forecast on the fourth day was terribly cold. John shared a couple of chunks from his tinned tuna.
The fifth day was friday. The forecast predicted even colder temperatures. If the surgery wasn't open on weekends who would look after a cold cat?
"I'm sorry." John said as he placed the protesting cat into a cardboard box. He took the cat to the nearest shelter. What else could he do?
"I'm sorry sir, we're over capacity. You can try Cat Cuddles but…"
John tried the next shelter. No vacancies. The shelter after that was more of the same.
John sighed. He couldn't take the cat back to the flat. He didn't have any food, litter, whatever else you needed for cats. He didn't even know. He couldn't leave the cat on the street.
He swallowed his pride and rang Molly. "Hi… Hi. Molly. It's John. John Watson."
"Right. John. Hello." She answered awkwardly.
They hadn't spoken since Sherlock's death and it hurt to talk with her now. He peeked in his box and sighed, "You have a cat?"
"Toby." She answered, confused. "Why?"
"I've gotten a cat. Well, I haven't really. She's gotten me. But… anyway.. I don't know. I just know that I don't know what I need to care for a cat this weekend. I thought maybe you could help? It's a stray. It's cold out. I just…"
"I'll be there in an hour. I'll bring what you need." She hung up before he could say anything else.
He took the cat back to his flat. He wasn't sure his lease allowed for cats. "Be a bit quiet, yeah?" He said to his box.
He walked into his building and right into his landlord. What were the chances?
The box squeaked.
The landlord sneezed. "No cats. It goes. Or you go." The landlord sneezed again, twice. "No cats!!!!"
John backed out of the building, his landlord's eyes already looked swollen shut.
John texted Molly, "Nevermind. Baker Street."
Molly and Mrs. Hudson were waiting in the flat when he arrived. Aside from the mountain of brand new cat things Molly and Mrs. Hudson were sorting at the kitchen table, everything looked exactly the same. His heart broke. His box squeaked.
"Can… I?" He asked Mrs. Hudson. "Can we….?" John looked at the box.
"It hasn't been the same without you. Can we see her? What's she called?"
John opened the box. A small calico cat jumped out and scurried under a chair. "I don't call her anything… Cat, maybe?"
"You can't call your cat 'Cat', John." Molly protested. "That would be like me calling you Human."
"Or Sherlock…" Mrs. Hudson stopped herself.
John dropped down to his knees next to the chair not able to make eye contact with either lady. "She isn't my cat. I can't name her."
"She's staying in your flat."
"She probably has a home. People who love her. She's not like the others. Not feral. They checked at the shelters. No microchip… Apparently there is a website where people can post about their missing cats. I should check there."
Molly pulled out her phone and started typing furiously.
Mrs. Hudson brought John a can of wet cat food. "Here, try coaxing her out with this."
John opened the can and placed it in front of the chair.
When the cat came out Molly snapped a pic. "No cats that look exactly like her have been reported missing. I could file a found cat report."
John smiled, "Sherlock would probably find her owners based on some microscopic fibres that had adhered to her whiskers." It was the first time he was able to bring himself to smile when he said that name out loud.
"The internet says you should make a collar out of cello-tape and paper and put your number on it. If her owners don't call you in 3 days… you figure she's been abandoned."
"You're joking!" Mrs. Hudson grabbed Molly's phone.
"Wouldn't that stick to the cat's fur?" John furrowed his eyebrow. "Ouch."
"You tape the paper, not the cat." Molly explained.
"Couldn't you just buy a collar? From the shops?" Mrs. Hudson asked.
The cat finished her snack and curled up on John's lap, purring. "I think we've found her people." John said quietly as he let himself stroke her fur.
"Then she'll need a name, John."
John smiled, "Well, she's here because there was no room at the inn…" He laughed. "Mary?"
"Mary Watson. I like the sound of that. Shall I write it on a piece of paper and adhere it to her with cello-tape?" Mrs. Hudson offered. "Or shall I nip out to the shops and buy her a proper collar and tag?"
John nodded, "Mary Watson. 221B Baker Street."
"Welcome home!" Mrs. Hudson squeezed his arm and got up to go. Molly followed behind. "We'll bring some takeaway when we come back? And some staples? Tea, Milk, Bread…"
John smiled when they'd gone. It would be hard being back at Baker Street, but he'd do it for his Mary. "Welcome home, Mary. Welcome home."