Chapter Text
The pungent smell of disinfectant penetrated Sherlock’s nostrils before two warm hands picked him up. He opened his mouth to protest, but the only sound that came out was a weak, high-pitched mew. Sherlock dug his soft claws into the calloused skin, clinging to the human for dear life. He couldn’t remember for how long he’d sat in the vast car park of the clinic, waiting for someone, anyone to notice him, but the human’s skin temperature was remarkably different from the chilly late October air. Despite his effort to keep a tiny bit of self-control – the undignified mewling had been embarrassing enough – Sherlock began to shiver.
The man spoke to him in a soothing voice and carefully wrapped him up between a soft jumper and the inside of his jacket. At least the textured wool offered a better grip for his paws. Sherlock pressed himself against the warm body till only the pointy tips of his ears were still visible above the man’s jacket. He mewled yet again when the human began to walk, but the man’s steady hands held him securely in place. Sherlock knew that he should be alert and carefully observe his surroundings, but he was too exhausted after the last couple of days… Eventually, the rhythm of the human’s footsteps lulled him to sleep.
~
Sherlock woke up to the feeling of even more warmth surrounding him. He blinked a few times, adjusting his baby blue eyes to the sudden brightness. The cosy jumper in front of his nose was still the same, but the smells were different. Sherlock took a deep breath and hissed. The stench of disinfectant was even worse here, mixed with the lingering hormones of fear from other cats, dogs and… wait, was that a guinea pig? Sherlock wriggled under the man’s jacket, panic taking over his senses.
“Hey, baby, what’s wrong?” the man asked and caressed a spot behind the kitten’s right ear in an attempt to soothe him. Sherlock enjoyed the attention immensely. He leaned into the touch and before he could stop himself, the softest of purrs erupted from deep within his throat. The man chuckled. “God, you’re a cute one.”
“John Watson?” a woman’s voice interrupted the moment.
John wrapped his hands around the kitten as carefully as before and walked up to the front desk.
“Room four please. Dr. Sawyer will be there in a few minutes,” the receptionist explained and smiled when she saw the bundle of black, fluffy fur in John’s hands.
~
Sherlock meowed when his paws touched the cold metal of the vet’s examination table. He immediately padded towards John, clutched at the familiar jumper with his front claws and pressed his face against the man’s belly.
“Hey, I’m not going anywhere,” John said and stroked over the kitten’s back reassuringly. The young feline kept snuggling against John till the vet entered the room.
“Hello, I’m Doctor Sawyer,” the middle-aged, brown-haired woman introduced herself.
Sherlock curiously turned his head away from John and padded towards the new person.
“John Watson,” John replied with a smile and shook her hand.
“And what’s your name?” Dr. Sawyer asked and held her hand out towards the kitten who sniffed at her fingers, then bumped its head against the vet’s hand.
“She doesn’t… I just found her on my way home. At least I think it’s a she,” John said.
Dr. Sawyer lifted the kitten up with her right hand, her index finger supporting the feline’s chest, and carefully lifted up the fluffy tail. Sherlock kicked out his hind legs and gave a loud, protesting meow. “It’s a tom-cat,” the vet explained. “Where did you find him? What condition was he in?”
“He was napping under a car outside the local A&E. He was very cold when I picked him up, but at least he was responsive… mewling and shivering, that is.”
The vet nodded and gently pinched a bit of skin on the kitten’s upper back between her thumb and index finger. The skin fold disappeared immediately when she let go. “At least he isn’t dehydrated.” Dr. Sawyer checked his paws for frostbite and continued with parting Sherlock’s thick fur on different parts of his body, checking for fleas and less obvious parasites. The kitten hissed when the vet took his body temperature, but at least he was allowed to pad back to John after that. “I still have to assess his weight and age, but so far he doesn’t have any major health issues. Are you going to keep him, Mr Watson?”
John had decided to keep the kitten the moment he had picked him up. Yes, he was aware of the huge responsibility, but for the first time after he’d been invalided home it also gave him the feeling of being useful… being truly needed by someone. It was different from his job at the clinic and the responsibility he had for his patients. “Call me John, please. I’ll have to ask my landlady first… but I want to, yes.” Sherlock rubbed his head against John’s fingers over and over and purred.
Dr. Sawyer smiled. “I’m glad you’re saying this, John. It’s hard to find a shelter place during kitten season. The local shelters are relying on foster homes as it is.”
“Kitten season?” John asked confused.
“He’s not the only homeless kitten that came in here today.” The vet picked Sherlock up and carried him over to the weighing scale. “570 grams…” she opened his mouth to look at his baby teeth and bright pink, healthy gums. “His premolars are fully emerged, so you probably won’t have to bottle-feed him. Either way, I want to see how comfortable he is with solid wet food. Some kittens need more time for weaning,” Dr. Sawyer explained. She opened a can of kitten food and mixed the brownish soft mousse with warm water, then offered Sherlock some of it on a spatula. She gently held his head up, with one finger resting against the kitten’s throat to check if he had any trouble swallowing. The kitten scoffed the mixture greedily, producing the cutest noises. “Alright, no problems here. I suggest you feed him every six hours, only pate kitten food or soft mousse. Make sure he has access to fresh water at all times.”
John nodded. “How old do you think he is?”
“Five to six weeks, judging by his teeth. He’s a bit underweight, so it’s important that you document his weight before and after each feeding. If he’s losing weight or not really gaining any, contact me immediately. For now, I will give him the basic deworming treatment.” The vet prepared an irrigation syringe with the dewormer liquid, measuring the amount according to Sherlock’s weight. She placed the tip of the syringe at the side of the kitten’s mouth and squirted the formula onto his tongue. Sherlock flinched at the taste and shook his head, trying to get rid of the gooey liquid to no avail. John fondled the soft fur behind the kitten’s ears to comfort him.
“His first FVRCP vaccination is also becoming due, but I don’t want to overwhelm his immune system, so please come back in three to five days.” Dr. Sawyer rummaged through a filing cabinet and took out a sheet of paper. “Here’s a list with all the minimum requirements for a kitten his age. Do you have any questions so far?”
John read through the list of items. He remembered purchasing most of them for Lily, his childhood cat. “I’ll need a proper cat carrier before I take him home,” John realised.
“I can offer you a cardboard carrier for now,” Dr. Sawyer suggested and retrieved one of the foldable boxes.
“Thank you,” John replied with a smile.
Sherlock eyed the box warily. He’d much rather be carried around in John’s hands, cuddled into his jacket… He gave a drawn-out, heartfelt meow when John put him in the box. “I’m sorry, baby, but this is safer for you,” John explained as if the kitten could understand him. As a matter of fact, Sherlock did understand him, but he wasn’t convinced. Perhaps John would take pity on him if he meowed and scratched at the walls of his prison all the way home?
Just as John was about to make his way to the front desk to pay the bill, Dr. Sawyer called him back. “John, wait!” She gave him a piece of handwritten paper. “Here’s my number in case you need anything... for him,” she pointed at the meowing cardboard box and blushed.
“Thank you…”
“Sarah. Er, see you in a few days. For his first vaccination.”
In the dim safety of the carrier box, Sherlock rolled his eyes.
~
John knew that he should probably call his landlady and ask in advance if she allowed for any pets in the flat. Mrs Hudson didn’t seem to be the kind of person who would say no to a kitten, but John decided to make sure of that. He’d just show her the tiny, five-week old tom-cat and hope that his baby blue eyes and fluffy appearance had the same effect on her.
When John got home, his landlady wasn’t there so he simply carried the kitten upstairs to 221B. He had picked up the essentials on his way home in order not to leave the kitten on his own again. John quickly set up the cat litter tray in the bathroom and a shallow dish of water in the kitchen, then took the kitten out of the cardboard carrier. John was sitting cross-legged on the living room carpet, his left hand held out towards the kitten.
Sherlock was torn between cuddling with his human and exploring his surroundings, but in the end he gave in to the common curiosity of his feline nature. He brushed the entire side of his body along John’s fingers but kept on walking towards the kitchen. Sherlock’s attention was immediately drawn to the flat water bowl. He sniffed at it, took a few refreshing swigs and continued exploring the flat like any normal cat would.
He knew that he would have to play the part for quite some time for the sake of his own safety. Moriarty’s minions were everywhere and Sherlock was more than grateful that an unsuspecting human had taken him in…
~
It was well past midnight when John decided to go to bed. His new companion was sleeping curled up in a cat bed by the fireplace. Charcoal, John thought. The name was fitting both the colour of the kitten’s fur and his favourite place to nap. Charcoal had had his last feeding an hour ago, so John would get at least five coherent hours of sleep. It wasn’t ideal, but the kitten’s needs were more important. Besides, John knew from experience that the little tom-cat would grow up all too fast.
~
Sherlock tossed and turned on the cat bed. His claws were scratching at nothing but thin air, though in his dreams they had a rather specific target: Sebastian Moran, a tiger-hybrid and Moriarty’s favourite pet. The ruthless familiar had killed Sherlock’s owner and well-respected warlock, Victor Trevor. Sherlock had tried to save his master with all protection spells known to his kind and yet… He remembered taking a last look at Victor’s dead body before he morphed into his full-on cat form and ran and ran as far away as his paws would carry him…
Sherlock awoke with a start and a terrified meow. It took him a moment to remember where he was and why he was there. Someone had saved him today. He was no longer on the run and he had found a loving home with John. John… Sherlock tried to clear his mind, but the remnants of the nightmare were still sending shivers down his spine. He focused on the human’s breathing and heartbeat and followed his ears towards the soothing rhythm. The door to John’s bedroom was left ajar. Sherlock sneaked into the room and jumped on the bed. This part of the flat was colder than his cosy spot by the fireplace, so Sherlock curled up on the human’s chest. He knew that John could never be his owner in terms of witch law, but Sherlock decided to protect this one with his life if necessary.