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Sherlock stretched a paw lazily, his claws catching on the silken pillow. Sherlock was not usually one for sleeping all day; usually he was out exploring the world. He was of Havana brown origin, but for some weird reason he had sleek black fur. The vets thought it was due to a rare genetic mutation.
“There goes John again, meowing his little ears off.”
John was a small Siamese cat, and was a loud little cat, and always trying to talk to everyone. But he was also vicious, and if he was human would be an excellent soldier. John and Sherlock were two cats that would not normally get along, but somehow they got along, and if any cat tried to hurt the other, one would fiercely defend their friend.
Sherlock looked around and saw the meowing John on the chair in front of the fire. He then flicked his tail in his brother Mycroft's face, and Mycroft quickly responded by biting his tail. Mycroft was a pure bred Havana brown, like his brother. He was however a stodgy cat and disliked moving off the sofa.
Sherlock jumped from the sofa and silkily ran to John howling on the chair. Leaping gracefully on the chair he wrapped his body around John’s as he settled and to the joy of Mycroft and Sherlock finally stopped meowing. But then he started to lick Sherlock's back. Sherlock hated it when John licked him, but if it stopped him from howling all day long, then Sherlock reasoned that it’s worth the discomfort.
The three cats spent the rest of the day sleeping until they heard the downstairs door open and close. Mycroft and Sherlock merely turned their heads and pricked their ears up towards the noise. John however perked up and leapt to the ground, purring happily and rubbing himself against Moriarty’s legs.
“Hello my dears, have you missed me?”
He smiled broadly, rubbing John’s chin and putting two carrier bags of shopping on the kitchen table. He stroked Mycroft's back and patted Sherlock's head, knowing from many scratches that he didn’t like being cuddled. Sherlock only got off the chair when Moriarty opened a can of cat food and spooned the food onto three small plates. They crowded around the plates of food and started to eat hungrily. Moriarty noticed that each cat had their own distinct eating style. Sherlock picked at his food, almost seeming bored with it and finding it unimportant. Mycroft wolfed it down hungrily. And John, John ate it cautiously as if wondering when his next meal would be.
People said that he was crazy to love his cats more than people but Moriarty had learned that people couldn’t be trusted, but he knew his cats could be. He thought of them as human, the way they acted and just, were. He talked to them like they were people, and the way they meowed back he almost felt like they could understand him and were talking back to him. He looked up from his laptop and saw the three lying next to each other, sleeping and John purring softly. He smiled, wondering what adventures the three were having. He hoped that if he were to appear in them that he would be their friend. They decided not to tell Moriarty how his part played out.