Lord Hamish: Defender of 221B Baker Street.

John sat on the couch and examined the sleeping kitten on his lap. He was still unsure about how Sherlock would take to the animal, but John had been unable to restrain himself when the opportunity arose.

About a month ago, one of John's coworkers, a nurse at the clinic named Petal, announced that her cat had kittens and was trying to find homes for them. When the subject was first mentioned, John had no intention of bringing home one of the kittens. He was sure that Sherlock would be opposed to the idea of having a pet of any form. At least a pet that he would not be allowed to perform experiments on.

Regardless, he had allowed himself to be roped into going by Petal's house during lunch to look at the kittens along with a few other nurses and doctors that John had befriended over the past few months that John had been working at the clinic again. Petal showed them into her living room, where three of the four kittens were huddled near the mother, but the one sitting off to the side caught John's eye.

John could swear that the kitten was glaring at the display of affection the other kittens were showing. He took a step toward the kitten, and the kitten looked up at him. It had sharp green eyes; something about them made John think of Sherlock. John suddenly felt as if the kitten could see through him, and he was not sure if it was the kitten itself or the fact that he had just formed a correlation to Sherlock. The kitten suddenly walked up to John and rubbed its tiny body against John's leg, trying its hardest to wrap itself in a figure eight around his ankles.

Before John registered what he was doing, he had told Petal that he wanted the kitten that had started trying to climb up his leg. The kitten was unable to leave its mother for another four weeks, so John had left Petals house with every intention of warming Sherlock up to the idea. That did not happen. Sherlock had come home that evening in a bad mood because the case that he had thought would be promising had proven to be a simple lovers quarrel gone bad. The next day John had tried to mention it to Sherlock, but he was so absorbed in an experiment that he was not listening to anything John was saying. He did not even respond when John claimed that he was going to move to Italy and join a nudist colony. After that, John kept telling himself that he had plenty of time to mention it later.

Now John was sitting in his living room, with the kitten on his lap, and Sherlock still had no idea. John felt slightly guilty, but at the same time he was relieved that he did not mention it to Sherlock, because he was sure Sherlock would have said some variant of "no way in hell" and then John would have told Petal that he would be unable to take the kitten. This way, there was a good chance that he could convince Sherlock to let him keep the kitten. Saying that he had already brought it home, he was a grown man and he lived here too, things like that.

John looked down at the kitten again and ran a hand over his back. He had never realized how cat-like Sherlock was. Sherlock was slender and lean, made up of lines and sharp angles yet was able to move with grace, agility, and fluidity. He was clever (obviously) and surreptitious. He had sudden bouts of manic energy and long spells of lethargy, laying in one spot for hours on end without moving in the slightest. Sometimes, Sherlock craved attention, occasionally reverting to childish behaviors to get it, and other times he wanted nothing to do with anyone for any reason. Sherlock might as well be the personification of a cat.

John was brought out of his musings by the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs. He looked up as the door to the flat was thrown open and Sherlock swooped into the room, pausing mid-stride when he realized that John was not quite alone. He stood there with a perfectly blank expression, his confusion only given away by the ever-so-slight tilt of his head that John almost did not catch. After a minute, Sherlock scowled at the kitten, "John, what is that creature doing here."

John rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips, "It's a kitten Sherlock, not a monster. I brought it home. I like him."

Sherlock looked a bit lost, he scrunched up his face then let a mask of apathy cover his features, "I can't imagine why. Are you really that easily entertained?" John refused to dignify that with an answer.

"We don't have time to take care of a cat John, get rid of it." With that, Sherlock made his way into the kitchen to check on his current experiment. John sighed audibly and nudged the kitten off of his lap so that he could follow the consulting detective. He leaned against the doorway and watched Sherlock transfer a blue liquid into several test tubes.

"Sherlock, I don't want to get rid of the kitten. If I can manage to keep you alive I think I can take care of a cat. Much less stress and maintenance." Sherlock pointedly ignored John's existence. John pinched the bridge of his nose and let out his breath in a huff, and then turned back to the living room. It had been a long shot anyways.

"Fine, I'm going out for a bit. Try not to kill the monster before I get back. And no experiments on him!" A moment later Sherlock heard the door to the flat open and close, followed by John's steps out of the building. Sherlock did not understand why John was so upset, there was no way he could have had the cat for more than a couple hours since he had barely gotten off work, so he could not possibly be emotionally attached to it already. Sherlock made another face, and then turned his attention completely towards his experiment.

Sherlock was completely absorbed in his experiment, which was promising fascinating results when he suddenly heard a light thump on the table. He looked up to see a set of dark green eyes looking at him. Examining him. Sherlock stood up to his full height, and the kitten sat up straight in response. The kitten looked at Sherlock's equipment, then back up at Sherlock almost expectantly. As if he wanted Sherlock to explain what he was doing. Feeling a bit silly, Sherlock asked the kitten, "Do you want me to explain what I'm doing?"

The kitten's ears perked up at the sound of Sherlock's voice, and Sherlock frowned. After a moment, he proceeded to explain exactly what his experiment was, how he conducted it, and what the results meant. The kitten seemed to pay rapt attention to everything that Sherlock said. The kitten reminded him of John, surprisingly intelligent and for some reason interested in Sherlock. Even the kittens coloring was John-like. He had an expanse of white over his chest that trailed down his stomach and covered the insides of his legs; the rest of him was covered in a warm brown with black stripes, except for one large splotch of black surrounding his right eye and ear, making his green eyes even more obvious. The kitten looked soft and gentle and comforting, but for some reason the black spot on his face made it seem like he could be threatening if he wanted to. Just like John.

Of course John would bring home what was probably the one cat Sherlock could stand.

"I suppose I should give you a name." The kitten lay down and rested his head on his pawns, still looking at Sherlock. Sherlock went over a few names in his head; he briefly contemplated naming the cat John. Mini-John perhaps. Sherlock then remembered something that John had mentioned, "Hamish?"

The kitten sat up at that, "You like that name? Hamish?" The kitten took a step closer to Sherlock and sat up straight. Suddenly, he seemed almost regal, "Lord Hamish." Sherlock smiled, that was the perfect name. Lord Hamish seemed to agree.

John returned to find Sherlock sitting at the table with the kitten perched on his lap while he recorded notes on his last experiment in his notebook. John raised an eyebrow at the sight and walked up next to Sherlock, "Well, Molly said that she would love to take the kitten off our hands."

Sherlock placed a protective hand on the kitten, "No. Lord Hamish is my cat. She can't have him."

John smiled and was about to make tea, when he realized what Sherlock had named the kitten and burst into laughter, "Lord Hamish? Seriously?" he asked between breaths. Sherlock looked slightly offended at first, but shortly was joining in on John's laughter. After they regained their composure, Sherlock replied while trying and failing to keep his face completely neutral, "Well, he reminded me so much of you I almost named him John, but then you wouldn't know which one of you I was talking to."

John snorted and shook his head, "You really are something else Sherlock."

Sherlock became slightly defensive, "The cat likes the name."

John bit his lip to prevent himself from laughing again, "I'm sure he does. And now we have "Lord Hamish, Defender of 221B Baker Street" here to hold down the fort while we are out chasing criminals through London at all hours of the night."

John and Sherlock fell into another laughing fit, and then John pulled out his mobile, "Well, I guess I better tell Molly the bad news."

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As of right now this is a one-shot, but, I reserve the right to turn this into a series of loosely connected scenes and dribbles if the inspiration hits me and people seem to want it. Please review!