A Cat's Whisker Away

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 looks around and sees the meowing John on the chair in front of the fire. He then flicks his tail in his brother Mycroft's face, and Mycroft quickly responds 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 jumps from the sofa and silkily running to John howling on the chair. Leaping gracefully on the chair he wraps his body around John's as he settles and to the joy of Mycroft and Sherlock finally stops meowing. But then he starts to lick Sherlock's back. Sherlock hates it when John licks him, but if it stops him from howling all day long, then Sherlock reasons that it's worth the discomfort.

The three cats spent the rest of the day sleeping until they hear the downstairs door open and close. Mycroft and Sherlock merely turn their heads and prick their ears up towards the noise. John however perks up and leaps to the ground, purring happily and rubbing himself against Moriarty's legs.

'Hello my dears, have you missed me?'

He smiles broadly, rubbing John's chin and putting two carrier bags of shopping on the kitchen table. He strokes Mycroft's back and pats Sherlock's head, knowing from many scratches that he didn't like being cuddled. Sherlock only gets off the chair when Moriarty opens a can of cat food and spoons the food onto three small plates. They crowd around the plates of food and start to eat. Moriarty notices that each cat has their own distinct eating style. Sherlock picks at his food, almost seeing bored with it and finding it unimportant. Mycroft wolfs it down hungrily. And John, John eats 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 he had learned that people couldn't be trusted, but he knew his cats could. He did think of them as human, they way they acted and just, were. He talked to them like they were people, and they 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 smiles, 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.