#In case anyone missed it Toby is one of my kittens

[strangedreamings]

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Resentment

“Molly,” Sherlock said in his most annoyed tone, “your lap is only big enough for one of us. Either he goes or I do.”

His fiancée just shook her head, amused. “You’re a grown man, he’s a ten-pound cat. He fits in my lap a lot more easily than you do.”

He huffed. “You know perfectly well that I like to lay my head in your lap while we watch telly, something I cannot do when it’s covered by a rather ornery specimen of Felis catus.”

“Takes one to know one,” Molly said, grinning. At his raised eyebrow, she continued. “You’re a lot like a cat, you know – proud, fussy, sneaky, easily bored, prone to sulking. Not to mention you purr when I have my mouth on your-”

“That’s enough,” Sherlock cut in, blushing.

Her grin widened. “And you’re even ornerier than he is.”

Sherlock glared at his nemesis, who was indeed taking up Molly’s entire lap. “I doubt that’s possible.”

Toby stuck out his tongue. Sherlock swore the cat was goading him, Molly insisted it was because he was getting ready to bathe himself.

Sherlock was sitting in the back of a cab with John when he told his best friend about the cat’s next crime against humanity. “He now refuses to get off the bed when I sleep over.”

“Wait, you’re saying you’re being pushed around by a cat?” John asked, trying hard not to laugh.

“The most vicious housecat in living memory,” Sherlock muttered. “Since the cat refuses to move and Molly refuses to move him, I’m sorry to say it’s put a damper on my and Molly’s … nighttime activities.”

This time, John didn’t bother holding back. He laughed long and hard, tears in his eyes. “Oh, wait till I tell Mary! Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective, the man who finally got his head out of his arse and asked Molly to marry him, is getting cockblocked by a cat!”

From the sounds coming from the driver’s seat, even the cabbie was laughing at that.

Sherlock huffed. “I do not perform in front of an audience.”

John snickered. “Why won’t Molly move him?”

“She says he’s getting old and she likes to keep him comfortable.”

“Well, there you go – just wait until the cat has shuffled off this mortal coil and you’re in the clear.”

“Yes, until Molly decides to get a kitten.”

John smirked. “Looks like I’m never going to be a godfather.”

Sherlock just glared at him.

The next indignity came a week later.

“MOLLY!” Sherlock yelled out the open door of her bedroom, then he turned back to the cat, who was trying to get past him. “No, you are not going anywhere, young man, you are staying right there until your owner sees what you’ve done.” He turned back to the doorway. “MOLLY!”

She came running in, the concern on her face dissolving into amusement when she saw him and Toby glaring at each other. “What did he do now? And this had better be good, I’m missing Eurovision.”

Sherlock picked up his shoe and showed her the evidence. “Your cat decided to cough up a hairball into my shoe. You know he did it deliberately, Molly.”

Molly smiled apologetically. “Sorry, Sherlock, but hairballs are one of the hazards of living with a cat. And I’m sure he didn’t do it deliberately; your shoe was simply in the way when the hairball struck.” She took the shoe. “I’m an expert at cleaning up hairballs, let me take care of it. Oh, and can you put pureed pumpkin on the shopping list? It helps to prevent them and we’ve run out.” She left with the shoe, giggling.

Man and cat went back to glaring at each other.

Two months before the wedding, Sherlock went to Molly’s flat in desperate need of his favorite bolthole. He had solved yet another big case and the press was hounding him. Congratulating himself once again on having the forethought to not announce their engagement in the papers, he let himself in, knowing that she was still at work.

As soon as he walked into the foyer, Toby came running. As soon as he saw Sherlock, he froze, assessed him, then meowed rather piteously.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Molly told me never to fall for your ‘poor starving kitty’ routine.”

Toby continued to whine until Sherlock finally gave in. Following the cat to the kitchen, Sherlock gave him a kitty treat from the bag Molly kept in a cabinet. Satisfied, the cat rubbed against Sherlock’s ankles.

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know,” Sherlock muttered, though he could feel a little of the ice melting. Suddenly disgusted with himself for giving in, he turned and walked into the sitting room, plopping onto the couch and turning on the telly. After a few minutes, Toby jumped onto the couch and sat in his lap, purring.

That’s how Molly found them when she got home from work – watching crap telly together and talking (or hissing) at the screen. She rolled her eyes fondly. “I knew you two would get along eventually. Now, move over, Toby – it’s my turn to sit on Sherlock’s lap.”

Sherlock chuckled as the cat jumped down. Molly took his place, curling into Sherlock’s chest and kissing his neck.

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” he murmured, holding her close. “I’ve made a deal with your cat. As long as I give him a treat, he’ll tolerate my presence.”

“Mmm, good. What do you say to beating him to my bed?”

Sherlock chuckled. “I’d say you read my mind.”

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