Where We Started

Tuffy, the Cat from Hell

When John woke up he saw sunlight peeking through the wooden ceiling, announcing that it was time to wake up. There were two days until Irene showed up, Sherlock had said she was arriving on Wednesday, so that gave them a little bit of time.
"Rise and shine Johnny!" said a happy voice, Sherlock poking his head above the ladder and smiling at John as if he were the most amazing thing ever.
"What are you so happy about?" John asked with a laugh.
"The Hudsons are going to church; we've got the place to ourselves." Sherlock said. He hopped up, leaning his elbows on the floor and balancing in an impossible act. John couldn't help but consider him for a circus job or something, he was like a monkey.
"So, how would you like to spend this precious two hours?" he asked.
"I don't know, there's nothing really to do is there?" John pointed out.
"You can meet Tuffy." Sherlock suggested. John laughed, still not able to get over the ridiculous name.
"The cat right?"
"Yes, she's lethal, kills for fun; I've got so many scratches from her it's hard to count." Sherlock pointed out.
"Then why would I want to meet her?" John debated.
"Because it'll be funny. Let's eat breakfast, they'll be gone soon." Sherlock decided, descending down the ladder once again and disappearing from sight. Just like last time there was a plate waiting for him on the hay, with the normal eggs, bacon, and toast, which beat out his usual morning Cheerios any day. John sat on the hay while Sherlock fed the animals, walking around with bags of food, water, and hay, but with an unusual skip to his step.
"Don't you eat breakfast?" John asked as he bit into his second piece of toast.
"I'm up before the sun John, I eat but around five." Sherlock shrugged, dumping water into a large metal container for the goats, who all frenzied.
"And yet you still have a smile on your face." John observed. Sherlock beamed at him, as if to prove the point, and went back to his chores.
"It's not a hard feat, there are so many good things about this world that even I can find." Sherlock assured, dumping the last bucket of water into a pony's stall and coming to sit next to John on the hay.
"So we're going to track down Henry Knight today, right?" John asked.
"That rhymes." Sherlock decided.
"That's fascinating." John said with sarcasm.
"Yes, we're going to go ask the police for their little report and see what happened to him. Half of me is guessing he's in prison and the other half thinks he's dead, so I don't know what to think at the moment." Sherlock sighed.
"Well he'll be a lot easier to talk to if he's in prison won't he?"
"But perfectly simple if he's a free man in his own house with all his freaky little gadgets." Sherlock decided.
"He's probably not all that crazy; you all just think he is because the town needs someone to pick on." John pointed out, making Sherlock smile a little bit.
"I guess you'll be the judge of that, but I'm not one for lasting first impressions, especially if I haven't even me them." Sherlock pointed out.
"And still you find this poor man to be crazy and you haven't met him."
"Oh stop with that, if first impressions were real you'd be sitting here crying for your mom and whining about the weather." Sherlock decided.
"That's what you thought of me like?" John asked with a laugh.
"Well it's how you come across." Sherlock admitted.
"Then you'd be a fancy rich kid trying everything to get me on a date." John pointed out.
"I'm sorry what?" Sherlock asked with a horrified laugh.
"Oh come on, in the restaurant you were so flirting with me." John defended.
"I was being nice that's what you do to people who obviously need a life." Sherlock objected, but he was blushing slightly.
"Well maybe there's a different perspective on flirting from 1600's to 2000's." John shrugged, knowing there wasn't. There had been no doubt in his mind that night that if he had played along they'd be way more than friends at the moment. He finished off his breakfast just as they heard Mrs. Hudson calling for Mr. Hudson to get the carriage ready, so John scurried up the ladder and dove behind the food bags immediately, Sherlock hiding the dish in the hay and pretending to feed the horses grain.
"You're up early." said a new, scratchy voice that had to be Mr. Hudson getting the horses.
"Not really." Sherlock shrugged.
"Give me a hand with the carriage, the wife is getting impatient." Mr. Hudson decided. John didn't dare breath freely, worried that if he moved a muscle the barn would creak and Mr. Hudson would come investigating. He listened to the sounds of the men getting the horses geared up, and after what felt like ages them trotting away to hook up to the carriage. He heard a lady's voice join into the mix, but it was distant and he was unable to make out what she was saying. After a little while after he heard the horses trotting away, the carriage being pulled down the bumpy dirt road.
"Sweet freedom!" Sherlock announced, opening the door and spinning around. John got up from his hiding place, laughing at the joy on Sherlock's face as he smiled up at John. "Well don't just stand there, come on down, let's go meet the cat!" Sherlock decided. John had no choice but to follow, jumping down the last couple of rungs on the ladder and landing at Sherlock's side. He looked like a kid in a candy store, walking quickly to the front door and opening it with a key that was hidden in the bush outside. The most generic place to hide a key, but it was convenient.
"Take off your shoes, hide them outside somewhere, just in case they come back." Sherlock decided, taking off his own shoes and putting them neatly outside the house, not having to his presence. John threw his in a clump of bushes outside the window, walking around in only his socks, and stepped into the house. It was already the fanciest thing he's seen and it was just the front door. The floors were hardwood, the walls were painted flawless white, and there were white marble pillars rising out of the floor in certain areas. When they walked in it was missing the obvious rich touch from 2015, a huge TV, speakers on the walls, a pool in the backyard, but it was so classy he almost forgot it was centuries before. The furniture was cream colored, with a hardwood and glass coffee table, and a golden chandelier filled with candles hung over top of everything.
"Very nice, I know." Sherlock muttered, as if it were something he was bitter about. But never the less he led John up a set of spiraling stairs to the first bedroom, creaking open the door cautiously and peering inside.
"Okay, she's on her bed, come on." Sherlock decided. When he had said 'her bed' he imagined a little cat bed on the floor. Instead, when he walked in, there was what appeared to be a lump of white fur asleep on a bed more expensive than his at home. The golden bedspread was clawed, chewed, and covered in white hair, and the little thing slept peacefully on top.
"Hey Tuffy, I've brought you some fresh meat." Sherlock announced with a little laugh. The cat stirred, its tail twitching and lifting up its sleepy head to see who was there. As soon as it recognized Sherlock it jumped to its feet, hissing and sticking its feather duster tail in the air, as if that was supposed to scare Sherlock someway.
"Oh god..." John muttered. From the back the cat looked normal, but now facing them it looked like it had ran it's pretty little cat face into the wall so many times that it mashed his skull into a square shape. It was a really ugly cat, but it had a little pink bow dangling from its collar.
"Hello Tuffy." John muttered, stepping closer to Sherlock and farther from the cat. The cat hissed again, as if a warning to stay back.
"Now go over to its food bowl, see what it does." Sherlock decided, nodding to a small ceramic bowl on the floor, painted with stupid cat stuff like cats, mice, and ribbons. John approached the bowl nervously, but when he got down to scoop some food in it the cat stayed where it was, not seeming to care that John was touching its food.
"Oh stop, you must have bribed it or something!" Sherlock exclaimed.
"Maybe it's scared of me for some reason?" John shrugged, getting back up and stepping away from the spitting cat. Now Sherlock approached the bowl, and as soon as he stooped down the cat attacked, jumping onto the back of his head and clawing at his skull. Sherlock let out a yell, trying to run around and shake the cat off, but John could see that it wasn't going anywhere. He struck by momentary panic, and ran to Sherlock, grabbing the cat off his head and throwing it onto the bed.
"See, I told you, I told you it was evil!" Sherlock exclaimed, but the cat was hissing and backing away, obviously its fear of John outweighed its hate for Sherlock.
"Obviously it just doesn't like you very much." John decided with a laugh.
"Like the rest of the world apparently. Come on, let's get out of here." he decided, opening the door with a little pout and holding the back of his head. John knew he would be all scratched up, but he walked out the front door and slipped on his shoes normally, as if he wasn't in pain.
"Let me look at your head." John decided after he had his own shoes on, crunching above the dirt and rocks to Sherlock's little cabin.
"It's probably fine." Sherlock guessed.
"Cats have sharp claws, and that thing was pretty much using you as a scratching post." John debated with a small laugh, still remembering Sherlock's scared yells. He opened the door to the cabin, leading the way in and twisting to try to see the back of his head in the mirror. From what John could see there was a little bit of blood, cat scratches usually weren't very deep, but they did hurt way too much than they should.
"Let me see." John decided, pulling Sherlock away from the mirror, where he was trying to somehow see the back of his own head in an odd bend thing. John examined the back of his neck, and, as predicted, it wasn't life or death, just a couple of red scratched on his neck and in his hair. John laughed a little bit as he went over to get a towel, poking it in the water bin and pressing it to the back of Sherlock's head like some unpaid nurse. Sherlock recoiled at the touch of the water, frowning at John.
"You could've given me a warning." He pointed out.
"Keep that there for a little while." John decided.
"No, it's a couple of scratches, it will heal, let's go for a walk." Sherlock decided, going against John's recommendations and throwing the towel onto the armchair.
"We go for walks every day." John pointed out.
"Through the woods! It'll be an adventure." Sherlock decided.
"Don't you have chores to do?" John pointed out.
"It's a day of rest, but yes, I'll do them later, come on." He decided, brushing the curly bangs out of his face and starting to walk out the door.
"Sherlock, what if they come back and see that you're gone, wouldn't they be worried?" John pointed out, not wanting to be the reason Sherlock loses his only job.
"Oh don't be dull, I go on walks all the time, they know where to find me if it's a dire emergency." He sighed, holding the door open for John with an extended arm. John rolled his eyes, not exactly in the mood to get sassed by Sherlock, so he walked out the door and into the bright sunlight, once again beating down on them. y