The Custody Agreement of an Adorable Calico Demon

Come to Baker Street immediately if convenient. SH

If inconvenient, come anyway. SH

Why are you not responding? SH

Molly, I need you to come over. SH

PLEASE! SH

When Molly Hooper checked her texts at the end of her shift, alarm bells immediately rang in her head. The first had been sent half an hour ago, and the time in between each text had kept getting shorter. She grabbed her things from her locker and managed to flag down a cab outside of the hospital, knowing that would be the quickest way to get to Sherlock.

Upon arriving at 221B, Mrs. Hudson let her in right away with a smile. Since she appeared to be her normal, cheerful self, Molly knew that whatever crisis Sherlock was experiencing, he at least hadn't resorted to shooting the walls or scraping his violin bow across the instrument's strings. In one way this relieved her, but in another way, it didn't. After all, when Sherlock had come to her for help in faking his death, he hadn't made a noisy scene at all.

So, with a nervous heart, Molly walked up the steps to his flat, but before she could knock on the front door, it opened for her. Sherlock looked quite frazzled, which started her worrying even more. His abundant curls were distinctly ruffled, as though he'd been running his fingers through it over and over again. His usually pristine purple shirt was wrinkled, his blazer lay carelessly across his sofa, but most surprising of all, his beloved Belstaff coat lay in a heap on the floor beside his chair.

"Good, Molly, you're here," he said, stepping aside and pulling her inside by the wrist. There was a nervous energy about him that unsettled Molly. As soon as she had stepped into the front room, he shut the door and began to pace.

"Yes, I'm here now, Sherlock," she said, deliberately keeping her own voice as calm as possible. "Now please, tell me what's wrong and what I can do to help."

"Ah, yes, well…" Sherlock said, his pacing slowing a bit.

But before he could continue, a sound interrupted him. He stopped, and Molly's ears perked. This sounded very familiar to her. "Sherlock, what was that?"

"Um…" said Sherlock, the tips of his ears turning pink. He looked the very picture of nervous guilt.

"Sherlock," said Molly more sternly.

Then the familiar sound filled the room again, and a movement caught Molly's eye. It was his Belstaff on the floor, the sleeve had moved…but how? Narrowing her eyes, Molly walked to the coat and then gave an astonished gasp. She knew that she knew what that sound was!

Feebly climbing over the great folds of the coat was a kitten. It was tiny with calico-patterned fur and bright blue eyes. It meowed again as Molly crouched down, a long coo escaping from her throat.

"Oh, hello, you little cutie!" she cooed. Carefully, Molly reached out a hand to the kitten, and stroked its soft head with a finger. In response, the kitten meowed again and purred in contentment. Molly smiled, and gently scooped the little kitten up in her hands. As she did, Molly noticed that the kitten was female. "What are you doing here, sweetie?"

Turning to Sherlock as she stood up, she asked, "Well, Sherlock? What's the story?"

Sherlock heaved a great sigh, resumed his pacing, and said, "I found her today. The smuggler John and I caught today had a litter in his flat, and this one…well… tried to follow me and wouldn't stop meowing until I took her with me."

"Awww!" Molly cooed, and looked down at the kitten, who was happily purring in Molly's gentle hold against her chest. "What a smart one you are! He is rather adorable in his own way, isn't he?"

"Stop teasing, Molly!" he snapped. "That demon's covered my coat with hair! I wouldn't have put her there, but she wasn't happy unless she was crawling on my coat or I was holding her, and I need my hands!"

Molly bit her lip to keep from giggling, though her smile could not be tamed.

"Which brings me to why I called you over here, Molly," said Sherlock, standing still again and facing her with his hands behind his back. He was in his business mode now, but Molly could still see a sparkle of nerves in his beautiful eyes.

"What do you need?" she asked, blushing a bit as déjà vu rushed over her at those words coming out of her mouth.

He seemed to notice it too, for his posture relaxed a fraction. "I do not feel comfortable taking such a young animal to a shelter where it will just get lost and neglected in the mix."

"Sherlock," Molly scolded. "That's not fair. I found Toby at a shelter, and most are really well-kept places run by good people –"

"Nevertheless," said Sherlock, brushing away her comment. "I'd prefer she have a home. Thankfully, my flat is quite cozy and quite the perfect environment for a cat, with plenty for it to climb over and hide in, and she seems to have taken a particular liking to me…" His nose crinkled at that.

Molly smirked, stroking the purring kitten in her hands with her thumb. "Or your coat."

Sherlock snorted and threw her a pathetic dirty look. "Stop interrupting me, Molly! Now, it seems that she has taken as much of a liking to you, which I hoped for. You have a more regular work schedule than I do, and you have previous experience in taking good care of felines. Your cat, Tobias, lived to a ripe old age until he died some weeks ago. Therefore, I think the best solution is for you to move in."

The look on Molly's face wouldn't have been unusual if a coconut had fallen from the sky and hit her square on the noggin. For a few minutes, the only sound filling 221B Baker Street was the purring and occasional happy meow from the kitten. Finally, Molly was able to speak.

"So…you're asking me to move in with you…in order to share the joint custody of a kitten?"

A beat, then Sherlock replied, "Yes."

Still very much in shock, Molly lowered her gaze to the kitten she was cuddling. She still seemed quite happy and content, especially when Molly tickled her tummy with her finger. But then something caught her eye – the last piece of a puzzle she hadn't known she'd been trying to solve. She shut her eyes and held back a silent laugh of pure joy. Then she lifted her head and looked at the consulting detective.

"Why did you lie, Sherlock?" she asked calmly.

He blinked. "Pardon me?"

Now she let herself smirk. Gotcha! "You didn't find this adorable kitten in a criminal's home. She's far too clean, well-fed and groomed for that. I also saw a kitten just like this – with the same heart-shaped black patch on her front right paw – last week when I went to a shelter to look for a new cat. I'd probably have picked this one had you not texted me to come to the lab for a case at that moment."

Sherlock looked guiltier and more nervous than a deer caught in the headlights.

Still smirking, Molly crouched back down and put the kitten back down on Sherlock's coat. "You just play there for a while, sweetie, because Mummy and Daddy need to talk," she whispered theatrically. The kitten seemed more than happy to continue climbing and rolling around in the great folds of Belstaff.

Molly stood back up and walked slowly towards the caught detective, the very picture of a cat who got the cream. "If you wanted me to move in with you, Sherlock, all you had to do was ask and give me your honest reasons. While this was an incredibly sweet gesture, you should know better than to try and hide behind anything. I see you, remember?"

Sherlock visibly gulped and nodded.

Needing him to be at ease and be okay with this, Molly stopped right in front of him and took his hands in hers. "Sherlock, you know me and you know how I feel about you. There's nothing to be afraid of."

Finally, something in Sherlock's eyes seemed to break. His hands left hers only so his arms could wrap around her waist. Holding her to him, he rested his forehead against hers and spoke in a very quiet, very vulnerable voice: "Yes, there is, Molly. I've already done so many things wrong, and hurt you so many times. I don't want to do that anymore."

"Sherlock," Molly breathed, her hands rising up to cup his face. "All those times you hurt me in the past, they happened because you pushed me away and tried to lock me out. That is what hurts me, and it hurts you too when you try to lock your heart away. You don't have to do that anymore, Sherlock. Please, can we at least try? One day at a time?"

Sherlock contemplated her words, let them sink in, still holding her to him. Finally, with the ease of a diver going into the water, Sherlock lowered his head and kissed her. Joy and relief flooded through Molly, so happy that Sherlock had finally come to terms with himself and that she hadn't hoped in vain.

How long they stood there exchanging sweet kisses, neither of them knew, but the sound of a particularly loud meow caused them to break apart and turn back towards Sherlock's coat. The little kitten was playfully wrestling with one of the sleeves.

Sherlock groaned. "She'll destroy it in less than a week at this rate!"

Molly laughed, leading him back towards the coat and the kitten by the hand. "Don't worry about it, Sherlock. She's only a baby." Molly picked up the kitten again and turned to Sherlock. "Any ideas for names?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me, Molly, you're the one who likes cats."

Molly narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't give me that, Sherlock, you adore her too. You may have called her a demon, but you always refer to her as her instead of it."

Sherlock looked torn between annoyed and impressed before huffing a sigh and holding out his hands for the kitten. Molly placed the adorable creature there with a very satisfied smile. The kitten happily purred in Sherlock's gentle hold.

"I'd like to name her Grace," he said.

Molly raised her eyebrows in surprise. "That's fine with me. Why that name?"

"Grace O'Malley was an Irish chieftain from the sixteenth century, and regarded as the most famous female pirate in European history," he said matter-of-factly.

Molly laughed, remembering that his childhood dog had been named Redbeard. "Then Grace she shall be," she said, scratching the adorable kitten behind his ears. Then another question occurred to Molly. "You know I love dogs as much as cats, and you had a dog growing up. Why didn't you get a puppy instead?"

Sherlock scoffed. "This flat isn't big enough or ideal enough for a dog, Molly. We'll get a dog later, when I've retired from detective work and we've moved to the country so I can begin researching beekeeping. That's a much better environment suited for a dog, and for our children to grow up."

Molly couldn't reply with words. She blinked back the tears from her eyes and nearly marched into Sherlock's bedroom. "Come with me, Sherlock; Gracie will be happy with your coat."

"But Molly, the dry-cleaner will never be able to get all of her fur off at this rate!" Sherlock groaned.

Molly made no verbal reply, but her cherry jumper was tossed out of the room, followed by her blouse.

Sherlock, brilliant man that he was, got the message and got a very happy and wicked grin on his face. So he gently placed Grace on his coat again, saying, "Have a good time," and then practically ran into the bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

Gracie the calico kitten paid no mind to the sounds coming from the bedroom, having far too much fun on her new coat in her new home.