Skyclan, sherlockian style

The shadow

John scraped dirt over the mouse he'd just killed. Where's snowdrift? John looked around for the annoying tom and saw nothing of his white pelt. In a tree? Maybe. John looked up and almost got bark in his eyes. There was Snowdrift, prowling above looking focused for once and creeping up on a pigeon.

John watched him, careful not to move or alarm the tom in anyway. He could easily fall and, of course, there was the bird that was needed at camp. Snowdrift had explained that there were brand new kits in the nursery, there mother was from Leafstar's first litter, Robinflight, and she was resting. Being weak from her first litter, she was being taken care of daily by the elderly Echosong, and being watched by Plumwillow who had a litter of three kits. Marblekit, Hinchkit, and Fallowkit, named after the mother who died a few seasons back due to a rat attack on a hunting patrol. It had apparently been bad and two cats died, Fallowfern and a daylight warrior, Matthew, while the other members were seriously inured. Ebonyclaw had gotten over her injury and was still a warrior, while Hawkfoot had retired to the elders den and then died of white cough. Apparently his chest wound had never healed right and his lungs had been to weak to save him from the winters curse.

     John sighed, Snowdrift had talked him up a tree with all sorts of stories of the clans. He knew all about how a group of rouges had joined and then ran away only a few moons later. Apparently some of them had died in a fight during the leaving part and died, like Rose and Cora. Snowdrift said it was all real weird and then went on for ages about how bad the ticks were one summer that they lost Eggpaw and Ivypaw's brothers due to blood loss. Poor Firekit and Skykit. Then he just talked about all sorts of weird things like exploding stars in the sky each year that John would apparently see if he stayed till summer (it was still spring) and about all sorts of other weird Twoleg habits.

John thought about Sherlock, his topics on conversation, always so interesting and smart... with purpose. The way he caught your attention with his rumbling deep voice, that made your brain fizz and heart ache to hear more. His sleek fur gleaming in any light and the light way he walked with his tail teaching towards silver-pelt in the sky.

"John."

The way he said your name and made your heart swell with importance and promise.

"John! Over here, it's about the case!"

John spun on his toes and saw the beautiful black face peeking out between fern fronds. John's heart leapt, Sherlock! Why is he so breath taking? Did he look like that yesterday? What's he doing here? Does he want to be my... friend, again?

John hurried over to the ebony tom and crept under the ferns following Sherlock into a thin bush.

"Hey." John breathed trying to remain calm, "What can I do to help... Wait." John remembered how mean Sherlock had been. Why does he suddenly care? "Why should I help you? You care nothing about me apparently and you don't even like me."

Sherlock scowled and rolled his eyes, "Like you don't enjoy going out and hunting murderers. War, battle, this could be dangerous, only an insane cat would risk his neck to feel the thrill."

"Trying to scare me off?" John asked narrowing his eyes and looking up at Sherlock in the wonderfully tight space, though there fur only brushed, John could feel Sherlock's tail were it lay over his foot.

"Starclan no." Sherlock said with a smirk, "I'm trying to recruit you."

John almost purred, but remembering he was supposed to be mad just shrugged, "Got me there, can't keep myself away from danger. When are we going?"

Sherlock looked at John closely, "What do you when?"

"When are we going where ever we're going? Just get me out of here, Snowdrift is driving me crazy." John looked over his shoulder and remembered his prey, "Tell me all the details while I go to camp and drop this stuff off."

"So we're going to a party?" John asked as they walked into the smaller forest on the other side of the camp towards Twoleg place. First of all he hadn't known what a party was and second he didn't know why a murderer would be there.

     "It's just a loud place where a lot of strays go, we could learn some important information." Sherlock studied his paws for a moment, "About the other day..."

     "Yesterday." John said.

     "Yes," Sherlock looked straight at John, his soft fur... Sherlock felt the impulse to touch his face, nuzzle his cheek. His eyes were such a deep sea blue, the center a brighter grey. They had specks of brown/green mixed in and the longer Sherlock stared the more beautiful his eyes were. Snapping his gaze away Sherlock looked at the ground. "I... well, it just shows that I'm am uncaring foxheart, and I'd understand if you never wanted to talk to me again. I'm sorry." Sherlock stared at the ground wishing it would swallow him up, but of course that was impossible.

     John stared at Sherlock for a long moment and, with a good amount of daring, he reached a paw out and turned Sherlock's face so they were looking right at each other. "I won't ever understand what goes in in your head will I? But it was yesterday, the past, it's fine." John wanted to be mad at him, but he was just to glad to have his... friend, back.

     Sherlock felt his heart rate spike as he felt the warm paw draw his face to look at the beautiful, adorable, fierce, cat in front of him. He was tempted to... what was it that Twolegs called it? Kiss? He was tempted to kiss him. Or just get closer. It took all the self control Sherlock had not to touch John, but he couldn't chase him away. No, not yet. Wait.

     "Let's go." Sherlock said pulling away and regaining his flirty sarcastic attitude, "You told me you were in, come on, stump legs!" And he raced off towards Twoleg place.

     John sighed, the moment over and pelted after the shadow wisp of a tom ahead of him. So fragile and yet dark and frightening.