14 Keeping a Cat

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Burdened by his promise to Arna, Watson sighed, his short beard trembling. “...To be honest, it’s a bit hard to believe.”
Yet, he climbed in carefully and sat on the bench of the carriage frame, bracing himself for the impending jolts.
When the carriage stopped near Baker Street, Watson exhaled in relief.
He had been on edge the entire ride; luckily, what happened that morning didn’t repeat itself. Except in the last few minutes, when Arna swerved to avoid pedestrians and nearly crashed into the bushes, leaving both of them covered in leaves.
“Next time, I’ll just walk back,” Watson muttered quietly as he plucked a leaf from his head and began removing the greenery from Arna’s as she steadied the reins, trying to keep the carriage on the road.
“You’re a liar; you said the same thing this morning,” Arna said confidently. “You’ll miss my brilliant driving.”
Watson grumbled but offered no rebuttal.
He stepped down from the carriage and waited as Arna took it to the boarding stable before they walked side by side toward 221B.
“What are your plans for tomorrow?” Watson asked. “If you need help, just let me know. I happen to have the day off. I can examine the children, issue certificates, that sort of thing.”
Arna considered for a moment.
“I haven’t decided yet,” she said, invitingly fishing for a reply, “but if we’re going to the factory together—would you like to go fishing before that?”
She was full of confidence.
No one could resist the lure of fishing! No one!
Watson paused.
Getting up at six in the morning to fish rain or shine, just like her? Seriously?
“Probably a bit early for me,” he said reluctantly, “but I’d be happy to join you to check on the children after breakfast.”
He was certain that if he agreed to the fishing, Arna would be pounding on his door at six a.m., relentless until she got her way.
Arna’s face fell.
Her left eye said, “How can you refuse me?” and her right eye said, “Fishing’s so much fun—how can you not like it? Such poor taste.” Yet her lips uttered, “Oh, alright.”
Watson inexplicably felt a pang of guilt.
As they neared the door of 221B, Watson quickly pointed outside to change the subject.
“That looks like Holmes,” he murmured curiously, “Why is he crouching by the door?”
Arna followed his gaze and held her breath.
Holmes was crouched on the doorstep, fixated on an unexpected visitor perched on the stair railing.
The visitor’s ears twitched, tail tense, and sharp eyes stared impudently at Holmes, as if looking at a particularly foolish pigeon.
Its bright grey eyes narrowed to slits, claws gripping the rounded finial on the railing, nails sharp and ready.
Undoubtedly, anyone reaching out now would find their arm scratched raw by this ill-tempered creature.
Watson’s eyes widened; he glanced between Holmes and the strikingly similar cat, his mouth twitching.
“Is this your new companion, Holmes?” he teased.
Before Holmes could answer, Arna exclaimed with envy, “Really? Your cat, Holmes?”
She seemed to accept Watson’s remark without doubt, completely captivated by the feline.
Holmes withdrew his hand, pretending he hadn’t just reached out, and was promptly hissed at by the cat.
“Not mine,” he corrected. “This is clearly a solitary creature. See how its muscles are firm and sleek? It suggests a fierce nature and good nourishment. And the sharpened claws… probably encountered many meddlesome humans.”
Watson held back a laugh.
“In other words,” he stifled his amusement, “while we were away, Holmes has been trying to bribe this stray cat with food, but to no avail.”

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Holmes gave him a sharp look.
“This is scientific observation, Watson,” he turned to Arna. “How’s your progress? You know, when the factory owner stores food, the scent attracts rats running amok inside.”
Arna, who had been attempting to pet the cat, suddenly broke into a sweat.
“Ah, well…” she stammered.
In truth, when she checked the panel today, all the red dots in the factory had inexplicably turned green.
Plans, plans wouldn’t just be shelved because the enemy defected en masse, would they?
If this side quest failed, would it affect the final outcome or achievements?
Like missing a years-old town mission and ending up joining the ruthless capitalists or something...
As Arna froze in thought, the cat leapt gracefully from the stairpost—not toward Holmes, but elegantly onto Arna’s shoulder.
Her shoulder sagged under the weight; the black cat’s furry ears brushed against her cheek, claws gently piercing her coat to steady itself.
Its tail swayed, purring loudly enough to drown out Holmes’s voice.
Unable to hold back, Watson burst into laughter.
“Looks like our detective won’t have to worry about getting bitten by a cat anymore,” he joked.
Arna beamed.
“That’s my cat now!” she declared, stroking the kitten’s head under Holmes’s slightly jealous gaze.
Holmes snorted, stood up, straightened his posture, and exaggeratedly dusted off his coat.
“Irrelevant,” he muttered. “It must have poor taste in companions.”
“Maybe it just senses a kindred spirit: like repels like, Holmes,” Watson said, hanging his hat on the rack. “Aloof, elusive, prone to sudden outbursts.”
Holmes shot him another glare, which only made Watson laugh louder.
Arna carried the cat inside, ignoring the two men’s childish antics.
After dinner, she sat in her usual chair, the cat on her lap, absently scratching its head and chin as it sprawled and rolled, claws flexing.
“Let me guess,” Holmes naturally sat beside her, “your plan isn’t going smoothly.”
As Watson returned to his room to fetch his medical kit, Holmes raised a finger and whispered, “Money?”
Arna, about to open the panel and contemplate a name for the cat, turned and met his gaze.
“Yes,” she spread her hands expectantly, “a little?”
She knew that when players were short on funds, benevolent NPCs often appeared like angelic investors, ready to hand out money!
Holmes theatrically patted his pockets, all clearly empty.
“Alas, my last shilling has vanished somewhere,” he drawled. “My dear Arta, if I had even a shilling left, I wouldn’t have pawned Watson’s spare stethoscope last Tuesday.”
Arna: “...”
What on earth? He’s even poorer than she is.
She disdainfully searched her own pockets, pulled out a shilling, and placed it atop his head.
“Here.”
Holmes instinctively raised a hand to catch the nearly falling coin.
“Aren’t you short on money?” he said with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Relax, doctor, I’ve already redeemed the stethoscope.”
“Short on money, but not a shilling,” Arna collapsed back in her chair. “I’m certain the patent applications will cost far more than that.”

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Thinking of this, she looked at Holmes. “Do you know how much it costs to file a patent? I mean, the cheapest kind.”
Holmes flicked the shilling between his fingers.
“Patent applications? Those fees are no small matter. You see, it’s a whole dreary swamp of bribes, petitions, and bureaucracy,” he said, standing the coin on its edge and giving it a gentle spin. “Home Secretary’s signature fee, Attorney General’s investigation fee, Queen’s decree draft fee, licensing fee, stamp duty...”
The coin clinked onto the armrest as his voice trailed off.
“Altogether, it might be a hundred pounds each year,” he said.
Arna’s face went blank.
“And I have three such patent applications,” she murmured, sinking into her chair as if falling into an unfathomable mire of poverty.
Thanks to previous savings, she had only about ninety pounds, and lately, the East End villains seemed more cautious, rarely targeting her now.
Ah, money, money, money!
Watson emerged from his room to find Arna utterly spiritless on the sofa, and the black cat jumping down, rubbing impatiently against her calves.
Holmes was amusing the cat with a familiar-looking cord—possibly a curtain tie—but the cat paid him no mind and seemed quite annoyed.
“Looks like I’ve missed something,” Watson said, pouring himself a cup of tea and taking a sip. “What were you two discussing?”
“Holmes pawning your spare stethoscope last Tuesday,” Arna said dreamily. “Doctor Watson, do you have a hundred spare stethoscopes? I want to pawn one too.”
Watson nearly choked and looked at Holmes, “What?”
Holmes: “...Don’t be nervous, doctor, I’ve already retrieved it.”
He proceeded to recount the entire story.
After hearing the full account from Holmes, Watson shook his head. “Come now, Holmes, stop joking—you must have had a better plan all along.”
Arna’s eyes brightened as she looked at Holmes.
Holmes glanced at the cat, still ignoring him, and regretfully tossed the cord aside.
He turned toward the cluttered desk, pushing aside bottles and papers, searching for some time before finding a crumpled envelope at the bottom.
“Lestrade’s latest consultation request, involving some extortion and abandoned jewelry—the owner is a viscountess, willing to pay two hundred and fifty pounds,” he said, waving it like a trophy. “Assist me tonight, and your patent fees will materialize from the mist like the suspect.”
Watson: “...Wait, your solution is to bribe him into accompanying you on a case?”
“Cooperation,” Holmes corrected. “Well, Arta, shall we depart? Fancy a midnight trip to the viscountess’s house?”
Arna looked at Holmes, then at Watson.
“You’re definitely hiding something from me,” she asked suspiciously. “Isn’t your partner in investigations Dr. Watson?”
Watson’s teacup clinked loudly against the saucer.
His whiskers twitched at the humor of it all. “Maybe I just don’t want to climb down drains after midnight.”
“Wrong,” Holmes corrected, already donning his coat and reaching for his hat on the rack. “Perhaps because the viscountess admires him. Last time, she fed him three slices of apple cake and asked if our London University medical doctor would consider private long-term consultations.”
Watson’s face flushed deeply, spreading down his neck.
He snapped angrily, “That’s— I never— Holmes, you told me to distract her!”
“Yes, yes, it’s for efficiency,” Holmes waved a hand. “Now then, tonight we’ll need some extra skills combined.”
He turned, searching for Arna.
“Someone like Arta is very good at coordination and combat…”
The next moment he saw Arna emerge from her room, carrying a huge, gleaming golden sword. His voice faded, “...No, wait, maybe not so much after all.”