“With a huff, he straightened up, his arms folded over his chest and his head turned to the side, allowing every line of his body to indicate that he never intended to catch John in the first place. Behind him, he felt the sway of his tail and forced it still, trying to relax his ears into a neutral position so that they wouldn’t hint at his plan.
‘Giving up?’ John asked, sounding like he didn’t believe his own deduction. Exertion and laughter flushed his cheeks, and he shifted his weight, watchful and alert.
Slanting a glance at John from beneath lowered lashes, he watched his friend take another step back, not off the defence, not yet, but that didn’t matter. This might be half-fight, half-game, but Sherlock had the presence of mind to make sure that John wouldn’t get hurt by his actions. It was the photograph in all its embarrassing glory that he wanted destroyed, not their friendship.
One more shuffle of retreat from John, and Sherlock dropped his guise of indifference. His pounce was completely predatory, his palms slamming into John’s shoulder and pitching them both back over the arm of the sofa and onto the soft give of the cushions. John’s breath left him in a whuff of air, his indignant cry of surprise turning to fresh laughter as he found himself pinned beneath Sherlock’s body, his arms stretched above his head in a worthless effort to keep the photo out of Sherlock’s possession.
With a quick twist, he reached up, trying to ignore the intoxicating warmth and strong lines of John’s body as he finally grabbed hold of his prize and glared at his infant image.
John was right: Mycroft’s choices were no doubt plentiful, and he could have chosen something more humiliating, such as a photo of him clinging to his mother with fingers and teeth because of the ever present threat of bath-time. However, this really wasn’t much better.
Dark curls already twisted lovingly around the twin peaks of his ears, which looked far too big for him, and the curve of his tail, ridiculously short, was lifted behind him. Worse though was that he was young enough to be crawling still, and someone had caught him in the obvious act of play-hunting. On all fours, his gaze was focussed on something out of shot, his body half-tense and his bare backside stuck in the air as he prepared to pounce.”
– A Captive Moment: Fourth in the Cat Among The Pigeons Series
Thank you to the amazing Anotherwellkeptsecret for this art to go with A Captive Moment. Visit her blog for more glorious art., or read the whole fic/Series at AO3