Sherlock Sleepover

the Tenth Hour

"I want unlimited pancakes," Mycroft declared, marching right up to the counter at Denny's. "As many as I can eat. Just keep them coming until I pass out."

"Is this how he usually copes with the world ending?" John asked, walking arm and arm with Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "The world has never ended before."

The employees looked as little hesitant to serve them until Mycroft slapped a fat wad of bills down next to the cash register and plopped himself down at the table in the center of the dining area. He didn't look like he would be moving anytime soon, so the smell of pancakes cooking slowly took over the restaurant. A waiter brought them a tray with glasses of water for them all and making sure they didn't want anything besides the pancakes. Donovan and Moriarty ended up both wanting bacon and John asked for a pot of coffee to boot; they were all starting to feel the slow effects of the alcohol and needed something to counteract it.

"So tell me about the end of the world," Lestrade said, slightly more amiable with a cup of joe in his hand.

"This is the way the world ends," Mycroft recited. "This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but with a meow."

"He means the cats," Moriarty supplied.

"This is going to kill me," Sherlock said, glaring at his glass of water. "I can't seem to make the connection."

"The world ending," John mused out loud. "And cats."

The waitress appeared before they could theorize further, handing each of them a plate of pancakes. She nervously asked if they needed anything else before scurrying back to the safety of the kitchen.

Mycroft didn't waste any time. He grabbed his fork and knife and dug in, snagging the syrup bottle after the second bite and dousing his entire plate with it. Sherlock followed suit, though he was much more conservative with the syrup.

The TV in the corner switched from commercials to a buzzing urgent news message. The reporter was a young woman with straight brown hair, wearing a grey pencil skirt and a blazer. She looked professional and calm as she stood in front of a rioting crowd.

"I am reporting live," she said. "At the riotings in front of the Prince's house. He had yet to make a statement or even leave his house as of yet, but sources can confirm that the feline in question is, in fact, missing."

People behind her pumped their fists at the cameras and hoisted signs above their heads to shake angrily. "Catch the cat burgler" someone had painted onto the cardboard. "Feline Angry" another one read. "Khatze bitches" the final one said.

"As you can see," the reporter said. "The tension is obvious, and emotions are running high. If the cat isn't shown soon, only the words of a Prince will calm this crowd. It's very clear, this country will go to war for its princess."

They was a clatter from the front of the crowd, and everyone turned. The reporter looked back to the camera with excitement.

"And there's the Prince now!" she exclaimed. "Let's see if we can get a statement."

She joined the crowd of reporters already massing around Prince William. The camera work suddenly turned shoddy as the person manning it dove after the reporter and was elbowed and pushed around for their efforts.

"Prince William! Prince William!" all the reporters called. "What's this about the cat? Is it really missing? What does your daughter think is happening here? Will you give a statement?"

Prince William grabbed the nearest microphone, staring straight into the camera. He glared at the audience and when he spoke, his tone was deadly serious.

"I am speaking to whoever took my daughter's present," he said. "I have no doubt in my mind that you are some German bastard and even if you aren't, I know without a doubt that you are a cruel, senseless human being. To take a young girl's present? A present that would unite two nations no doubt - you must come from the pits of hell."

With that, he dropped the mic and stormed away, climbing into the back seat of a waiting car. It pulled away with a squeal of rubber.

"And there you have it," the original reporter said, straightening her hair and jacket from the mad rush. "The cat story. And if the criminal is watching now, I hope you enjoy watching the world fall apart."

The news segment switched back to a Denny's commercial about a new style of pancakes with syrup, but no one at the table was paying attention to the TV anymore. They were all staring at Mori who was still taking ravenous bites of his food. He stopped though, when he realized all eyes were on him.

"What?" He said, syrup dripping out of the corners of his mouth.

Sherlock face-palmed.

"Dammit! Of course!" he exclaimed, shoving his plate aside. "The cats! Prince William and Princess Charlotte! The damn German!"

Mycroft didn't look half as amused. "Between the desire and the spasm, between the potency and the existence, between the essence and the descent, falls the cat," he said, waving his fork in the air. "For Thine is the kingdom."

"I'm falling behind," John said, abandoning his plate.

"Erm, so am I," Lestrade added.

Anderson had fallen asleep next to his pancakes and Donovan looked like she was next. The conversation was far too sober for them at the moment.

"Germany and England!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Sugartump and Lamb's Kitten Ivy! Both of them are top, prize-winning cats in their respective countries, not to mention to most prestigious members of both the London Cat Club and Cat Club Germany. Charlotte's birthday gift was to be a kitten born from the breeding of the two!"

John's mouth dropped open. "But Moriarty took the cats," he said.

Sherlock shoved his seat back and shot to his feet, pointing a finger at Moriarty. "Hoping to produce enough friction between the counties that they would go to war!" he finished. "How dastardly!"

"How brilliant," Mori corrected. "Your dear brother was supposed to protect Sugartump himself. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if he were to be fired for his failure now."

Mycroft hid his face in his hands.

Sherlock scowled. "I won't let you go through with this," he said.

John was on his feet now too, standing just behind Sherlock, hands on his hips.

Mori laughed. "I don't think you understand," he said. "Tomorrow is May second, the wee Charlotte's birthday. If the two cats aren't produced then, the people of England will go to war when they see her tears."

"We still have time!" John said.

Moriarty smirked, pouring himself a cup of coffee and taking a long, luxurious sip. "You do have time," he said, checking his watch. "But I've kept you pretty busy with all these mundane party games, yes? There's only an hour until midnight, and let me tell you, Englanders are known for watching their clocks."

"We have to go immediately!" John said, grabbing Sherlock's sleeve.

"I'm right behind you!" Lestrade said, wobbling as he also stood.

Moriarty cackled as they all ran out of the restaurant. "You'll never make it in time!" he shouted. "And even then! Sebby will stop you!"

He sighed and relaxed back in his seat, sipping on his coffee. He glanced to Mycroft, who was face down on the table. They sat in silence a moment before Moriarty coughed.

"You okay?" he said.

"The Queen of England is going to fire me," Mycroft mumbled.

"Oh, come on," Mori said. "You wouldn't fire yourself, now would you? Besides, things are just starting to get interesting."