A/N: this one shot is written for @watterdrop the winner of my fanart contest. The prize was a one shot about anything, and my winner chose Neko!Lock (Cat!Lock). I've got to admit, I've never heard of this before, so I did my very best. So here it is, and congrats!

It was a bit cold to be standing outside, John had to admit. He was starting to question his motives as the cold, snowy wind slapped against the striped circus tent, making a hallow sound that left even his eardrums frozen. But obviously he had a reason for standing out here in the cold, obviously he had a motive.
"Ma'am, do you know what these performers do to train the elephants?" John asked, thrusting a pamphlet in the direction of a young mother corralling all of her children to the circus tent. He ignored her, as most of the crowd did, but he had to try. John was what they called a peaceful protester, one of the many that would stand around this obscene circus while the happy families took their children inside to watch all of the abused animals do tricks and stunts. Obviously not all of the circuses were cruel to their animals, but John knew for a fact that this one was corrupt. It was called Trevor's Traveling Circus, and it had all sorts of elephants, tigers, and lions all dressed up in costumes and doing tricks that would make children squeal. But it wasn't what the animals did on stage that John cared about, it was what the trainers did off stage. John has video proof that this circus whipped its animals, used all sorts of obscene punishment to make them do what they wanted, it was horrible. So that's why John was standing out here in the cold, a big red hat on and an orange vest, just so that anyone could see him when they wanted to. A couple of people took the pamphlets, but most of them would end up crumpling them up into a ball and throwing it in the trash can. John knew that usually people didn't come to the circus to hear what the protesters had to say, but they didn't understand that they shouldn't be coming anyway. They shouldn't encourage the mistreatment of animals, even if they looked perfectly happy onstage. When the last of the people filled the tent up, John went back to sit in his car, turning the heat up on high and turning up the radio so that he didn't have to hear the awful circus music that was leaking out the holes in the tent. He didn't want to hear the elephants toot and the lions roar, he wasn't interested in anything now except the classic rock pumping through his speakers. He had to wait until the show was over to try to hand out more flyers, but usually it was a lot more difficult to spread the word when everyone was so excited about how the elephant had stood on the ball and how the lion tamer had made the lion back away. All of this was practiced with whips and prods and electrocution, how could anyone find joy in that? John thought it was obscene, but then again, what could he do to stop it? The ringleader was an awful man named Victor Trevor, he had kicked John out more than a few times, threatening to set the lion on him. Victor reeked of a circus performer; he had greasy brown hair under his tall hat, a crooked tooth and quite a few cigarettes littering his jacket pockets. No one said this was a glamorous job, for the ringleader or the animals. Finally the music stopped, going on an hour and half now when the people started to leak out of the tent, with cotton candy, popcorn, and large smiles. John and the rest of the protesters got out of their cars, handing out as many flyers as they could to the energetic crowd. He got quite a few snide remarks, some little kid ran up and kicked him in the shin and a mother said a few things that shouldn't be said within a three mile radius of children. So, in short, it wasn't that bad of a day at all. John couldn't help noticing, however, a puff of smoke from the other end of the tent, which told him that Mr. Trevor was taking his cigarette break earlier than usual. That usually took him at least ten minutes, because once he finished one he always had another, John knew the habits of this awful man. Maybe John could sneak into the trailers, get some footage of the mistreatment, maybe pictures of the mini cages they forced their animals into while they traveled. This might be the perfect opportunity. So John made sure there was enough battery on his phone, taking off his orange vest and hat, just so that no one could see him creeping along behind the tent, and snuck right up to one of the trailers. The door was conveniently unlocked, but it seemed like no one was around. They were probably all getting changed and having a smoke themselves, they were all very weird individuals. John had never seen the circus; he never gave these people his money, so he didn't know what he was going to find when he slipped into the trailer. But as his feet creaked on the rusted metal and the crack of light shone in from the window, he certainly wasn't prepared to see the outline of a man. The trailer was lined with metal cages, prison style, all across the walls. There was only one occupied, right in the middle, and a man was sitting in a pile of straw, shivering in thin cotton clothes. John almost ran, if there was a man in here then he could talk, he could tell Victor that there was an intruder, but as John saw his weak, shivering form, something told him that the man didn't want to be here anymore than John did. John walked closer, squinting to get a better look. As soon as he approached the bars the man suddenly heard him, jumping to face John and arching his back in warning, looking a bit like a hunchback. John jumped in horror, falling into the bars behind him as the man barred his teeth at him, teeth that were very curiously pointed. As John got a better look at him, however, he noticed that this man wasn't normal at all. In the darkness he could make out his skin, white as the moon, with dark curly hair growing from his head. He looked normal enough, but when John really focused on his head he could see that it looked like he was wearing one of those headbands with cat ears attacked, but when he got a closer look he saw that they were moving, twitching, as if they were really attached to his body. And there was something moving behind him, flicking through the darkness like a snake, and only now did John realize that it was a tail.
"Who are you?" the man said with a hiss, his back arched in warning. Was this man...was he part cat?
"John Watson, I'm sorry, the door was open, I'm really sorry I'll just..." John muttered, looking for the exit and moving closer to the door.
"Why are you here John Watson?" the man asked, edging to the bars with very graceful, cat like movements. The straw crunched over his feet and John noticed how skinny he was, as if he weren't being fed enough. He was being caged like an animal; John wondered why he wasn't out back smoking with the other performers.
"I just wanted to have a look around, I was curious." John lied. He didn't want to mention to this man that he was a protester, just in case the cat man were to tell Victor Trevor. The man edged even closer to the bars, looking fearful as his eyes scanned John over, trying to tell if he were to be trusted or not. John noticed that his pupils were just slits, like a cat's. He could probably see a lot better in this darkness than John could, that is if those weren't just colored contacts.
"Are you...real?" John wondered, a very insulting question most likely. The cat hissed, one of his hands swatting at John through the bars and grabbing one of his flyers from his pocket.
"No wait, no, give that..." John's words were cut off as the man scanned it, his eyes squinting in interest and his tail flicking behind him.
"A protester." The man said, sounding as if he were purring when he said those words. John would think that was a seductive way of talking, but then again he was part cat, so for him it was normal.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come in, I'll leave you alone." John said quickly.
"Help me." the man said, grabbing the bars loudly. John froze, looking back on the man curiously.
"Help you?" John wondered. "How could I do that?"
"Will you please? Will you help?" the cat whispered, his nails scratching against the bars desperately.
"I don't know you." John pointed out. The man pressed his face to the bars, and John noticed that whiskers were growing from his cheeks.
"What does it matter Mr. Watson, I'm in need. They're starving me, beating me; they think it's all a big joke. They call me a monster." he insisted. John took a step closer to the cage, very timidly in case this man had the intentions of slashing through his throat with his claws.
"What's your name?" John wondered, looking around to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation. He couldn't help pitying this man, cat, whatever he was.
"The Catastrophic Cat Man." he whispered, flinching as if it hurt him just to say the ridiculous name.
"What's your real name?" John wondered gently. The cat's eyes softened, his tail steadying as if he were reevaluating John's threat.
"No one's ever cared about that." he said simply.
"I do. That's what makes me different from these performers, I know that men like you are just that, men. What's your real name?" John wondered, stepping closer to the bars.
"Sherlock Holmes." The cat said, his ears twitching atop the mess of curls.
"Sherlock Holmes, what can I do to help you?" John wondered, feeling the urge to put his hands on the bars as well. Something about this man was strangely inviting, something about being able to help him, it made John want to finally be a hero. If he could help save one man from this tyrannical circus maybe he could save more. Sherlock's whiskers twitched, his slit eyes watching John ever so curiously.
"The keys, they should be in the front. Get me out of this cage, take me away from here." Sherlock whispered.
"That's illegal." John pointed out, the only thing he could think to say. He felt stupid as soon as those words came from his mouth, of course it was illegal, but it was necessary.
"So are animal abuse, and negligence, and slavery. Need I go on, or will you be the one to save me?" Sherlock wondered. John closed his eyes, deciding if he should really do this or not. Was it worth a life of crime to save one life? Yes. Yes of course, that was why he was here in the first place, to make a difference, to tear that miserable Victor Trevor's business to the ground.
"Yes I'll help you." John muttered in a breath. Sherlock smiled with a mouth full of razor sharp feline teeth.
"Get the keys." He whispered. John nodded, feeling as if he were in some sort of trance as he walked into the front of the truck. As promised there were a bunch of keys hanging on a hook, and John snatched them without hesitation, running back to the cage in which Sherlock stood.
"Which one is it?" John wondered, fingering through the ring of keys curiously.
"I don't know. I never look when they open the cage." Sherlock admitted.
"Why not?" John wondered.
"Because I'm cowering in the back, prepared for my 'training'. I've never really enjoyed getting whipped." Sherlock admitted.
"They're horrible here." John muttered quietly.
"And we both know it." Sherlock agreed. John watched him in the darkness, feeling more drawn to him than ever. Sherlock's tail was making small, lazy loops through the air as his eyes watched John, eyes John couldn't decipher. He had no idea of this man's intentions, whether it was to be safe or simply to wreak havoc on the performers that had locked him up here in the first place. John just started to fiddle with the key ring when he heard a voice outside, crunching through the frosted grass.
"Why is this door open?" asked a grumpy sounding voice, the voice of a smoker. No, it couldn't be, not Victor himself. John's heart skipped a couple of beats.
"Hurry." Sherlock whispered frantically, cowering farther into the shadows of his cage. John's fingers were shaking in fear; if Victor caught him in here he would most certainly be arrested. There was some more talking outside, John couldn't hear what they were saying because his ears weren't working properly, all he could hear was frantic ringing as he tried all of the keys in the lock, none of them turning, some not eve fitting. The door swung on its hinges, John felt weight behind put on the stairs, the trailer tipping slightly, someone was coming inside. John stuck a key in and the lock clicked open, a loud click that would tell anyone the cage was being opened. As soon as the cage swung open Sherlock leapt outside, landing on all fours and hissing madly at the new figure that entered the trailer. John fell back into the shadows, now terrified of both men he was sharing this small, dark space with. Sherlock crept along the floor of the trailer, now just a figure cloaked in shadow.
"What in the world, how did you..." but Victor's voice was cut off with a scream as Sherlock jumped at him, scratching one of his hands across the man's chest and biting down hard on his shoulder. Victor screamed in agony, falling into one of the cages, his hat falling off of his head.
"Come on John!" Sherlock yelled, dislodging his teeth from the man and jumping out of the trailer, finally returning to two feet. John dropped the keys and ran past the squirming form of Victor, who was whining lamely.
"You! You protester, you have no idea what you've done!" Victor exclaimed. John paused, looking back at him in confusion. Victor groaned, trying to press his cloth hat to his wounds.
"He's a human being; he can't be treated like this." John insisted, trying to defend himself from something he didn't understand.
"He's a monster." Victor muttered. "You don't know what you've done."
"John we need to go!" Sherlock's voice called from outside of the trailer. John stared at Victor's shaking form, a pool of blood oozing out of his cheap red suit.
"I need to go." John decided, running out of the trailer into the blinding daylight. There were people all over, all performers trying to contain Sherlock, but obviously the cat wasn't going to tolerate any of it. There was another scream and one of the clowns fell to the ground, dropping what looked like a long leather whip. Sherlock jumped off of him and raced towards John, running on all fours like he had done it all of his life. His mouth was covered in his blood, his tail was whipping around behind him, he wasn't human, he wasn't natural. John wanted to scream but as soon as Sherlock reached him he leapt back to his two feet, grabbing John's hand with his own blood stained hand and dragging him across the parking lot.
"We need to go." He repeated. John knew he couldn't leave Sherlock behind, no matter how bloody he was, no matter how vicious. John ran to his car, unlocking the doors and pushing Sherlock into the back seat, clambering into the driver's seat and turning on the engine. The performers were all running after him, their makeup smeared and their faces livid. John was paralyzed with fear, faced with the monstrous humans out there and the human monster in his backseat.
"Drive, DRIVE!" Sherlock screamed, falling over the seat trying to get john to press the gas pedal. John obeyed, and the car tore through the frozen mud to the main road, driving like he had never driven in his life. Thankfully it didn't seem like they were being followed, and as soon as Sherlock decided they were safe he fell asleep in the back seat, so it was a peaceful ride home. When finally John pulled into his garage he got out of the car and looked at Sherlock, asleep in the back seat with his tail curled peacefully around himself. He was still covered in blood but it had dried, cracking and falling away as his whiskers twitched.
"Sherlock, we need to go inside." John insisted. The man didn't wake, and John sighed heavily, getting into the car and wrapping his arms around him. Obviously this may not be the best idea, but for some reason John didn't feel threatened by him. He felt curious, as if something about this cat man was drawing him ever closer. John bundled Sherlock up in his arms, finding that he couldn't weigh over one hundred pounds; the poor starved creature was too easy to carry. As John closed the car door he noticed that one of Sherlock's eyes had opened, scanning his surroundings.
"You're safe." John assured. He felt some sort of vibrating against his chest, seemingly coming from Sherlock. He was purring, something that John's old cat used to do when it was happy. Sherlock snuggled even closer to John's chest purring in happiness as he closed his eyes and fell back to sleep, letting John carry him up the stairs and set him gently onto the couch. John pulled a blanket around Sherlock gently, watching him in the darkness and wondering just what he had gotten himself into.
"Don't leave me?" Sherlock whispered as John was turning away. John looked back at him in pity, but walked back over and sat on the floor next to where Sherlock lay, running his fingers through his curls and stroking his black ears. Sherlock purred louder than ever, rubbing his head against John's hand lovingly.
"I'll stay with you until you fall asleep. You're safe here." John assured.
"I know I am." Sherlock agreed in a sleepy voice, yawning so that his bloodstained teeth shone in the moonlight.
"You're not a monster." John assured, even though he wasn't so sure himself. He had to convince himself; however, that he had made the right choice. This man wasn't a monster; he was more than a man. John didn't really care that he was part cat, it was the human part he cared for, it was the human part he wanted to protect. He wasn't a monster; he was a man, a man who needed to be loved.