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Chapter One.
Sherlock eased himself down into a squat as he carried on putting the surgical gloves on his hands (his only concession to the need for forensic sterility). His eyes roamed over the body of the young man lying face down on the tarmac in front of him, each glance picking up every detail of the scene. Carefully he picked up the man's right hand to examine it more closely, delicately moving each finger in turn.
John and Greg looked on in anticipation, having cleared the area of police and forensic officers before any blows were exchanged following Sherlock's and Anderson's latest spat.
'Well, what can you give me? I need to get this guy Sherlock, this is the third suspicious death with the same M.O. In two weeks.' asked Greg.
Hm, well obviously it's a domestic gone wrong. Really not worth my time. Surely even you could see that Lestrade' replied Sherlock as he pushed himself back into a standing position.
'But ... it's the same M.O.! What do you mean "A domestic gone wrong"?' cried Greg in exasperation.
'Precisely what I have just said, I do so dislike repeating myself Lestrade. How do you survive every day life if you are this stupid?' asked Sherlock with incredulity.
'Sherlock!' warned John, glaring slightly at his flatmate.
Sherlock huffed as he walked away, pulling his gloves off as he did so.
'Talk to the girlfriend, he fell from a first floor window, probably the bedroom, during an argument on to the pavement below.' came Sherlock's voice, his boredom evident in the tone.
'No! Shep! Get back here NOW!' the shout caused everyone in the vicinity, including Sherlock, to raise their heads and look in the direction of the police cordon. Seemingly out of nowhere a border collie dog came running towards the crime scene with Sergeant Donovan in hot pursuit. Sherlock, John and Greg had all frozen in surprise at the initial shout. The movement of the dog, however, galvanised John and Greg into action. They each moved to try to intercept the dog's path.
John attempted a rugby tackle in front of the animal, but the dog just jumped over his prone body as though it was an obstacle in a dog show assault course leaving John breathlessly lying on the ground.
Greg fared even less well, having run in completely the wrong direction.
Sherlock however hadn't moved. 'Halt!' Sherlock stated, with an air of authority in his deep voice.
The dog came to a stop and looked at Sherlock, then he looked back at the crime scene, apparently undecided as to what he should do.
'Come here, Shep' Sherlock's voice again had the unmistakable tone of command, and the dog trotted over to the young consulting detective.
Sherlock removed his hand from his coat pocket and held it out to the dog. Shep sniffed and then licked the offered hand. He then positioned his head in such a way that Sherlock's hand was resting on it. Sherlock began to absent mindedly stroke the dog's head.
During this time, John began to get to his feet, this was hampered a little by the fact that he was gaping at Sherlock as though he had grown two heads.
'Erm ... Sherlock, what did you do?'
'I prevented the dog from contaminating the crime scene, John, obviously' replied Sherlock with a hint of puzzlement in his voice.
'B-but I didn't think you'd like dogs' stammered John, completely gob smacked with his self-proclaimed sociopathic friend.
'Why would you think that?' asked Sherlock, bemused.
'Well, you've never really mentioned animals at all. Didn't you have any pets when you were growing up then Sher?' John asked as a slight smile began to grow at the corner of his mouth.
'Hm? No, Mycroft is allergic to most domestic animals and Mummy suffered from Herpetophobia.' Sherlock replied a little wistfully as he continued to stroke the dog's head.
'Don't touch that dog, Freak!' Sally Donovan walked up to Sherlock and Shep. 'Come here Shep love, leave the Freak alone, and come on over to me, there's a good little doggy.'she said to the dog, speaking as though she was talking to a two year old child.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued stroking the dog which had remained exactly where he was, ignoring the sergeant's voice. As Donovan reached out her hand to grab the dog's collar to pull him towards her, he growled, a low and menacing sound. Sally yanked her hand back like a piece of elastic.
'That dog's dangerous, it should be put down' stated Sally fearfully.
'No, he's just got good taste' replied Sherlock with a smirk, his hand still on Shep's head.
'Whose dog is he anyway?' asked John, as he walked over, a slight limp in his right leg from the argument with the pavement earlier when he was trying to apprehend the dog.
Sherlock gave him "The Look".
'What ... we're not all brilliant like you, you know.'
'Freak' coughed Sally. The dog growled again, however John, Greg and Sherlock decided it would be easier to just ignore Donovan, and hope she would take the hint.
'He belongs to the victim, we're just waiting for someone from the RSPCA to come and collect him.' answered Greg. 'I would imagine they'll take him to Battersea and try and re home him.
At this point Sherlock's head shot up and he stared beseechingly at John.
'Ah ... no, not going to happen, Sherlock, we are not keeping him.'
'But John, he'll be put in to kennels.' Sherlock looked across at John, his eyes welling up with tears.
'You're not going to manipulate me Sherlock, we can't afford a dog, and I would be the one to always have to take care of it so ... No!' John was trying valiantly to ignore the feeling of guilt that had settled in his chest as he said all of this to Sherlock (the dog really did look so lovely and John had always been a bit of a sucker for border collies), but he was going to stick to his guns, and he wouldn't allow Sherlock to overrule him. He was adamant!
Half an hour later, the taxi pulled up to the kerb outside 221 Baker Street. After the fare was paid, John and Sherlock got out and stood on the pavement, closely followed by Shep. A slight smile graced Sherlock's face as he and Shep walked up to the door and entered.
John eventually brought up the rear, quietly grumbling to himself as he tried to work out how he could have possibly lost the argument regarding Shep. When he finally got up the stairs to the flat with all of the shopping bags (they had stopped off at a pet supplies shop on the way home), and saw Sherlock sat on the sofa with Shep's head resting on his knee, John decided it would probably be easier and a lot less hassle if he just accepted it and gave in gracefully, so he just flopped into his chair, took a deep breath and relaxed.
Chapter Two: A visit from Mycroft.