It was during the case of the Silver Blazer where Sherlock met an unlikely friend. I won't go into details about the case (i'm saving that for a later blog entry), but I'll give you a rough sketch of the matter. One of our clients, who I have been told under no circumstances am I allowed to name, had a prized possession stolen. A designer blazer that was worth more than mine and Sherlock's annual wages put together. Anyway, to cut a long story short, the most significant clue in the whole ordeal lied within a certain dog. A pug that happened to live in the backyard of our client's house, albeit in terrible conditions despite their owner's wealth. Sherlock deduced that as the dog was silent during the night of the robbery, "obviously the midnight visitor was someone whom the dog knew well." This led him to discover that the Silver Blazer was stolen by none other than the client's maid. Now I think it's safe to say as Sherlock's.. colleague? friend? boyfriend? as someone who knows Sherlock well, I have rarely seen a sentimental side to him. However as the case came to a close, he turned to me and asked to see the pug, mumbling some excuse about how it was "for an experiment John". When we found the pug I have to say, and I'm not the biggest lover of dogs, my heart broke at the sight of the poor thing. And to my amazement, Sherlock seemed to be feeling the same.

"How could anyone treat a dog like this? It's disgusting." He snapped as he, and I will never forget this, bent down and gently scratched it's ears.

"Great more paperwork. I'll call animal control, see if they can pick it up." Anderson muttered from somewhere. Sherlock, who had up until now been cuddling the pug close to his chest, snapped up his head and spat,

"Not it, Anderson you moron, her."

"How on earth could you-" I started. Alright I know there's one obvious way of determining gender, but the pug was lying flat on it's belly. Sherlock rolled his eyes at me before interrupting with a sigh,

"John seeing as there are two genders and the average height of a male pug is 30-36cm and she stands at precisely 26.7cm the balance of probability is that she is most likely female." He gently lifted her up to, lets put it as 'gather conclusive evidence to support his theory'. "I am correct." He said with a smirk before turning back to lavish attention on his new friend.

"Probability..pugs…" I laughed overwhelmed at seeing Sherlock of all people so unconditionally and irrevocably in love—with a dog.

"Probability the pug? That's actually quite cute John." Sally laughed from behind. It look as though the whole of Scotland Yard had turned up to see Sherlock act like a child on Christmas morning.

"Oh god, no we can't name it. They'll give her a name when she's re- homed…" I said but trailed of at the sight of Sherlock tensing and looking up at me with his sad eyes.

"Sherlock…"

"John we can't let them take her to some pound. She needs to be looked after properly." He said, his voice pleading ever so slightly.

"Sherlock Holmes you can't be serious…" I hissed, but Sherlock only hugged the pug closer to him as she frantically licked his cheek.

"The laws of probability state dog owners have much a lower blood pressure and lower cholesterol levels." He declared although his voice wavered and it sounded more like a question.

I stood there and gaped at him. What the hell was I supposed to say to that? Neither of us knew the first thing about owning a dog, besides when would we have time to care for it? I had my work, and Sherlock's cases sometimes lasted weeks away from home.

"She could come with me, John. Dogs have almost a sixth sense, I bet I, I mean we, could solve cases faster with her. " Sherlock said reading my thoughts, his voice small like a child's.

The balance of probability that Sherlock Holmes, the great logician of the 21sts century, believed in a "sixth sense" was impossible. So he was lying, using any excuse he could think of, risking his reputation because he was just that desperate. But there was something else. As I have said, Sherlock is not one for sentiment, yet there was something in his eyes that told me he saw something in this dog that I couldn't. I can read him like a book, and as I looked into those ocean blue eyes I caught a glimpse of hundreds of memories and something I rarely found in him. Happiness. And so, after mountains of paperwork (which somehow, I ended up filling out) the pug was officially ours.

Somehow the name "Probability" stuck, and she quickly adjusted to our unusual lives. Sherlock has baby proofed the apartment. I tried to argue.

"John, pugs are thix times more likely to thuffer from an eye injury than any other dog as their eyeth are tho prominent" Sherlock mumbled around the nails he was holding in his mouth, his lisp peeking through.

"That bloody pug.." I growled, walking away as Sherlock nailed in another corner protector.

The truth is despite her waking me up every morning by slobbering all over my face (or as Sherlock likes to put it, "kisses") I can't imagine life without her now. I think she quite likes me too, although she worships Sherlock.

She soon put on weight (a little too much weight if you ask me) down to Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson feeding her up on three hot meals a day. She's spoiled rotten by our friends, although I have to say my favourite gift was from Mycroft (yes even the Ice Man has fallen head over heels for her). A few months after we adopted her he sent a small burgundy jumper with "P(Sherlock's Gay)" printed on the front.

"Probability that Sherlock's gay" I read out, laughing as Sherlock rolled his eyes and grunted something about 'crude' and 'typical'. I think deep down he actually quite likes it. Probability certainly does, and Sherlock isn't about to argue with the new Queen of 221B Baker Street.