Rescued
Disclaimer - I don't own either of them but, boy, do I wish I did right now..
Summary - Lost and forgotten, he had almost given up hope...and then, they found him.
A/N - Sadly, inspired by true(ish) events. And, once again, inspiration/blame goes to Forensiphile. No beta...as per usual.
They made their way through the doors, the building as forlorn looking as the faces they were about to see inside. The walls, painted a dull grey, reflected the mood. This, though, was not an entirely sad occasion; this was a day of liberation and a sort of rebirth. Sherlock was excited.
"Come along, Watson, we have much to do and not a lot of time in which to do it." He was practically bouncing up to the counter where a man was waiting on a person already.
"Slow down, Sherlock, we still have to fill out forms and get approved before we can see anything. And, there's a line. I know you're excited but I think it would be best if we just took a deep breath and at least tried to put on a 'normal' front for these people." Joan was being patient, but it was getting harder; she was excited too.
Earlier in the week, they had worked a case involving the strange death of an elderly woman and though her death had been ruled accidental, they had somehow been given the charge of her rather exuberant Pomeranian for the day. While there were some rough patches, namely when Sherlock tried to introduce the dog to Clyde, the majority of the experience was glorious. Once little Shamrock, unfortunately named, was with the deceased's relatives, Sherlock and Joan sat down to discuss the pros and cons of adding onto their makeshift family. It was a short discussion.
While there was a brief debate about whether or not to rescue or to go to a breeder, all it took was an accidental simulcast of one of those dreadful ASPCA commercials on all seven of Sherlock's TVs for them to agree to visit their local shelter.
As they waited their turn to see the desk clerk, Watson was reminding Sherlock of their agreement regarding ownership terms in a hushed tone.
"Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, I know that it'll be harder for us to adopt without it but..I just don't know how believable we'll be as...a couple." She almost choked on that last word.
"Hush Watson, I don't understand why you think this will be so hard to pull off. We live together, quite amicably if I do say so myself, we share a bathroom, I even pick out your clothes on occasion...this morning included. I think if any two persons needed to pull off a relationship-hoax, we would be them. And, besides, we're already practically married anyway. Getting a dog will just further seal the deal." He whispered matter-of-factly.
While Joan was far from turned off by the idea of, even if just for today, being married to Sherlock...it was an entirely different thing to hear him say that he already basically thought of them in that way. Before she had a chance to further analyze his statements, though, the clerk motioned them forward. Sherlock was the first to speak.
"Hello, we would like a dog. A smallish one, but large enough to get along with a Tortoise, if you please." He stated without a hint of sarcasm.
"Um...right. Well, you'll need to fill out these forms here with your friend.."
"Wife. She's my wife." He interjected, as he wrapped an arm around Watson's shoulders, thrusting her closer to the desk and into his side.
"Ok, then..Just fill these out with your wife, and then bring them back up here and we'll take you back to see the available pooches." The clerk said with a smile.
Watson took the clipboard and, with Sherlock's arm still firmly planted around her waist, made their way to the sitting area of the lobby.
"We'll just be over here, then, my wife and I." Sherlock called out, loud enough for all in the vicinity to hear.
"Sherlock!" Joan whispered roughly, "I think they get it..."
"Just wanting to make sure, dear." He stated softly and she wasn't sure if the endearment was for the clerk's benefit anymore or just her own. She was perfectly fine with the latter.
They quickly got through the two pages of questions and, since neither of them had had any pets before Clyde, both worked from home, and weren't exactly renters in the traditional sense...they felt they had a good shot at taking home a furry friend.
As they walked the clipboard up to the desk, Sherlock opted not to put his arm around Watson's waist and, instead, grabbed her free hand. Joan was sure the look on her face blew the whole thing; she was just shocked by how committed he was to this endeavor. He must really want this dog..she reasoned.
"Great, thanks!" The clerk replied as he glanced over the paperwork. "Everything seems to be in order, but we'll read over it more thoroughly while you're getting acquainted with the adoptables." The clerk motioned to a female worker standing nearby.
"Wendy, could you take them to the back, please? Mr. & Mrs.." He glanced down at the paperwork briefly to confirm, "Holmes, would like to see the dogs." He smiled at them as they walked, still hand-in-hand, toward Wendy.
"Of course! Right this way." Wendy stated cheerily. She held open the door that led to the kennels as they walked through it together.
"So, how long have the two of you been married?" Wendy asked, politely, as she led them through the maze of doors to the kennels.
After a moment of hesitation on both their parts, they each shouted their own answer.. "Three years!" Sherlock offered just as Joan stated "One year!". Laughing, Sherlock quickly covered, "Well, I always count from the day we met; it feels as if we've been married ever since."
"Awww! You've got yourself a keeper!" She gushed with her hand held to her heart. "Well, here we are, guys. When we go through this door, it's going to be loud so we might not get to speak much until we get out. If you see a dog you want to play with, just tap my shoulder and point him or her out. We'll take the pup into a room where we can talk about their history and make sure they're a good fit for your family. Small dogs will be on the right, larger dogs on the left. Ready?" She asked.
"Ready." They answered together. Sherlock, still holding Joan's hand, led the way through the open door.
Wendy was right, as soon as they were through the door, the room came alive with noise. Dogs from both sides were vying for the strangers' attention. Big, small, furry, skinny, fat...they all wanted today to be their day, for Sherlock and Watson to be their people.
While Sherlock instinctively went towards the right, eyeing the small dogs, Joan's attention was drawn left, to a quiet cage in the midst of surrounding chaos. Without thinking, she grabbed Sherlock's hand that was still holding her own with her empty one. The touch was light, but the pressure was enough to communicate a need. Sherlock turned and saw what she saw.
An older dog, a Boxer by the looks of it, curled into a ball on top of a ragged towel. He wasn't asleep, but he wasn't exactly alert either. Sherlock looked down at Joan's face and then back at the soulful brown eyes peering up at them. He knew then that there was no other dog that would be coming home with them that day; Joan had melted under the older dog's gaze and Sherlock had done the same under the grasp of her hand. She looked up at him, he down at her and he just nodded. She smiled, dropped her hand from his and tapped Wendy on the shoulder. Pointing excitedly at the Boxer, she mouthed "THIS ONE!" as clearly as possible. Wendy, looking a bit confused, pointed at him again to confirm, shrugged her shoulders at their confirmation and grabbed a leash.
Once inside the kennel-run, Wendy reached down to clip the lead onto the Boxer's collar, fully expecting to have to hoist him up and possibly even carry him out. He surprised her, though, as the moment she pulled out the leash, he jumped up, shook off, and his tail started wagging a million miles a minute. He knew.
Practically being dragged down the hall, Wendy didn't have time to say anything to Sherlock & Joan until they were safely in the play room.
"Well this certainly isn't the dog I expected you guys to go for!" She stated quickly, still a bit out of breath.
"He's not exactly the dog we had in mind, either, to be frank. But.." Sherlock started, glancing at Joan, "One can't deny a connection once it's been made."
"What can you tell us about him?" Joan asked from the floor; the Boxer had practically climbed into her lap, demanding a belly rub which she obliged.
"His is a sad story, really." Wendy began, "He came to us all the way from Costa Rica, if you can believe it! We were told that he wandered out of the jungle and happened upon a tourist group that took pity on him and arranged transport here. We're a No Kill shelter, you see, so we get animals from all over. Anyway, the tourists said that he was covered in ant bites, starving, and the mopiest dog you'd ever seen. He's been with us for almost 4 years, now. Nobody ever wants to adopt an older dog, unfortunately." Wendy finished, sadly.
"Wow, that's so sad. Who would do such a thing?" Watson stated softly.
"Wendy, we'd like to move forward with adoption, if you please." Sherlock stated in his matter-of-fact tone that Joan had come to love...sometimes.
"If you're sure this is the one you want then I'll get the paperwork and you three can be on your way. Hank, that's what we've been calling him, deserves a great home filled with love and I can tell you two are the perfect fit for him." She said, smiling.
"We're sure." Joan answered for them both.
"Great! I'll be right back, then." She stated, leaving them alone with the tailed-Boxer.
"'Hank', eh? That won't do, it sounds like the name of a cheater to me.." Sherlock said as he bent down next to Joan and the sprawled out canine.
"I don't care what we call him, really, I'm just happy to get him out of here."
"Well, then, Queequeg, what do you say? Want to come and live with us? I'll promise you this, you'll never ever have to worry about being lost again." Sherlock all but whispered into the folds of the, now almost sleeping, Boxer's ear.
A thump of his long tail against the cold tile was all the confirmation they needed, though, and once the papers were signed, the three of them were off to the Brownstone, now a family of four.
-fin