Title: A Loyal Pet
Author: A Shining Silver Star
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Pairing: no pairing unless I continue it
Warnings: none unless, again, I continue it
Disclaimer: I in no way own Sherlock BBC or its characters. All rights reserved to BBC and the creators. I am not making any profit off of this.
Author Note: Just a little idea I thought of when going on a rant on how no one appreciates John as much as they should xD I can leave it like this for now or if you want me to I can continue it but if I do it might become a little kinky (coughD/) if you could read that lol. Read, review, and enjoy!
John Watson looked up from his novel as the sound of a shrieking violin filled the rooms, breaking his concentration. He gave a hefty sigh and returned to reading only to give up moments later when pain blossomed behind his eyes.
Normally, on an average day, he could live with the violin; whether it be Mozart or some discordant sound pulled from the very depths of one Sherlock Holmes bored mind. But today was not an average day.
It was not filled with running from one place to the next because of some insane deduction that the genius had gotten from a single drop of water, getting a text from Sherlock asking him if he could retrieve his laptop for him that was sitting on the table right next to the man. He did not have eyeballs in the microwave nor any severed heads in the fridge that greeted him with a frozen smile when he opened it for milk that was not and never was there.
Not an average day and it only added to the exhaustion and frustration John was feeling from the normal ones.
He set his book down heavily on the table next to him and brought a shaking left hand to his temple, hoping against all hopes, it would either relieve the pain or silence the shrieking filth that could in no way be considered music. Even to a high-functioning sociopath or his pet dog. As Moriarity had liked to call him.
Suddenly the shaking in his hand stopped and the pain drew to the background as the realization hit him.
He was a pet dog. Sherlock Holmes' pet dog to be precise.
How he had missed it before was beyond him but now that the facts were in front of him it made more sense than Sherlock's usual deductions. Not that they ever made sense.
He followed Sherlock the second his name was called even if it meant danger to both of them. He fetched cell phones, laptops, books, tea, milk with just a single command. He took the brunt of Sherlock's boredom, Sherlock's excitement, Sherlock's manipulations and machinations. He worried about Sherlock and most of the time, never got that same worry back.
He got kicked down repeatedly but always kept coming back for more, like the loyal puppy he was. Only because he was afraid of what would happen if he left.
He let out a full hearty laugh as another realization hit him.
He needed Sherlock. And he would always come back.
He would come crawling back, lick his wounds in silence, put on his loyal mask, and follow Sherlock once more.
As long as Sherlock needed him too.