It was raining in London. It was not the type of rain that is kind and quiet, or patters you gently to sleep, it was the type of rain that poured buckets of relentless water onto the people beneath, causing them to empty the streets in search of shelter, it was the type that brought big, dark, dangerous clouds and flashes of bright, white lightning. It was the type of rain that Sherlock couldn't resist running around in, causing John Watson to be stuck in the middle of the wet and grey streets, forced to slip and slide along the concrete and asphalt after his much more agile and graceful companion. They were in the search of a rogue sniffer dog that the detective had neglected to put on a leash, and he was now hiding in the dark recesses of the city in a search for much-needed shelter from the lighting and rush of oncoming water from up above. And the two men were hopeless, "Sherlock!" John called, huffing and puffing to catch up with him, "We're not going to find him tonight. Just, let's go home and we can find him in the morning, when it's not so dark and wet."
The detective shook his head, "Absolutely not, I'm onto him. Toby will be with us in no time, I know how this dog thinks."
John groaned, falling back once more, "Then, can we at least walk?"
Sherlock nodded, slowing his pace to match John's, grabbing his cold and uncovered hand in his warm, gloved one as they searched down alleyways and inside discarded boxes, hearing their whistles and calls echo off the warmly glowing buildings. Thunder crashed up above, bringing another bucket of rain onto the already thoroughly soaked men, and John was starting to shiver in the startling wind chill. Sherlock took instant notice before silently inviting him into his coat, chuckling lightly as John wormed and wiggled his way into his rightful spot pressed up against the detective's side. The doctor coughed, snaking an arm around Sherlock's damp, but warm, waist as they continued to search, "thanks."
Sherlock hummed, placing his gloved fingers into the back pocket of John's trousers, smiling smugly to himself at his silent and subtle reaction as they continued to search high and low for the missing dog. They came up to a bridge, but refused to cross it. Carefully and cautiously, they slipped and slid down the muddy concrete slab, relieved to find that it wasn't uninhabitable from the rain and about half of Holmes' homelessness network was crowded around a small bloodhound. "Toby!" John called after a series of howling whistles, successfully guiding the dog towards them with ease with exciting a collective groan from the men and women who were sad to see their newfound puppy go, "C'mon boy!"
With a surprising amount of effort, both men were able to stay inside the warmth of Sherlock's coat, and each other's company, as they bent to pick up the wet and smelly dog, chuckling as it wiggled and wormed excitedly in their arms, ready to be taken back to his respective owner.