Chapter One
Testing the Waters

One day, Sherlock arrived, not with John in tow, but a large German Shepherd instead. Sally gazed open-mouthed at him and the dog, not even bothering with her usual taunts. Sherlock waited to be let through, but when it became obvious she wasn't going to move any time soon, rolled his eyes and lifted it up himself, stepping under elegantly. The dog glanced at Sally and followed him, huffing to itself. She turned and stared at them as they entered the crime scene, still unable to do anything else. They disappeared through the door and she blinked to herself.

"Sherlock!"

Sally grinned. Even when completely shocked, she could still appreciate the sounds of Sherlock getting told off.

"Why the hell do you have a dog?"
"I'm looking after him."

Lestrade stared.

"You're looking after a dog?"

Sherlock scowled.

"Yes, Lestrade. I'm looking after a dog. I don't know why you're so surprised at me taking care of something, seeing as I look after your horribly incompetent team nearly every day."

The dog huffed and wagged its tail once to hit Sherlock in the leg.

Lestrade stared.

Sherlock sighed impatiently.

"Crime scene?" he prompted.
"Yeah, yeah," Lestrade replied vaguely, still staring.

The dog huffed again, its tongue lolling in what could be considered a grin.

"Oh for Christ's sake."

Sherlock disappeared, leaving Lestrade and the German Shepherd to stare at each other. He crouched down so they were at eye level.

"You're injured," he said, noticing how the dog held its left foreleg up protectively. The dog tilted its head and if to say, Yes, well done Lestrade, brilliant deduction.

"Lestrade! If you've quite finished staring, come in here!"

The dog huffed and grinned again, trotting off to find Sherlock and managing quite well despite its injured leg. By the time Lestrade joined Sherlock, he had almost overcome his surprise and managed to realise that, really, a dog should not be at a crime scene.

"Sherlock," he started, but was waved off.
"He's fine. He won't mess around with the evidence." He went silent, as if waiting for something.

Nothing happened.

Sherlock sighed and let out an exasperated, "Please?"

The dog huffed again (Lestrade realised it was an amused noise) and made its over to the body, sniffing it carefully.

"Sherlock!"
"It's fine, be quiet."

The dog continued sniffing. It circled the body and stared at it appraisingly. Lestrade had to wonder what the hell was going on.

"No, you're not dreaming. And really, please do be quiet, you're very distracting."

He couldn't even find anything to say to that.

After a few minutes, the dog had apparently completed its assessment of the body and sat down, waiting for some kind of signal.

"Come on," Sherlock encouraged.

The dog tilted its head.

"Yes, I'm ready! We've practised this over and over again. If I haven't got it by now, I won't get it at all. And I have got it by now."

And if Lestrade had thought things were strange before, they were nothing compared to what was happening before his eyes.

The German Shepherd rolled onto its back and placed its right foreleg across its neck.

"Asphyxiation. Obvious!"

The dog threw him a dirty look and got to its feet again. Its head dropped and its shoulders rolled, as if it were retching.

"Choked on her own vomit. Keep going."

The dog snarled.

"Victim fought back. Oh! Got it!"
"What the hell was that?"
"That, Lestrade, was a dog doing your forensics team's job in a few minutes."

He spluttered.

"Anyway, I've got your murderer."
"How! – oh, never mind."
"Are you going to take it down?"
"I'll remember!"
"I won't repeat it."
"Sherlock!"

"The murderer is a man, quite tall; I'd say six foot two, six foot three. He attacked the victim from behind, dragged her into this room with his arm around her neck. Once he got her in here, she managed to escape his hold and fight back, but he overpowered her, so he's taller and stronger. He'll have broad shoulders; he's got large hands and large feet. He's a software designer, works locally, and catches the tube to work. I hope that's enough for you to go on."

"How did you get all that? And how did your dog do…whatever he did?"

There was the softest, tiniest growl from the dog. Sherlock smiled.

"I assure you, he is quite his own. I trust you'll find the killer eventually. Do call."

He whistled and walked out of the room. The dog rolled its head as though it was trying to roll its eyes but hadn't quite got the hang of it yet, and loped out of the room to follow Sherlock. It stopped by Lestrade, patted him twice on the knee with its tail, huffed once, and continued on its way.

What the hell just happened?

A/N:

Hello!

This is my first Sherlock fic (thought you ought to know). It's all written out and edited, so all that's left is to post it. Please feel free to leave any feedback and thanks for reading! I don't really have the patience to upload at certain times, so it will probably be random updates, but the story will be posted pretty quickly (hopefully people are reading...)

Cheers,
FoxBoxTango97