"Sherlock, this is John Watson."

Sherlock extends a hand, and just as Molly begins to tell him that John is not a person, Sherlock crouches; hand still outstretched and says, "Shake."

Sherlock feels something cold and wet against his hand and some snuffling noises before John places a paw in his hand. He moves John's paw up and down once before letting it drop to the ground. He estimates where John's head will be and pats the space. John's fur is short, coarse, he notes and a few hairs come off on his hand as he pulls it away. A shedding breed, then. Short hair and floppy ears tell him John is a golden Labrador retriever.

"I can't have a dog slowing me down. I know my way around London better than any of you buffoons. Lack of vision is a mere inconvenience."

"Sherlock, just take the dog. If he ends up slowing you down, you don't have to keep him but just try it out. He might even end up being useful. Just try, Sherlock."

Sherlock grumbles but ends up going home leading John on a short nylon leash. He had only given in because he feared any solution that Mycroft may have come up with. He figures he won't be keeping John long. He barely feeds himself, how do they expect him to feed a dog, too? He ignores the comments from Ms. Hudson as he walks up the stairs with John. He is impressed when John, too, ignores Ms. Hudson. At least John is as focused on work as he is.

He is not surprised when he stumbles over a large bag when he opens the door into his flat. Of course Mycroft has already heard and has fully equipped his flat for a dog. How irritating. He'll be tripping on everything that Mycroft has left all over his home. John follows him in, stepping around the bag of dog food when he does. His claws click loudly on the wood flooring. He notes lazily that the sound will be distracting when he is working.

Sherlock sits down on his couch and without thinking grabs a book, before remembering that reading has become rather difficult since that experiment gone horribly wrong, the one that cost him his sight. Results were inconclusive. John has sat down on the floor by his feet, the fur of his back legs against Sherlock's ankles. He shuts the book and puts it back with a thud and sighs. John stands, circles and curls up on Sherlock's feet.

Sherlock gropes around on the table, grabs a remote and turns on the telly. After feeling around for a while, trying to find the right button (it would have been easy to find had he used the thing more often) and something terribly uninteresting comes on. DULL. Seeking relief from the boredom, he pats the space on the couch next to him and says, "John."

He hears the tags on John's collar clang against each other as John lifts his head from his paws. He pats the space again.

"Up."

It feels strange to talk to a dog, but perhaps it is better than a skull, he thinks when he feels the warmth of John lift from his feet and John leaps up to the couch beside him. He feels the couch shift as John walks circles on the cushion before finally settling down on it. Sherlock moves a hand from his lap over to where John's head is resting against his thigh. He strokes John's fur and moves up his neck, to John's shoulder. His fingers trace over a bump where the fur moves in odd directions. A scar. He wonders what caused it as he prods at it lightly. John shifts and snorts. Sherlock briefly considers apologising, but John is a dog, and apologies are unnecessary, as well as pointless as dogs have very limited English and manners certainly aren't part of it. He becomes aware of how warm and soft John is, and his thoughts are claimed by sleep and he drifts off curled up with John. When Ms. Hudson brings up dinner she is delighted to see that he's getting some sleep. John is good for Sherlock.

Weeks pass and life is becoming dull. He wonders whether he should just jump into the Thames. But he won't. He'd have to find someone to take care of John and it would cause problems when he explained why he can't keep John. It's already too late to say that he can't take care of a dog, or that John interferes with his work, or slows him down. No, John has been very good. John has not even been dull. Sherlock recalls the first time John was introduced to Mycroft and had actually smiled when John bit Mycroft's assistant. John is very fast and has good stamina, he has been able to keep up with Sherlock on mad chases through the city and John's sense of smell is very helpful on tracking criminals. John is even good at fighting criminals, at times. Thieves and murderers generally do not expect attacks from a dog. Sometimes, when he wakes at too early hours in the morning to play violin, John will howl along with his playing, which Sherlock finds amusing. Endearing, even. The neighbours, however, do not. Sherlock, miraculously, has remembered to feed John adequate amounts, and John sticks to Sherlock like glue. Like every dog, John is loyal to a fault.

Sherlock had finally accepted that dog is man's best friend. John is his only friend. John is his best friend. That was a problem. Moriarty knew. When Sherlock had found John gone, he knew.

He'd run all over London, frantically searching for Moriarty, searching for John. Several times he would stumble over this or that, and he realized that he needed John. He wasn't even in it for the game anymore. He just wanted his friend back, because now John has become a part of his life, something he doesn't want to live without. He even goes so far as to calling Mycroft, and is disappointed in humanity when all he says is,"It's just a dog, Sherlock, it's not worth it." Sherlock has been searching for hours and that is not what he wants to hear. He snaps back "He's not just a dog. He's more than a dog. He's my dog. And he's my best friend." He realizes his voice is shaky.

Eventually, it comes to him, it always does, and he's never run faster than when he runs to John.

That night, Sherlock slips into bed, exhausted from feelings and John curls up in his dog bed, located just below Sherlock on the floor by the foot of his bed. Sherlock can't sleep. So, softly he calls out, "John," and hears those tags on John's collar jingle. The sound has become very welcome to his ears. He pats the space on his bed next to him.

"Come up here, John."

John stands up, and without hesitation, swiftly leaps onto Sherlock's bed. He circles a few times before curling up against Sherlock. John is warm and soft and very nice. He lays one arm over John, and murmurs, "Good dog, John," before falling asleep.