A/N: I've been on a bit of a Sherlock craze. It's such a good show! This story was inspired by my apiphobia (fear of bees) and the time I watched "The Hounds of Baskerville" and started asking myself a bunch of what-ifs. This is one of them: what if Sherlock were afraid because he had a fear of dogs? Then I decided it would make a good story, so voilá! Here it is! Also, Sherlock and John are BF's in this one. Enjoy! Please R & R!

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. Mark Gatiss, Steve Moffat, and BBC do.

(Third-Person P.O.V.)

"Man's best friend" was illogical to him. "Man's worst nightmare" seemed to be a more fitting title to describe the creature that so many people called their pets. But humans, being their typical, stupid selves, had no idea how dangerous they really were.

They could bite your arm off and tear it to shreds. They could pounce on top of you and crush you to death with their weight. Or worse, they could bark loudly and intimidatingly to place you under a permanent shock or insanity. At least, that was Sherlock Holmes's theory on the matter.

He had hardly ever been much of a dog person, really. But it was when he had that traumatizing experience that he became so afraid of their presence. He feared their flea-ridden fur, their dark intense eyes, their jagged bone-crushing teeth, their constantly springing legs, and their sound barrier-breaking barks. He got to fearing them so much that he refused to read any Peanuts comics and he often avoided places such as pet stores and parks. Every time he encountered such a creature, his mind became a haze and he began to reminisce.

Suddenly, he would convert from a cold consulting detective to a young five-year-old boy. It would be summer time and he would be going to the store to get some ice cream with his father. Then, they stopped at somebody's house. It was probably a friend of his father's; he didn't know. His friend had a Bearded Collie named Oreo and he often kept him out of his kennel.

Oreo would walk around the house, just calmly sniffing to see if anybody had dropped some scraps. Sherlock was curious as to what he was like. After all, he hadn't really seen a dog in real life. He'd just watched Lassie and heard the commercials for dog food on the radio. He never experienced a dog up close.

So, it was perfectly natural for Sherlock to be hiding nervously behind his father's leg when the creature curiously made his way over to him. His father, a strong, kind man, only laughed and stroked the boy's hair.

"Don't be afraid, son! He's just a dog, he won't hurt ya!" he coaxed. Sherlock gradually went from peeping timidly at Oreo to slowly dawdling towards him. The dog turned his head in interest, looking at the young child. Then, Sherlock reached his hand out tediously still and began to stroke his fur. Oreo panted happily and Sherlock laughed, seeing that he was okay. The big furry doggy wasn't going to attack him after all.

"You see? You're okay!" his father encouraged, a smile lighting his face. Sherlock continued to laugh as he stroked Oreo.

"Nice doggy, nice doggy!" he cooed happily. He and his father kept visiting his friend's house and he kept looking for Oreo. Then, he would pet him and follow him around. One fateful day, though, this all changed.

Sherlock was petting Oreo and laughing once again while he was sitting on the sofa and Oreo was sitting on the ground between his legs. Then, he paused and remembered an episode where Little Timmy hugged Lassie. He decided to try the same thing with Oreo. He leaned forward and hugged him around the scruff of his neck whilst giggling when suddenly,

"Bark!" Oreo growled and there was a sharp, excruciating pain on Sherlock's palm. He pulled back and held it, tears in his eyes and screaming,

"OWWWWWW!" He ran away from Oreo and up to his father. "I WANT MUMMY!" he screeched, waving his pained hand around in the air. His father calmed him down enough to get him to tell him what was wrong. "That mean ol' doggy bit me! I wanna go home!" he sobbed. His father merely lead him upstairs to the bathroom to get a First-Aid kit.

Then he cleaned Sherlock's red cut and placed a bandage on it. He had to take Sherlock home early because he put up such a fuss whenever Oreo came anywhere near him. From then on, Sherlock refused to go to his father's friend's house. He had completely destroyed his trust for Oreo and all other dogs that appeared.

Whenever his father tried to get him to come with him, he threw a huge tantrum and cried, banging his fists on the floor.

"Now, Violet, I don't understand this! One minute he's asking where Oreo is and how he's doing, and the next, he's arguing about what a bad dog he is and how he should be locked up!" Sherlock's father remarked confusedly.

"Siger, honey, it's just a phase he's going through. He'll grow out of it eventually," Sherlock's mother replied over her knitting. But, on the contrast, Sherlock only became more afraid. He stopped watching Lassie, he cried at every dog food commercial when the dogs barked, and he even stopped reading several dog-related cartoons and watching dog-related shows on TV. Worst of all, he freaked out whenever he saw a dog in real life.

Over the years, it gradually became worse. It often ate at his insides and made him feel depressed. Now, here he was, a thirty-something-year-old adult with a boyfriend about to solve another case. So, he should be happy, right? Wrong. There was one thing wrong with that picture, and it was this: they were solving a dog-related case. He hated the thought of even going near such a dingy animal.

He was walking in the woods with John and Henry and searching for the "hound" that Henry often seemed to refer to. The sky was covered with a dark black blanket that prevented anybody from seeing stars and the woods hummed and buzzed with slight insect activity. Already, the air was dampened with moist humidity. Or was it Sherlock's perspiration? He couldn't tell the difference.

Suddenly, they heard a growl. It shook every bone in Sherlock's body. Then, a howl. It raised the hairs on Sherlock's neck and back. He sweated and breathed heavily, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest for all of Baskerville to hear. They arrived at a hollow in the woods. Just then, Sherlock's light caught a moving figure. It was long, lean, and dark. It growled menacingly.

Sherlock was frightened beyond reality, now. He was paralyzed in place and he stared at it, his eyes widening and his mouth hanging agape. John ran up to him just as the creature disappeared.

"Sherlock? Love, are you okay?" he asked. Sherlock's mouth twitched and he ran off towards who-knows-where. John, being the concerned and loving type, followed his tail. Finally, they arrived at the local inn and Sherlock sat in a chair in front of the fire place. John did the same.

Sherlock sat there for a few minutes, shaking visibly, before he finally broke down.

"I - there was - I saw the hound! I saw it! It was there!"

He sobbed and John strode over to his side, having hardly ever seen that side of Sherlock before. He gently guided him into his lap and rocked him back and forth.

"Hush-sh-sh-sh. It's okay. You can tell me anything. We're partners, remember? Partners trust each other," he whispered, pressing his lips to the back of Sherlock's head. Sherlock looked up, his eyes, nose, and cheeks red with gloom.

"John, I...I don't know how you're going to react, but I...well you see, I don't like dogs very much...I'm af - af - " he began.

"You're afraid of dogs," John finished. Sherlock nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. "Love, why didn't you tell me earlier?" the shorter man queried, stroking Sherlock's chestnut tresses.

"Again, I was afraid of what you would think. Here I am, supposed to be all strong for you and yet I'm afraid of a stupid canine," Sherlock replied hysterically, not knowing whether he was laughing, crying, or both. He grabbed onto John's shirt, trying desperately to wipe his tears. John held onto him determinedly.

"We're going to get through this somehow. I know it," he promised whole-heartedly, rubbing small and comforting circles on Sherlock's back. That night, John stroked Sherlock's hair and made sure that he fell asleep first so that there would be no nightmare-induced dreams.

"I love you, Sherlock Holmes. Irrational fears and all," he whispered, before kissing him on the forehead and drifting off to sleep.

"And I, you," Sherlock muttered coincidentally or non-coincidentally in his sleep, before rolling onto his side and hugging John's waist.