John almost missed it.
He was nearly past the alley when he heard a faint whimpering. Turning to look, he saw nothing but an overflowing skip. Must've been the wind, he thought.
John was about to continue on his way when it came again, unmistakable this time. There was something in the skip. Something in distress.
With a mixture of disgust and trepidation, John dug through the refuse until he located the origin of the sound: a scruffy little dog of indeterminate parentage. His long, wavy brown hair was matted and filthy. Anxious eyes looked up into John's own.
John pushed down the rage he felt at the thought of someone tossing this pup away like so much rubbish. He needed to project an air of calm reassurance, so as not to frighten the dog further.
Reaching out slowly, John said, "Hello there."
The dog sniffed his hand, then gave it a tentative lick.
"Oh, you're a friendly little chap, aren't you?"
John ran his hands carefully over the dog's body, checking for injuries. Although it was impossible to tell for sure what was under all that matted hair, there didn't seem to be any tender spots, which was a good sign.
"Let's get you out of there, okay?" John said, gently lifting the unresisting pup. The dog snuggled into his arms, and his heart melted.
God, I'd love to keep him, John thought. But I just moved in with Sherlock a week ago, and I don't even know if my mad new flatmate likes dogs. Not to mention Mrs. Hudson. She never specifically said that we couldn't have pets, but then again, she never said that we could, either.
"Well," John told the little dog, "I'll take you back to Baker Street to get you cleaned up and fed, and then we can sort out what happens next."
When he arrived at home, John ran into Mrs. Hudson in the hall.
"Goodness!" she cried. "Who do you have there?"
"It's hard to tell under all this matted hair, but I'm pretty sure he's a dog. I found him in a skip, and he's in desperate need of a bath. I hope you don't mind me bringing him in."
"Of course not! Back in the olden days, before I became an exotic dancer, I worked as a groomer for the Wizard of Paws. I'll have this little fellow right as rain in no time."
John did a double-take. Who would have guessed that Mrs. Not-Your-Housekeeper Hudson had hidden talents as both an exotic dancer and a canine beautician?
Smiling at the thought, John carried the little dog into 221A and watched as his landlady bustled around, gathering towels, shampoo, conditioner, combs, brushes, scissors, and clippers. He handed the dog over, and Mrs. Hudson got to work.
"I'm afraid I'll have to shave him to get those mats off," she said. "But don't worry. His coat will grow back in no time. What are you going to name him?"
"Um… I hadn't thought that far ahead. I wasn't sure if you allowed pets."
"How could I possibly draw the line at pets, when I allow Sherlock to live upstairs?" Mrs. Hudson teased. "There's no way this little darling could make more noise or cause more destruction than that wild beast you're already living with."
John laughed. "True. I'd love to keep him, but I'm not sure how well that'll go over with Sherlock. Do you know how he feels about dogs?"
"I know how he feels about you," Mrs. Hudson said, with a wink. "I'm sure you'll be able to convince him."
John felt his face grow hot. "Do you mind if I nip upstairs for a quick shower and change?" he asked. "I smell like I've been rummaging around in a skip."
"Go right ahead. By the time you get back, I'll have your new friend all prettied up for you."
…
Mrs. Hudson was as good as her word. When he returned to her flat, John hardly recognised the little dog.
The dog certainly recognised John, though. His whole body wriggled with delight as his rescuer reappeared. John scooped him up, and the dog immediately licked his chin.
"He looks great, Mrs. Hudson. You really are a wizard at this. Thank you."
"You're very welcome. Do you have anything to feed him? I shudder to think what's in that refrigerator of yours."
"I've got some chicken and rice upstairs. That should do for now. I'll pop 'round to the shops later and pick up some proper dog food."
John said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson and brought his new friend up to 221B. He carefully washed out two bowls before filling one with water and the other with the chicken and rice. The little dog looked up at him as if in thanks before beginning to eat.
…
Sherlock arrived home not long after. His eyes immediately lit on the little dog, and a soft expression came over his face. He knelt down on the floor, and the dog rushed to greet him. Sherlock stroked him gently, crooning nonsense.
"So, you like dogs, then?" John asked.
"Obviously."
"Can we keep him?"
Sherlock addressed his reply to the dog. "John is an idiot, sometimes, but you'll get used to it. Of course we're keeping you."
"What shall we name him?" John asked.
Sherlock thought for a moment. "Angelo."
"After your friend at the restaurant?"
"After the place where we had our first date."
Oh. So that was a date, then. A smile bloomed across John's face. "Right. Angelo it is."
…
And that's how Sherlock, John, and Angelo became a family, and lived happily ever after.
The End
...
End Note: From now on, the unaired pilot is the only episode of BBC Sherlock that I'm considering to be canon. Everything after that is up to us.